Stillness and Speed: My Story

by Bergkamp, Dennis

  ‘And Maradona. I loved seeing him, too. Of course, later, when I was at Ajax, I’d see Cruyff and Van Basten doing all sorts of things and you wouldn’t exactly copy it, but you’d sort of file it away and think: “That’s interesting.”’

  Did you stand out in your street games? Were you playing in an original way then?

  ‘No, no. I’d be doing quite normal things. I mean I’m probably better than other kids, but it’s not like I’m there at that age. I’m a bit quicker than the others. I can control the ball. I can go past someone – light feet, quick feet, that sort of stuff.’

  What position did you play?

  ‘Striker. And I scored plenty of goals because I had a good kick. I often scored free-kicks above the heads of the small goalkeepers. They were too short to reach! And when I was nine or ten I used to like scoring direct from corners. I mean it wasn’t on a full-sized pitch, but later even on a full-pitch I enjoyed that. And, remember, thirty years ago we played a lot eleven v eleven on full-sized pitches. It wasn’t like now where the kids play on reduced-size pitches. The idea was: “If you can play proper football, you can play on a proper pitch.”

  ‘So, yeah, I was quite a conventional player back then. The main thing was my pace. I could go past my defender, or a pass would be played behind the full-back and I could beat him that way. Quite conventional skills, really. But I was inventive in scoring goals, like lobbing the goalkeeper. I always liked that. Always with a thought, not just hit it but thinking: “What can I do?” But even with the lobs it wasn’t an invention of mine. I’d seen that on TV. I think Cruyff scored a famous one against Haarlem in his first game back at Ajax, didn’t he? And Glenn Hoddle did a famous one. We even had a word for it in Dutch: stiftje. It’s like a wedge shot in golf with the clubface open . . . and it drops over the goalkeeper. I got a lot of pleasure from those shots. It’s fun, but it’s also effective. I got upset when people complained about me only doing it “the nice way”. I said, “No, it’s the best way. There’s a lot of space above the goalkeeper.”

  ‘I was lucky because in my generation, where I lived, there were a lot of boys my age. Out of school, all the time it was: “Come on, let’s play football.” I always had about five or six boys playing football with me. It’s the classic way of street football, isn’t it? But my brother Marcel didn’t have that because there were only girls at his age. So for him it was completely different. He had no one his age to play with. So he had to play either with me and my friends or with Ronald, who’s older. So when people ask me: “How did you become a professional football player?” maybe that’s one of the reasons. Ronald was like me in school as well. If he got nine out of ten, he was never pleased with that. He’d say, “What did I do wrong? Why didn’t I get a ten?” I was like that. And that’s why I like what Wenger said about being a perfectionist: “He wants to strive for perfection.” Even if I don’t reach it, I can be happy as long as I’m striving for it. You’re taking small steps all the time, improving, moving on.

  So you had quite an old-fashioned childhood, really? No video games, not many cars about. You were like the generation of ’74 who grew up playing football on empty streets after the war.

  ‘Yeah, in those days when you had a holiday, you didn’t go abroad. You stayed [at home] and played. I think my generation was the last that had that. Later, it was a different kind of street football which took place in the “courts”, like a basketball court with a high fence around it. The Surinamese guys had those; there were competitions between courts in different neighbourhoods around Amsterdam and that’s how they learned.’

  And how was it when you got to Ajax?

  ‘Very different from now. It’s one of the things we talk about as coaches. At that time, we had the strict shouting coaches who’d take you through an exercise you had to try to copy. Almost like a military thing. I had one trainer called Bormann. He was a nice guy, but he had a real military air about him. That was for two years. Then we had Dirk de Groot, who was really strict; there’d be a lot of shouting and you’d be a little bit scared, like “Oh no, I’m going to get him”. [Laughs] But he was a lovely guy as well. And in the A Juniors we had Cor van der Hart, with his hoarse voice. Also a nice guy, but very strict. And sometimes we had Tonny Bruins Slot [Cruyff’s assistant]. So the discussion we have now is “So how did you become a good player then?” If you look at the coaches we have now, they’re so different. They all have their badges, and they are all very sympathetic and know exactly how to play football and what kind of exercises you should do, and for how many minutes, and the distances between the goals, and where the cones should be where you’re playing positional games. And they know not to play too long – one and a half hours maximum. They all know exactly how everything should be done. Maybe that’s the problem. We never had that sort of attention, so we were more self-taught. Even with all the shouting, you just created your own thing.

  ‘Sometimes we even played pickup games like we were on the street. You know: sixteen guys, and the two captains play poting, which is like scissors, paper, stone but with the feet, and whoever wins that gets first pick. So one captain picks the best player, then the other one makes his pick, and so on. This is really true! This is how we made teams! And then we’d play a game. This is thirty years ago. We’re in the Ajax Youth, but it’s like the street. And one of the coaches is supervising, but more like a referee. “This is a goal, that’s a foul . . .” Not at all like now. Nowadays the coach stops the game and says: “Hey, guy, if you’ve got the ball here, where do you have to be now?” and shows the player everything. For us it was much more like it was in Cruyff’s time. It was really quite free for you to teach yourself. There’s no shouting or military guys any more, but it’s more strict in the football sense. Everyone is a head coach, everyone is a manager, everyone has their badges, and everything is done by the book. Is it too much? Probably. Everything is done for the kids now. They’re picked up from school by mini-vans. The food is there, the teaching is there. Everything. “OK, guys, we’re going to do the warm-up. Do two laps now. OK, now you’re going to do this, now you’re going to do that . . .” How can they develop themselves if everything is done for them? We’ve got players in the first team now who’ve come through the Youth and are used to playing a certain style and doing certain things. And as soon as it’s a little bit different it’s: “Oh no! I don’t know what to do!” You see them looking at the bench to find out what they should do.

  ‘It’s really a problem. You can see the difference with Luis Suarez when he was here [at Ajax]. Of course, maybe you wouldn’t agree with the things he did, but he was always trying to create something, always thinking: “How can I get the best out of this situation? Do I have to pull the shirt of the defender to get in front of him? Do I get out of position to control the ball?” His mind is always busy thinking. And sometimes he steps on someone’s foot or he uses his hand. Silly things. But the idea in his head is not bad. And he’s very creative. So that’s one of the things we try to do with the training now in the Youth – give players the chance to develop themselves into creative, special, unique individuals. We can’t copy what we had in the past. Somehow we have to find a different way, so the players who come into the first team are creative again, can think for themselves, can make a difference, basically. Be special. Be unique. That’s what we want. You can’t be unique if you do the same thing as the ten other players. You have to find that uniqueness in yourself.’

  2

  JOHAN

  ‘HE WOULD NEVER say it himself, but he is Dutch football,’ says Dennis. He is talking about the key mentor of his career. Johan Cruyff spotted Dennis’s talent when he was in the Ajax Youth team, then played Yoda to his Luke Skywalker and guided him to higher things, often in surprising and mysterious ways. Cruyff has done the same for others, too, of course, influencing most of the great talents of modern Dutch football (and plenty of Spanish and Danish ones, too). More importantly, says Dennis, he shaped the footballin
g mindset of the nation.

  ‘All the Dutch players who are adventurers – and most of us are – get it a bit from Johan. That’s his personality and philosophy and it became the Dutch way of playing. Of course, we adjust to the country or the club where we are. But we still have the Dutch mentality. We want to be someone, to do something our way. We’re the kind of people who say: “I know what I’m talking about, and I know what I want, and I see what I can do.” That can be seen as a bit arrogant, but it’s not really. Cruyff is the biggest one in that. He’s not arrogant. He just knows what he’s talking about. Maybe it’s a Dutch thing, or an Amsterdam thing as well, but Johan really was the biggest influence. Because his career was extreme, he was a pioneer. He’s been there – really been there – and he’s done it all. And no one did it before he did. He was fantastic as a player and fantastic as a coach, so we listen to him.’

  For many years the relationship between Cruyff and Bergkamp was that of master and pupil. These days they are on a more equal footing. In 2010, Johan persuaded Dennis to join him in what became an extraordinary and controversial coup by ex-players which seized control at Ajax. Football had never seen anything quite like it. As we shall see in Chapter 21, they succeeded and now work closely together, restructuring the club and its youth system in order for it once more to be the envy of the world. Dennis: ‘We didn’t see each other much for a very long time, and then suddenly we were meeting very frequently. That changed things. When he was my manager, I used the formal u [like vous in French]. For me he was always “Mr Cruyff”. But when you work together and fight side-by-side for the same cause and everyone around you calls him “Johan”, then you inevitably try that yourself, too. It was peculiar for me, because I still even address my mother as u. Suddenly, I heard myself calling him “Johan”. I was startled. But it has become increasingly normal. I wouldn’t say Cruyff and I are now friends, but he has certainly become Johan for me.’

  It used to be said that Marco van Basten was the closest thing Cruyff had to an anointed successor. These days, along with Pep Guardiola, his most esteemed protégé from Barcelona, Bergkamp probably fits the bill. The pair first met one afternoon after Johan had returned to Ajax as a player after eight years away in Spain and the USA. Dennis was playing for the Under-14s at the old Youth academy ground behind the stadium when Johan suddenly appeared and took over from the trainer during shooting practice. Dennis was awestruck: ‘That really does something to you. I felt an even stronger urge to prove myself. I had a powerful sense that I really had to perform at that moment.’

  * * *

  WAS CRUYFF YOUR idol?

  Dennis: ‘I wouldn’t put it that way. I didn’t have any idols. Cruyff was just one of the best footballers in the world, light-years ahead of us.’ It still seems to work that way. When former top players like Frank de Boer and Dennis lead training sessions, members of the current Ajax first time seem to try a little harder, keen to impress their predecessors.

  Later, when he was your coach, Johan must have taught you a lot. What sort of things would he tell you?

  ‘Actually we didn’t talk a great deal. Just a few words here and there, in passing, on the way to the pitch. That was enough. I still need only a few words from Johan. He had to speak much more to others, he had to give them instructions. He knew what to expect from me, he knew I was a quiet, modest lad, but I was daring on the pitch. He gave me a lot of confidence by just saying: “Do what you’re good at.” It’s similar to Wenger, who never said: “Do this, do that.” With Johan it was more like: “What you did in the Youth, just do the same here, and the players behind you will help you, as well. Jan Wouters and Frank Rijkaard will help you.” When we did a circle drill, for example, he’d tell other people to make more space or move to the left or right, but he never had comments for me, and that gave me the sense that I was doing well. It’s been like that throughout my career. None of my managers had to tell me to change the way I play.’

  THE CONCEPT OF A reticent Cruyff is hard to imagine. As a kid at Ajax in the mid-1960s, he drove older team-mates to distraction by offering unwanted advice on what they were doing wrong. What annoyed them most was having to admit he was usually right. Nicknamed ‘Jopie’, Cruyff went on to become the chattiest and bossiest of captains at Ajax, Barcelona and the Dutch national team, forever pointing, shouting, cajoling and giving detailed instructions to everyone, including referees. Thanks to his frequent appearances on radio and television, Cruyff became perhaps the most quoted Dutchman ever. He once explained why he didn’t believe in religion: ‘In Spain all twenty-two players make the sign of the cross before they enter the pitch – if it worked all matches would end in a draw’. Cruyff not only loves to talk, he developed a language of his own. In Holland, he is almost as well known now for his paradoxical, Yogi Berra-like axioms and left-field aperçus as for his football: ‘Coincidence is logical’ . . . ‘Before I make a mistake, I don’t make that mistake’ . . . ‘Sometimes something’s got to happen before something is going to happen’ . . . ‘Every disadvantage has its advantage’. But perhaps his most revealing line came at the end of a combative TV interview: ‘If I’d wanted you to understand, I’d have explained it better.’

  Dennis and Johan were always on the same wavelength: like Dick Halloran and his grandmother in The Shining, they seemed to be able to have entire conversations without ever opening their mouths.

  Cruyff’s coaching methods were unusual: a provocative, high-wire style based in part on the ‘conflict model’ he learned from his own guru, Rinus Michels. Michels used to raise energy and adrenaline levels among his players by provoking an argument. Cruyff, for complex psychological reasons linked perhaps to the early death of his father, also seemed to believe that adversity stimulated learning. As coach, he often needled and criticised his best players about their technique or attitude, expecting to get a creative, positive response. Being ordinary was never acceptable. Cruyff was relentless in his demand for improvement and excellence. Dennis observes: ‘He is very instinctive. He really sees a lot of things, and, yes, he’s got a dominating character as well, an urge to control things. But that’s Total Football. You want to see everything, and Johan does see everything. If you are a Total Footballer, you can’t be just doing your own thing. You have to have the whole picture on the pitch and outside as well.’

  Likewise, Cruyff admired Dennis’s skills and intelligence: ‘Bergkamp is one of those people I have a special football relationship with. He belongs to a group of special guys, with Van Basten, Van’t Schip and Rijkaard. Intelligent guys. And that’s what it’s all about, because you play football with your head, and your legs are there to help you. If you don’t use your head, using your feet won’t be sufficient. Why does a player have to chase the ball? Because he started running too late. You have to pay attention, use your brain and find the right position. If you get to the ball late, it means you chose the wrong position. Bergkamp was never late.’

  That very appreciation of his qualities meant the maestro felt entitled to play mind games with the youngster – for his own benefit. Cruyff explains: ‘We wanted to promote Dennis, but he had to toughen up a bit first.’ As a teenager Dennis was technically and tactically good enough to reach the A1s, the highest junior side. But his trainers considered him too timid for the first team. One afternoon Cruyff’s assistant, Tonny Bruins Slot, gave Dennis the bad news: he was to be demoted to the A2s for a month because of his ‘lack of motivation’. Furthermore, he would not play in his normal right-wing position there but as a full-back. Dennis was bewildered. ‘I didn’t get it. Lack of motivation? Perhaps my game didn’t look like I was working flat out, but I was.’ The blow hit hard, and he never forgot the humiliation. ‘It must have really affected me. Later I often wondered: did Cruyff do it on purpose? Did he want to provoke me?’

  Cruyff laughs. That was indeed the strategy. ‘Yes, of course we did that to provoke Dennis. We didn’t demote him because of any shortcoming and it also had nothing to do wit
h his attitude. It was just to boost his resilience. If you put a good player in a lower team, he has to play against but also alongside less talented players. The game is more physical and that makes it harder for him. We also made it more difficult by playing him in a different position. If you play someone like Bergkamp at right-back with a right-winger in front of him who does nothing to help defend, then he experiences first-hand what it’s like for the guy behind him when he’s the winger and lets his man get away. He really learns from that. Or you play him as a centre-forward and make sure he keeps receiving high crosses from the wings. Then he really has to stick his little head where it hurts. That makes him tougher.’

  Cruyff also wanted to see how Bergkamp would react to being the best player in an ordinary team. ‘When you’re the best player you have more time, and if you have more time you need to use it wisely, helping other players, talking to them, coaching them, leading them.’

  Dennis served his time in the A2s, then returned to the A1s. Then came another shock. On 13 December 1986, at half-time in a game against Amsterdam club DWS, his coach brusquely informed him: ‘I’m taking you off.’ Dennis was upset because he knew he was playing well. Then, grinning, the coach added: ‘I’m taking you off because tomorrow you’re in the first team.’

  Dennis had been 12 years old when Cruyff returned from semi-retirement to play for Ajax in 1981. The nation’s greatest-ever player had become rich with Barcelona, then lost all his money in a scam involving a pig farm. Confounding those who doubted his ability to stage a comeback, he scored a brilliant lobbed goal in his first match back, then began a revolution whose consequences for world football are still being felt. The Dutch game at the time was in a sorry state. The Total Football generation had faded away after the 1978 World Cup. Holland were thoroughly outplayed by the Germans at the 1980 Euros and would fail even to qualify for the next three major tournaments. A dreary new ‘realism’ (a.k.a. defensive football) took hold across the Netherlands, and at Ajax the lessons and doctrines of spatially sophisticated football had been so thoroughly forgotten that the great young hope of the day was the Brazilian-style individualist Gerald Vanenburg, a classic dribbler of the very old school.