Chris Rattue: Let's not sideline our future Rufers

It was one of those gorgeous winter days, a chill in the air and a hazy sun.

Gumboots, collar up, sleeves pulled down, coffee cup in fingers and steam rising everywhere.

And a park full of kids, playing soccer.

And there he was, the kid that caught your eye. You actually wanted him to get the ball, to show off that dazzling skill. And he actually wanted to get the ball, unlike some of the kids around him who - between impersonating their stiff-cold parents on the sideline - looked as though they would have trouble landing a blow on a barn door, with the ball or their foot.

A few weeks later, there he was, at it again. Running rings around the rest, finding space, pleading for the ball if only by waving his hand, and being aided by a couple of teammates who had football sense if not his skill.

How old was our little star? Nine.

And what was he doing in this company? A question which is a lot harder to answer.

A sport like soccer needs to not only cater for players of all levels of skill and enthusiasm, but to also cater for their differences. It's in soccer's interests. The kids who couldn't keep up with Wee Billy were hardly enjoying it, or even involved to be honest.

Later still, I was talking to Wee Billy's mother, gently suggesting that he should get decent coaching and be playing among others of similar ability, that by world standards nine is starting to get on a bit when it comes to developing a young talent.

She knew her son had footballing gifts and had tried to get him put up a grade, but she then relayed a tangled story about having to wait another year.

This is not to claim that I have uncovered the next George Best, or have any particular talent for future-star spotting.

But in this case, the talent was so obvious. Some kids are just naturals with the ball at their feet, almost born with the touch.

So where were the scouts, the passionate football men and women, guiding Wee Billy to a place which could make him very good, if not great?

You could bet your bottom dollar that a kid like this would have at least been noticed in England or Holland. By our standards, Wee Billy was a stand-out but you wouldn't be surprised, either, if by 14 or 15 he'd given the game away. Plenty have before him.

Yes, I know there are people doing great work in their love of soccer. I'll declare personal affiliations to Central in Auckland, but clearly that club sets the benchmark and has the trophies to prove it. But how many other clubs are also doing the business out there? And even in the NZFC, champions Auckland City's leading strikers are South African.

Soccer has tremendous numbers in this country, numbers which are sometimes paraded as evidence that those at the top are doing their job.

I beg to differ. Soccer is played by a vast majority of kids by default, a reasonably safe sport that is reasonably easy to understand.

Most of those younger kids are there not because they want to be the next Wynton Rufer, but because their parents don't want them to become the next Ben Darwin - the Wallaby prop whose career was ended in a scrum at the 2003 World Cup.

Many of those parents-cum-coaches, floating sports voters who would just as happily be washing their car or fishing the Waitemata on a Saturday morning, are isolated from the soccer heartland. The talented kids need to be searched out, encouraged, coached.

While taking part in an over-30s training in Auckland a few years ago, I watched in horror as the man labelled as the coach of a tiny soccer team berated his charges to the point that you wondered why any of those kids would ever turn up again. Where was the love of the game?

This coach may have thought he was Alex Ferguson, but the group of parents passively watching were unlikely to have ever heard of the man. They had no background which gave them the confidence to intervene, to rescue or develop their children's love of football.

If there was a potential Wynton Rufer in that group, it would hardly be surprising if he was surfing the waves at Piha these days.

I thought of all of this as the All Whites kept a commendable calm in restricting Brazil to a 4-0 win in Geneva this week.

Let's get this clear. This is not about knocking the All Whites. The best teams in the world take their life in their hands when they run out against the Brazilians. And a small batch of New Zealand players, led by Ryan Nelsen who was sadly absent through injury in Geneva, have done marvellously well in forging careers around the world.

By the same token, it is very difficult to judge just how motivated the Brazilians were to pile on the goals.

There have been mildly encouraging signs for the All Whites this year, not the least of which is that they actually are getting to play. New Zealand Soccer must be commended for its drive and initiative there, because it is no easy task.

But to judge the state of New Zealand soccer by the 4-0 scoreline or parade it as a triumph is a mistake.

The All Whites were flogged, torn apart. Brazil, by their coach Carlos Alberto Parreira's count, had more than 20 shots on goal, and on another day a good few more of them would have flown in.

Brazil are not a normal football team by style or preparation. Their players are the cream from a football blessed and obsessed nation.

Had they been required to win that game 10-0, they could have.

The All Whites of 1982, in the heat of the World Cup, finished with the same result against a better Brazilian side (and even then, you felt that the Kings of Football did not go out of their way to embarrass the New Zealanders).

This is not to denigrate the All Whites' performance in Geneva. But still, I couldn't see it as a triumph.

To my eye, only Leo Bertos attempted anything that you could call a flash of skill against the Brazilians, and for that he was my All White man of the match.

It failed, but he tried, gave us the hope of a thrill, and inspiration for the kids. For his trouble, he got an encouraging pat from a Brazilian defender - it is the joy of performing magic with the ball that inspires the Brazilians, as it should do in this country. Remember that a young Rufer once bedazzled hardened English club men with his training ground trickery.

Soccer aficionados in this country may shoot me down, say they are doing the necessary scouting and coaching of Kiwi players, that such judgments are harsh when Brazil is involved.

All I can say to that is that I don't see the evidence of a skill-orientated approach by New Zealand in the national side or the Knights or the A-League. We aren't exactly producing Harry Kewells.

The All Whites looked like journeymen professionals conducting a holding operation, and that means their travels will only go so far. It would be hard to see that side beating a top South American outfit, which is probably what is needed to make the World Cup finals.

And in that cause, let's hope there are enough passionate football people in this country who know what they are doing, giving the Wee Billies enough pats on the head as well as inspirational and expert guidance along the way.