At half-time, Toni said to me, ‘I think Artur knows we were talking about that incident.’
After the final whistle, I made a beeline for Artur and said to him, ‘Did you see my reaction?’
He responded, ‘Yes, and from that moment on, all I could think when I saw you was “That bastard has been taking the piss . . .”’ It’s just as well we won (1–0); if we’d have lost, my body language could have been used by the keeper as an excuse to justify his mistakes. Coaches have to take away as many excuses as possible from players, as they are often ready to blame others for their own mistakes.
So it’s not a matter of being passionate or showing lots of emotion, but rather of not forgetting that our role is to be the support act to the stars of the show.
I don’t know whether or not I’m a good manager. I don’t know how you gauge that. If you coach Espanyol and don’t win any trophies, does that make you a bad manager? Does winning things make you the best? Frank Rijkaard, Guardiola, Tito Vilanova, Tata and Luis Enrique all won things at Barcelona. But when Messi, Iniesta, Piqué and Busquets are no longer around, it’ll probably be somewhat harder.
The complicated challenge with great players like that is to ensure they remain hungry to carry on winning. The glory of victory can become like an addiction; you need good leadership to keep fuelling their competitive juices, but do that and these beasts will work like men possessed to get to experience those magical moments again. If you’ve never tasted glory, it’s impossible to imagine what it’s like and external motivation isn’t enough – you’ve got to feel it within you. But how can you, if you can’t imagine it? That is the Catch-22 that a manager has to break by creating the right environment and mentality.
That’s why it’s impossible not to admire serial winners like Federer and Nadal, who never tire of the taste of victory and make all sorts of sacrifices to repeat the feat. Some footballers think that success means having 3 million or 30 million in the bank, being on TV and people wanting your autograph. But money doesn’t buy you happiness and the fame is fleeting.
In any case, there are no absolute truths in football, despite the growing ranks of coaches, myself included, who devote hour upon hour to the search for them – studying the science of the game, trying to control everything and sometimes even putting far too many limits in place. We follow one another, steal ideas from each other and develop our own. Still, I think that it’d be ideal if we could strike a balance between current trends and the ways of the past. A few decades ago, football was creative, it was all about playing and having fun, and there weren’t many restrictive structures. Perhaps I’m romanticising that era, but I’ve got infinite respect for the likes of Menotti and Ferguson, walking encyclopaedias whose knowledge and experience, when studied closely, help to remind us what it’s all about.
It’s a shame I did not have more chances to play against Ferguson’s teams, but I’m lucky enough to be around at the same time as, and compete regularly against, many others who inspire me to keep improving. Wenger, Mourinho, Simeone, Guardiola and Conte are just a few of those who are capable of springing surprises at any time, which forces me to try to stay a step ahead. What team will he field? Why is he moving his full-back infield? What’s the idea behind that change? There are hundreds of questions that make it such a fantastic challenge.
There’s a certain type of manager who is always preoccupied with external noise, for the large part banal things, and suffers whenever he receives criticism. I used to be that way: I’d let lies, or comments that stemmed from a lack of knowledge, affect me. An inaccurate image of me was portrayed in some circles; I suppose there must have been a hidden agenda at work. I ended up paying for unpopular decisions, like my handling of Raúl Tamudo, because there are plenty of people sitting there waiting and hoping you drop the ball. I gradually learnt to take a step back and look at the bigger picture when analysing the team, making better decisions by considering the consequences. You have to show foresight, so that what you say today doesn’t impinge on you tomorrow. And, above all, you’ve got to make sure you have all the information to hand; without it, it’s easy to get things wrong, as has happened to me on more than one occasion.
I don’t deal with the budget, salaries or new contract negotiations – that’s Daniel’s domain. But managers don’t just decide a team’s strategy on the pitch; they are also involved in the travel arrangements, the dietary side, planning the schedule for the season and determining the make-up of the squad. That’s why you should acknowledge that every gesture and word leaves its mark – everything you do leaves its own indelible DNA trace on it, however microscopic it may be. Your communication must be spot on to avoid any confusion. And you must be honest. You can’t fool a large group of people; you might get away with it for a short while, but not in the long term.
Marcelo Bielsa used to weigh everything up carefully and then tell you what he thought to your face, even if it hurt. On top of that, he somehow seemed to get inside your head: when you’d answer, he’d already know what you were going to say, so he’d have the next question ready. It was as if he’d seen the script for our conversations in advance. That’s experience for you.
‘A good coach can change a game; a great coach can change a life.’ These are the words of legendary basketball coach John Wooden. I second that sentiment.
John McDermott says I’m a diva. He’s seen pictures of me from my playing days, with my long hair, and he thinks – rightly so – that I had a considerable ego. A ‘humble’ diva he has called me more than once, maybe to make the description more . . . palatable. All coaches must go about their business with confidence in their methods. But, like many others, I need people by my side; I enjoy sharing, helping them to grow and giving them a voice. So, in John’s book, I’m a diva who gives back, a ‘humble diva’ if it’s not too much of a contradiction in terms. A few times I’ve explained to him that, when I’m feeling strong and lucid, and I think of something with sufficient conviction, it then comes to pass. He associates that with high self-esteem, but I’m not sure it’s about ego; I think it’s a gift that helps me to decipher the world.
I don’t like seeing myself on television – I laugh at my own English. ‘Turn off that TV,’ I say after hearing myself for a short while. Thinking about it, if I’m honest, I feel some of the things I’ve written in this diary do verge on arrogance, on the egotism that can be all-consuming. And the idea of drifting over to the dark side worries me.
John has told me about the huge popularity of showjumping in the United Kingdom in the 1970s. One of the biggest stars was the supremely arrogant Harvey Smith, who once said, ‘Put me on a pit pony and I’d still win.’ John says that I’m like Smith – that I have the audacity to believe I can handle anything and everything. Coming from him, it must be true. But in any case, my ultimate goal, my ‘everything’, is more than a picture of myself lifting a trophy for Tottenham.
‘No person was ever honoured for what he received. Honour has been the reward for what he gave.’
This quote by former American president Calvin Coolidge was also sent to me by John, Mr Academic.
That’s my true dream.
*
I have bought tickets to see Sting next month.
*
It’s 30 March today. In football, all you can do in order to win and keep winning is to put all the requisite ingredients together, make the decisions you deem right, surround yourself with the right people and lead the way. The magic lies in the fact at some unspecified moment, which often isn’t of your choosing, it will all come together and click into place. And then everything flows naturally.
There can be no doubt that we’ve clicked.
Let’s go back over the last four weeks, including the Barcelona speculation following my encounter with their president, Josep Maria Bartomeu.
The 2nd was my birthday and we celebrated with a small gathering at home. That aside, there was a calm vibe at the training ground. Following two wins in
a row in the league and our European elimination, not to mention a fortnight of intense discussions, we were searching for a bit of tranquillity. We decided to do some refresher training – running through the fundamentals of our game, the defensive and attacking hallmarks of our style – and to check on the lads’ fitness. We wanted to intersperse work and rest, making the most of the fact that we only had three matches coming up in four weeks. Some of the players have already played over 40 games this season, so tailoring workloads individually is hugely important. In fact, sometimes we put on up to eight different types of training in a single day.
Physical conditioning isn’t just about doing sit-ups, jumping or doing weights like in my Newell’s days. It’s experienced a huge evolution within football. We have six fitness coaches and Jesús systematically coordinates everything by studying the requirements and advising on the type of training and workload based on detailed data for each player. It happens in various cycles, depending on the time of year. When Jesús has a clear idea of what he wants to do, he tells me, but on most occasions he does so without needing to consult me because we know each other so well.
Toby Alderweireld, Jan Vertonghen and Harry Kane all had knocks, but they recovered in time for the Everton game on Sunday 5 March. We had prepared attacking game plans catering for them playing either three or four at the back, which were the two set-ups they’d used up to that point. In the event, Ronald Koeman flooded the middle of the park – fielding a 4-5-1 with five central midfielders, something he’d not done before – in an attempt to stymie our build-up play between the lines, but we controlled the match and displayed variety in our game. We completed more sprints and covered more ground in the opening 45 minutes than in any other first half this season, with Kane’s goal coming as a result and putting us at ease. We created loads of chances. Harry scored again, before Lukaku pulled it back to 2–1 with nine minutes to go. What happened next was a catalogue of errors, including one of my own.
In the 90th minute, Dele Alli made it 3–1. I celebrated effusively for a change – excessively so, as if the game were already over, something that I thought I had stamped out. And the team fell asleep, to the extent that Everton went right up the other end and scored. I spent what was left of stoppage time shaking my head. I felt that my celebration had opened the door for my players to switch off.
At the final whistle, all too aware of my lapse, I looked at my staff to see if they had realised. I pulled out my phone and, as I’d expected, there was a message from my wife, who tends to give me her opinion after matches. ‘What were you playing at? Did you lose your mind when Dele scored? Never again!’ I’d been busted. I was really angry with myself. When I got home, as a diversionary tactic, I told her that the fact she hadn’t come to the stadium for a while was clearly a lucky charm, because we’ve been winning.
Harry remains in excellent form. He’s the top striker in the league with 19 goals and has scored 14 times in 12 matches in 2017. And, at 23, he is as enthusiastic as ever: he enjoys training, he prolongs his sessions and he studies elite players, past and present. I WhatsApp him videos of goals or interesting pieces of play by other strikers. At all hours. The last one I sent him was at 11 p.m.
We’re engaged in another battle, although we’re not talking about it publicly because it’s of secondary importance: the chance to finish above Arsenal for the first time in 22 years. After the Everton game, we’d moved six points ahead of them with 11 games to go. We were seven points behind league leaders Chelsea and were hopeful that West Ham could get a result against them the following day. We had to keep believing that catching them was possible, and at the very least be ready to pounce if they slipped up – which didn’t happen in the derby at the London Stadium, where they won 2–1.
That Monday, the first of two days off I’d given the squad, I spoke to John McDermott. The Under-16s had suffered a bad loss and I decided to attend their training session – or, rather, to take part in it – as a show of support for the coach and to give the kids a lift. And to demand more of them. They’re at an age at which they need to be aware of their responsibilities. I had a great time.
Rumours about Barcelona possibly being interested in me have resurfaced. I was asked in a press conference whether it was flattering to be linked with the Catalan giants. ‘I’ve seen the list of replacements for Luis Enrique and it’s about a hundred names,’ I replied. ‘I know the business; I don’t take that as being flattering.’ I know there’s no smoke without fire, but what else could I say?
I had other matters to worry about, such as my players. Around that time I had a very tricky conversation with one of the key men, whose name I’ll keep to myself for the time being. It was our second in the space of two years. I got Jesús to prepare the ground and they spent almost an hour talking. I swooped in to add the finishing touches, although Jesús kept chiming in with phrases like, ‘You do this in training, this in games and these are the statistics.’ I went down the contract route: ‘If you carry on like this, we don’t need you.’ There ended up being a trigger in a video that we showed him, clearly proving that he reacted conservatively on two occasions in the same match instead of doing what he should’ve done, which was to move forward. His decision affected him and the team. ‘Ah, yes, it’s true. I made a mistake,’ was his response when he saw it.
He wasn’t going to feature against Millwall in the FA Cup the following weekend, but I decided to play him and he was brilliant.
*
Jesús is about to finish watching House of Cards, whereas Miki and John are a bit behind. I like asking them which episode they’re on. ‘Ah, I remember,’ is my usual response when they tell me. They then usually walk away because they know I’m going to come out with a, ‘Well, after that Peter Russo goes and . . .’
‘Nooooo,’ they shout, as they distance themselves. That’s called a ‘spoiler’, right?
Francis Underwood has an incredible ability to understand the context and achieve his targets in the most ingenious ways. There’s a phrase that we’ve made our own, one uttered by the character that Kevin Spacey plays about Chief of Staff Linda Vasquez when he beats her for the vice-presidency in an internal battle: ‘I’ve never thought higher of her than I do at this moment. She lost, but she played to win.’
FA Cup fever was rife over the weekend and we had a whole week to prepare for our sixth-round tie, which was our second game of the month. We told the boys that it would be tough because League One Millwall had knocked out three Premier League sides, although they were at home in all those ties, and would be full of confidence knowing that they had nothing to lose. We couldn’t make the same mistake as we did against Wycombe by letting them come into their own at White Hart Lane.
It had been noticeable in training in recent weeks that we’d had enough time to recover and, as a consequence, all the players were extremely focused and in tip-top shape. The wake-up call that I gave them last month had worked as an attempt to rediscover what we’re all about and get back to the basics that we were letting slip.
There was a special atmosphere in the stadium for the cup tie against Millwall. It was the last fixture in the competition at White Hart Lane. Both during the warm-up and in the dressing room, I insisted that we couldn’t give our opponents as much as a sniff. That’s just how it went. We had a very serious approach and were fully focused from the first whistle. Before our first goal (which came on the half-hour mark), Harry Kane picked up another ankle injury. We weren’t even ten minutes into the game. That’s football.
Son hadn’t started recently and I gave him the nod, leaving Eriksen on the bench. But Christian had to warm up from the fifth minute when we saw that Harry couldn’t continue. If I had left Son out of the line-up and he had come on for an injured player, he would not have felt the boost of confidence a footballer gets from playing from the start. Often luck plays a part in the outcome of games.
Our 32 efforts on goal yielded six goals, including a Son hat-trick.
&nbs
p; Dele Alli once again showed why he’s such an ideal partner for any striker. During his first season he played all over, from holding midfielder to winger, but this season he’s only played as a forward behind Kane. He’s being compared with Lampard, but Dele isn’t a midfielder any more, although he may say otherwise. He’s a lethal finisher in the box who shows aggression and always looks forward.
After beating Millwall, we are two games away from a trophy.
Following every game, those who haven’t played partake in an intense training session at the stadium – three fitness coaches set up a travel gym wherever we go. Those who aren’t in the squad do so at the training ground, meaning everyone undergoes a similar level of physical exertion. We give them the following day off whenever we can, even if the game has gone badly.
In this instance, when we went to pick up our cars, we saw Kane again at the training ground. He was with his partner who had come to pick him up and he reiterated the message that he gave everyone after the game: ‘It’s not as serious as the previous injury, I’ll be back soon.’ With Kane going to be out for just over a month, it is now down to Dele, Vincent Janssen – against Millwall he scored his first goal from open play this season – and Son to get among the goals. Our worst run of results this season came when Harry was injured. We’ll see.
We expect him back for the FA Cup semi-final against Chelsea next month. This season, we lost to them at Stamford Bridge, but we beat them at home. We played different formations in the two games. Chelsea will show us where we stand once again.
The weather started to pick up around halfway through the month. I managed to find an hour and a half to stroll around the park with my wife. How am I not able to do that more often when the benefit is so huge? We’d wanted to do something for so many weeks, but the following always happens when we’re free on Sundays: where should we go? Mauri is playing football. If we drive to London, we have to sit through the horrendous traffic. Should we take the Tube? We’ll get noticed. You can’t just be spontaneous. What about staying home to watch a film? I can’t remember when we last went to the cinema or the theatre. Wait, there’s football on. And so we spend hours watching football. I’m a right bore for my wife. On the one hand, it’s fine because I’m a good catch and I’m not that much of a pain in the neck, but on the other, I’m quite a complicated fellow.
Brave New World Page 25
