The rules are clear-cut – even if they’re unwritten. And we can’t go back on them. Improving attitudes and laying down the blueprint was our biggest task in our first few months at the club.
I pitched up at Tottenham in summer 2014. In our first season, we reached the League Cup final and in May 2015 I signed a new five-year contract. In our second season, with the youngest squad in the Premier League, we went toe to toe with Leicester in the title race. Gary Neville vindicated what we were doing with a glowing analysis in his column in The Telegraph, informed by his position as England’s assistant manager:
In my role as an England coach, I have noticed the difference in psychology and application when Tottenham players come into the camp. They now arrive prepared for the battle, ready to play, ready to work. They look like they want to partake in the meetings. All the things you would want from responsible players are there. It seems to me that Pochettino has given the younger players the confidence to express themselves, off the pitch as well.
But the route to that point was a steep, winding one.
To use a typically English understatement, my appointment as Tottenham coach wasn’t exactly a ‘universally popular choice’. The club wasn’t sure what road to take and when that happens, the fans are usually torn too. Should the club be buying in the best players or looking to the academy?
Spurs have always been synonymous with a certain way of playing, an entertaining, stylish brand of football. But they have not always been effective. John McDermott summed this up to me with an apt image: the club was perceived as being ‘all fur coat and no knickers’. Perennial underachievers, in the previous seven years they had finished 11th, eighth and sixth once, and fifth and fourth twice apiece.
On top of that, not only Tottenham, but English football as a whole was in constant flux: coaches came and went, and so did ideas. Directors of football were in vogue one day and had fallen out of fashion the next.
Amid all this, what our chairman Daniel asked of us was a sense of direction and conviction, for us to instil a process, our process. There is no one-size-fits-all approach; what we do can’t be applied by anyone and everyone. Every group, every person with responsibilities and every decision is a world unto itself. What was important wasn’t what was done, but how.
We were embarking, then, on a journey without a road map. There is no magic formula. Or if there is, maybe it is buried beneath the heaps of things in our minds – and those of the people at the club, including the squad.
It wasn’t a happy place when we arrived. We had to throw open the windows, bring in some fresh air, change the mentality. We were being asked to turn a load of dirty, wrinkled laundry into a pile of clean, neatly folded and ironed clothes, all through a new philosophy. But it takes more than a week or a month to get people to buy into a system based on hard work and endeavour.
The squad we inherited contained all sorts. However, unlike Southampton, where we found hungry players who didn’t want to be relegated, the Tottenham dressing room was full of figures who at some point in their careers had been considered stars but had lost their way. And the team didn’t come first.
Two weeks after taking over, I remember saying to Hugo Lloris, ‘What am I doing here?’ I’d come from a really friendly club, where I often had to force the players to go home. At Southampton, we’d installed a machine called a VertiMax in the gym, which helps to improve strength, speed and endurance. The look on their faces when they saw it! But soon enough, they were smitten.
By contrast, the Spurs players would come in, train and shoot off home again. There was no love affair with the VertiMax.
We wanted to run the rule over the existing squad before making any signings. We had to gauge what the players were made of, one by one. We warned them the first months would be tough physically because we needed them to be fit.
Some of them didn’t share our ideas but tried to adapt; others rejected them from day one. A few disrespected us. And there were others from whom we couldn’t expect something they simply didn’t have in them. Many, though, realised that they had to partake in the process in order to halt the negative spiral. That there was an urgent need for us to show leadership and strength, we could not doubt.
The way that many of them looked at us said it all: they knew that if things didn’t work out, as always happens in football, we would carry the can. Little by little, in an almost imperceptible way, day by day, a transformation took place. The strategic design was set up with intelligence and nerve. We only needed one thing. I don’t know which shop to buy it from, but it’s essential: time!
We gave everyone a shot. We even tested players during games, because we were looking beyond the match in question. Some didn’t pass those tests and are no longer with us. The gap was filled by youngsters: inexperienced full-backs, or a centre-forward who had never played a full Premier League season. We also reassured our goalkeeper, Lloris, who was considering leaving and needed to change his way of thinking about life and his profession.
The supporters grew restless in the first few months. That was only to be expected.
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Me and my backroom staff are barred from the first-team dressing room at the training ground. We share one at the stadium, but the one at Enfield is the squad’s sanctuary. They can do and say what they want there without fear of us barging in. Only the physios and kitmen are allowed in. Some secrets do make it out, though. I was told that Emmanuel Adebayor brought in his own water, paid for out of his own pocket. But pretty much all players have their foibles. Despite what was said at the time, I never had any problems with Ade – far from it, we had a fantastic relationship. At first, he came back from holiday in Africa with malaria and, on top of that, he got enmeshed in some family issues that everyone knows about, so he asked me for permission to go to Togo to sort things out. The biggest difficulty for him, as for Roberto Soldado, was Kane’s emergence. They were big names and needed the team and club to be built around them. When Harry burst on to the scene, they both felt displaced.
Ade’s eccentricities gave us plenty of laughs. Take one day when I left him out of the matchday squad. That afternoon, after training, I was in my office, in a meeting with Daniel and our technical director Franco Baldini. Jesús was there too. We heard a knock on the door. It was Ade. I asked him to wait five minutes. Franco and Daniel were stony-faced, wondering what was going on. Problems! After the meeting, I asked Jesús to fetch him in. He arrived wrapped in a towel and I asked him, ‘What’s up?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me yesterday that I wasn’t going to be in the squad?’ he replied. How could I have done that when there was still one training session to go – what if something had happened? ‘Yeah, but you’ve got to tell me if you’re not sure. I’ve sent my chauffeur home with the car; what am I supposed to do now? Call a taxi? I can’t believe it!’ Priceless! I’d thought he was angry or put out after being omitted from the squad, because he wanted to play. But his gripe was the fact that his chauffeur had left! He was obviously upset, or so I thought. To be honest, I am not sure. Let’s assume it was another show of his great sense of humour.
He’s a player of real class but, in the circumstances, continuing to work together wouldn’t have been beneficial for either of us. Right up to the day when I told him that he wasn’t in my plans, he always thanked me for being honest with him. He rescinded his contract, which had a year to run, and joined Crystal Palace.
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The other day I read that Dele Alli had said of me, ‘You don’t want to get on his wrong side.’ I found it funny, but we’re not policemen and I’ve never torn into a player in front of the team. There’s no rule book. It’s just about common sense. Professionalism. Letting natural selection follow its course.
They’ve got to arrive early for training, greet each other and shake hands. Respect their teammates and opponents. Before 9.45, they have to talk to the sports scientist and tell him how they feel and how they’ve slept. What they’ve eaten and
how. We have regular nutrition tests, which we know can help recuperation and performance.
We have to cover all the bases, but ultimately, how far players go is up to them. When they leave – or we leave – no one can say they weren’t given the opportunity to get better.
We have breakfast together. That’s when the first conversations start up, helping to create the right mood to ensure training is enjoyable. Everybody has to be ready by 10.30.
Phones must be on silent in the canteen; they’re allowed to send messages, but they have to go outside to make calls. It’s no good players using their phones in the physiotherapy room, for example. They need to listen to their bodies and to the physio.
There are not many more rules. The rest is in their hands. They’re adults. I’ve never punished a player for being late. I prefer to talk it over with them. Punishment is the preserve of those who can’t wield their power in other ways. That is left for those who think they are bosses. I believe in leadership. Two different things.
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In our first season, my team and I weren’t able to convince everyone that that was the way forward. In fact, there was one game that made me worry for our future.
We were up against Aston Villa. I’ll always remember that trip to Birmingham. It was November and we were down in eighth place, on 14 points. A long way off the European pace. We arrived at the hotel and the coaching staff went for a drink before dinner. The hotel bar was a gloomy place. It was Saturday night in November in Birmingham. Not the most uplifting of scenes. We were on a bad run of results and we said to one another, ‘We’ve got to win tomorrow, guys, it’s a must-win, because otherwise . . .’ The tension and nerves were palpable. If we didn’t win, we knew we’d be getting to know the version of Daniel that everyone spoke of with such fear.
I remember our preparations and everything else vividly. We conceded a goal in the first half. In the 65th minute, Villa striker Christian Benteke was sent off for pushing Ryan Mason. We started to control the match. We brought on Kane for Adebayor. But we were still losing. With seven or eight minutes to go, I turned to face the dugout. I looked at Toni, Jesús and Miki and told them, ‘Lads, pack your bags tonight, because tomorrow we’re going home.’
Our next attack won us an 84th-minute corner. The ball fell to Nacer Chadli and bam, it was 1–1.
‘Bloody hell, get in! Come on, we can do it, we can save our necks!’
Cue a free-kick in the 90th minute. And Kane scores!
After the final whistle, I said to my staff, ‘Lads, we’ve been saved, we’ve earned ourselves a couple more lives, but now we’ve got to turn the corner. We can’t carry on like this.’ The revolution had begun.
That match made us realise that, to succeed at this club, we had to do things our way. That game unshackled us. Before then, we had too many people around us spouting their opinions. All those voices confused me and passed their fears onto me. After the Aston Villa game, I found myself saying, ‘I know what I’ve got to do. I know where to go, I’m sure I’m going to be successful, I have no doubts.’ And that was that. I told my people, ‘It’s over. We’re locking the door.’
It had been a necessary period of increasing understanding, of collecting information. From the first months of trying to discover where we were and allowing the benefit of the doubt to everybody involved, we moved to the period of taking decisions.
‘Let’s go!’
I started to build the team in my image. I resolved not to cave in, whatever happened. Here’s hoping luck is on our side, I thought.
Only eight players from that original squad are still here.
From December onwards, results took a major upturn. On New Year’s Day, we faced top-of-the-table and eventual Premier League winners Chelsea and beat them 5–3. I’m sure the fans went home thinking that something was happening, something was changing. A month later, we beat Arsenal 2–1, with Kane bagging both goals. Then came the League Cup final, which we lost to Chelsea, before we ended up six points off Champions League qualification and 13 adrift of top spot. A respectable fifth-place finish in our first season, just behind Arsène Wenger’s side.
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13 August. Today we took on Everton in our first game of the season. The noise was back, the excitement. Your could sense it. The starting line-up was: Hugo Lloris; Kyle Walker, Eric Dier, Toby Alderweireld, Jan Vertonghen, Danny Rose; Érik Lamela, Victor Wanyama, Christian Eriksen; Dele Alli, Harry Kane.
During the week, we focused our work on some new things we want to introduce. We’re still adjusting the team. It didn’t make much sense to give too much detail about the opposition, who have a new coach (Ronald Koeman) still working out his preferred XI. So the key to the first league fixture of the season was to play the game on our terms and try to dominate, whatever the opponents might do.
The first half was somewhat disappointing; for a while we looked to be paying the price for being one of the teams that had the most representatives at the Euros. We conceded in the fifth minute, when we were still settling into the game, and that shaped the match. Everton were able to sit back and spring forward swiftly on the counter. We struggled to adapt and we were ponderous and leggy, our movement sluggish. In our desperation to turn the scoreline around, we panicked, as if we only had five minutes to come back rather than 85. That impatience and lack of conviction meant we started to make mistakes.
Toni came over ten minutes before half-time. ‘Hugo is asking to come off.’
‘You’re bloody kidding me.’
That’s football. Even if your preparations are ideal, there are factors for which you can’t legislate.
Toni headed off to the dressing room to find out what had happened. When he came back to the dugout, he kept silent. He knew the time wasn’t right to talk about it.
At the break, I made use of images – just like I’ve always done since the Espanyol days – to convey a very clear message. In positional terms, the defensive line had to push up and give us more width. But that was the least of it. We were lacking energy, the passion we need to play our game. I told them as much. ‘Come on lads, let’s play!’ It was as if we were stuck at the end of last season.
Things changed in the second half. Lamela levelled and I breathed easier – I could recognise the team. And we would’ve won had it not been for their keeper, Maarten Stekelenburg, who made a couple of great saves. A year ago we were on a par with Everton, but today we’re disappointed with the result. That is a positive to take.
After the game, I consoled Hugo Lloris, who has sustained a serious muscular injury. I also congratulated Michel Vorm. We’re not used to losing our goalkeepers, but when one is out, it’s another one’s chance to rise to the occasion.
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We gave the squad Sunday off. We analysed the game on Monday and had one-to-one talks with certain players. There are things we aren’t satisfied with – we didn’t show up for the first half against Everton. So on Tuesday, I felt the onus was on me to motivate everyone.
We’re just getting started again, but we’ve had to get tough with a few lads who have come back confused from the summer break or international duty. Sometimes their parents or agents tell them things that do not always help – that they need to think more about themselves, that sort of stuff. I have a stock response when I hear a parent or agent say something along those lines: ‘If he doesn’t work for the team, he won’t play.’ And I make sure not to laugh or flinch even in the slightest. I think the message is sent out loud and clear.
It’s a young squad that has seen a lot of change over the last two years. Some of the players were in League One when we arrived and their status has changed.
I also spoke to Victor Wanyama. We chatted about everything and nothing. Toni was there too. Victor told us about playing for his country last week, about when they lost a home game and a few of the players, who had made mistakes, had to make a run for it after the fans invaded the pitch. We laughed. At the training ground, we put the players through
a gruelling test that no one likes (we call it the Gacon test; I must explain more about it one day), but Victor was jokingly telling us that his national side does not need it because they get fit after games by running away from the fans.
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Today, Wednesday, we trained at Wembley. It was glorious weather for the occasion. I played at the old Wembley with Argentina 16 years ago. Also the 2015 League Cup final was hosted here, and we’ll be back for our Champions League home games this year.
Son Heung-min came back to rejoin us after featuring in the Olympics with South Korea. In his homeland, all men must do two years’ military service before the age of 28, or something like that. But exemptions are granted to those who, for instance, help the country to major sporting success. For that reason, winning a medal at the Games would have been a big deal for Son, but it wasn’t to be.
I had to do military service. It was one of the last years in which it was mandatory in Argentina. A draw was held to determine who was drafted; the last three digits of your ID number dictated your fate. I was stationed in the army. It was while I was a top-flight player with Newell’s. I kept going to training, sometimes I was allowed to leave a bit early to make it on time, but I had to wear uniform every day. And I cut my hair, obviously. I went from being a total hunk, with my fashionable long hairstyle, to a number one all over. Not sure it suited me.
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Roll on the matchday routine at White Hart Lane again. It’s like getting a hug from an old friend, made more special because it will be our last season here.
When we’re playing at home, like today against Crystal Palace, we never stay together the night before. If it’s a three o’clock kick-off, for example, we’ll be at the training ground four hours beforehand. I will go over the game plan with the coaches, eat three and a quarter hours before kick-off, have a short meeting, do some last-minute preparations, and then meet up again at the stadium.
Brave New World Page 6
