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Unbeatable Mind
Maya Yoshida
‘Resilience can give you strength to keep moving forwards when you are caught in the rain or a storm, and keep you continuing on your journey through life. And it is a strength which resides in everyone.’Maya Yoshida, one of Southampton FC’s most admired players, is well known for his sense of humour on the field. However, underneath the convivial public persona is a man with unrivalled ambition, resilience and strength of character.Unbeatable Mind reveals the secrets behind Maya’s success and how he became a favourite of football fans across the globe. Recounting his stunning career trajectory, this book provides inspirational guidance on how to overcome obstacles and thrive in any competitive arena.
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COPYRIGHT (#ud185bb15-ed18-5962-93e1-cc20f65300a8)
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
FIRST EDITION
© Maya Yoshida 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Cover photograph © Colin Bell 2018
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
Maya Yoshida asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN: 9780008289331
Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008289348
Version: 2018-09-13
CONTENTS
COVER (#u16292056-abd7-54f6-b06a-eadf29ec7845)
TITLE PAGE (#u9f529436-5d2f-5898-9029-3d980929f203)
COPYRIGHT (#ua994f5d6-b69d-5640-a016-92d1414219c8)
INTRODUCTION (#u13ce1c72-d52a-5bd7-ab1b-939d9316f507)
CHAPTER 1
YOUNGEST SON RISING (#u30ad75e8-03bf-51aa-87cf-c4fb36d468b7)
CHAPTER 2
FIRST PROFESSIONAL VOYAGE (#u39a0e0fa-5e92-5d1a-b515-261a700e501e)
CHAPTER 3
MOTHERLAND OF FOOTBALL (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 4
BATTLE AGAINST ADVERSITY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 5
ARMOUR OF FORTITUDE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 6
SAMURAI RESILIENCE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#litres_trial_promo)
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#litres_trial_promo)
INTRODUCTION (#ud185bb15-ed18-5962-93e1-cc20f65300a8)
On 24 August 2017 I opened a new chapter in my life as a Southampton player when I signed a new three-year contract with the club.
I felt rejuvenated. On Southampton’s official website the announcement of my new contract was accompanied by a photo of me with Mr Les Reed, the club’s vice chairman, smiling and shaking each other’s hand.
In truth, the vice chairman and my agent had been locked in a heated discussion until the very last minute in our final negotiation, which was supposed to be a formality, and my presence was required ‘only to sign on the dotted line’, according to my agent. Sitting next to him, I was actually thinking, ‘This is so not what I expected …’, although I also have to admit that a situation like this is not unusual in the world of professional football. Business is business.
The three-month-long negotiation came to a conclusion and a new contract, which had always been the first priority for both the club and myself, was finally agreed. It was, in fact, my second new contract here at this club on the south coast of England. I was delighted that I could continue my journey as a Southampton player and try to better myself through all the challenges we continued to face together. Not only signing, but also announcing the new contract on my 29th birthday, was the best present I could possibly have asked for.
Playing in the Premier League had been my dream ever since I made up my mind to become a professional footballer in my early teens. It was also one of the goals I was audacious enough to believe would eventually be achieved. With the 2017/18 season being the sixth in my Premier League career, I honestly feel, as I said through the club’s website when my new contract was announced, ‘Southampton is my home.’ That was my sincere first thought.
Then I received another ‘offer’, this time from a British publisher. It was shortly after I began my sixth Premier League season as a Southampton centre-back, resolved to make it the fifth consecutive top-10 finish for the club. In England the summer transfer window for a player usually closes at the end of August. The market is always open for authors, though, and I had no reason not to listen to what they had to offer.
The offer was, as it turned out, from one of the major publishers in the United Kingdom. Just by taking a quick look at their authors’ list in the sports non-fiction category, I could see all those big names, including David Beckham and Frank Lampard, with whom I had dreamed to be on the same field when I was a kid. And now, here was an opportunity to put my name onto the same list as them.
Even though the book was explained to me as a joint project with the publisher’s Japan office, to my Japanese mind it felt like I would become the author of a ‘foreign book’. It is true that it has been more than eight years since I moved abroad, so I am used to being away from Japan. I could add that I am now quite comfortable communicating in English. As an author, I already have some experience publishing my books in my native country and, at one time, even joked that I rather fancied a quality post-playing life living on my book royalties. But still, publishing a book in English in the United Kingdom sounded a ‘tough ask’ to me. It was as if I would have the Premier League of publishing to prove myself in, as well as the real Premier League.
Then an editor at the publisher said to me, ‘Don’t worry. You have resilience, Maya!’
‘Ri-zi-li-ens?’ I couldn’t even spell the word in my head at first. There seem to be various meanings in Japanese for this word, such as gyakkyo-ryoku (capacity to recover from adversity), orenai-kokoro (unbroken mind), fukugen-ryoku (ability to spring back into shape) or taikyu-ryoku (durability).
My interpretation is makenai-chikara – strength of unbeatable mind.
Bingo! As soon as this interpretation came to my mind, a light bulb was switched on brightly in my head (in the head of Maya Yoshida the author, I should say) because this particular strength is the essence of ‘Maya power’. That’s the quality that has carried me through, all the way from my childhood to the present day as a Premier League defender, striving to improve to reach a higher standard, sometimes feeling low in a tough environment, sometimes having luck on my side to break through, via the city of Nagoya in Japan and of Venlo in the Netherlands, all the way to Southampton.
Until I received this publishing opportunity, I’d never said this English word ‘resilience’ out loud but it has always been inside me, I realised. The more I thought about it, the more I became sure of it. I also started to believe that I could convey my feelings, thoughts and stories well enough to readers in both the United Kingdom and Japan through a book, if it had ‘resilience’ as its underlying theme.
Needless to say, writing a book itself is not easy. I like writing, but finishing a book under the pressure of an approaching deadline is another matter. I was sure that I would sometimes need to fight off drowsiness as I sat in front of my computer. But I was also sure that my ‘strength of unbeatable mind’ would once again carry me through this new challenge.
It was a huge opportunity that I could not and should not miss – to make my début in the field of English publishing at the top level. There was no time to hesitate, I decided in the end.
Yes, let’s do this! I made one of the biggest decisions of my life. Well, that may be exaggerating a bit, but nonetheless I signed on a publishing contract that was also put in front of me at the beginning of my sixth year at Southampton.
There was one specific request from the publisher’s Japan office about the direction of this book. They wanted me to see myself as a samurai, a warrior of a high social rank in eleventh- to nineteenth-century Japan, but with a size-five football at my feet instead of a shiny sword in my hands. So, to be more precise, the theme of the book should be ‘samurai resilience’.
My initial reaction to this was that there seemed to be a slight difference between what Western people think of as a samurai and what we Japanese do. When I think of a samurai, what comes to my mind is someone prepared, if necessary, to kill himself by committing an act of hara-kiri – cutting his stomach open to die in order to avoid dishonour.
On the other hand, I am under the impression that people in Europe see a samurai in the image of a true warrior: a brave fighter who never gives up and keeps on going till the very end. It is an image of someone with incredible toughness, whose every deed is fortified by resilience. This Western view of a samurai, as I understand it, is also quite different from someone who loves cracking jokes, the image I project in the ‘Maya world’, if I may call it that – the world I have depicted in my blog and previous books.
In the football world, a defender, especially a centre-back, can be an easy target for criticism because a single mistake made in 90 minutes could cost the game for his team. Some might say it is a thankless position because a centre-back won’t be in the spotlight as often as a striker is but will be criticised for one costly mistake, even if it was made after 89 minutes and 59 seconds of an otherwise faultless performance. It may be true and I won’t deny it. But to me, getting criticised is part of the job as a professional defender.
My experience as a centre-back, good and bad, makes me appreciate even more all the support and encouragement I have received over the years. I cannot thank everyone enough. I know people sometimes feel frustrated, or even gutted, after watching my performance, but you ‘Maya supporters’ still cheer me no matter what. That unconditional support has strengthened the unbeatable mind that I have.
If I succeed in passing on some seed of resilience that I have found in my life so far to my supporters, or to people who have picked up this book because of their passion for Southampton FC, the Japan national football team, the Premier League or football itself, I will be a happy author.
Resilience can give you strength to keep moving forwards when you are caught in the rain or a storm, and keep you continuing on your journey through life. And it is a strength that resides in everyone. If you come to realise that, it will be a reward that I genuinely treasure as the author of this book.
CHAPTER 1
YOUNGEST SON RISING (#ud185bb15-ed18-5962-93e1-cc20f65300a8)
The origin: strength of the youngest
If I am to talk about resilience, I must start with my childhood in a city called Nagasaki where I was born, on the island of Kyushu located about 600 miles south-west of Tokyo. That is because one of the resilient traits I was born with is the ‘strength of the youngest’. I can hear some people saying, ‘What?’ and I certainly understand that there is no such definition for the word ‘resilience’ in any available dictionaries. But believe me, ‘strength of the youngest’ is a definition to be found in the dictionary of Maya Yoshida.
I started playing football for fun just before I was enrolled at a Japanese elementary school (Year 1 to Year 7 in the UK). I was the youngest of three brothers in my family and started playing in a kickabout with my two brothers and their friends. The J.League (Japan Professional Football League) started when I was around five years old, and was initially just a single division – although it has since grown to have three tiers. My brothers, who were already in their impressionable early teens by then, totally immersed themselves in the ‘soccer boom’ sweeping through the country, triggered by the creation of the much-anticipated domestic professional league.
All my brothers did whenever they had free time was play football. It was football during the lunch break, football after school and football at the weekend. Naturally, that meant it was the same for their youngest brother. It was football day in, day out for me, too. In my mind, having fun meant kicking a ball with them.
The city of Nagasaki back then didn’t have a local club in the J.League, so I didn’t really have a chance to watch a professional football game at a stadium. My sole live experience was when Verdy Kawasaki (now called Tokyo Verdy 1969) came to a town called Isahaya located in the middle of Nagasaki Prefecture for a game. If my memory serves me right, it was a game in the Emperor’s Cup (similar to the FA Cup here in England), not a league game, but I still remember the excitement I felt in the stand on that day, watching a professional football game right in front of me for the first time in my life.
I didn’t follow any particular club or players when I was a kid. I was more a big fan of football itself, especially playing the game. In most parts of Japan baseball is the number one professional sport. However, it wasn’t because football was particularly popular in Kyushu that I was drawn to the game. There were kids playing baseball, too, in my neighbourhood.
Having said that, maybe it was significant that there wasn’t a baseball team in my elementary school, but there was a football team. Hmmm, I guess I was fortunate to be born in a football-friendly environment. Anyway, what I wanted to say was that football was around me for as long as I can remember and playing football was just a natural thing for me to do to have fun as a kid.
However, there was one problem. The lads I always enjoyed a kickabout with were my brothers and their friends. I’m seven years younger than my oldest brother and six years younger than the other one. It meant that, even though I was big for an elementary-school boy, there was no way for me to compete physically with them when they were already going to junior high school (Year 8 to Year 10).
I was always the tallest among my classmates. I was 5’ 6” when I was 12, about six inches taller than the national average for that age. I remember also that I shot up to a little over 5’ 10” in the following 12 months. But I must have been only just above four foot tall when I started playing football and I could easily be brushed aside by my brothers and their friends, who were nearly a foot taller than me. So it was only natural for me to try to outsmart the boys who were physically stronger than I was, and try to play clever in order to compete with the much bigger lads. This way of thinking was always with me from the very earliest stage of my development as a footballer.
I was always good with the ball, too, whether it was kicking or controlling it. Yes, the youngest son of the Yoshida family has always had what it takes to be a ‘player’, although he was destined to be a defender. Thankfully, my brothers didn’t really come charging at me, their little brother, at full tilt when I was on the ball. That allowed me a bit of freedom on the playground to express myself, trying to beat an opponent who was bigger than me by being clever or technical, and the fact I could show off my skills made me fall in love with football even more. Maybe that’s why if I have to name one boyhood hero of mine, it would be Dragan Stojković, also known by his nickname ‘Piksi’, who delighted the J.League crowds while I was growing up with his incredible skills in an attacking midfield role at Nagoya Grampus Eight.
Later in my development, when I started watching games from a defender’s point of view, Rio Ferdinand became one of the players that I most admired. The former Manchester United defender had much more success in his football career than his brother Anton, who is seven years younger than him. Among the former Man United defenders, there were the Neville brothers, too. Again, the achievements of older brother Gary overshadow those of the younger brother Phil, in terms of the number of trophies and medals won. But I, for one, believe that a ‘football career favours the youngest’, if such a proverb exists.
I say this because if you are the youngest brother or sister, you tend to play football with someone older, such as your siblings or their friends. That makes you aware of your particular weakness right from the start, whether it is a smaller physique or slower pace, and as a result you sometimes have to endure pain and frustration. But those experiences will toughen you up both physically and mentally, and also can lead you to compensate for your shortcomings in order to beat or stop your opponent, who is stronger or better in some departments. Therefore the youngest, in the end, has more chance to improve as a footballer and surpass his or her elders, who might have found it easy to get the better of someone younger or smaller, without having to make any extra effort, when they were young. That’s what I think, anyway.
I didn’t know it until I started writing this book, but John Terry, the former Chelsea centre-back, is an example of my belief – the younger of two brothers turned out to be more successful as a footballer. I don’t really know him personally, but from purely a centre-back’s point of view it is not bad, I think, to follow the same pattern as him, a defender whom I looked up to, together with the likes of Ferdinand, throughout my development as a footballer.
Eyes of the youngest
The two older brothers of the Yoshida family weren’t born to pursue a career as a professional footballer. Even though, as their brother, I look at them through rose-tinted glasses, I must say they weren’t good enough. My older brother had stopped playing by the time he was 16. The oldest one carried on playing in his high-school years (age 16 to 18) but only as a back-up goalkeeper.
If there was one thing that made me feel, ‘I’m no different to my brothers,’ it was my name, Maya. Even though I was the only one among the football-loving Yoshida brothers to go on to become a professional, I could not avoid the fate of being given a female-sounding name. My oldest brother is named Honami, while the older one is called Mirei. Both names sound feminine to Japanese ears. My dad was desperate for a daughter, I was told, and that may explain the names our parents chose for us.
It’s not as though I didn’t like my name when I was a kid. It was more a case of being annoyed by people so often ridiculing me, saying, ‘You have a girl’s name!’, and especially by repeatedly having to say, ‘I’m not a girl,’ whenever someone called my name for the first time.
For instance, at the beginning of a school year, when a new teacher checked attendance by calling everyone’s name in the class, when it was my turn the call would come, ‘Yoshida Maya-chan?’ (In Japanese, it’s always the surname first, and ‘chan’ is usually added for a girl to make it sound friendly.) When this happened, which was almost every time, I would answer, ‘Yes, I’m here, but I’m a boy.’ It was the same when I went to a hospital or the dentist’s. A nurse would call out, ‘Yoshida Maya-chan,’ and I would reply, ‘I’m not a girl, but it’s me!’ The only good thing that came out of these experiences was that I managed to develop immunity to being teased by people around me from a very young age.
But today I’m glad that I was called Maya. I really want to thank my parents for giving me that name, as it is one that seems easy not only to remember but also to pronounce for a non-Japanese as well.
Here in the United Kingdom, people tend to give a player a nickname with the letter ‘s’ or ‘y’ or ‘ie’ at the end of it, to make it easier to call out during a game, such as ‘Lamps’, ‘Giggsy’ or ‘Stevie’. But I have always been called by my real name, ‘Maya’, including during my time in the Netherlands before my move to Southampton. (Once in a while, a Saints fan would shout ‘Yoshi!’ to get my attention, and I was probably annoyingly slow to react as I’m not used to being called by that name …)
Anyhow, Maya-chan, with a female-sounding name but with a bigger than average body, was a clever elementary-school kid, I must say. I excelled at sports in general and wasn’t too bad academically as well. I wasn’t the smartest in my class but wasn’t one of those who would get scolded by the teacher for their poor grades either. I was very good at dealing with things at school without trying my hardest. It was only after entering junior high school that I changed my attitude, resolving to do my best in whatever I do. Until then I was able to take it easy in most of the things I did at school.
The fact that Maya-chan managed to avoid becoming conceited is pretty much down to my brothers and their friends. Having them around me was like being surrounded by role models. Through my observation of older people around me, I could pick up some of their good habits, thinking, ‘This must be the way to do it,’ or ‘I shall follow his example.’ I became very good at doing precisely that.
Watching them, I sometimes told myself, ‘I shouldn’t do that,’ or ‘I can’t be like that,’ using them as a bad example. People used to call me a precocious brat when I was a kid, and it was true in a way, as I often coolly observed my brothers and their friends from a step or two away. And that I think became the foundation of my ability to look at things objectively from a neutral perspective.
Even from a young age, while watching people around me rather matter-of-factly, I was always thinking in my head, ‘What would I do?’ ‘How can I be like that?’ ‘What should I do if I don’t want to be like that?’ This particular way of looking at things became more and more important and useful as I continued my development as a footballer, especially after I became a professional player, as it turned out.
When I was struggling to get playing time at Southampton, I often said to journalists in the mixed zone, a designated area at a stadium (often near a team coach pick-up point) for the media to get post-match quotes from players, ‘I understand where I am in the team right now. I just need to keep on working hard, doing what I have to do.’ Looking back now, I think I was able to say that because of this inner strength of mine which developed from an early age as the youngest brother, the strength of mind to face up to reality.
My brothers had shown me so much that ensured this precocious brat of their little brother wouldn’t become a cocky king of the hill. They had also made me try many things that seemed impossible for me to accomplish. Applying for the Nagoya Grampus Eight academy was one of those. At first, it was only to remind me of the danger of becoming a big fish in a small pond.
A small fish in a bigger pond
In my elementary-school days I never felt that I’d be beaten in a game at the local level. In fact, I hardly lost an individual battle on the pitch back in those days. I played in the school team at Sako Elementary School (which later became Nanryo FC), not at Nita Elementary School which I was actually going to, because the latter only allowed pupils in the third year or above to be in the team there. Besides, the two schools were located just a stone’s throw away from each other.
Sako wasn’t a school known for its strong football team so we seldom went into a tournament at the prefecture level, let alone the national level. In addition, I wasn’t especially keen to play in an official school match or tournament, as I had no aspiration to be a professional footballer whatsoever while at elementary school and was just playing for fun at that time. There really was a danger of me becoming living proof that the frog in the well knows nothing of the great ocean, a player who was merely happy to be invincible in a local school football world.
Possibly sensing that danger, my oldest brother, who was living by himself in Fukuoka, a city along the north shore of Kyushu island, sent me an application form for a youth academy trial when I was in my last year at elementary school, thinking I would need a tougher challenge to broaden my horizons.
It just so happened to be the one in Nagoya, a city in the middle of mainland Japan. He’d googled for a youth academy at J.League clubs while looking online for information about a university for which he was going to take an entrance exam, and the only trial calling for applications at that time was the one at the Grampus youth academy.
He never thought I would pass the trial. Everyone around me thought I had no chance, and so did I.
There were 60 or 70 participants on the day of the trial, I think, and four were successful, including myself. Being a boy from a small town in Kyushu, I’d imagined there would be hundreds of kids trialling with a J.League club, so when I saw the actual number that turned up I thought, ‘This is it? Much less than I imagined.’ Maybe that carefree attitude helped me to go through, and this ‘big fish’ from Nagasaki ended up going to the ‘bigger pond’ that was Nagoya.
