CANCUN, Mexico -- On the surface, the samurai Bushido code of conduct -- "the way of the warrior" -- has very little to do with any soccer team's preseason. Perhaps even less so at an American club, led by an Argentine, amid the opulence of a pristine vacation resort. But when it comes to the San Jose Earthquakes' attempts to turn the page on a disastrous 2018 season, the sense of discipline, honor, sacrifice and selflessness enshrined in the Bushido code has commonalities with what's been drilled into the players so far this preseason.

It is no coincidence.

"I'm a fan of the history of the samurai," incoming Earthquakes coach Matias Almeyda told ESPN FC after training at the resort. "It's very difficult to implement a code like that in life. I try to do it in my life, but I don't always manage it. It is very difficult; I try."

If the Earthquakes players didn't know what to expect from Almeyda, mentions of samurai philosophies have been just one sign that things are different compared with last year.

"The [coaches], I believe, are changing the DNA of the club, and it's something you have to do if you end up last in the league," was the assessment of Georgia international defender Guram Kashia.

As if anyone who followed MLS in 2018 needs reminding, the Quakes were very poor. The team won four games in 34 matches in a league known for its parity, and its 21 total points were the second-lowest tally of any team since the 34-game format began in 2011. As Kashia pointed out, something had to change, and the club wagered on the 45-year-old Almeyda, who made quite the impact in Mexico with Chivas, taking them from a relegation battle in 2015-16 to the 2017 Clausura Liga MX title and the 2018 CONCACAF Champions League.

When players received their preseason schedules from Almeyda's staff, there was already a palpable sense that this would be different. Gone were the 10-day trips to Tucson, Arizona, for one training session a day and perhaps a weights session now and then. Instead, in the isolated Cancun resort Almeyda used for preseasons with Chivas, almost every day is a double session and the players have had just one day off in two weeks: they were able to watch the Super Bowl.

"I glanced [at the beach] once on my way to taking a nap," Shea Salinas joked about the intensity of the team's preparation inside a facility that hugs the picture-perfect turquoise Caribbean Sea, boasting sand so white it looks like it's been photoshopped. It's been a hard-core camp; reading between the lines, the immediate goal is that Almeyda wants the team to fly out of the blocks at the start of the season and make a statement that this Quakes team will not roll over like last year's squad did.

Matias Almeyda has been tasked with turning around the San Jose Earthquakes like he did Chivas and River Plate. San Jose Earthquakes

"The idea is to be the protagonist, the idea is that they rapidly pick up our playing system, that we are a team that marks aggressively, a team that is mobile," said Almeyda, who was voted CONCACAF's Coach of the Year for 2018. "In summary, a team in which everyone runs and everyone plays football."

Training sessions appear designed to sharpen intensity; players have no time to dwell on mistakes but are instead to hunt down the ball as quickly as possible after losing it. Squads of young players from the Cancun area have also been bused in to make sure the San Jose squad isn't able to take things easy.

The hard graft has been well received so far. In some ways, perhaps the Earthquakes' horrid 2018 has helped the players become open to change, giving Almeyda somewhat of a blank canvas on which to impose his ideas.

"Everyone is just open ears, open hearts and open minds. It's special to see," striker Chris Wondolowski said. "Before, everyone had their own agendas and ideas of how they wanted things to go and now I think we have literally 30 guys who are just sponges, willing to soak up whatever it takes."

Wondolowski has been the heartbeat of the Earthquakes team through the highs and the lows of the past decade. Now 36 and entering his 11th consecutive season with the club, the Bay Area native has come to the realization that he's never going to lose his love of playing the game. But he also knows he can't carry on forever, and he'll be sitting down with his wife at the end of the season to discuss whether he "can still hang" beyond this year, with coaching 14- to 18-year-olds a possible post-playing occupation.

Given that his future is in the back of his mind, the "excitement" Wondolowski says has been generated by Almeyda's arrival has been welcomed, as it has been by friend and fellow Earthquakes veteran Salinas, even if the message from Almeyda that every player will have to fight for his spot, regardless of age or pay, means that no one is guaranteed a place.

"If you're not willing to compete for your position, you should probably not play the sport anymore," Salinas said. "I love competing. I'm excited."

The words "culture change" are heard often in camp. Players talk of 60 percent average possession during games, dominating matches home and away, outworking the opposition, making the playoffs, reaching the CONCACAF Champions League and even winning the U.S. Open Cup or MLS Cup as ambitious, but realistic and attainable goals.

"It's just the championship mentality," explained 21-year-old goalkeeper and Bay Area native J.T. Marcinkowski, who worked his way up through the Earthquakes' academy. "Every single day [Almeyda] says, 'Picture yourself being champion, picture yourself on that stage, picture yourself with the trophy.'"

Off the field, the day-to-day changes have been more about marginal gains and creating a positive team spirit. In some areas, Almeyda has stripped things down and gone back to basics. For example, players have to wear matching team shirts at meals and have been strongly encouraged to mix, especially the Spanish and English speakers, at round tables. Earthquakes staff members also often sit alternately with English and Spanish speakers to encourage cohesion.

In terms of team discipline, there aren't fines imposed for misdemeanors, but players still don't want to be caught out.

"You have to be on time, you cannot afford to be one minute late, otherwise you're going to be punished," center back Kashia said. "At the same time, everything is in a fun way. You're not going to pay money, but be punished in a group."

Being late can lead to a player having to trot down the middle of two lines of teammates, who lightly punch the offender from either side. A team that loses a challenge in training can end up on the goal line, facing the net with their butts in the air, while the rest of the players each take a shot at them.

"It's kind of embarrassing, but at the same time really funny," Kashia added. "It creates a really good vibe in the team."

When Almeyda talks to the group, which he regularly does after training, he crouches down and meets the players at eye level. Before training, he can often be seen putting out cones. There's no doubt he is the boss, but the message he's sending is that he's working as hard as anybody.

In terms of building team cohesion, being locked together without families and partners and with an almost military-like schedule leaves no option but to interact. In camp in Cancun, the days went like this: players woke up at 6:00 a.m., had a light snack, rode bikes the one mile past the golf course to the training pitches, trained at 7:30 a.m., returned to the hotel, showered, changed, ate breakfast, napped, had lunch, rode back over to the pitches for 5:00 p.m. training, sped back two hours later to escape the mosquitos that came out at dusk, showered, ate dinner and went to sleep to do it all again the next day.