Kaiser

by Rob Smyth

  Some of the Ajaccio players were not quite as amused by Kaiser’s stories. ‘The team captain really hated me,’ says Kaiser. ‘He couldn’t handle seeing me with so many beautiful women while he was stuck with his frumpy childhood sweetheart.’

  Kaiser knew that the captain, a long-serving club legend, was campaigning for the club to get rid of him. He decided to do something about it.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE BLACKMAILER

  Kaiser put on a solemn face and strained until a few tears started to dribble from his eyes. ‘Look,’ he said to the Ajaccio captain. ‘I know I have been reckless and irresponsible. I come from a poor family in Rio and I got carried away with the temptations of this island. Give me another chance. You’ll see a change straight away. If you don’t, you can tell Guy Calleja, Mancini, whoever you like, to get rid of me.’

  The captain told Kaiser he was happy to give him another opportunity, but that the team needed him to stop gallivanting, especially as they were battling to avoid relegation. The next day, the players were getting changed for training when they saw somebody out on the field practising free-kicks. ‘Hang on,’ said Fabinho. ‘That’s Kaiser.’

  Kaiser had a reasonable game in training that day, especially for someone so patently lacking in match fitness, and there was fresh excitement that he would live up to his reputation. The winter break was imminent, and the management decided it would be premature to rush Kaiser into the team. They gave him a special fitness programme when he returned to Rio for the Christmas period, with a view to him finally making his debut when the league resumed in January.

  Ajaccio drew their last game before the break, a decent result away at Gueugnon, and the players were in good spirits when they had their Christmas party at a local nightclub. Kaiser, who as usual was not drinking, noticed the players getting more boisterous by the hour. He became increasingly bored with their inane chatter and went off for a wander.

  An hour or so later, Kaiser returned with a group of women, who joined the players’ table. As the evening progressed, nature started to take its course and there were particularly lusty cheers from the players when their straight-laced captain disappeared with one of the ladies.

  Fabinho and Kaiser were due to fly home the following day. Before that, the team met for a comedown lunch and debrief. The consensus was that it had been one of the better Christmas parties. Kaiser sat next to the team captain and held court majestically. When lunch eventually arrived, Kaiser leaned forward and whispered tenderly in the captain’s ear: ‘Listen, I have nothing to do with your life but don’t get in my way. Otherwise your wife will find out that you slept with that girl last night. She was an escort, you stupid fool. You’re not the big stud you think you are. You might be captain but I’m in charge here, so don’t bring me down. If you want to keep your marriage and your kids, you’ll keep your mouth shut. You’re not a bad man, but I am, so don’t get in my way.’

  ***

  Kaiser was keen to leave Ajaccio – he’d been there four months – but was only going to do so on his own terms. He returned to Brazil for Christmas to tell everyone about his explosive career in France. He knew there was no chance of anyone in Rio knowing anything about the minutiae of the French second division, so he let his imagination run riot. He had scored eighteen goals in fourteen games, was being watched by the French champions Bordeaux and had even been invited to present an award at the Cannes Film Festival.

  He enjoyed the trappings of his increased fame so much that he didn’t bother going back to Corsica after Christmas. He cited a non-existent passport problem, and eventually persuaded a weary Ajaccio board to allow him to look for a loan deal in Rio. He made a virtue of that, too: Kaiser spun an alternative story in which he had been sent home for disciplinary reasons after going out too much, and said the club would not sell him for anything less than $2 million.

  At other times it suited Kaiser to pretend his time in France had been a triumph, and that he’d bought his way out of his contract because he decided it was time to make his name at one of the Rio super-clubs. That was the story he told when he pitched up at Vasco da Gama looking for a trial. He got his friends Bebeto and Tato, two of the stars of Vasco’s team, to recommend him to the president Eurico Miranda.

  Kaiser decided he should at least wait until the second week before pretending to pull up lame, just in case somebody had heard about the player who was injured in his first training session at Fluminense a few years earlier. The problem was that, though he knew he was good enough to play for clubs like Bangu, America and Ajaccio, he also realised he was out of his depth at Vasco. To ensure he wasn’t exposed, Kaiser developed a trick that would become familiar to those who played with him.

  ‘He could go twenty-five to thirty minutes without touching the ball,’ says Ricardo Rocha, the World Cup-winning defender who played with Kaiser in some celebrity kickabouts. ‘If the ball was on the right, he was on the left. If the ball was on the left, he was on the right. If it was in the middle, he was in defence. If the ball was in defence, he was in attack. He had a really bad relationship with the ball.’

  One day, Ricardo Rocha broached the subject with Kaiser. ‘I said to him, “Kaiser, you never get involved.” He said, “Ricardo, I have a unique style of play. I play without the ball.” He compared himself to Reinaldo, a brilliant player for Atlético Mineiro who was known for his off-the-ball movement. We would die laughing. He was a cheeky bugger.’

  Ricardo Rocha played alongside Romário, Gheorghe Hagi, Ronaldo, Hugo Sánchez and others, so he knows what an icon looks like. ‘Kaiser is one of the most iconic figures in world football,’ he says. ‘It’s a unique story. He’s a footballer who played without playing. Nobody else has remained in football without playing for as long as he did. He did so because of his human touch. Everybody liked Kaiser. He was amazing off the field. He ate well. He would tell jokes. He only had one problem: the ball.’

  In theory, Kaiser was a centre-forward. In reality, he was a really false nine. ‘I was a futuristic footballer,’ he says enigmatically. ‘I was years ahead of my time.’

  Kaiser may not have done much on the pitch at Vasco, or indeed anything, but he did help the club win the title in 1989. Tato, the maverick winger, was having major personal problems during the season, with a crumbling marriage and widespread stories of alcohol and drug abuse. Kaiser became Tato’s minder, his therapist, his wingman – and, in all probability, his pimp. Whatever he did, it worked.

  ‘Tato had really serious personal issues, and Kaiser played a huge part in helping us rehabilitate that player,’ says Paulo Angioni, who was the club’s director of football at the time. ‘Tato really liked him, too. And Kaiser had a really important function for us as well as that player, in helping him get out of the hole he found himself in. It was a very tricky situation.’

  Tato had a fine domestic career, winning titles with Fluminense in 1984 and Vasco in 1989, yet he is another of his generation whose talent was not fulfilled. He played only three times for Brazil. ‘He was a great, incisive winger,’ says Sergio Américo, ‘but there were always stories about his personal life which really damaged his career. The newspaper headlines weren’t great: police raids, things relating to Tato’s dark side. But as a player he went down in history, particularly at Fluminense.’

  While he was at Vasco, Kaiser got the usual souvenirs. His CV now included the grand slam of Rio’s clubs: Botafogo, Flamengo, Fluminense and Vasco. This was particularly useful when he was on a night out. ‘There are some bad things about being a footballer,’ says Roger Flores. ‘Getting up early, training and pressure from the fans, especially if you are on the street after a defeat and some guy is giving you an evil stare and wanting to hit you. Kaiser just lived the good part, which was parties and being with hot women. Kaiser never lost. If Flamengo won he’d say he used to be a Flamengo player. If Fluminense lost then he’d never played for them. He was always at the party after a victory.’

  ***

&n
bsp; The game of the weekend had been a huge anticlimax. Vasco vs Flamengo, Romário vs Bebeto, was watched by a pitiful crowd and then curtailed because of floodlight failure. Afterwards the players of both sides went to Zoom nightclub for the Garota Azul (‘blue girl’) contest. Before it started, the nightclub owner wanted somebody to go on stage to talk about the Vasco fiasco. Romário and Bebeto, the two most exciting young forwards in Brazilian football, were in the building. Yet, almost inevitably, the man asked to talk about the game was Kaiser.

  ‘What do you think about the lack of intensity in the stadium for such a big Brazilian derby game?’

  ‘It’s a farce. It’s really shameful that this could occur in a country that wants to be considered the land of football. That’s why I’m considering offers from Italy and Spain. Like my friend Pelé says, “This isn’t a serious country”.’

  Romário, who was not always enamoured of Kaiser’s tricks and fame, stomped around furiously demanding to know what was going on.

  Renato Gaúcho recalls a similar incident in a nightclub in São Conrado. ‘It was 3 a.m. and everybody was getting off with each other; beers, women, banter,’ he says. ‘Suddenly a guy grabs the microphone up at the front saying, “I’d like your attention because somebody is about to give a lecture about football.” I thought, “Fuck! This guy interrupts the whole nightclub? There’s a bunch of famous people here, none of whom would do that. Who is this clown?” They stopped the music and put the lights on the stage. And who comes on? Carlos Kaiser.’

  On another occasion, three famous footballers were asked to judge a beauty contest. Jorginho and Gil, stars of the Seleção (the name given to the Brazilian national team, literally meaning selection), and you-know-who. Except he was introduced as Carlos Eduardo, the America player. Carlos Eduardo is black.

  Kaiser knew how to steal the show. He also knew how to run it. ‘He was the man in the biggest nightclubs of Rio,’ says Alexandre Couto. ‘A lot of them were exclusive clubs and he would be the one choosing who was allowed in or not. He was the Romário of Studio C.’

  Kaiser was like a premium-line number, who players would call to find out where the best party was that night.

  For a while, they didn’t even need to call him; they could just turn on the TV. Kaiser was going out with the presenter of Bem Forte, a sports show on CNT, and wangled a guest slot. As well as interviewing stars like Renato Gaúcho and Jairzinho, he would gratuitously advertise certain nights out in return for VIP treatment.

  ‘The single guys back then would always seek him out,’ says Fabinho. ‘And he had options for all of them. Whatever they fancied. They might want to chill out in a nightclub. They might see a girl they’re interested in. He had all the contacts to make things happen for those players. And that helped him further down the line when he needed something in return.’

  Kaiser facilitated hook-ups all over Rio. ‘I can’t name any players because they’re married,’ says Kaiser. ‘But it was a non-stop slut bonanza. Not like today where the guys leave traces. The players liked getting up to no good. Things happened and nobody found out. You don’t want to know. Look, my thing is mischief. Every player has a million stories about me. But they can’t tell stories that involve sex because they’re married. They’re not going to harm their own image, they’re not going to expose themselves. The only one who’s exposing themselves by telling the truth is me.’

  ***

  Having completed the Rio grand slam, Kaiser decided to explore São Paulo’s biggest club, Palmeiras. He used his friendship with Rocha, their midfield player, to arrange a deal. When Kaiser got there the club president was away, and no contracts could be signed in his absence. Kaiser was asked to trial for a week, without pay. The idea distressed him.

  On his first day, before training, Kaiser spoke to a young left-back called Cacapo. Kaiser asked him what he earned per week and promised to double it if Cacapo slide-tackled him aggressively in the first minute. He did so, Kaiser pretended he had strained ligaments in his ankle and put his feet up until the president returned.

  This time, it didn’t go according to plan. A hardcore of Palmeiras fans, the kind of men dark alleys were afraid to have walk down them, found out about Kaiser’s chequered appearance history. To this day, Kaiser has no idea who told them. They came to his hotel and warned him that, if he didn’t leave São Paulo straight away, they would make absolutely sure he was unfit to play football. Kaiser took the next flight to Rio. He even paid for his own ticket.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE PIGGY IN THE MIDDLE

  Even Kaiser accepted there were some battles he couldn’t win. One was with the Palmeiras hardcore; another, though it was less likely to impact upon the contours of his kneecaps, was with Tele Santana. Kaiser fancied a return to the South Zone lifestyle of Rio but knew Santana, the romantic perfectionist who coached Brazil at the 1982 and 1986 World Cups and was now in charge at Fluminense, would not be thrilled with the idea of him joining the club on loan from Ajaccio. The two weren’t entirely simpatico. Santana had worked with some of the greatest footballers of all time, including Zico, Socrates, Roberto Falcão and Careca. It’s not hard to imagine his reaction if he ever saw Kaiser’s first touch.

  The suspicion was mutual. Kaiser had not forgiven Santana for chucking Renato Gaúcho out of the 1986 World Cup squad. He waited until August – when the Fluminense first team travelled to Holland for a mid-season break at the Feyenoord Tournament, a friendly event involving the hosts, Anderlecht and Benfica – before approaching the club. That allowed Kaiser to get his feet under the table before Santana had chance to point out that his technique was not entirely commensurate with established standards at Fluminense. He got Castor de Andrade to recommend him to the club’s owner Farid Abrahão, a fellow bicheiro who was also president of the Beija-Flor samba school.

  Marcio Meira, the club’s head of fitness, turned up for work as normal on a Monday morning when a director asked him to take a look at a new player they had signed as back-up for the second half of the season. ‘Kaiser was the first person I saw when I came into the dressing room,’ says Meira. ‘He had big hair, like Maradona, and sunglasses. He looked like he’d come straight from a nightclub! When he sauntered onto the pitch I thought, “What the hell is that?” Being a fitness coach, the first thing I looked at was his body. I thought, “It’s going to be a bit of work to get him in shape to play.” He told me he’d been injured for months.’

  The absence of the first team teased Kaiser’s ego. He suspected he’d stand out among the reserves and youth squad and decided to put his boots back on. A few days’ training and then he’d get injured before the first team returned.

  He stood out all right. The day started with a game of piggy in the middle, the usual way for Brazilians to flaunt their ability and their masculinity. It was also the perfect way to check out a new player, a kind of technical medical. Kaiser’s first touch was imperfect: the ball clanged off his shin and straight to the piggy in the middle, who thus swapped places with Kaiser.

  Over the next few minutes, Kaiser learned the true meaning of the word futility: the players moved the ball around with dizzying speed, and he could not get near it. ‘He must have been injured a long time!’ chirped one player. ‘Go get it, Maradona!’ said another. After a few minutes Kaiser was on his haunches, gulping for a magical hit of oxygen that might just save his life.

  Meira, who was watching on with a combination of bewilderment and pity, suggested Kaiser should do a week’s fitness training to get up to speed. ‘I’ll never forget that day,’ he says. ‘It was so funny. He’d touched the ball once and they had already nicknamed him Maradona. The players are very welcoming. But they don’t miss a chance to take the piss.’

  Kaiser didn’t mind the ridicule. He was usually happy for people to laugh with or at him so long as he got what he wanted – in this case up-to-date Fluminense gear and the skeleton of a true story that he could manipulate as necessary.

  ‘Characters like K
aiser are always well received in the football world,’ says Paulo Angioni, who was the director of football at Vasco da Gama when Kaiser played there. ‘We like upbeat people who you can tease without them getting upset. He’s exactly that type of character. He has great qualities. He has kindness, generosity and joy.’

  Marcelo Henrique, the Bangu ballboy who encouraged local kids to sing about Kaiser, was now part of the first-team squad at Fluminense. He could barely believe how easily Kaiser became part of such a prestigious club. ‘To get to Fluminense I had to come through Bangu as a ballboy with loads of problems over there in the favela,’ he says. ‘Kaiser came along and signed without any problem. There’s an old Pagode song: “What does he have? I don’t have it”. That’s Kaiser. Whatever it is, he’s got it. He signed with Vasco, Fluminense, Botafogo and Flamengo without kicking a ball. That should be in the Guinness Book of Records.’

  Kaiser became popular with the Fluminense players, especially when they became aware of the breadth of his contacts book. He was starting to enjoy himself until the first team returned from Rotterdam. The following day, after training, the coach Santana called Kaiser over for a chat.

  ‘Kaiser, I don’t think you’re going to make it at this club. You’re not up to the standard we need to challenge for trophies. I know you are close with the president so we’ll help you get your fitness back until you are ready to try out at another club. You can do all the fitness training you like with us, but you won’t be involved when we do technical work. I’m sorry, I know I’m probably crushing your dream. The boys told me you’ve been a Fluminense fan all your life.’

  Kaiser faked disappointment as best he could and thanked Santana for his candour. He was less sanguine when he found out that Santana had discouraged Marcelo Henrique from hanging out with him. From that moment on, Kaiser made sure there were two girls waiting for them at the end of each training session, largely to wind Santana up, and even persuaded Henrique to boycott a game against Flamengo at the Maracanã. Kaiser spent around four months doing fitness training before an opportunity arose to return to his boyhood club Botafogo. By the end of his time at Fluminense he was excelling in the physical work, especially the long-distance races. But he still wasn’t allowed near the ball.