After that disappointing draw, the following message did the rounds among the four members of the coaching staff on WhatsApp:
‘Dogs and wolves are the same, except for one difference: dogs live at home, food and water are provided and they sleep in their owner’s bed. Wolves, meanwhile, live on mountains, have to find their own food and somewhere to kip . . . I want a team full of hungry and ambitious wolves.’ (Boza Maljkovic)
We also shared it with the players.
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When things don’t go well for you as a player, you can look for a new team or work hard to earn back your place and the coach’s trust. Obviously, the first option is more straightforward.
Eric Dier has rediscovered his focus. He’s making good decisions again and understanding his limits. We mustn’t forget that he’s 23 and has only just reached the top.
I recently saw him in the gym doing intense exercise. I went up to him and said: ‘Eric is back.’
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One day when I was in Newell’s reserves, I was invited to train with the first team under coach José Yudica. I was 17, young and hungry. Not scared of anybody, cocky even. I was picked to play against the starting line-up that was set to face Rosario Central that weekend in a traditionally heated derby.
Tata Martino, one of the Central team leaders, received a pass and I went in on him hard. He turned around and said to me, ‘Kid, I’m going to kill you.’
The Central coach shouted, ‘How could you do that to Martino?’
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I responded.
Tata said, ‘I don’t want to see you within three metres of me. I’m putting a restraining order on you.’ When I was back in the dressing room, getting changed before heading back home and annoyed by my lack of tact, the fitness coach said to me, ‘You’re going to be in the squad this weekend.’
And that’s how I ended up travelling with the first team. That clásico was part of a series of fixtures played in Buenos Aires. I made my debut 15 minutes from the end of a game at Vélez. I also got a 15-minute run-out away at Ferro. I kept training with the first team. One day, our centre-back Jorge Pautasso got injured and I started playing alongside Jorge Theiler. We established ourselves as the new centre-back pairing, even after Pautasso returned from his lay-off. That was in mid-to-late 1989. Eight months after my arrival, Bielsa was brought in as coach.
I see myself in every player making his first-team debut. And also in Yudica. Someone has to give you that first opportunity. When they open the door to you, make sure it never shuts again.Young players, when they get their first opportunity, must overcome two sizeable enemies: fear and insecurity.
Ferguson told me that when he took over at United, there was only one first-team player under twenty-four and he thought that was a mistake. ‘They say fortune favours the brave.’ Maybe other managers think it’s easier to win trophies with experienced players, but Sir Alex and I both see that as a ‘laugh now, cry later’ approach. I understand that this business is geared towards immediate success and it’s rare to find someone like Daniel who is willing to take a longer-term view in terms of building a team. Something else is also needed: in order to create your own identity and a winning mentality, you need players who dream of reaching the first team, like Harry Kane or Harry Winks.
And who’ll always remember who gave them that first opportunity.
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We were 2–0 up at home to Aston Villa last season. It’s a tight scoreline because it just takes a slice of luck or a moment of magic for the complexion of the game to change drastically. Although we were playing well, Jordan Ayew scored to make it 2–1 and the atmosphere in the stadium turned. You could almost feel the nerves.
Instead of bringing on an experienced defender, I handed a debut to Josh Onomah, an England Under-19 international midfielder. Such decisions can boost confidence levels, which drives everyone forward and, in turn, improves performance.
Someone recently said to me that it must be easier to bring through talented youngsters at Southampton or Tottenham than at Manchester United or Chelsea. ‘Why’s that?’ I asked.
‘They are less demanding,’ they replied.
‘Oh really? And they don’t sack managers at Southampton and Tottenham if they lose games?’
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Academy chief John McDermott told me what Sir Alex Ferguson recommended to Ryan Giggs when he started his career as a coach. ‘Arrive early. Speak with the lady that makes the tea. Go to see the people in charge of the laundry and the press team, even if it’s just to say hi. When things turn sour, they’re the ones who’ll always be with you.’
I often head to John’s office which is on the same floor as mine, but in another wing of the building at the training ground that I call ‘the House’. Just like at home, everything is informal and free-flowing, with him and with everybody else. We share information and ideas. I have great respect for his job and I don’t interfere. Sometimes I ask him to send up a few youth players to train with the first team. I know their names. Whenever they train with us, I thank them for their efforts. Sometimes John comes up with any old excuse to bring an academy player to see me, such as George Marsh this week, a tough-tackling holding midfielder – even if it’s just for a couple of minutes. They always appreciate the hug as much as I do.
On the first day when we spoke, John asked me what I needed.
I told him, ‘First of all the boys have to respect the team, work hard and be honest, good people. Then they have to be smart, fast, physically fit and have good technique and – this one is important – they should come here full of internal motivation and not expect their fathers or the coach to set the level of demand. The message is clear: if you’re responsible in your life, you’ll also be so on the pitch. If you acquire the right principles off the pitch, you’ll apply them in football. That’s how we can have faith in you. ‘And they have to believe.’
‘Believe? What do you mean?’ John asked. I explained it means having faith in what we’re bringing to the table. And if we don’t . . . That is not good news. Howard Wilkinson told John that he calls that stage FIFO: ‘Fit in or fuck off’. You can’t only be at 99 per cent belief, it needs to be 100 per cent. If you can’t manage that, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. It just means you don’t fit in here.
That’s the theory.
The problem is that a footballer’s psychology is directed towards self-defence. They don’t want to get too close to their coaches because they don’t want to put themselves in a position where they might get hurt. Maybe they think that someone who hugs them today might drop them from the team tomorrow. That can’t be negated with a chat or a second hug.
We offer a learning experience that can be applied to football and life, we suggest a way. ‘Sell, not yell,’ as they say in English. But it doesn’t always work which is when you have to mark your territory.
When we arrived, Tottenham used to be a side without any real battling spirit. We had to instil habits on and off the pitch, because there were only very limited training and disciplinary protocols in place. We demanded the squad train consistently and systematically, and we introduced tests to monitor performance in sessions. The players needed to be whipped back into peak shape and injury-prevention practices had to be instituted. Our style requires steadfast commitment and a lot of risk, so it was paramount that some fundamentals be established. Certain big names had got too comfortable – for example, one player who had been at the club for many years no longer came in for training on Mondays – but we gave them the chance to make mistakes and rethink things. It took us four months to approach the desired threshold and prompt a drastic transformation among the players.
All search for identity requires a deep understanding of where you are, a sensible analysis of consequences of any decision, and the courage to lead the club in the direction you want. When you apply all that to every minute of the day, answers and solutions arrive naturally, and the path gets slowly shaped. Some players came on board, othe
rs did not – not everyone accepted the changes and there was a lot of tension. In our first season in charge, we took the step not to have the team spend the night at a hotel all together before the League Cup final against Mourinho’s Chelsea, because we felt doing so wouldn’t help them: the tension created by the transition we were living would have inundated everything. It was best that people just came to play the game.
The day after we lost that match, one of our own players sang the José Mourinho chant to Jésus’s face. That is what we had to contend with.
Since our arrival, players had to understand which values were on the up and which were on the down. Tom Carroll went through this process. He made a very good start to pre-season in the United States, but Michael Dawson hit the ball into his face which left him stunned and dizzy. The protocol for head injuries came into play. He had to train on his own, but he wanted to be on the ball and with the group. That frustration caused him to lose respect for Jesús. I made it very clear to him that if anyone caused a fuss with Jesús, the doctor or Miguel, they were also doing so with me, as they were an extension of me. Once that has been explained to the player, if he learns, the matter is forgotten. If not, our relationship reaches breaking point. Danny Rose, Jan Vertonghen, Eric Dier, Moussa Sissoko and a few others have gone through just that. Those who have stayed are those who understand the new rules.
I often talk to Marcelo Bielsa about how times have changed in terms of player development. It’s true that there’s been a transformation, but it’s our responsibility for players to be reacquainted with aspects of the game that are being lost. The boy that plays football today is the same as forty years ago. He feels the same when he touches the ball, even if it isn’t made of leather and the pitch is artificial rather than grass. The academy coach has to be a teacher, first and foremost, who transmits those life values and is more focused on the future than the here and now.
Whenever I walk around our magnificent training ground in the afternoon, with all the expertly maintained pitches, I stop to watch training or games involving the boys from eight through to 12. I observe them very carefully: do they react in the same way that we did, would they go without food or sleep to keep playing? The answer is yes. The problem is that their passion for the game dies sooner these days because when a boy dribbles past three players, there are several people queuing up to be his agent and promising him fame and fortune. When the game turns into a profession, you start to lose your desire to play.
I often think about Dele Alli’s WhatsApp photo. John says that when the trough is full, the pigs come from all over to feed. The coach used to be the dominant voice, but now the player listens to so many others, especially those who promise the world. On top of that, there’s a certain lack of integrity at some clubs regarding which teenagers are chosen and their wage structures.
The paradox is that many of the aspects that curtail a player’s enjoyment of the game are, in part, what brought us here in the first place:
we wouldn’t earn so much if football didn’t generate so much money.
The Argentinian writer José Narosky says that whoever exchanges happiness for money can’t exchange money for happiness. In that context, how can we get teenagers and their parents to believe in our way of doing things when other clubs offer higher salaries? That’s our battle. If you ask Cameron Carter-Vickers to run into a wall, he’ll say, ‘Do you want me to do it twice?’ But that isn’t common.
What type of society are we building where only success, money and material possessions matter? It’s certainly not a very spiritual world. John McDermott told me that the main cause of death among 18 to 35-year-olds in the Western world used to be road accidents. Now it’s suicide.
The world is confused.
What’s in these young players’ minds? What makes them so desperate? You have to try to understand them, although that’s often rather laborious. Five minutes before the warm-up, when their boots are on and their shin pads and kits are in place, practically all of them take another look at their mobiles. Is it that important to know if you have a new message right at that time? It doesn’t make sense. Their heads should be focused on training, improving, putting in the effort and enjoying what they’re about to experience. But how can you prevent them from checking their phones if they all do it? When they get back, they do it again. Banning it would create conflict. My job is to make them see that they should approach training and the profession differently.
I was told that John showed the Under-16s and Under-18s one of my recent press conferences in which I spoke about our philosophy. That’s also a way of transmitting values. Sometimes I watch those sides play, and the Under-21s as well. But my analysis of them as players won’t be complete until I’ve seen them defend against Harry Kane or break away from Victor Wanyama.
Most will get their chance. Once we’ve opened the door, our job consists of shaping the environment in which players can channel their energy; we try to give them confidence and allow them to express themselves. But the source of that energy comes from their own motivation; we can’t constantly keep up that level of passion all season long or throughout a player’s career. That passion has to be accompanied by rationality. We need to shape their way of thinking, so that they want to do what we want them to do.
Breaking into the first team is but the first chapter of many. They must then develop the right mentality in order to stay with us and keep improving. Harry Kane is the perfect example: a player who understood us, took on new habits and is now making the most of each and every one of his qualities.
He was a frustrated guy when I arrived. He struggled to visualise his future at the club, with two or three strikers ahead of him in the pecking order and he was constantly being shipped out on loan. It was doubly exasperating for him as a Tottenham fan. The club then suddenly hired an Argentinian coach and I picked up on his sense of resignation: ‘I’m sure this guy will bring in some other big-name striker.’ It was a tough few months because we didn’t click initially. He was out of form and, at 21, had the habits of a player in his thirties, the type that has been around the block.
Human beings tend to naturally settle and stop doing those small things that are so essential if you want to keep winning. I had several stern conversations with Harry in which I had to make him understand that he had to get ready for whenever the opportunity might arise. Fame and a hefty transfer fee don’t pave the way to a starting berth, only hard work. Harry was humble enough to listen and take advice. We put the tools in place for him to improve. The moment finally arrived for him. He played and then played again. By seeing his progress the boys coming up through the ranks realised that we kept our word.
Kane is a warrior now. He already was, but he didn’t know he had it in him. I’m not speaking about qualities or traits, but that absolutely essential mental strength to be able to stay in the elite. I believe Harry Kane is the best player in the world in terms of mental strength, willpower and endeavour. He is completely focused on his football. He has a house in Essex but spends the week at another one that he owns closer to the training ground. He’s the first person to arrive and the last to leave. He likes to join in when someone with different experiences in football comes to visit it. He enjoys sitting down with us, soaking it all up and also participating in the discussions. At those times it is as though for him nothing else in the world exists. We both enjoy marvellous little football moments when they occur.
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If I were to move into international management one day, I’d relish the opportunity to coach the England national team. I’ve heard that I’ve been considered for the job before, but I don’t know if there was any truth in it. I’d be reunited with loads of familiar faces: Harry Kane, Danny Rose, Dele Alli, Eric Dier, Adam Lallana . . . Of the last 21 England debutants, 17 have played under me: there’s also the likes of Rickie Lambert, Jay Rodriguez, Calum Chambers, Nathaniel Clyne, Luke Shaw and Ryan Mason . . . In the last four and a half seasons, 11 regulars in the En
gland squad made their international debuts while under my stewardship.
I remember once telling Lallana how taken aback I was when I first witnessed the mentality of English players up-close – their eagerness and enthusiasm in training, the sparks that fly in 50-50 challenges. Lallana himself was once so angry with a decision during a training match that he blew his top and swore at Miki (who was serving as the referee, as he often does). He subsequently apologised, but I thought to myself, ‘I want guys like that in my team.’ The English are brave, honest and aggressive, and the good ones want to add to their game.
We see all of those things in the lads at our academy . . . until they start getting confused by the stuff I was talking about before.
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The season continues to present us with exciting challenges. In the Europa League we’ve been drawn against Gent; we have the potential to go far in this competition. We’re through to the FA Cup fifth round, just a few matches away from the final. But we’ve been giving off mixed messages. Do we have what it takes or not? Are we in it to win? Do we really want it? Are we the wolves or the dogs?
Over the course of this week, we’ve kept pushing the guys who still have more to give; we’ve asked the team’s main men to try to drive us on from within. And we’ve also been visited by some old friends: Florin Răducioiu, my former Espanyol teammate, and Dimitar Berbatov, who – after seeing the training ground and getting a glimpse of some details from the new stadium – said that this is a bigger club than Manchester United. Sometimes we place too much stock in big buildings. He told me he’d love to sign for Tottenham again and that if I was looking for a striker, he had been training – he lives between London and Bulgaria – and was ready to go. I don’t know whether he was being serious or not. I think he was. It reminded me of one time when we were looking for a goalkeeper at Espanyol. A former pro offered his services and claimed he was still fit because he swam with his daughter twice a week. It’s easy to lose sight of how extraordinarily far apart elite sport is.
Brave New World Page 23
