Jun Marques Davidson is the Vancouver Whitecaps' holding midfielder, a position that can go unnoticed by those seeking pure entertainment but one that is revered by soccerphiles. We are sitting at a coffee shop at Cambie and Broadway. I'd wanted to go for sushi with the Japanese-American Davidson, how original, but he'd already had a team lunch. We are talking sushi anyway. Specifically, the documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi, the story of an 85-year-old sushi master who's spent almost his entire life dedicated to his craft in a tiny, 10-seat, three-star Michelin restaurant located next to a Tokyo subway station. The film got me thinking about Davidson, not just because I'm curious about the Japanese mentality, but because Davidson is a holding midfielder. They stay basically in one place for the whole game, season, career per-haps. And there's something rhythmic and methodical about watching them play, like watching Jiro make sushi. It's a lot of little touches and timely tackles, over and over and over. It strikes me that it's about trying to perfect the small things as much as anything. And it's probably the last position a player would end up if they were motivated by fame. It's the 10-seat Tokyo subway restaurant of soccer positions. I ask Davidson about the word "shokunin," which comes up often in the film, used to describe Jiro, but is never explained in English. It means "craftsman," an expert in their field, Davidson explained while sipping a Tazo iced passion tea lemonade. He loves tea, in any form. I fact, when he's done playing, he might open a tea shop. "Can an athlete be a shokunin?" I asked. "You do use it in sports, too," he said. "Ichiro, we would call him shokunin because he hits all the time, gets on base all the time. He's a hitting shokunin. "As a soccer player, when you're clever and you know the whole game, you know how to play and you're so experienced in your field, you're like a master. "But there's not many. "One of the most famous Japanese players, Nakata, he played in Italy [winning a Scudetto with Roma in 2001] but we didn't call him shokunin. He was more like a charisma, superstar guy and we don't call a superstar or an icon a shokunin. "It's hard to explain." I guess if Davidson was ever going to achieve shokunin status, he wouldn't be playing in Major League Soccer at 28. But Jiro is admirable, as much because he's striving for perfection as the fact many believe he's nearly attained it. Whitecaps coach Martin Rennie signed Davidson in January. Rennie had him in 2010 with the second-division Carolina RailHawks, and Davidson has spent a decade in the Japanese first and second divisions refining his game. On character alone, it seems Davidson would qualify for consideration as a shokunin. There's nothing superstar about him. He's wearing grey jeans and a simple white T-shirt and has a tattoo on his left forearm in honour of his grandmother.

"I don't think I'll wear a rainbow shirt with tights," he said later when talk turned to Toyko fashion. He did, after all, spend his teenage years in Pasadena, Calif., where he attended a soccer school. With regards to his play, Davidson considers "invisible" a compliment. His most memorable moment in soccer was helping Omiya earn promotion from the Japanese second division to the first division in 2004. There was a sense of collective pride and achievement. He's a laid-back guy who likes the simple things. "What's your ideal day off?" I asked. "Just whatever comes, I take it," he said. "I'm good friends with Etienne [Barbara] and Floyd [Franks], so they're like, 'OK, Jun, let's go to the beach and walk around.' Cool. "As the day goes, OK, that's a nice coffee shop, let's go in. Chill, hang out, talk about life. OK, that's a famous ice cream shop, let's get some sweet stuff. Tastes good. Fantastic. "You're hanging out with really good friends, you're comfortable, you don't feel any stress. Feeling the weather, watching people. Come home, eat great food. That's probably my ideal day." I return to the film and tell David-son about the scenes of Jiro's son taking hours to individually toast sheets of nori over burning coals. And how Jiro's apprentices, if they last, take years just to perfect making rice before they can even think about looking at a fish. The food is delicious, not because of anything fancy but because of the dedication to mastering a few ingredients and techniques. "I feel that's the same as Barcelona," he says. "They're the world's best team. Everyone watches. It looks so simple, but it's so hard to get there. Customers don't see that. They just see the dish. But the team prepares for that great entertainment." "Where is the craft in soccer?" I asked. "I feel like craft is the first touch that you make," he said. "Like, things people watching might not notice. It looks easy, but it took a long time to master. It doesn't have to be with the ball. It can be decision-making. It's a small detail. "If an opponent kicks the ball into a gap but I'm already there, I've read the game, and that's the time that makes you feel more shokunin." When Davidson watches soccer, he'll watch half the time for entertainment and half the time to study his position. Sometimes he'll tape a game, watch it for pleasure, and then watch it back just to focus on the defensive midfielder. He enjoys Barca's Sergio Busquets because he feels they are similar in what they are trying to achieve with the position. Admittedly, he doesn't follow MLS much. "Who's the best holding midfielder in MLS?" I asked. "Sorry to say I don't know," he said. "Osvaldo Alonso in Seattle is generally considered the man," I said. "Is that the shaved-head guy?" "Yes," I said. "And Kyle Beckerman in Salt Lake, he's right up there, too." "Is that the dreads guy?" "Yes."