The off-duty dress code of the modern soccer star is "Visitor From the Groovy Near Future."

Toronto FC's Michael Bradley (half-leather, half-cloth long-sleeve T) and Benoît Cheyrou (heavy cardigan with brass buttons and epaulettes) show up for a recent interview looking like they're about to announce the band is getting back together.

Cheyrou, 33, is new to Major League Soccer but a long-standing commodity in European football. He's won trophies in France. He's a veteran of the Champions League. He's an old campaigner.

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Bradley is six years younger. He's rarely featured on a top European side. His reputation is based almost entirely on his international career. He has quality, but no professional luck.

They look trend-oriented, but both are old-school toughs. Reputations must be earned, and all that. Yet it's Bradley who commands the room.

He doesn't answer a question without long thought. He speaks in a whisper. He locks eyes – an almost non-existent habit for a pro. He is the closest talker I've ever known. Though not a tall man, he's capable of getting right on top of you.

I've felt the presence of many intimidating sporting alphas. Bradley has half their size, and twice their charisma.

He's the captain now. He hasn't yet been on the job for a single game, but the title fits him better than any man in this town since Mats Sundin.

I ask Bradley to name a few of his mentors in the role.

He dances around the question for a bit. Who to insult by leaving them off?

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"You'll laugh," he says after a while. "My dad's a coach [former USA manager Bob Bradley]. Growing up, we'd talk soccer every day. But it wasn't always soccer. He'd find examples from other sports to make his point.

"One of the leaders that he'd always talk about was Mark Messier – in terms of his ability to put his arms around everybody and take them where they needed to go."

I turn to Cheyrou, who's been watching Bradley talk with eerie intensity. The Frenchman's come accompanied by a translator, but doesn't need him. Still, he's brand new.

"You know Mark Messier?" I say, stupidly.

"Mark Messier. Canadian hockey shooter," Cheyrou says.

"You know him?!"

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A shrug: "Of course."

Last year, Toronto FC went out and spent a lot of money – as it turned out, foolishly. The appetizer was Brazilian Gilberto, who's become an unperson. Jermain Defoe was the main course. Bradley wasn't dessert. He was the boxed cake they hand you on the way out of the restaurant. He was a happy surprise.

Toronto ended up with Bradley because they were the only team that could afford him, and because it was their turn.

He was hurt most of the year, and still won't talk about it. Mostly, he was frustrated. The team was a mess – Defoe checking out early, a Cold War between the coach and general manager, everyone having given up by the end.

"We were too young and naïve. There were too many little kids," Bradley says. "I felt very strongly after last season that we needed more men. More competitors. More fighters. More winners. Last year, we had a good group, we got along. There were no problems, but we were lacking in those areas."

It's clear from the way he says it that Bradley puts a low emphasis on the idea of "getting along."

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He went off in the summer to feature in America's frantic run at the World Cup in Brazil. It's a team full of straight-from-central-casting cult heroes. Bradley plays the role of midfield leg-breaker. He's the hardest man on what might be top-flight international football's hardest team.

"We are proud people, and to have the opportunity to represent your country at the World Cup, to hear The Star-Spangled Banner, you understand in those moments how many kids would kill to be in that position. How lucky, how honoured, how proud that makes you."

We often think of Americans as jingoistic, but none of them talks like this any more unless they're being ironic or campaigning for public office. We've all had the earnestness wrung out of us, and not to our credit. Bradley is never ironic and doesn't need to campaign.

When he returned to thinking about his day job, he was given what amounts to veto power. The team had specific holes to fill, including his central midfield partner. Manager Greg Vanney mentioned that Cheyrou might be available and interested.

The team has access to a proprietary video database of European games. Bradley was given a URL and a password. He disappeared for a while: "I spent days on this thing. There are games going back seven, eight, 10 years."

He watched entire matches, focused just on Cheyrou. What did he see?

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"His football brain, his left foot, his ability to attack and defend. We're different players, but we have similar qualities."

By "similar qualities," Bradley means that controlled viciousness that typifies great holding midfielders. Toronto FC has had a few decent players in the middle, not a one of whom had a true search-and-destroy mentality. Now it has two of them.

After doing his diligence, Bradley gave management his blessing. Within a week, Cheyrou was signed.

As Bradley's explaining all this, Cheyrou is lasered in on him. It's been a long day of interviews ahead of the opening of camp. If Cheyrou's bored, he doesn't look it.

You get why Bradley's here – he's home (sort of), and he's earning at least three times what he could make in Europe.

Cheyrou had to leave. He's making only $250,000 (U.S.). He can't really know what he's getting into. The only convincing he received from Toronto FC's coaching staff was a phone call. He seems supremely unconcerned.

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"Why I came here?" Cheyrou says. "[TFC GM] Tim Bezbatchenko, [MLSE CEO] Tim Leiweke, Greg Vanney and Michael Bradley. They are not clowns …"

He says the word in the French way – "clunes." He turns to his translator, who suggests an improvement.

"Yes, clowns. They are not clowns. They know MLS, and if they are here, I think I can trust them for the choice."

More than anything, this seems to be about Bradley, whom Cheyrou knows only by reputation.

"I know Michael on the pitch, and I am a very [once again looking at his translator] proud? Proud to listen to what he's just said about me."

It's the kind of thing you say. But Benoît Cheyrou – veteran of league cups and title races and the very highest calibre of European competition – really means it. Like, really. He's looking at Bradley as if he's the emotionless dad who just agreed to a hug.

You can't define leadership, but – like art and pornography – you know it when you see it. This is it.

There are still things Cheyrou can teach the man in charge. He's surely the more cunning player. He's also the more Gallic.

Since he took so much trouble to vet him, did Bradley contact Cheyrou through the negotiation process?

"No."

No?

"No, not at all."

Cheyrou interrupts: "We speak on the pitch, with the ball."

Bradley smiles delightedly: "That's exactly right. That's the only thing that counts."