by Mesut Özil
After a few weeks, however, we all realised that things couldn’t go on as they were. Sometimes I was driving 1,500 kilometres per week. Something had to change, we decided, even if we couldn’t immediately work out what. Then one day, when I got back to my apartment after an away game, I found the front door open. This time my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me; it really was open. The lock was broken. Someone had forced their way into my flat. I carefully poked my head around the door and peeked inside. ‘Hello? Is there anybody there?’ No answer. Again I called out tentatively into the darkness of my apartment. Then I notified the police.
This time burglars had indeed broken in. They’d rummaged through everything and stolen three or four watches to the value of 40,000 euros. I’d treated myself to them from my first higher monthly wages. For most of my childhood I didn’t have a watch. In summer I used to go back home when the streetlights came on – that was my guide. But even as a boy I loved cool watches. To be honest I didn’t think about how much money I was spending – I simply wanted them. But they didn’t give me much pleasure, because they were stolen soon afterwards.
The valuable watches had looked beautiful. I loved seeing them on my wrist. But that evening I learnt that it’s not expensive watches that make you happy, but having friends around you who are a support and can even calm your anxiety at staying on your own in a large, lonely apartment that’s just been broken into. I’m talking about real friends, mind you. Like my mates from Gelsenkirchen who I’d known since early childhood.
You can’t take proper friends for granted. Nobody can. But it’s especially true for people in the public eye like me. Over the course of my career I’ve met many people, including some who only wanted to be my friend because my name’s Mesut Özil. For them I’m the professional footballer with the big salary. They haven’t wanted to spend time with me because they think I’m a nice chap or because they value who I am as a person. They’ve wanted to be near me because they’ve been hoping for fame and money.
That’s the other side of the coin. We professionals always run the risk of having friends who aren’t genuine. We have to develop a sense of who is honest and who is phony and deceitful. Which is also true as far as women are concerned. There are so many girls who pretend to have strong feelings for a celebrity, but are targeting their money rather than their heart. For them love only works by credit card. Terrible. And awfully sad, in fact.
This is why I’m very cautious when it comes to women. I’m not someone who’s quick to introduce my partner to my parents. I’m of the belief that it’s a special moment – I’d be ashamed to keep on presenting new girlfriends to my parents. It’s a question of respect. I also find it crazy how young many footballers are when they get married and have children. Barely is the career over and the husband no longer permanently in the limelight, than love dies.
It’s all very different from my idea of a relationship. One day I’d like to marry a woman who I’m absolutely sure is the right one for me. I only want to bring children into the world when I’m convinced that they’ll grow up in a caring and loving home. For me marriage is a special promise, not something you easily give up for a new partner.
In theory it might sound simple to fulfil one’s dreams of the perfect friends and partner. In reality, however – especially in a situation like mine – you need very good insight into human nature.
And you need to be happy in yourself too. There are phases in life where you’re more susceptible to charlatans, whether female or male. Such as when you’ve been alone and feeling lonely for some time. Fortunately I hadn’t been. Or at least not for long. For soon after the burglary my friends Baris, Erkan and Ramazan, my cousin Serdar and brother Mutlu started paying regular visits. This spared me the endless drives from Bremen to Gelsenkirchen and made me feel much happier in my apartment. My familiar surroundings came to me and also protected me from false friends.
From that point on we virtually lived together, like in the US TV series Entourage, one of my favourite programmes. It charts the life of young actor, Vincent Chase, whose friends and acquaintances help him find his way in the unfamiliar world of Hollywood.
I got to know Bremen with my friends. I ventured out more often. In the afternoons I trained. In the evenings we went out to eat, our favourite haunts being Vapiano and Subway. On the phone my mother also taught me how to cook. Sometimes we spoke via Skype so that she could show me some techniques live. Over the course of several weeks she turned me into an almost perfect cook. To start with she explained how I should hold my fingers when cutting and chopping, then showed me the simplest hand movements. Later she sent me recipes that I learned to cook. She made me go shopping and then together we’d make baklava – a Turkish dessert made with filo pastry– and other delicacies. After a patchy start, I was feeling increasingly comfortable in Bremen.
8
Footballers aren’t politicians
Action is better than talking nonsense
I had a patchy start with Werder on the sporting front too. It took a while for me to establish myself in Bremen. Once my transfer to north Germany had been finalised, Schalke’s director of football, Andreas Müller, couldn’t refrain from taking one last swipe at me. In a public statement he sneered, ‘He wanted to play more, and now in Bremen he’s got the best ten in the Bundesliga ahead of him. Let’s see whether he gets more time on the pitch than he did with us.’
To be honest, things didn’t immediately look great. I was given short outings and was praised for what I delivered. For example, Jürgen Born, the Bremen chairman, said of my 30 minutes against Bayern Munich, ‘He did a few back-heels that really put his opponents in a spin.’ But I wasn’t playing regularly. One day Thomas Schaaf came to see me and said he was considering putting me in the seconds that Saturday. The alarm bells immediately started ringing. I hadn’t moved to Werder Bremen to play for the second team.
I thought of Norbert Elgert and his lesson of patient impatience. ‘If the world collapses for a budding professional footballer because he doesn’t achieve his ambition immediately, that’s crap. But it’s also crap if a budding professional footballer doesn’t care that he’s not making progress and just thinks apathetically, “Oh well, I’ll achieve my ambition some day”.’
So I rang my agent and vented my anger. ‘If you allow me to play for the seconds, then we’ve got a problem. Stop that happening. I came to Bremen to play football. I’m working my balls off. I’m doing well in training. I’m doing everything I can here to make progress. But if I have to turn out for the second team at the weekend then I’m going to look for another agent.’
I was so frustrated. My outburst had nothing to do with arrogance – or impatience. I was convinced my career would stall if I went along with the suggestion. ‘If I allow this to happen,’ I told my agent, ‘I’ll have difficulties. They’ll keep asking me to play for the seconds. Then the exception will become the rule. I’ve got to stop that. I want to become established in the Bundesliga. My teammates say that I’ve got what it takes. They’re always encouraging me. Just make sure this doesn’t happen.’
My agent promised to take care of matters. ‘Calm down, I’ll sort it out.’ An hour later he rang back and said, ‘You won’t be playing for the seconds this weekend. And you won’t be playing for the seconds next weekend either. You’re a first-team player. Now go and visit your parents for a couple of days. Relax. Forget the whole discussion and then come back.’
My anger didn’t just dissipate at once, of course. I drove back home with my friends. We played cards. Went to the cinema. But didn’t talk about football.
It’s often said that we footballers are immature and can’t think for ourselves. That we’re too slick, emotionless, superficial and unwilling to say anything critical. We’re only interested, it’s said, in showcasing the club’s brand as well as our own, without levelling criticism at anything. Another complaint is that we only speak in rehearsed phrases and refuse to give our opinions on importan
t and topical subjects.
I see things differently. If we’re talking about me and my career, I am perfectly capable of speaking very plainly, as the case of my planned demotion to the second team shows. I gave both my agent and Bremen a very clear idea of how I felt. I warned them of the consequences and let them know my standpoint in no uncertain terms. I also remained firm in my dealings with Schalke and refused to give in to the pressure that was being placed on me from many sides. Does that smack of immaturity? I don’t think so!
But I didn’t have to make this episode public. If I’d started a quarrel with Bremen in the media would I have achieved the result I was looking for? Would I have been regarded as a more self-assured footballer? Certainly not.
And anyway, why do we footballers need to take a stance on every political or social question, as is so often asked of us?
Of course, I have opinions on many issues. There are things in the world that disappoint me greatly. That make me sad. And angry. But does that mean I have to run around and express my opinion to every camera? Especially seeing as some of the media these days regrettably feel the need to blow even a few words out of all proportion. A minor remark becomes big trouble, even though none of those involved were thinking in that way. Such turmoil often poses a threat to sporting success. So why do we have to reply to every question journalists put to us?
During his time as manager at Munich, Louis van Gaal was often very honest with his answers. He admitted that he made his daughters speak to him using the more respectful polite, rather than the familiar, form in Dutch. ‘It used to be the custom in Holland. And I want my daughters to continue with it. I find it good to have some distance. I’m my children’s friend and they love me. But they need to know that we’re different generations. My younger daughter has never had a problem using the polite form, although my elder one has.’
After these comments he was described by some sections of the media as ‘cranky’. But why? If he wants to live life that way it’s his business. But, most importantly, it says nothing about his professional qualities. If he willingly reveals this detail from his private life, he should not be derided for it. It’s not surprising that, after the reaction he got, his responses in subsequent interviews were superficial and monosyllabic.
Sometimes answering certain questions only makes you look stupid. I’m not an expert on politics and I don’t have a detailed knowledge of the history of all the countries that have hosted World Cups or European Championships. But that’s got nothing to do with any lack of interest. I’m a footballer and I’m paid to be one. I earn my money by dribbling, one-twos, tackles, assists and goals. Not by trumpeting political statements to the world, which wouldn’t change things anyway.
Before the 2012 European Championship in Poland and Ukraine, the German Football Federation drafted some possible answers for we national players, in case the media quizzed us about the political situation in Ukraine and Yulia Tymoshenko. Its press release said, ‘We don’t want to muzzle our squad over the Ukraine situation, but given the current [!] situation we don’t think it’s a good idea for a player to voice his opinion. Joachim Löw and Oliver Bierhoff have also declined all media questions up till now.’ To help us answer possible questions that might be fired at us the Federation therefore prepared three statements that, as it said, ‘everyone could choose from’.
I think it’s responsible of the German Football Federation to provide such assistance these days. It’s a good thing that we national players are made aware of situations rather than being left to our own devices. It’s also presumptuous to say that internal memos such as these go beyond the duty of care and prevent players from forming their own opinions. However, it’s also important that no player gets the impression they’re being persuaded to abandon their convictions. These communications are meant purely as suggestions and advice, and should not stop us from having our own views. For fundamentally, I am in charge of my own mind. Nobody dictates what I can say where and when. Nobody drafts an opinion for me, not even the German Football Federation.
Béla Réthy, the long-time commentator for the German channel ZDF, once complained, ‘Many professional footballers in Germany these days are like those children that go to British private schools; they’re given twenty-four-hour care. The only thing that might not be checked is their fingernails. Young sportspeople are told they’re jewels. They’re told that the world outside is a bad place and that everyone’s got it in for them.’
But he’s forgetting that we sportspeople are also under scrutiny 24 hours a day. That we’re forced to grow up earlier and can’t secretly make mistakes like any normal young person. You certainly can have strong opinions as a sportsperson, but you don’t have to blurt your opinion into every camera and voice recorder.
Réthy also said, ‘Stars who’ve been given media training can’t actually be interviewed any more.’ I’d disagree with that too. You can’t generalise about this and make it applicable to everyone. For example, I’ve had media training too. It was made clear to me that ‘these days, what with all the social media, unfortunate comments can have disastrous consequences.’ I’ve been made aware of how easily you can say something in all innocence, and then have it used against you. In fact, I learnt many important things during this training. But in some of the interviews that followed I couldn’t recognise myself, and I didn’t like it. Which made me realise that I’d rather go through my football career without this kind of support. That I don’t want to mince my words, or be over-cautious and permanently worried that the wrong words might spill from my lips. That I want to say what comes into my head. That I don’t want to hide.
There are many players who need this media training, but it’s not my thing. And if reporters like Béla Réthy don’t like my answers then it’s not my problem. It’s crucial to me that if I can personally change something, that’s what I’ll do. But with actions, not by talking big. Who would have benefited if I’d given my opinion on the Ukraine conflict during the European Championship? Nobody! All the same it was important that the competition took place in Ukraine. Why? Because, apart from anything else, it allowed some children to benefit from the BigShoe Project, which I also give money to.
BigShoe was born back in 2006, when football fans from Lake Constance, where the Togo national squad was staying during the World Cup, decided to collect money to pay for an operation for a young African girl called Nourrisson. That one good deed led to more. The organisation grew and grew, and in the following years started helping children in the host countries of subsequent international competitions, such as South Africa, Poland, Ukraine and Brazil. BigShoe supports a team of doctors that mainly undertake operations to correct cleft lips and palates. Heart defects are also corrected, and foot, hand and facial disorders operated on, as well as burns, which are a big problem in developing and emerging countries where people sit around fires and rely on kerosene lamps for light.
When we became World Champions in 2014 I gave part of my prize money to BigShoe. This allowed 23 operations to be performed on children in a makeshift jungle hospital in Coroatá, north-eastern Brazil. That’s how I make my social contribution, not by gabbing away. And this was precisely the reason behind my trip to the Middle East in 2016, which was so widely reported on.
In truth I’m reluctant, even in this book, to talk publicly about this tour. After all, I didn’t go to the Middle East to be hailed as a good person. It wasn’t a PR stunt – not something to help polish my image. So why am I writing about it now? Because of Alexander Gauland – the deputy leader of the far-right political party, Alternative für Deutschland (AfD), who made the most shocking comments about my trip just before the European Championship, talking most disparagingly about me and my actions, even though he’d never met me and quite clearly had no idea about how I think and what makes me tick.
Because I’d gone to Mecca in my free time and from there had tweeted a photo of me in front of the Kaaba, the most sacred site for Muslims, he and som
e of his party colleagues thought they had the right to criticise me. First the Saxony branch of the AfD called it an ‘antipatriotic signal’, then, in Der Spiegel, Gauland described my trip as ‘something that would require a lot of getting used to for a party that doesn’t regard Islam as a part of Germany.’ He also said things like, ‘As I’m not interested in football I don’t really care where Mr Özil takes himself off to. But for civil servants, teachers, politicians and decision-makers I would definitely ask the question: Is democratic Germany the right place for someone who goes to Mecca?’ As far as he was concerned, ‘Islam didn’t belong in Germany.’
All I can do in response to such comments is shake my head. And I don’t want to sound off about the man as it would make him more important than he is. Most important, I’m a footballer rather than a politician. And I’m a person. Someone who wants to help when he can. With deeds rather than words. And it was precisely for this reason – to help – that in spring 2016, not long before our preparations for the European Championship, I first went to visit a refugee camp in Jordan and then, because I was already in the region, visited Mecca.
The idea for my trip came about six months earlier. In November 2015 I met the Jordanian prince, Ali bin al-Hussein, who, that same year, challenged Sepp Blatter for the post of FIFA president. A true gentleman, he was educated in both the UK and USA. His sister, Haya, was, for a while, president of the International Federation for Equestrian Sports, and he has been the head of the Jordanian Football Association since the age of 23. During this time one of his achievements has been that women with headscarves can now play football too. And Prince Ali is also a big Arsenal fan!
When we went for dinner together one gloomy November evening – it was pouring so hard that the rain was flooding out of the drains – we started with small talk. About Leicester City, who at the time were the surprise leaders of the Premier League after 13 matches, ahead of Manchester United, Manchester City and us. We’d won eight games and it was tight at the top of the table; we were just two points off the lead.
