TheMarketForIdeas

Tactical systems in football are a thing at least since the Scots put the ball on the grass and developed the passing game at the expense of the “kick-and-rush”. If kick-and-rush can hardly be called a tactical system (there was / is nothing systemic about it), the passing game gave rise to the WM formation, later tweaked by Hungarian coaches such as Márton Bukovi and Gusztáv Sebes. And even with the WM, a distinction must be made between a playing formation (which it more closely resembled) and a tactical system (which it was not yet). But it became one, at least from the moment of Helenio Herrera’s Catenaccio, followed by Cruijff’s Totaalvoetbal, and more recently, Spanish tiki-taka.

An important distinction must be made: Totaalvoetbal developed from Hungarian football, and tiki-taka is nothing other than a refinement of Totaalvoetbal, transplanted by Cruijff from the Netherlands to Barcelona and then seasoned with Spanish characteristics. So, there is a lineage. Many football historian find the beginnings in the Austrian soccer, the world’s first superpower with the ball of its feet outside of the Home Nations, and then closely intertwined with the neighbouring Magyars.

We may have often wondered what would follow Guardiola’s tiki-taka (though, as mentioned, the seeds were planted by Cruijff and polished by Rijkaard). It might often seem hard to imagine, as tiki-taka gives the impression of a complete game, defined by territorial coverage of the pitch and short passes. From these geographies drawn in the grass, Jürgen Klopp brought a certain German pragmatism with Gegenpressing – but this is more of a situational approach over a given period of time than a complete tactical system: due to its intensity, it is nearly impossible to sustain a Gegenpressing for all 90 minutes, week after week.

But now, somewhere in the meanders of the systemic football world, still in the shadow of tiki-taka, a system is being born that may soon become the new definition of the game: relationism. Successfully tried by Fernando Diniz at Fluminense, with whom he won the Campeonato Carioca 2023, the Recopa Sudamericana 2024, and above all, the club’s first Copa Libertadores title in history in 2024, relationism (or Dinizismo, as it is also named after its inventor) is a tactical philosophy that emphasizes connections between players rather than the occupation of fixed zones on the pitch. A former futsal player – a sport popular in Brazil –, Diniz sought to bring elements from the small-sided game to the full-sized pitch: quick ball control and dribbling instead of passing for constant rotations. For spectators tired of the endless passing sequences in Guardiola’s tactics, this Brazilian flair of Dinizismo, combining elements of joga bonito with futsal, may be a breath of fresh air for football as a game – or as joy – in place of overly precise calculations.

Dinizismo also requires players to frequently cluster on one side of the pitch, creating a high density of players around the ball. This forces the opponent to crowd that area, leaving open spaces elsewhere for quick changes of direction. A risk that very few coaches are prepared to take. But then again, new ideas have to emerge from somewhere. Diniz gives players the freedom to leave their positions, something that tactical “purists” would consider blasphemy. The system relies on the players’ ability to “read” their teammates’ intentions and adapt accordingly, as well as on a “staggered” positioning, much like in rugby, which, in the moment of passing, automatically converts into space. If tiki-taka has its roots in the Totaalvoetbal, the relationsim traces back to the first form of the football game, namely rugby.

Put more simply, relationism as a system is the childhood football played on the cobbled stones or behind the apartment blocks. Many have said that the time for that kind of football is long gone, that today’s success is built on precise tactics. But what if a football team was allowed (something that today would be labelled madness) to simply play as the game develops, bringing players around the ball, not the ball in spaces with/without players? A system without clear rules, but with the joy of chasing the ball, and putting the players in the area where the ball is. Just as kids play it on the street, without any sort of tactical knowledge. Numbers around the ball carrier: again, a concept adopted from rugby, where it helps to advance on the field.

Perhaps for Brazilians, relationism feels natural. After all, that is more or less how they have played all their lives. But beyond the Ocean, the system also began winning followers. The first among them: Henrik Rydström at Malmö FF (Swedish champions in 2023 and 2024); Bologna under Thiago Motta; NEC Nijmegen, who reached the final of the Dutch Cup this year; and Racing Santander under coach José Alberto López, freshly promoted to Primera División.

There is, however, a risk: when six or seven players are gathered on one side of the pitch within a 20-metre strip, any loss of the ball followed by a long pass or a precise diagonal can give rise to a sharp counter-attack. Risky for the team using Dinizismo, but pleasing to the neutral eye. Which brings us back to the pleasure of the game: for the neutral spectator, relationism is a delight, an explosion of purity, a joy of football.

Dinizismo has produced, so far, precisely what was just mentioned: one Copa Libertadores, one Recopa Sudamericana, two Swedish championships, one KNVB Beker final appearance, and (almost certainly) a promotion to Primera División. Not a great deal to establish itself as the dominant system. Whether it will do so remains uncertain. What is certain is that football needs Dinizismo in order to smile a little more. A football language growing from chaos and purity instead of precision and tactics. Yet, as strange as it might sound, there is some organizing behind that chaos. Just that, not as much.