by Mesut Özil
There’s no place for such cowardly behaviour. Not in the Camp Nou, nor in the Estadio Santiago Bernabéu. Nor in any other stadium around the world. Not even on the recreation ground. Hitting someone from behind, even if it’s just a gentle slap, is sneaky and mean. You can’t get out of the way or defend yourself. Quite apart from the fact that hitting another player is wrong anyway.
As soon as I realised that David Villa was the offender I blew a fuse. I was trying to protect Marcelo and calm the situation down, and then I was attacked myself. Instead of standing by my teammates I became a raging bull. The smack in itself hadn’t been a bad one, neither brutal nor especially painful. But the sneaky nature of it made me livid. I wanted to get Villa back for it. At that moment I lost all sense of reason. I just wanted to pay him back. Lacking all self-control I ran across the pitch with the intention of socking him one. I felt that my pride had been dented and I wanted revenge. I swore that he’d regret what he’d done.
Pepe and Ricardo Carvalho held me back. I screamed at them to let me go. I tried to wrest myself free. I really was out of my mind. Barcelona’s Adriano also came over in an attempt to calm me down, which now I give him – as an opponent – huge credit for. At the time, of course, I had little appreciation for it.
After I’d been shown the red card, as had Villa, I wanted to collar him up in the tunnel to give him the thrashing due to him. This time it was Marcelo and Mourinho who thankfully stopped me.
At the time I was mad at everyone who was holding on to me. I was convinced I had to give David Villa a lesson. Today I’m very pleased that the episode turned out as it did. Perhaps I’d have felt better for a few seconds if I’d given Villa the punishment I believed he deserved. But what would have happened then? I’d have probably entered the Real Madrid history books as a thug! As a bully! As a crazy idiot! All my assists would have been forgotten. It’s possible that people wouldn’t have talked about my footballing abilities any more, only my fit of rage. My reputation would have been in tatters. Just because of a single moment of madness.
While Villa and I were having our altercation on the pitch, Mourinho had already had his own lapse of sanity. During the tumult he’d crept up to Barcelona’s assistant manager, Tito Vilanova, and poked him in the right eye with the index finger of his right hand. I’ve no idea what had got into him. Even today I bet he can’t explain to anyone why he did it. But I’m sure, at any rate, that his behaviour wasn’t premeditated. With all his deliberate provocation and games with the media, Mourinho remains a real gentleman.
Later on, he apologised for the eye poking. ‘I shouldn’t have done it. I’m not an idiot. I work hard with my players to get them to control their emotions. I made a mistake and I’m not going to try to look for excuses.’
The criticism heaped on us by the media after the Super Cup only welded us together even more strongly as a team. We swore that, no matter what was written and said about us, we wouldn’t let it knock us off course. We wouldn’t allow ourselves to be driven apart. We’d be there for each other, protecting and driving each other on.
In the games that followed we scored six goals against Zaragoza, Vallecano and Sevilla, five against Granada, Espanyol Barcelona, Real Sociedad, and even seven against Osasuna. After 33 matches we topped the table, with only two defeats against our 27 victories. And till that point we’d scored a whopping 107 goals. In second place was Barcelona, with four points fewer. A victory against us and the championship would be open again with four games to go.
But by now Mourinho had worked Barcelona out. For which he’d needed one more lesson in the Spanish Cup. After having won the first leg 2–1, Barça were soon 2-0 in the lead in the return leg too. But somehow we weren’t at all affected by the scoreline and we decided to make the play ourselves rather than stay on the defensive against them. In the Camp Nou I set the ball up for Ronaldo, who made it 2–1, then Benzema made it 2–2. It was a demonstration away from home that intimidated the Catalans. And gave us the last shot of confidence we needed to maintain our position in the championship.
Mourinho reminded us of all the trophies that Barcelona had collected over the last few years. ‘They’re not going to win a fourth championship in succession. Together we’re going to stop them,’ he said, making us hungrier than ever for the title.
And we actually won our thirty-fourth game of the season in the Camp Nou. Sami Khedira put us in the lead and Alexis Sánchez equalised. Then I got the ball. I’d already provided 18 assists in the league. Now I set up a nineteenth goal, this time for Cristiano Ronaldo.
In my first year with Real Madrid I’d scored ten goals and set up a further 28 in all competitions. In the second year I managed seven goals and 29 assists, the highest number by any player in the Spanish league. And – jumping forward – there were 24 assists and ten goals in my third season. Three years of sensational figures in a row, although it must be said that it’s easier to shine personally at a club with such world-class credentials, where every position in the team is filled by a player of the highest quality.
If I make a decent cross, there’s a high probability that one of these attackers will get the ball in the back of the net. With our victory against the Catalans we took the decisive step towards the championship, which we indeed won after three years of complete dominance by Barcelona. Mourinho had knocked our Ferrari engine back into shape, repaired all the broken parts and driven the sporty number down the road with great passion and total control. By the end of the season we’d scored 121 goals and only conceded two defeats to our 32 victories.
Thanks to Mourinho we’d managed to crack Barcelona. In only two years we’d caught them. It was an incredible achievement. We were a formidably strong team. Mourinho had turned us into an impressive unit. He was the manager who put an end to Barcelona’s superiority. That was his biggest achievement.
The title was a similarly weighty achievement. It’s easy to jump into a reliably performing, perfectly tuned racing car and bag title after title. But getting into a car that’s not running smoothly and tinkering with it until you start winning races with it, that makes you proud.
In my career up till then I’d been runner-up in the Bundesliga twice, once third and once only tenth. In my first year in Spain I was runner-up again. And now, at the sixth attempt in my career, I had my first championship title.
It’s very gratifying to have achieved this success at Real. I can’t imagine there’s a footballer in the world who hasn’t dreamed of putting on the Los Blancos shirt at some point in their career. Only a few footballers are granted the opportunity to score for Real. And even fewer can savour the moment of celebrating winning a title with the club. I was fortunate enough to be one of these. In addition, after this sensational season the readers of Marca chose me in their Spanish XI of the year.
When Guardiola announced in 2012 that he was leaving Barcelona he said, ‘I’ve given everything and there’s nothing left. That’s the long and the short of it. And I’ve got to recharge the batteries.’ Together with Mourinho we taught the ‘über manager’ how to lose again. We drained him of energy. Mourinho did everything right. The fact that away from the pitch he engaged in conflict to unsettle a team that had written football history was worth its weight in gold.
Real Madrid is the most intense club I’ve ever played at. It sucks you dry. One season at Madrid is like three or four at any other club. I changed immeasurably as a footballer over this period. Although I learned a lot tactically, especially as far as defence was concerned, there was one other important insight I gained: on the pitch you have to listen to your feelings. If a coach gives me guidelines for play that are too strict, I feel cramped. If my body tells me I have to push left, that’s what I do. I can’t just stay firmly in one position. As a player you have to take decisions. As a player you have to have freedoms. If you’re a creative player your coach mustn’t shackle you. You mustn’t be a puppet. But it also stands to reason to say that you mustn’t abandon the team’s tac
tical plan altogether.
I had already suspected at the 2010 World Cup in South Africa that thinking disrupts the magic of the game. But I didn’t realise it fully until I was at Madrid.
The third year was OK, by normal standards. But not by the club’s ones. We came second in the league, behind Barcelona. In the Champions League we reached the semi-finals for the third year in a row, but were knocked out by Borussia Dortmund after Robert Lewandowski scored four goals in one game against us. In the Spanish Cup we made it to the final, even knocking out Barcelona en route, in the semi-final. But because we succumbed to Atlético Madrid in the final, we failed to win a single title for the first time since I’d been signed by Real. Not acceptable in the club’s galaxy.
14
London Calling
When one door closes another one opens
José Mourinho left Madrid in 2013. The Italian Carlo Ancelotti took over as manager, and my time at Real ended too. In surprising fashion.
There are plenty of different stories about my departure. Countless rumours. Endless speculation. Many claims. And even more interpretations and explanations. A great deal of nonsense was written. I was particularly irritated by the allegation that I’d told shameless lies during this period.
The only truth, which is not without self-criticism, is as follows. At the time my father, Mustafa, was acting as my agent. He was convinced that by now he understood enough of the business and didn’t need the help of other agents. He thought he was sufficiently strong and worldly-wise to go face-to-face in discussions with a man like Real’s president, Florentino Pérez, and able to negotiate with him as an equal.
I don’t want to blame my father for this. He learnt a lot from watching Roger Wittmann, Michael Becker and Reza Fazeli. Until then he’d been my closest confidant and had always acted in my interest. As my biggest critic he’d pushed me for years and spurred me on to ever better performances. He had a great deal of confidence in his ability because he’d helped his little Mesut become the player who’d ended up at Real Madrid via Schalke and Werder.
Up till then my talent and success had always meant that several clubs, all a rung up from the one I was currently playing for, embarked on an auction for me, which meant it was easy to switch instead of having to make an early renewal of my contract with my existing club.
On several occasions up till then my father had watched how my agents were able to make demands that were generally met, because they were acting from a position of great strength. But now the situation was slightly different. Naturally, after three good years at Real Madrid, our negotiating position once more wasn’t bad. No player apart from me and Lionel Messi had managed more assists in the Primera División since 2010 – we were equal with 47.
But there was no auction for me. In summer 2013 no other clubs were making enquiries to buy me out of my contract, which still had two years to run. And why should they? I had no intention of leaving Real Madrid. Nobody imagined that a transfer was in the offing. My father and I were both aiming to get an early renewal of my contract for a few more years. I would continue my successful career at Real and finally win a Champions League medal. That was our only goal.
Then my father took over the negotiations. He contacted Florentino Pérez and arranged a meeting with the construction giant, where the sole topic of discussion was to be securing another long-term contract with Madrid, admittedly with better terms.
When I arrived from Bremen I was a nobody, with little international experience – I had only six Champions League matches under my young belt. I was also a newbie in the German national side. After three years in Madrid I’d played another 31 games in Europe’s premier competition. Under Jogi Löw I’d become a regular in the German team, with 29 further appearances wearing the eagle on my chest. And so I was due a higher salary at Real Madrid.
During his time as a professional at Manchester United, Juan Mata said something that was very true: ‘Taking the world of professional football as a yardstick I earn a normal salary. But compared to 99.9 per cent of the Spanish population and the rest of the world it’s an indecent sum. Out of respect for the rest of society we have to admit that we earn a ridiculously high amount of money. It’s incalculable.’
My mother worked like crazy in a job that gave her little pleasure – cleaning up other people’s filth isn’t any fun. And she earned a pittance. My salary, by contrast, is enormous. Do I work harder than her? I’d never say that. Do I have more fun than her? Of course I do! Is it right that I earn so much, while she got so little? Absolutely not!
For that matter, my earnings are all above board. I pay my taxes regularly and honestly. I don’t hide money from the taxman with ‘dirty dealings’, as Der Spiegel claimed at the end of 2016. I featured on the cover of the December issue of the magazine – a terrible black-and-white photo of me looking very serious. The creative publishers had replaced my pupils with lurid yellow euro signs. The headline was ‘The Money Experts’, leading to an article detailing supposed tax dodges by Cristiano Ronaldo, José Mourinho and myself. In the introduction it said, ‘For eighteen months the Spanish tax authorities were after the German international Mesut Özil. Then they slapped him with a demand for several million.’
The edition containing these allegations appeared on 3 December. The evening before, my agent Erkut had called to warn me about the story in advance. I was already in the team hotel with Arsenal, because we had a game against West Ham the following day.
‘You’re on the cover tomorrow,’ Erkut began. ‘The Spiegel’s running the story.’
We weren’t surprised that the story was being published. The editor of the article had emailed us a few days earlier with a whole host of questions, none of which we’d answered. All we did was state that we’d be defending ourselves against the false claims. I sat on my bed, listening to Erkut. ‘We’re going to stay cool. They can’t touch us,’ he said.
‘Erkut, we haven’t done anything illegal, have we?’ I asked him, as I had done so often since we’d received the magazine’s questions. Just to be sure. Of course, I don’t do my own tax declaration; I let experts who I trust sort it out. I don’t have the time and, to be honest, I don’t have the know-how either. That’s exactly why, after the Spanish authorities asked me to pay extra tax, we sought the advice of Spanish, German and British tax experts who explained the situation to me and shed light on all the details. ‘No, Mesut, everything’s above board. They can’t pin anything on us,’ Erkut said calmly, before going through the situation with me again point by point.
‘As far as your image and personality rights are concerned we’ve been totally straight. You assigned them to a company based in Germany, Özil Marketing GmbH, a perfectly legal and normal procedure. So you haven’t only been paying tax, you’ve also created jobs for eight people who are also paying tax in Germany.’
The Spanish authorities had investigated the set-up, Erkut summed up, and very quickly approved it. ‘We didn’t hide anything. We made it clear that everything is taxed correctly in Germany. The question of image rights has absolutely nothing to do with this extra tax payment.’
At the start of 2016 I did actually – and this is factually correct – pay 2,017,152.18 euros in supplementary income tax. We immediately appealed to the Spanish tax authorities against this demand. The reason being that, up till then, clubs always paid the commission due to agents. It’s the same everywhere, be it Bayern Munich, Paris St Germain or Arsenal. The agent commission is paid by the club.
That’s how it has operated for years and been accepted by the authorities. Real Madrid, for example – and this was reported correctly by the Spiegel – paid 1.2 million euros to my then agent, Reza Fazeli, and Arsenal 1.47 million euros to my current agent, Dr Erkut Sögut. These payments were declared by both the clubs and the agents and appropriately taxed. But now, Erkut explained to me, the cash-strapped Spanish authorities were suddenly putting a different interpretation on the law. Without, it must be said, any ch
ange in the legal basis.
They were arguing that the commission paid by the club was a financial benefit to me and therefore must be included in my tax declaration.
As I’ve already said, the authorities had never asked for this before. And that’s why we weren’t withholding anything or defrauding anyone when we didn’t register this information in my tax declaration. The Spanish authorities were just trying to fill their empty coffers by every means possible.
To avoid difficulties we began by acquiescing to the – from our perspective, unreasonable – demand for two million euros, but lodged an appeal in the belief that the additional tax would be deemed unlawful by a higher-level authority and we’d get the money back. From the outset we refused to pay a fine of 789,963.36 euros imposed by the authorities and appealed against this too.
I listened to Erkut explain all this again. I was reassured by his clear and forthright assertions: ‘You haven’t got any offshore companies. You haven’t evaded any taxes. You’ve always submitted your tax return on time. Since the beginning of your professional career in Germany, your home country, you’ve paid millions of euros in tax in accordance with the regulations. You’ve put millions into the German coffers. You could have set up your marketing company abroad. But you left it in Germany, thereby providing more tax for your home country. And this is the thanks you get. This is pure sensationalism from Spiegel. It’s just about shifting copies. At your expense. You’re the scapegoat of this Spiegel campaign. It’s a smear campaign, a really dirty one, but you’re going to get through this, no doubt about it.’
I just kept listening. Very calmly.
‘It’s just going to make us stronger. You’ve already got through plenty of other things. We’ll hit back with facts. We’ve even got a tax clearance certificate from the Spanish authorities. Real Madrid confirmed in writing that they were liable for tax on Reza Fazeli’s commission. He provided us with the same written confirmation. Everything’s fine. And your best response is to score goals, OK? Goals and assists. Show everybody that none of this nonsense is getting to you.’
