I was 30 when I began to learn to drive, for my 30th birthday my mother and my girlfriend clubbed together and bought me driving lessons. Perhaps they had grown fed up of ferrying me around all the time. I rode a scooter at the time so I could hardly reciprocate their taxi service.
After months of lessons, I passed my driving test on the first attempt (Thanks, Steve at El Passo Driving School) so now I was ready for the open road. Or was I?
Those that know me well can vouch that confidence has never really been one of my strong suits. I was hesitant about driving, but after a while I felt comfortable enough behind the wheel.
Except when it came to Motorways.
Those gigantic, traffic heavy monsters snaking through the countryside filled me with a dread reserved for titular creatures from horror films. Thankfully for me, my work could be driven to via country lanes. Or if the worst came to the worst, one junction of the M6.
It was the sheer volume and proximity of other cars that scared me, having so many vehicles surrounding me made me feel as uneasy and inexperienced as a youth in a nightclub for the first time. I couldn’t even take refuge in the inside lane as that’s where all the articulated lorries lived. I began to think I’d never get over the anxiety of motorway driving.
I started to read probably the finest football book I’ve read. Brilliant Orange. The Neurotic Genius of Dutch Football by David Winner. The book starts out recanting the history of Amsterdam and how the lack of landmass led to the inhabitants becoming creative with the limited space they had. How this spatial awareness was ingrained within the people and how Rinus Michels used the concept of Total Football to craft his Ajax, Barcelona, and later, the Dutch National teams.
One of the ideas of Total Football was to make the pitch bigger than it was by being creative with limited space, much like the early Amsterdam inhabitants. This was achieved down to the fluidity of players. Unlike formations of the day, the teams of Rinus Michels swapped positions constantly. They were able to carve open opposition formations with ease by utilizing the limited space each player had by using runs and feints to open lanes, or to create space. The foundation of these teams was the legendary, and sadly recently departed, Johan Cruyff
It was learning about the spatial awareness and creating space that made me think instantly of motorways. Instead of a steel sardine hell, I began to look at a busy motorway as if it were a packed midfield; the only difference was the cars were all on the same team. In order to get forward, we had to aware of our own space and look at ways to create space for each other.
I began to try and think like Cruyff. If I was in the middle lane and saw a car inside me that was approaching a slow moving lorry, I’d know that they were going to pass so I had to make space for them. Can I make a run down the outside lane to free up my space for them? If not, could I break as if I was going to take it around an opposing player but feint? Would they have to wait for me to make a run before they could pass their lorry?
It made motorway driving relaxing, spatial awareness was the key. Nissans became Neeskins, Renaults became Rensenbrink, Haulage became Hulshoff. And I was the number 14, Cruyff.
Now, whenever I’m overtaking in the outside lane and I see a can behind me going faster than I am, it’s a winger or a right back making a run, I’m going to cut inside to create the space for them. Sometimes I’m the holding midfielder as people push forward on the counter attack. Sometimes I tuck in between two big defenders in the inside lane. Motorway driving is fun and safe. I no longer feel the anxiety that I first did. I try and think like Johan Cruyff.
There have been countless tributes paid to Cruyff, and rightly so. Well, this is mine. Johan Cruyff helped to teach me how to drive on the motorway.
Dank u, Mijnheer Cruijff
Tales From The Cynical Side 