As a host, he is warm and attentive, making you feel at home. Would he have been that way even if we’d lost our last match? Like anyone, he doesn’t like losing, but he’s always even-tempered. At least with me. He’s never shown sadness, frustration or the slightest sign of aggression. He’s been nothing but supportive, open to dialogue and eager to find solutions.
In the mornings we enjoyed going for walks, but at lunchtime and dinnertime, while devouring the sensational meals prepared by his chef, we had what, however they were dressed up, ultimately boiled down to business meetings. We spoke about current goings-on and our respective visions for the future.
Even after two and a half years, we’re still laying the foundations. In all professional relationships – which always have a personal element to them – it takes time to forge that close connection. That applies even more strongly in our world. A climate of mistrust surrounds football clubs, because this is a business in which everyone thinks they know best.
But at the end of the day, it’s those of us on the inside that have to make the decisions, and it’s not always easy. For example, a manager can’t just click his fingers and expect the club to sign a player that he wants. It’s not that straightforward: we don’t always have all the information to hand and factors that we’re not aware of come into play.
Equally, it’s a mistake for a club chairman or owner to think it’s easy to handle 25 players and the staff, to suppose that coaching and selecting a team is simple. Sometimes we’re guilty of not respecting each other’s roles. It’s difficult for a chairman to trust a manager and vice versa. You each have your own people and ideas. But Daniel and I have embarked on this road to mutual understanding, which is essential for any long-term relationship.
We’re getting there.
Paul Mitchell – the former head of recruitment at Tottenham, and at Southampton before that – had a take on the situation that gave me food for thought. Because of our work here, we can attract players who would earn more elsewhere. But soon Daniel will have a problem, he argued: less prestigious clubs, for example Crystal Palace, can pay better wages than us. My influence, working methods and style of play will therefore start to become less relevant. And then what?
Paul told me that Daniel has been lucky with us. It seems that our arrival was part of a process to recover the club’s identity. We have implemented a style which is popular with the fans, we have promoted academy kids and restructured the squad based on our own philosophy. More than a process, this has therefore been a meeting of minds and identities, the one from a club in search of its essence and the one we brought in.
In my playing days I always tried to steer clear of the ‘back office’, because the president would try to get you onside and distance you from the coach, to have you on his side or to get information out of you. Ultimately that’s foolish because that information is not necessarily put to good use; they subsequently have to make decisions without knowing the full story.
I can put my hand on my heart and say that no club president’s attempts to exert his influence ever stopped me from being loyal to any coach I worked under, even when I didn’t get along with him. Whenever I had something to say, I said it to his face. I like addressing conflicts and resolving them on the spot. I’m not the sort of person to file things away, let them eat away at me and then bring them up the next time I see someone, a year later. I don’t hold grudges.
One of the disputes in which I was involved was highly public. While at Espanyol, after a loss to Cádiz at Montjuïc, our coach at the time, Miguel Ángel Lotina, decided to lecture the team in the middle of the pitch. A television camera captured the events. I learnt a lot from that experience.
After a home defeat, I’d never dream of holding a meeting in full view. The coach came over and told us that we were a bunch of mercenaries. I spoke out. I asked him whether his intentions were to make a negative statement about the players. ‘Yes,’ he responded, ‘I’ve got to say something; I have to deal with the media.’ That struck me as pure demagoguery, because we’d never have come out after failing to get a win and said that our game plan was a disaster, putting the blame all on him; you win and lose together.
So I replied that, with all due respect, his words only served to drive a wedge between him and us, rather than help find answers. ‘Boss,’ I told him in front of everyone, ‘if I was one of the parents in the stands that took his son to the game and you, the coach, go and publicly claim that we players don’t give a damn whether we win or lose, I’d want to run over and smash in everyone’s faces. What is the point of making such a prominent statement?’
Catalan TV channel TV3 even aired the footage with subtitles to make sure that the audience wouldn’t miss a thing. As a consequence, the coach saw me as an enemy within, fabrications were concocted and people started saying that Tamudo, De la Peña, Luis García and I were some axis of evil, that we were running the show and so on.
It’s true that we ended up winning the Copa del Rey, but the toxic atmosphere also led to bad results and we were on the brink of getting relegated. A last-gasp goal from Corominas against Real Sociedad on the final day kept us up – thank goodness.
*
Today is Friday. We’re now back in London and looking back over the trip, I think it was his way of making us feel more part of the club. Not just on the footballing side, but in terms of everything Tottenham represent. The chairman’s office is next to mine and we communicate via WhatsApp every day, but that getaway in the Alps has taken our sense of mutual understanding to new heights. I plan to spend most of the day at the training ground shooting scenes for the advert for Championship Manager 17, having agreed to be the face of the game. I get a lot of offers to do publicity, but I reject most of them. I don’t want to get distracted.
*
The team had the weekend off, so on Sunday I went to greet Gareth Southgate, who has just been given the England job following Sam Allardyce’s departure. The England national team regularly use our facilities and I spent a while chatting to Southgate and Steve Holland, who strangely is part of the international set-up while also remaining the Chelsea assistant manager. I went back on Monday for their open training session, but left afterwards because I didn’t want to be a bother.
Our players have been filtering back after the international break. The last returnees were Lamela and Son; no sooner had they come back yesterday than they started their recovery work.
It’s Thursday and only today will the group train together again for the first time. We’ve got to tread carefully and see what shape the players are in before picking our line-up for the visit to Tony Pulis’s West Bromwich Albion. His teams are always rugged and difficult to play against. We’ve got three more away games to come this month, in Leverkusen, Bournemouth and Liverpool. We have to manage the workload, run tests and rotate if necessary, fielding the guys who are freshest.
Often during the international break, players not only suffer from jet lag and lose hours of sleep, but their routines are also disrupted. A sort of decompression effect sets in, so we’ve got to get them back in the zone. The faster they get back into the swing, the better their chances of making the starting XI, because we’re going to need to fight and cover a lot of ground against West Brom.
The BBC requested an interview with me. It turned out nicely. I don’t give many interviews because I hold press conferences every three days, but this one has gone down very well. I spoke about passion, about the need to play football with the same enthusiasm as during childhood.
When we’re kids, we kick a ball around for the pure pleasure of doing so. Who’s to say that we can’t recreate that in our young professionals? Why do they fall out of love with football so early?
*
After our England internationals reported back to the club, I had the opportunity to talk to them about Sam Allardyce’s departure following a single game in charge. He may not have committed any crimes when he was secretly filmed talking about mo
ney, but when you occupy a high-profile post, you don’t just have to be squeaky clean – you’ve got to appear so too. Unfortunately, it gave the impression that those in power invariably exercise it to further their personal interests. As a fellow member of the managerial guild, the whole affair saddened me, because it cast doubt on us all.
In any case, this isn’t just an issue of one individual’s decision-making – it’s about the workings of this business, which also make footballers seem like commodities. Since coaches hold most of the keys to the door that decide players’ futures, this only reinforces that feeling among the footballers themselves that they are goods to sell and buy.
I’ve received all kinds of approaches during my managerial career, but I’m not an easy target for agents or the business world. For starters, I haven’t had an agent since I became a coach. I’m not against agents per se, but I prefer to be the master of my own destiny, mistakes and all. My decisions stem from my gut feelings and I avoid the danger of being led astray by an agent’s hidden agenda. I’ve been told that Real Madrid and AC Milan wanted to sign me as a player, but that my agent had asked for too much money or didn’t get along with their sporting director. I don’t know whether or not that’s true, but such things inevitably sow seeds of doubt.
Ever since I began my coaching career at Espanyol, I have negotiated my own contracts, as well as Jesús’s, Toni’s and Miki’s. And I feel extremely comfortable with that situation, because that way I don’t owe anyone anything. If someone wants to find out what I want or think, they have to talk to me or my people.
*
15 October. The West Brom match went as we’d feared. We dominated but, not for the first time, we lacked ruthlessness in the opposition box. Ben Foster, their keeper, was the man of the match. Dele Alli equalised with a minute left, after we’d conceded in the 82nd minute. They gave us a scare, but we reacted in time.
We had to leave Son on the bench and only introduce him for the last 20 minutes. He hurt his ankle in his country’s first match of the international break and still they played him again in the second one. He arrived back with the joint swollen and we didn’t want to run any undue risks. National teams often don’t protect players and we pay the price. If his condition improves, he’ll start against Bayer Leverkusen in midweek.
I’ve been pleased with Son’s maturity since the summer, when there were question marks hanging over him. We told him, ‘Son, we’re not stupid, we know what you’re capable of, you’ve got our support and what it takes to reach the next level. If that’s what you want, focus on playing football, enjoying yourself and getting better every day.’ I monitored him closely after his two wonder goals against Stoke, because such things can easily go to a player’s head, but he’s shown the humility required to keep kicking on.
*
They say you should start the day as you mean to continue and I don’t like to get up in a hurry. The first alarm is set for 6.30 a.m., but I stay in bed for another ten minutes. It’s one of those simple pleasures: not quite ready, I enjoy just lying there for a little while longer. At 6.40, the alarm goes off again and I get up. Some days I have a flashback to my playing career because I have a sore back, neck or knee. As a player, pain is your faithful companion.
My wife gets up at the same time as me, and Mauri follows suit. Sebas doesn’t always sleep at home. While I prepare the mate, Karina makes the green smoothie that we drink together with Mauri. Then she takes him to the bus stop at around 7.15, which is when I usually set off for the training ground.
That’s the perfect sequence of events. It’s not always like that, of course: sometimes my son oversleeps, my wife yells at him, or they can’t find his tie, his backpack or a book he needs at school that day. If something goes awry, I may leave a little earlier.
On my way to the car, I enjoy walking over cobblestones, a sound that I relate to the start of the day. Which car I choose depends on my mood. I’ll take the Smart car when I’m feeling playful, the 4 × 4 when I just want to get there as soon as possible, or sometimes the Bentley that the chairman gave me. Whichever it is, I leave it running for ten minutes beforehand to warm it up. It’s all about being prepared.
Toni, Miki, Jesús and I get to the training ground at around 7.30, when the car park is all but empty. It is soothingly silent as we make our way to my office, which is on the second floor and overlooks the training pitches. Toni steeps the mate masterfully while we catch up on the latest in our respective families since we last saw each other – i.e. since the previous night. We share information and talk about the latest news with the television on in the background. Then one of us will make some comment about the day ahead and we seamlessly transition to preparing for the session. We discuss individual cases, and watch and edit videos. We fill up folders. We analyse everything while the surrounding offices gradually come alive with the hustle and bustle of the morning.
It’s a bit of everything rolled into one: a gathering of friends, a business meeting and a routine. And you miss it when it’s gone during the summer break.
By 9.00, all the planning is done, so I head to the canteen, which is on the same floor. I like to wait for the players sitting on my sofa, and for them to come over and say hello. This is our first conversation, our first contact. I need to see what state of mind they are in.
Sometimes I show my face even earlier. The day after the Monaco game, I was in position just after 8.00, observing if anybody was earlier than usual and keeping an eye on their expressions. I sip coffee or mate while they have breakfast, and then I head back to the office to finish off bits and pieces. My door is always open if anyone wants to talk – no appointment is necessary. My wife makes one, though, so she can be sure I’ll be able to receive her. I think she got fed up stopping by and having to wait for interminable meetings to end before she could see me.
Jesús, who always stays on top of everything, returns from the medical briefing bearing the latest updates: such-and-such a player has slept poorly or has felt a twinge . . . We finalise the details of the session, deciding whether we need to talk to anyone in particular and whether our plans need to be changed or finessed. Then we head off for the session.
After training, we have lunch and then more meetings, chats, phone calls, maybe a visit to the gym. Time flies by at the training ground. I’m gazing at the trees behind the pitches. Their leaves are changing colour. I’ve just realised that autumn is here.
And that it’s already almost 3 p.m. on what has been a typical day.
*
After arriving back in London at around 2 a.m., I have so much going through my head. A lot happened in the Bayer Leverkusen game.
Once again, we weren’t clinical enough; we had clear-cut chances and didn’t convert, hitting the woodwork once. Hugo Lloris, who is in the form of his life, saved us. He’s one of the world’s best keepers. The first half belonged to us and the second to them; 0–0 was a fair result. If the Champions League campaign started afresh now, we’d have a better chance: our game and attitude have progressed, and we’ve taken something from both of our away matches. It’s very tight after three matchdays. There are only three points between the teams at the top and bottom of the group, and we lie second on four points.
But we drew a blank and struggled for pace up front, in part because the West Brom game was gruelling and some of our players were tired, and partly because our back-ups aren’t ready to be starters. We weighed things up before the game and considered starting N’Koudou on the wing to give us speed and fresh legs, but sometimes players knock themselves out of contention.
During one of the training sessions ahead of the trip to Germany, one group continued recovery work while the rest contested a seven-a-side game. I played for one of the teams. Sometimes I forget that I’m no longer 20 years old: I get stuck in, throwing myself into slide tackles. My body can’t hold up any more, but I’m as hungry as ever. N’Koudou’s mind seemed elsewhere, however. We wanted to know the reason for his lethargy an
d spoke to him about it. We felt we couldn’t rely on him for a Champions League clash and we told him as much. He was out of the running to start against Leverkusen.
I was eager to see how he’d react.
N’Koudou turned up at the stadium wearing a backpack and headphones, which he didn’t take off until just before kick-off. I took him to task: it’s a matter of respect for his teammates, who were preparing for battle. But he was on a completely different wavelength to the rest of the group that day.
We’ll see how it goes in training tomorrow. It won’t be easy because we’ll be tired after travelling today.
We’ve lost two more players. Danny Rose hurt himself during the match – we don’t yet know what the injury is – and Marcus Edwards rolled his ankle in training yesterday. Though he’d travelled and trained with us, he was due to play for the Under-19s in their Youth League fixture today.
Sometimes I wonder whether it was wise of me to liken him to Messi. He’s only 17. At that age, Messi was making his debut for a Barcelona side featuring Ronaldinho. They’re from different families, backgrounds and cultures. One of them thinks like an Argentinian and the other like an Englishman. Marcus is still in the process of adapting to the rigours of being a professional, which require that you act and think differently, be disciplined and make sacrifices. He has authority and behavioural problems, and we have to look at the bigger picture and find out the root cause. There was a time when it would have been seen as impossible for him to play professionally, let alone make it in the Premier League. Our challenge is to get him to accept the pathway we’ve laid out for him, and it’s our responsibility to make sure he behaves himself when he trains with the first team (with all the rules and obligations this involves). He has no shortage of talent, but there are gaps to be filled: he has to learn to score ugly, run more and be committed.
Brave New World Page 13