Daizen Maeda: Celtic Samurai

Last night, on the third podcast, we discussed the success stories of the final. There were a handful in our team which is a bit of an indictment on our performance. Whilst we all agreed we deserved to win, it was difficult to come up with more than a handful of players who excelled on the day.

Obviously, one of them was Daizen Maeda.

Because Danger Mouse had an amazing game.

And I direct that particularly towards the people who thought he didn’t actually do very much—I actually read that comment online and laughed. Loudly. I also read Keith Jackson’s contention that, for once, Tavernier matched him over the course of the game, and I thought, “What? Other than that Daizen scored a goal, terrorised them at every turn, and netted the winning penalty? He matched him other than all that?”

I can’t give this guy high enough praise; I really can’t.

I’ve written articles before about how underappreciated he is and about how much of a superfan I am. But his contribution on the day took him to the next level. His goal was exceptional—his alertness, his first touch, the finish itself—all absolutely exquisite. And we could bang on all day about his pace, his work rate, and his habit of leaving opposition players exhausted trying to keep up.

One of the things I enjoy is reading about history, and I’ve always been fascinated by stories of the samurai and their role in Japan’s political and military wars. What many don’t understand about the samurai is that they weren’t just soldiers; they followed a specific code and tried to adhere to it in every area of their lives.

The code is called Bushido—the way of the warrior.

One historian described it as a code of “honour, duty, obedience, and self-sacrifice.”

A samurai one codified it in writing when he said: “The essence of Bushido is: do not lie, do not be insincere, do not be obsequious, do not be superficial, do not be greedy, do not be rude, do not be boastful, do not be arrogant, do not slander, do not be unfaithful, be on good terms with comrades, do not be overly concerned with events, show concern for one another, be compassionate, with a strong sense of duty. Being a good samurai takes more than merely a willingness to lay down one’s life.”

I thought about that when I heard Maeda’s post-match interview. When he was asked about his goal and what it meant, he answered with such humility, decency, and sincerity that I immediately thought, “Samurai.”

When he described how scoring against the Ibrox club doesn’t mean any more to him than scoring against any another side, you could interpret that as being casually dismissive. But then he expanded upon his answer, saying he cares because of what it means to us.

I was struck by that. He’s very team-oriented, very selfless, and ultimately, it’s all about doing it on the pitch for others.

I’ve heard him express similar sentiments about playing for the Japanese national team. He shows no ego, never stamps his feet, never acts out. He’s simply patient, waits his turn, takes his chances when they come along, and is content with that.

Every interview I’ve ever seen him give is the same. This is a humble guy. He’s not flashy or fancy. He doesn’t have a big head, and he’s not out for himself. That description of Bushido I quoted earlier? That’s him to a tee. It describes his character perfectly.

It describes the way he plays, his attitude toward the game, his teammates, and the respect he shows for his opponents. All of it.

And I just love the guy. Not just as a footballer, but for how he carries himself, how he behaves, and how he talks. The respect he has for the club, for the fans, for the manager, for his teammates—it’s phenomenal.

There’s little doubt he understands the concept the samurai call “being born in the house of the warrior” because he encapsulates the warrior spirit in everything he does on the pitch. From how hard he works, to how brave he is, to how aggressive he can be during games. He’ll fight for his teammates and for the club itself.

And he has something else too—something rarely remarked upon.

Eric mentioned it on the podcast last night, and I was glad when he did because it had struck me too when he stepped up to take that penalty kick.

A couple of people beside me in the pub had their heads in their hands, despairing at the idea of trusting the glory to a guy they still don’t fully rate, for reasons best known to themselves. But I couldn’t think of a better person to take that kick.

Under pressure, I’ve seen this guy be absolutely ice-cold.

Watch the part of the interview where he says he thinks he miskicked the ball. There’s a bit of self-deprecation in there, but you wouldn’t have known it from his face. Not in the run-up to the kick, and not in the aftermath. He picked his spot, hit his target, and that’s all he wanted to do. Miskick or not, in that pressure moment, he wasn’t going to miss. He didn’t just blast the ball and hope for the best; he hit the mark.

Now look at his composure for the goal. It’s phenomenal. Think how detached you have to be from all the madness of that moment—the insanity of the pitch, the noise of the stands—to switch it all off, bring the ball down, get it under control, run those last few yards, watch as the goalkeeper comes out, and clip it past him. It’s as if he’s living a moment he’s played in his head a million times.

And I’m sure he has. It’s what he can do in the moment where it becomes a reality that marks a player as special. He delivered.

I’d want this guy in a foxhole with me. I’d want him beside me in combat. Calmness personified. Someone you know would take a bullet for the team.

Every team needs warriors, and this one has plenty: Carter-Vickers, McGregor, AJ. And Daizen is right up there with them, but with a little extra something.

Daizen Maeda is samurai.

Last night we put up our third podcast, Joyful & Triumphant. Please share it on social media friends.