U.S. Soccer's Miracle Trainer

Charlie Davies went to Wilmington, Delaware shortly after leaving the hospital following the horrific car crash that nearly killed him in late 2009. He had just spent four days in a medically-induced coma, and had broken, torn or shattered just about everything you can break, tear or shatter. Most of the injuries were to his legs, which meant that the then-23-year-old national team striker's once-promising career likely was over. The doctors certainly thought so. He was very lucky to be alive.

But Davies, still in a wheelchair, went to Wilmington and rented an apartment that would be his home for many of the 17 months it would take him to get back on the field for a competitive match. The first day Jim Hashimoto came to see him, all he could do with Davies was hold his shattered leg in the air for 10 seconds at a time. Later, "Hash," as he mostly goes by—rhymes with "posh"—got Davies to walk down the hallway with one crutch. And eventually, Hash rebuilt Davies to the point where he could resume his professional career, against towering odds.

"What I'd heard from other players was he was the guy to go to and he'd get me back to my old self," Davies says. "Realizing that the [2010] World Cup was six months away, I wanted to go to the very best. He was the guy. He took me in when I was in a wheelchair and I think he knew what a project I was going to be. But he stuck with me and he believed in me."

You've probably never heard of Hashimoto. He's a stocky man with tightly cropped hair, large eyes and a beatific smile. He doesn't get talked about much, nor does he advertise himself as the physio to American soccer stars. After a decade-long stint as the U.S. men's national team's head trainer, he still handles rehab for most seriously injured players at his two private practices. But those players don't shout his name from the rooftops, either. "It's like the best-kept secret," says Oguchi Onyewu, the veteran defender who came to Hash with a serious knee injury in late 2009 and is with him again now. "You don't want to give your diamond away; you try to keep it within the family."

Yet the list of patients who have been through his practice—long nestled in the sunlight-starved basement of a Jewish community center in the suburbs of Wilmington, before a recent move to a new facility—reads as a Who's Who of the last two decades of American soccer: Tony Meola, Tab Ramos, Peter Vermes, Marcelo Balboa, Claudio Reyna, Earnie Stewart, DaMarcus Beasley, Brian McBride, Davies, and Onyewu, of course.

Hash, 48, has covered several generations. "If you look at the players I first started working with, most of those guys are MLS coaches now," he says.

Even though Onyewu ruptured a patellar tendon in his knee in mid-October of 2009, an injury that typically takes a year or so to recover fully from, Hashimoto got him back in time for the World Cup the following June. "If you ever work with Hash you have a sense that he knows exactly what he's talking about and you have a sense of comfort in his knowledge of what he's doing," Onyewu says. "And a lot of times, with injuries, your comfort and your trust in the physical trainer is almost more important than the actual training that you're doing. You need a sense of calm in order for things to work right. I knew I wanted to work with Hash."

Davies' recovery went so well, in spite of his initial prognosis, that he too declared he'd make it back in time for the World Cup. In the end, he wasn't named to the preliminary roster, but that he was under consideration at all was fairly extraordinary. And that he's playing today constitutes something of a medical miracle. He remains an effective player despite never having regained that jitterbug speed and mobility that made him the most exciting young national team striker in years.

Davies credits Hash with saving his career. "He's a magician, as we all like to call him," Davies said. "There were plenty of doubts–forget about the World Cup–about whether I'd be able to come back and play again. He always likes to say I was Humpty Dumpty and he needed to put me back together again. He was instrumental in me coming back to being the player I am today. I would never trust anybody else with my body than Hash. He's the absolute best."

After Davies left, Stu Holden showed up. Well, he'd been there before, but only to hang out with his pal Charlie and offer mental support while he suffered through his grueling rehab. But this time, he came for his own recovery. "It's the irony of sports," says Hash.

Holden would become Hashimoto's Sistine Chapel.

The affable U.S. midfielder had already recovered from his first bad injury, a broken leg suffered at the hands (or foot) of Netherlands midfielder Nigel de Jong in a March 2010 friendly. Holden had improbably bad luck, one freak injury after the other. His first stint in England with Sunderland had been ruined when he was punched outside a club, fracturing his left eye socket. He then injured his ankle in practice.

During his breakout Premier League season with Bolton Wanderers, Manchester United's Johnny Evans tore a gash into Holden's knee with a tackle in March 2011 that ended up severing several ligaments. After the surgery, Holden turned to Hash. A follow-up surgery after his first game back in Sept. 2011 revealed serious cartilage damage and Holden was soon back in Delaware. In Jan. 2013, Holden returned to first-team action with Bolton, almost 16 months after his last appearance. But that summer, he tore his ACL in the final of the CONCACAF Gold Cup with the U.S. national team and he hasn't played since.

Holden spent most all of that time with Hash, living out of a long-term hotel and cycling in and out of mid-sized rental cars. Together, they ground through two fairly grueling physical therapy sessions per day. Observing them work, you could hardly overlook the closeness that Hash develops with his patients. There is a friendly, rapid-fire banter that underscores a trusting relationship. No matter how long it all took–and in all, Holden spent almost two years there–he never doubted what they were doing.

"In my opinion Hash is one of the best in the business," Holden wrote in an email to VICE Sports. "I trusted him when my career was on the line with a rare knee injury. He's a very personable and friendly guy who is dedicated to his work and someone I respect and cherish as a friend."

It takes some prodding to get Hashimoto to explain how he came to his position of behind-the-scenes prominence. "We're used to being the guys behind the scenes and that's fine," Hashimoto says. "We kind of like it that way." Growing up outside of Philadelphia, he was an oft-injured athlete himself in his mid-teens, playing almost every sport—except soccer. He thought physiotherapy was cool, and was fascinated by the people who treated him. His parents encouraged his curiosity in the industry, and a few years later he emerged from the University of Delaware with a master's degree in physiotherapy.

He opened a practice with former classmate Andrew "Rudy" Rudawsky, who became the U.S. national team's trainer in 1990. Hashimoto eventually got involved too, on the women's and youth national teams, and then as Rudy's assistant. After the 1998 World Cup, Hash took over from Rudy and was the head trainer until 2008, when Ivan Pierra, another Rudy assistant, succeeded him. Hashimoto began to handle more of the long-term recoveries. Quickly, he developed a solid reputation within the soccer world, even if he was mostly unknown outside of those circles.

Usually, players have a large degree of control over where they do their rehab. They talk to each other and seek out recommendations. They consult their agents. Their clubs or national teams divvy up the cost, depending on whose watch the injury occurred. But some players even choose to go to Hashimoto on their own dime if nobody will cover the expense. "I think it's probably because we get results," Hashimoto says. "It's a trust thing, too. I work as their trainer but I'm their friend, too. I'm not going to paint the wrong picture for them."

The importance of being a friend to his patients is easily overlooked. "I think it plays a really big part," Hashimoto says, "if you're in for a really long grind and you know you're going to go somewhere where you wouldn't necessarily choose to go, and you're only going for the rehab and you don't have friends or family there but need the support." The two grew so close that Holden joked that Hashimoto should name the baby he and his wife were expecting after him. (Hashimoto didn't.) People liked to say that they were like an old married couple.

"I would definitely say he's more my friend than my trainer," says Onyewu. That also means that he has sufficient influence to tell the players just how much effort to exert in order to best serve their progress. "A trainer that doesn't know me might overwork me or underwork me," Onyewu says. "He knows when I'm cheating; he knows when I'm tired."

The blandness of Wilmington is another unlikely key to Hashimoto's success. For a fairly big city, there isn't much going on. It's famous for being the official headquarters of myriad companies, who incorporate there because its laws are favorable to business. To the players, it's seen as a place without distractions and with a dearth of entertainment options. It's almost off the grid, yet in the Northeast Corridor and within easy access of New York, Philadelphia and Washington. "With Hash I don't think you'll really have the energy to do anything else… if there were things to do in Wilmington," Davies says. "There are many places to go that are close enough, but at the same time it's great that there isn't too much to do in the vicinity of where you're staying. You're so focused. You have to dedicate all your time and effort to getting back on the field."

Holden, for his part, is rehabbing his latest injury in South California. But only because he eventually grew tired of Wilmington and needed to be close to Los Angeles for the television work he has begun doing while working on his latest comeback. When he's back East, Hash checks up on him. A few weeks ago, Hash was at Holden's wedding. Holden and his now-wife just announced that they're pregnant. It's unclear whether Holden will name his firstborn Hashimoto.