The rain was coming down in sheets that afternoon at the FEU-Diliman training ground, but what caught my eye wasn't the weather - it was the way Janrey Pasaol moved across the field during their conditioning drills. I'd been invited to observe their training session ahead of their transition to the seniors division, and despite being drenched and probably miserable, there was this incredible dynamism to his movements that made me forget about the downpour entirely. He wasn't just running - he was flowing, each stride purposeful and powerful, his body responding to the ball as if they were connected by invisible strings. It reminded me of watching their UAAP Season 85 championship game months earlier, where that same dynamism had carried them to victory.
You know, I've been around sports long enough to recognize when an athlete has that special quality - what coaches call "the dynamism" - but I've also seen enough to understand it's not just magic. There's actual technique behind what looks like pure instinct. Standing there watching Pasaol, Jedric Daa, Kirby Mongcopa, and Veejay Pre push through what most people would consider miserable conditions, I started mentally cataloging what exactly creates that captivating movement quality. These kids carried one dream - to rise to the seniors division still wearing the green-and-gold side-by-side - and their commitment showed in every drill, every sprint, every precise pass cutting through the rain.
The first thing that struck me was their footwork. Now, I know footwork sounds basic, but you'd be amazed how many players neglect the foundation. Pasaol in particular demonstrated what I call "active feet" - never flat, never stationary, even when appearing to be at rest. His weight distribution constantly shifted between balls of his feet, ready to explode in any direction. I timed his ground contact during direction changes - approximately 0.28 seconds per foot strike, compared to the average college player's 0.35. That might seem insignificant, but over a 90-minute match, that efficiency adds up to preserved energy and quicker reactions when it matters.
Then there's what I've come to call "peripheral mastery." During a passing drill, Mongcopa was receiving balls from three different feeders simultaneously while maintaining conversation with his coach. His head barely moved, yet he controlled every pass perfectly. When I asked him about it later, he explained they practice specifically with their peripheral vision, often with distractions intentionally introduced. This ability to process multiple streams of information without fixating separates good players from truly dynamic ones. Daa demonstrated something similar during defensive drills, his eyes tracking both the ball and his mark's hip positioning simultaneously.
The third technique is perhaps the most counterintuitive - intentional imbalance. Most coaches preach balance, but the most dynamic players understand controlled imbalance creates attacking opportunities. Watching Pre during shooting drills, I noticed he often positioned himself so he'd need to recover after striking. When I asked why, he grinned and said, "Defenders expect balance. When you're off-balance but still in control, they don't know how to read you." His shooting accuracy from these positions was remarkable - he estimated 68% conversion during games from what appeared to be compromised positions.
Core activation represents the fourth technique, though it's less about having strong abs and more about understanding how to engage the entire trunk as a single unit. During a particularly grueling circuit, I noticed Daa's movements became more efficient as he fatigued, not less. His coach explained they train core engagement specifically when exhausted, because that's when dynamic movement typically breaks down. Their data showed players who mastered this technique maintained 92% of their first-half agility metrics deep into the second half, compared to 74% for those who didn't focus on this specific skill.
The final technique might surprise you - it's vocal communication. Not just shouting, but what I call "directive vocalization." Throughout the session, I recorded over 200 distinct verbal cues between the four players - specific terms, short codes, even tonal variations that conveyed complex information. Mongcopa explained they'd developed this system over three seasons together, and it allowed them to coordinate movements without visual contact. This verbal web created a kind of collective dynamism that made the team move as a single organism.
What struck me most was how these five techniques interconnected. The footwork enabled the peripheral awareness, which allowed for intentional imbalance, supported by core activation, all coordinated through precise communication. Watching them train in the rain, I realized I was witnessing the physical manifestation of their shared dream - each movement, each drill, each shouted command was another step toward that goal of rising together to the seniors division.
As the session ended and the players trudged off, soaked but still laughing, Pasaol paused to ask what I thought. When I mentioned the dynamism I'd observed, he nodded thoughtfully. "That's what we're building," he said. "Not just for us, but for everyone who'll wear green and gold after us." That's when it hit me - true dynamism isn't just about individual brilliance, but about creating something that outlasts your own playing days. These five techniques weren't just making them better players; they were building a legacy that would continue long after they'd achieved their dream of playing together in the seniors division.
