Brave New World

by Guillem Balague

  It saddens me that my sons haven’t had a taste of nature in the way that Karina and I have. Emotions only seem to be aroused now if accompanied by tangible presents, and the more expensive the better, rather than growing a flower in the garden which was a regular happening during our childhood. The simple things, the silliest things that you can imagine, are just what made us happy. Now it is too much about material things.

  Our boys though have been good. Sebastiano, who was born in Barcelona, was always well behaved and could be taken everywhere. One day we went to a restaurant which happened to have King Juan Carlos I of Spain as a regular. Children don’t go there, but we made Sebas part of our social life and our friends didn’t mind us bringing him with us. In the middle of dinner, he began reciting García Lorca and the restaurant manager couldn’t believe it. He was only three or four. What a personality Sebastiano was. He grew up with adults. He was always with older people, listening to adult conversations. We basically improvised his education as the three of us were alone in Barcelona, without the influence of any grandparents, aunties or uncles.

  We then went to Paris and after that we spent six months in Bordeaux, where we lived just opposite the main theatre in the city centre. The change took some getting used to because Mauri was very little and Sebastiano was still adapting to life in the capital when he had to change schools again, which always creates drama.

  I remember buying Sebas a bicycle and one Sunday afternoon I promised myself that we wouldn’t leave the park until he learnt how to ride it without stabilisers. We were there for three or four hours. Two elderly ladies watched us the whole time and when Sebastiano finally managed it, they started applauding joyously.

  Look at him now: he’s a sports scientist who is forging his own path. The other day he was asked what he wanted to achieve: ‘More experience and being known as Sebastiano, rather than the manager’s son.’ A few years ago, he was working with our academy in Belgium and a group of players from London rebelled against him, didn’t pay any attention to what he was saying. He had to earn their respect and did not use his family name once. I know he wants to take off, but maybe it’s better if he stays with the family for a bit longer.

  Mauri might look very shy but he has a great sense of where he is and how to behave. It must be hard to play for the club where your father is the manager. He knows he will be judged differently but he lives calmly with it. We’re ascertaining whether it’s worth accepting a scholarship which would allow him to study and train at the club. He wants to do it. It is in his hands to take advantage of the opportunity and show his value, and his values.

  I can’t chat with Mauri about football as much as I can with Sebas, who is in a more mature phase of his life and has a job that forces him to be reflective and seek out more answers. It’s hard to speak to a 16-year-old footballer who thinks he knows it all. He has to believe that he’s right. I understand that has to be the case – I was probably the same. That arrogance protects you during a period that is normally filled with doubts. If he were overly aware of his own limitations and the potential difficulties involved in becoming a footballer, he would stop trying. On top of that, I’m his father and although I’m a manager, there’s still a level of suspicion about what I have to say.

  I used to analyse the situation without a father’s emotions, when the normal scenario is to always think that your son is the best and if he didn’t play well, it was because of the shortcomings of his teammates. When he played well, I told him so, but when he played badly, I also told him so. That can of course hurt his feelings. Now I try to sidestep that conversation. When he doesn’t play well, I don’t say anything. Well, I say, ‘Tough game, wasn’t it?’

  Family. Home. A place of rest, where I can be myself once again. If I ever forget what that means, I can look at the photo of the boy smiling gleefully with a ball under his arm.

  *

  Monday 5 September. It was a calm weekend. England were in action. This upcoming week will be quite tough because the boys will be coming back on different days depending on their schedules at international level. The fitness coaches and other members of the coaching staff are preparing tailored drills and recovery plans for them. Some of them landed yesterday, Son arrived today and a few others get back tomorrow.

  Espanyol goalkeeper Pau López has joined us on loan in the last few days. He has huge potential and is lucky enough to be training with Toni, who has created his own methodology.

  Incidentally, I’ve received a gift from Dejan Lovren who is now at Liverpool and was previously at Southampton with me. It was a watch with a note saying, ‘For my footballing father’. It was unnecessary, but also wonderful.

  Above all, this week will be about getting the team settled because the transfer window has shut, the players know there won’t be any more changes and their individual situations are being addressed. We’ve also agreed new contracts for six players. The chairman intelligently called a meeting with Jesús, me and a few others after the transfer window closed and I got back from my trips to Barcelona and Ibiza. He invited me in for a quick word beforehand to remind me that the two of us have the last word over which players come and go. Authority isn’t something that you can buy in a shop, it’s bestowed upon you by others.

  I ate too well when I was abroad. I need to lose some weight, so I’ve taken up sport again. While on the running machine, I found myself thinking about the extraordinary light of Barcelona.

  *

  My wife grew up in a house with a large garden, like our current one where we live; she needs to feel space around her. And it’s not just the garden – the rooms are also spacious. We chose this area because it’s nine miles from both the training ground and school, but we know little more about it. It’s mainly residential and is characterised by big houses with patios. Neighbours tend to keep their distance. We only know one and she happens to be a Tottenham fan. We originally moved in opposite her and one day she brought over the entire Spurs-supporting family to introduce themselves. Even the grandchildren came and they were all lovely. We have moved since then, not too far away, and she’s still the person who keeps Karina up to date with everything.

  While I am particularly fond of nature, when I discovered city life I fell in love with the culture of having a coffee and a chat. It doesn’t exist to the same extent in London. That spontaneous aspect of socialising, where you can accidentally bump into someone or ring a friend and be with them in 15 minutes. That’s why we fly to Barcelona whenever we have a free day or two. We go there, to our spiritual retreat, to share time with friends, in search of a different light. Even the boys (Sebas still lives with us) press us if a few months pass without us going.

  Karina’s day revolves around Mauri. She has to pick him up, give him a meal and take him to training. My wife probably spends three hours in the car every day. She’s studying cooking and nutrition – one of those eternal students. There’s always something new to learn. She goes to the gym and she cooks, spending endless hours in the kitchen. She is a wonderful, adventurous cook.

  We know that this is a productive period for me and I’m working round the clock, taking time away from my partner and sons. The day will come when the offers dry up in Europe. They may want me in Japan or the United States, and just the two of us could go for a new experience for a couple of years. So far we’ve made all the decisions as a family, sometimes more for their sake than mine. Even when the boys were little, we’d sit down as a four to decide. We’d imagine the scene: where would we live? What about schools? And our house? We’d create the trip before embarking upon it.

  When I have a decision to make, if a grain of doubt remains after considering the options carefully, I hold back. As a friend used to tell me, if I have a chance to mull it over for one more night, I do so. Something may appear which will help me make up my mind. I don’t know how to explain what it is, possibly that intuition I spoke about earlier. It inspires me and reveals the right answer. When I do find it, it’s r
arely wrong.

  But moving is never an easy lifestyle choice. As a player, I turned down many chances to leave Barcelona. Sometimes the timing isn’t right. You’d like to leave when your son finishes secondary school, but it isn’t always possible. I cried for days and days when I knew I had to leave Barcelona for Southampton. I knew it was a real blow for the family.

  *

  Saturday. We played Stoke today. We didn’t make a good start in the first 20 minutes, we’re finding it hard at the beginning of games; we’re lacking those automated patterns of play and our performance didn’t flow, although they didn’t create any chances against us.

  I have been thinking about our preparations. Was it a good decision to lighten the workload on a Friday? Everyone was finally back after the international break, so we showed them some videos and did a variety of exercises. We also played an 11-a-side game against the academy team and Son played but should have been more clinical. We had other options for the Stoke match, but I was convinced it was the time to show him that we have faith in him. He had been considering leaving the club and this was our way of saying, ‘You’re staying, let’s start over.’

  In the 19th minute, Son, who was having a good game, was fouled in the box, but the referee didn’t blow up. He reminds me of Lamela, who arrived at the club a year before I did. Just like Son, he was an expensive signing and young players really feel that pressure. They want to prove themselves at all times and find it hard to accept not being in the starting line-up. The settling-in period is essential. Lamela needed a year or two to start performing. Players nowadays are rather impatient; they want it all straight away. It’s like modern-day society. You go on the internet and you have the information you need two seconds later. In life, however, it’s a process, involving maturing, working and learning.

  We had a chat with Son during the week when he got back from the Olympics. A club in Germany wanted him and promised that he would play. I always say that promises are the death of a footballer. It’s better to be reassured that if you’re better than your teammate, you’ll play. If anything is written in stone beforehand, there is a risk the player will rest on his laurels. We were clear with Son that he has to earn his right to play, as we tell everyone. He wanted to leave after a bad year, but I told him that he was part of my plans and we weren’t going to let him go on the cheap. He decided to stay. He’d only played in one international game and he came back to train with us for ten days. He earned his starting berth against Stoke.

  He opened the scoring in the 41st minute.

  Son has a big entourage around him, including a secretary. The works. His father is his agent and he has many sponsors, too. Managing all that isn’t easy. I’ve been told that he’s a huge star in South Korea. In the summer when we were in Australia, a Korean girl asked me for an autograph. I asked her if she knew who Son was and she said she didn’t and asked who he was. I ended up having to show her a photo. The Korean didn’t even know him!

  I really must tell him that one.

  We were in the lead at half-time, but we knew something wasn’t quite right and we made some adjustments. Eleven minutes into the second half, Son got on the score sheet once again. He also notched an assist and put in a solid defensive display, earning the man of the match award in the process. We won 4–0 and Kane bagged his first goal of the season. We’re fifth.

  *

  It’s a Champions League week. Our starting XI is more or less fixed and the players are up for it. We’ve had several chats with individual players after the international break. We wanted to see how they were mentally. Harry Kane was one of them. We discussed his contract situation and goalscoring drought. Scoring against Stoke was certainly a positive.

  In a recent morning chat with Eric Dier I mentioned to him that there are a few aspects of the game that he seems to have dropped from his performances. He asked to speak to me again that afternoon. We trained at Wembley and afterwards I showed him videos from the session and also from our previous match. In the end he admitted, ‘I didn’t think it was such a big deal.’

  We’re playing Monaco tomorrow. Jesús told me that he had to give the boys a boost during the warm-up against Stoke by changing the last planned exercise. He thought they had a passive approach. I imagine that tomorrow we’ll have to rein them in and calm them down in a new stadium in front of 90,000 on a historic evening. These are the moments we dream about as youngsters.

  I played at the old Wembley for the national team. I believe it was in 2000. It looked like I was set to start, but I didn’t. Five minutes into the game, Bielsa sent me to warm up alongside Bonini. I looked at my teammate and said, ‘Five minutes in? What has he seen that made him get me to warm up?’ Nobody was injured, nobody was struggling.

  I’d been warming up for five minutes when Bielsa said, ‘Get changed.’ What do you mean, get changed?! There were barely ten minutes on the clock! ‘Sensini off, Pochettino on.’ Bielsa saw things that the rest couldn’t. I simply loved what Fernando Redondo did next. He grabbed the ball when we next had a free-kick and called me over. ‘Poche, Poche, come here, take the free-kick. There we go, now you’ve had a touch to settle the nerves.’ The epitome of Argentinian guile and quick thinking, of a streetwise guy, a potrero.

  *

  Wembley. A place where there is nowhere to hide, where you find out if you know as much as you thought. Where many of the things we stash away from our experiences in hundreds of pitches all over the place come into play.

  A coach’s education begins long before his first match. We have to make a hundred choices a day and hope we get most of them right. But these decisions aren’t made in isolation: they are the offspring of our experience, our emotions and the circumstances. They are often engendered by other people, father figures such as Jorge Griffa, who brought through an extraordinary generation of players at Newell’s and taught me a great deal.

  First and foremost, I learned from him that you have to be brave in life. Griffa was a fearless person who, from the very first time I met him, impressed me with his energy, his gruff, imposing voice and his aura of invincibility. He didn’t spin yarns like a poet; on the contrary, he was very direct, and his words would get straight through to you, resonating deeply. And he acted as he spoke.

  Even after establishing myself as a top-flight player, I didn’t have an agent. ‘Mauricio, you don’t need one,’ he told me. ‘Trust me, the club isn’t going to take you for a ride. It doesn’t matter that the others have representatives; you’re not going to end up out of pocket.’ And it proved to be the case. The day I went to sign my first contract, having won the title with Newell’s, Griffa said: ‘This is your first big payday, isn’t it? From now until the end of your career as a footballer, you should be living the good life. But remember: when you hang up your boots, you need to be able to live even more comfortably.’ Keep your head, he was telling me. You reap what you sow. He wasn’t only talking about money, but also about life: if you look out for people, then they will look out for you.

  There’s another thing he told me that I repeat to my players. ‘Mauricio, football will take you where it wants to, not where you want to go; go with the flow, do your best and believe.’ Often lads seem weighed down by problems and I tell them: ‘Play football and be happy; football will take you where it wants to.’

  Then there’s Bielsa. It is no coincidence that so many of us who played under him at Newell’s from 1990 to 1993 became coaches and are still working in football: Scoponi, Gamboa, Berizzo, Martino, Zamora, Franco, Berti . . . Bielsa made us understand the game and his passion was contagious. That’s not to say that our footballing philosophies are the same, though. The Marcelo I knew, the one I enjoyed and suffered in equal measure, based everything on the opposition having possession and how you win the ball back off them. That used to be the axis of his methods. His philosophy has evolved since but I am not with him daily, so I don’t have on opinion on it.

  My approach has got some common ground with him
but also with many others: we’ve got the ball, you try to get it off us. I’m not as obsessed with the opposition as Bielsa was – he even asked his assistants to dress up in disguise to sneak in and watch opponents train behind closed doors. We both demand our charges play with intensity and at a high tempo, I want my teams to provoke a controlled disorder, to create so much movement that it distresses the opposition.

  I’ll never ask my players to dedicate their entire lives to the cause. At Newell’s sometimes, around the key stages of the Copa Libertadores competition for instance, we could spend up to three months holed up together – we were only allowed out on Thursday mornings. We’d train on Monday and Tuesday, play in the Copa Libertadores on Wednesday, leave the camp on Thursday after training, and then come back that same night. You had hardly any private life. Bielsa would be with us at times and absent at others. We’d spend all day there and there was only one telephone, which would be disconnected at 10 p.m. If you wanted to talk to your girlfriend, you had to be waiting by the phone when she called, because if someone else picked up, they’d say you weren’t around – they, too, would be waiting for a call.

  *

  Ironically, it was an unanswered phone call that, sometime later, paved the way for me to become Espanyol coach.

  The club president, Dani Sánchez Llibre, brought me back from Bordeaux to help the team when they were in trouble. Two years later though, the talk in town was that he wanted me out. I called him but he didn’t answer his phone. One day I got wind that he was having lunch at the Hilton and I went to see him. ‘Can we talk when you’ve finished?’ I asked him. We ate at separate tables and then spoke afterwards. ‘Listen, presi, you were wrong not to take my phone call. If you don’t want me to stay, say the word and we’ll settle things in two minutes.’ I duly ended up retiring.

  Shortly after I quit playing, there was speculation that I wanted to be the new president. Even surveys were conducted. I phoned Dani: ‘I want you to know that all the reports are untrue.’ He has since said that he never would have endorsed the sporting directors’ idea of appointing me as coach in 2009 if I hadn’t straightened things out with him. In fact, those two conversations strengthened our relationship.