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Ben Woodfinden: Canada finally has a reason for optimism about men’s soccer

Commentary

When you think about soccer in Canada, especially soccer excellence and success, chances are it’s Canadian women’s and not men’s soccer that comes to mind.

The women’s team has finished as high as fourth at the World Cup, is consistently among the most competitive teams in the world, and has produced superstars and household names like Christine Sinclair.

Canadian men’s soccer is a different story. Canada has qualified just once for the World Cup, in Mexico in 1986. The team picked up no points and failed to score a goal at the tournament. Canada has won the Gold Cup, the North American (CONCACAF) equivalent of the Euros twice, in 1985 and 2000. But few would say Canadian men’s soccer punches at or above its weight.

Canada has produced plenty of solid players over the years, like goalkeeper Craig Forrest, midfielders Julian de Guzman and Atiba Hutchinson, and the all-time men’s leading goalscorer Dwayne De Rosario, but since the generation of players that got Canada to the World Cup success has been fleeting and rare.

The team was a penalty shootout away from qualifying for the 1994 World Cup, but since 1997 Canada’s efforts to qualify for the World Cup have gotten increasingly embarrassing. In the 2014 qualification cycle the team was making good progress, and to advance to the final round of CONCACAF qualifying all they needed was a win or a draw in Honduras.

Instead, they were thrashed 8-1 in perhaps the most humiliating defeat ever for the men’s team and one that represented a real low point.

Canada’s underwhelming performance internationally for the last few decades is a product of much deeper structural problems, ones that are finally changing. In a previous column for The Hub I wrote about how Canada is sparsely populated nation with most of the population spread out across a transcontinental strip. This poses challenges for national unity in abstract ways but also in real tangible ways when it comes to things like having national sports leagues, as fans of the CFL will know. Canadian soccer is no exception.

The Canadian Soccer League was, until very recently, the last national professional soccer league in Canada, and it folded in 1992. The league, now largely forgotten, struggled in its brief existence and never really established itself either financially or in the sporting landscape. Having no national professional soccer league in Canada until 2019 has put Canadian players at a huge disadvantage for decades, one that has become apparent in the dearth of talent Canada has produced.

Why would this matter? Well until recently the reality for serious Canadian soccer players was that if they wanted to go pro they would almost certainly have to go elsewhere to do so. While soccer teams will bring in talented players from all over the place, the vast majority of teams are still built around a core of domestic players.

French teams will have lots of french players, German teams lots of German players, Italian, English, Spanish the same and so on. What this does for virtually every other country is mean they have a series of professional teams that can help nurture and grow talent.

Until 2019 Canada was an outlier in this regard. It had no domestic league that could act as a home league to develop and offer chances to Canadian players. Canadian soccer players found themselves almost as exiles, unable to hone their craft at home, and force to travel abroad to go try and go pro. In addition to limiting opportunities for Canadian players, one of the unfortunate effects of this is that talented Canadian players who did end up going abroad to pursue a professional career often end up defecting and playing internationally for another country.

Some recent examples of this include England international and former Bayern Munich and Manchester United midfielder Owen Hargreaves, Bosnian international goalkeeper Asmir Begovic, and Jonathan de Guzman, the brother of the aforementioned Julian de Guzman who opted to play internationally for the Netherlands instead. The choices players make in who they represent internationally are complicated, but forcing Canadian players abroad has undoubtedly influenced the exodus of talent that Canada has seen over the years.

Canadian men’s soccer hasn’t been in the doldrums in recent decades simply because no one in Canada plays, watches, or cares about soccer. It’s a popular recreational and youth sport, and viewing numbers of the best leagues around the world like the English Premier League are strong. Instead, these structural disadvantages have seen Canada fall behind in men’s soccer. For decades Canada was a spectator to the world’s biggest game, and its best players forced to play in exile. But this is changing.

That Alphonso Davies is now helping guide Canada potentially to the World Cup in 2022 is a sign of real progress.

After the collapse of the CSL a few surviving teams like the Vancouver Whitecaps and Montreal Impact joined lower tier American leagues and survived. But in 2007 Toronto FC became the first Canadian team to join Major League Soccer (MLS) and ensured there was at least one professional Canadian team playing in a top tier league. Since forming in the 1990s MLS has improved substantially, and Canadian teams along with it. The Vancouver Whitecaps and Montreal Impact (now CF Montreal) joined in 2011 and 2012 respectively.

The Canadian trio of MLS clubs have had mixed success on the field, but each has built large and loyal followings and the teams are firmly established in their respective sports markets. Toronto FC struggled in their early years, but have found their footing and won the MLS Cup (playoff) and Supporters Shield (regular season) in 2017. The team was arguably one of the best ever fielded in MLS, with some genuinely elite talent like the American national team captain Michael Bradley and Italian international Sebastian Giovinco.

While the Canadian MLS teams are a minority in a predominantly American league, these three teams are an important part of Canadian soccer’s revival both for domestic and international purposes. First off, it gives us professional teams to build soccer culture and interest around and brings soccer home in a tangible way. But it also gives Canadian players natural homes that matter for the nurturing of talent.

The structural disadvantage Canadian players have faced are well illustrated by MLS rules on domestic players that were changed in 2017. There are a limited number of spots on MLS rosters for international players. Prior to 2017 American players on Canadian teams counted as domestic players, but Canadian players on American teams were considered international players. This meant that Canadians were competing for limited international spots on American teams while American players were considered domestic for Canadian MLS teams. This has been changed now, but these kinds of structural issues put Canadian players at an enormous disadvantage in all sorts of leagues and countries.

MLS success has helped lead to what is really needed however, which is the development of more all-Canadian competition.

This growth has helped produce, for the first time in decades, a new national professional Canadian Premier League that started in 2019. The league has had the ill fortune of dealing with a global pandemic in just its second and third season, but the third season begins this weekend and the league looks to be on firm footing financially.

No one is under any illusions that this league will all of a sudden be among the world’s best, but it has teams across the country and plans for expansion, and long term provides exactly the kind of national league needed to provide homes for emerging and end of career Canadian talent, as well as helping to cultivate what you might call a national soccer consciousness that deepens soccer’s roots in Canada.

All of this points to foundations that will ensure Canadian men’s soccer is set for success long term, but the most encouraging of all the encouraging signs that soccer here is ecaping the doldrums is the recent performance of the national team and the emergence of some bonafide global superstars in Alphonso Davies and Jonathan David.

Davies, who is becoming a household name, was born in a refugee camp in Liberia and eventually ended up in Edmonton. He joined the Whitecaps youth program in 2015, and after flashing his unbelievable potential as a teenager in Vancouver was signed by Bayern Munich where he has established himself as one of the world’s most exciting young players.

Davies is exactly the sort of talent who, a decade ago, may have ended up having to leave Canada before going pro to continue his career and ended up choosing to represent another country internationally. That Davies is now helping guide Canada potentially to the World Cup in 2022 is a sign of real progress. Jonathan David, a striker from Ottawa is another emerging superstar who became the most expensive ever Canadian player when he signed for Lille and helped blast Lille to an unexpected Ligue 1 championship in France. Davies and David are just 20 and 21 respectively.

Davies and David, along with a young squad growing together under the leadership of the former women’s team coach John Herdman have begun to show their potential in World Cup qualifying. Canada has reached the final stage of CONCACAF qualifying for the first time in decades, and Canada has a genuine shot at being at the World Cup in Qatar next year. Even if they don’t make it, the long term foundations are set both domestically and internationally.

Soccer is never going to be the dominant sport in Canada, but for too long Canadian soccer has been embarrassing and made us spectators to the world’s most popular sport. But Canadian sports and soccer fans have reason for genuine optimism that we are about to escape the doldrums, and it may just be that Canadian men’s soccer is finally coming of age.

Sports play a role in helping shape national consciousness and pride and finally all Canadians should be genuinely excited by the prospect that a country that considers itself as globally oriented and pluralisitc as Canada may finally be able to enter the stage as a player and not just spectator to the beautiful game.

Sean Speer: The decades long resistance to mRNA vaccines shows the need for reform

Commentary

One of the most extraordinary stories of the pandemic is that of Katalin Karikó, a Hungarian-born, American-based scientist whose decades-long research on the therapeutic possibilities of mRNA led to the COVID-19 vaccine and ultimately saved the world.

What makes it so extraordinary is it only happened because of Karikó’s own single-minded determination and dogged persistence. Notwithstanding recent historical revisionism on the part of different academic institutions and funding agencies to assume some credit for the miraculous progress on mRNA vaccines, the truth is actually closer to the opposite.

Karikó’s enormous personal contribution deserves the recent mix of admiration and accolades – including a future Nobel Prize – precisely because she overcame various institutional obstacles to produce such a major breakthrough. Her greatest accomplishment is both simple yet profound: she resisted the academic blob that upholds the peer-review process as the so-called “gold standard” and instead chose to stay steadfast in her vision of something different and better.

Her experience reflects a broader indictment of the conformity and clubbyness of modern academia and the failings of peer review as a barrier to progress. It therein provides a crucial lesson as we think about how to reform post-secondary institutions, design better research funding programs, and ultimately create the conditions for greater progress in science and other fields of discovery.

As others have documented, Karikó faced ongoing discouragement and outright resistance from the scientific establishment for more than two decades. Her funding proposals were consistently rejected, she was professionally demoted, and her ideas were, by and large, ostracized by the most powerful figures in the world of academic research and scholarship. She was the quintessential outsider in an world marked by insiderism.

Karikó’s main transgressions were two-fold: first, her worked deviated from the pre-existing body of knowledge; and second, she wasn’t, by all accounts, “adept at the competitive game of science.” In today’s world of highly-specialized academic gatekeepers, these are disqualifying traits. Our current system of peer review for research funding and scholarly publishing preferences a combination of insularity and incrementalism over broad-mindedness and breakthroughs.

It’s hard to overstate how devastating these setbacks must have been for Karikó as an aspiring scholar. They would have led to a forked road for most in the same position: disappear into academic obscurity or succumb to the peer pressure to conform to conventional research methods and priorities.

But she courageously chose a third option. She accepted the professional indignity and financial consequences of a demotion in order to continue pursuing her research in mRNA. As a former colleague recently wrote: “Karikó lived that nightmare, but stuck to her passions. She was too committed to the promise of mRNA to switch to other, perhaps more easily fundable projects.”

As we now know, this proved to be an inspired choice. Her ongoing work on mRNA – the genetic script that carries DNA instructions to each cell’s protein-making machinery – eventually produced a significant breakthrough. It has since formed the basis of the Moderna and Pfizer vaccines and now holds out the potential to revolutionize the treatment of cancer and various infectious diseases.

Karikó’s period in the scientific wilderness is a fundamental failure of the modern peer review system – it reflects what one writer describes as the “sociology of science.” Her experience is a sign that we’ve granted too much power and influence to peer reviewers.

Her ideas were ostracized by the most powerful figures in the world of academic research and scholarship.

Peer review is supposed to be a quality control mechanism. Its goal is to ensure that research and scholarship meet high standards in terms of evidence and rigour by subjecting it to scrutiny by experts in the same field. These reviewers carry significant sway: their recommendations ultimately determine whether a manuscript or grant proposal is accepted, rejected, or improved before publication or approval.

The process is generally well intended and broadly supported among scholars. A 2008 survey of academics, for instance, found that about two thirds were satisfied with the peer review system and 85 percent believed that “scientific communications is greatly helped by peer review.”

But Karikó’s case reveals a major flaw in the system: the process which is supposed to protect against flawed scholarship has come to narrow the horizons of scientific inquiry and reduce the scope of scholarly debate. These inadvertent consequences are arguably worse than the problems that peer review is trying to solve. While we may have less bad scholarship on the margins, it has come at the greater cost of the growing conformity of ideas and a slowdown of progress.

A major source of this problem is the growing hyper-specialization in most academic fields. The world of research and scholarship is increasingly marked by an intra-conversation among a small number of experts within narrow sub-fields. These highly-specialized scholars not only often know one another, but they frequently have direct relationships as co-authors, research collaborators, and PhD supervisors.

In such a narrowly specialized world, peer reviewers are necessarily selected from these small groups of experts. Even with “blind reviews” and the involvement of multiple reviewers, it’s hard to overcome the inherent challenge of insularity. Most research fields are so small that it’s often apparent to reviewers who the author or grant applicant is based on citations, subject, or writing style.

This can lead to an inherent bias in favour of the research priorities, methods, and ideas of the dominant experts in the field. It’s not necessarily the case that reviewers are doing this on purpose. The argument here isn’t that peer review is a backscratching exercise in which scholars in narrow sub-fields favour one another in order to deliberately control the flow of research funding or the articles published in prestigious journals. But that’s essentially the unintentional effect.

It produces a gatekeeper dynamic that tends to preference incrementalism over breakthroughs and which in turn sends a powerful signal to aspiring scholars: don’t diverge too far from the dominant methods and priorities or risk being marginalized by one’s peers.

Karikó’s experience should lead to reforms on how we judge and support academic research. We ought to reduce the scope of peer review (or at least make it less definitive in determining funding or publication decisions), target research funding to younger, less established scholars, and create new funding institutions dedicated to supporting genuine research breakthroughs. These types of institutional and policy changes can help us to pushback against intellectual conformity and renew our collective commitment to progress.

The ultimate measure of success should be that future Karikós don’t fall through the cracks. The opportunity costs in the form of forgone breakthroughs like the mRNA vaccines are far too great for our societies. If her extraordinary experience teaches us this lesson, it will be another thing for which we owe her our debt.