We later reconvened to travel to the stadium together on the coach; I was one of the first to arrive. We switched the TV on because Everton v Chelsea kicked off a couple of hours before our game (4.30). We averted the usual bickering between Harry Kane and Dele Alli over whose music should be played; they let Toni choose for a while. Complaints ensued because, even though he put on stuff the lads listen to, he slipped in the odd Spanish song too and they weren’t about to let it slide.
Once we got to the ground, though, we didn’t turn on the television in the dressing room and none of the players asked me about the Chelsea score.
White Hart Lane was packed. There was a mixture of apprehension and a party atmosphere in the stands; the fans were in full voice and you could see the anticipation on their faces. Chelsea had beaten Everton, but there was still a huge amount at stake. When the match got underway, the tension had spilled on to the pitch. Our players were a bit off and were making lots of poor decisions. But we didn’t see it as a bad thing: we took it as a mark of respect for Arsenal, even though they were 14 points behind us.
A lot has been made of Arsène Wenger’s switch to three at the back after 20 years playing with a four-man defence. We analysed ways in which we could get the better of their system and so at different points during the match we used three or four at the back, as well as variously playing with two centre-backs and three holding midfielders, pushing the full-backs right up the pitch to become wingers, or tucking them in as auxiliary midfielders.
Toni, Miki, Jesús and I still believe that less can be more, that the slightest detail or decision can be crucial to getting an advantage. Miki asked our video analyst to prepare something on the team’s movement when we had the ball. Ben Davies was finding himself free, but Son and Alli were playing through the middle too much.
Back in the dressing room, with the score 0–0 at half-time, my staff and I talked things over among ourselves for seven minutes, as usual, before putting our game plan for the second half to the players. We moved Son from the left to the right, while Eriksen shifted infield. Ben Davies gaped at me: ‘What about me?’ I’d only written ten names on the whiteboard and he was the odd one out.
‘You’re going to play as a wing-back, with Dele ahead of you. You’re going to make a very important contribution, that’s why I don’t even need to include you on there,’ I said. We laughed.
This is how we broke the deadlock. Dele was popping up in the middle and then on the right. Ben got possession, but had no one to link up with down his flank. Then Dele drifted over to the left. So much for sticking to his position! We exchanged glances in the dugout: ‘Fine, he can do what he wants.’ The ball went out for a throw-in. Trippier, who’s very intelligent tactically, grabbed it and quickly threw a long one to Kane. That’s where things opened up. The ball made its way to Dele, who was bursting into the area up the right. He played it to Eriksen, who did well to jink past a couple of defenders and unleash a close-range strike. The keeper could only parry it as far as Dele, who turned the rebound into the empty net. My staff and I shared a group hug on the touchline.
Two minutes later, Kane drove into the box, was brought down and picked himself up to convert the penalty, his fifth goal in as many league appearances against Arsenal.
There are people who don’t like some of our goal celebrations, especially those special handshakes when the players’ hands seem to take on a life of their own. I love them. Those types of things create bonds between the players; the physical contact brings them closer. It’s communication, coordination and football rolled into one. It hones their concentration and imagination, which is also an important ingredient in a team’s success. At Newell’s we used to celebrate like crazy; we’d scream out ‘Goooaaalll’ and jump up on to the metal fence. We weren’t very subtle.
With a minute to go, the television cameras started zooming in on me, as usual. I saw them, but paid them no heed, as if they weren’t there. Before I used to be more self-conscious about them, but now they’re just part of the scenery.
2–0.
I went over to Wenger. ‘I’m full of respect and admiration for you,’ I told him. He shook my hand and then walked away; he wasn’t in the mood to talk, which I understand. It hurts to lose, all the more so when you’re being asked to prove your worth after 20 years of doing so much for a club. He deserves to be judged on far more than a single result or season.
Toni hung around with me to salute the players before we all headed down the tunnel. You’ve got to enjoy such occasions, because they’re over before you know it. He was waiting for Hugo, whom I bear-hugged. The magic normally fades within five minutes of returning to the dressing room, because my thoughts will turn to the press or the next match.
The celebrations lasted longer this time round, however. It was a moment for the players and the coaching staff to savour together, shutting out the rest of the world. After that, I exchanged greetings with Wenger’s assistants, who joined mine for a chat and a glass of wine, and then I went off to my press conference. Jesús later told me that we ran 10 kilometres more than Arsenal.
We’re four points off Chelsea. We’re not looking over our shoulders (Arsenal are 17 points behind us); rather, we’re looking ahead. There are four games to go and one more point would clinch second place, guaranteeing that we finish above City, Liverpool and United. We’ve won nine on the bounce and all of our league matches in April. We’ve got used to it, but what we’re doing isn’t normal.
We left the stadium. Waiting for us, in the shadow of the new ground, was a taxi: the players had taken the coach back to the training ground to pick up their cars. There was something different about the Tottenham supporters we saw as we rode past them; they had a spring in their step and a smile on their faces. Full of pride, they were singing and walking along side by side. The streets belonged to them: the Arsenal fans were nowhere to be seen.
This emotion is what football is all about and no, it wasn’t just an ordinary game.
And no, nothing happens by chance.
11.
MAY
In May the season reached its climax and several cycles came to an end. A Tottenham side that nobody expected to finish in the top four battled it out for the championship with Chelsea, and, if they picked up four points, would match the tally with which Leicester won the title the previous year (81). It was also the culmination of collective and individual goals, while White Hart Lane’s doors were closed for ever. And Pochettino had the chance to put to bed the Newcastle game from the previous campaign in another final-day fixture away to a relegated club.
I’ve just started to read Leadership, Sir Alex Ferguson’s latest book. We’ve sent each other the odd text message since that lunch back in May 2016 and I hope that I’ll be able to sit down with him again soon. He may even pay us a visit at the training ground.
I said to Simon Felstein, ‘I’m having lunch with Sir Alex.’ As I had my own press conference to attend, I suggested mentioning it to avoid any misunderstandings. Louis van Gaal was walking a tightrope at Old Trafford and our meeting had nothing to do with his future or mine. Simon convinced me not to broach the topic but, to pre-empt any reaction to the meeting, I could reveal that I’d reached a verbal agreement with the club on a new five-year contract, which is what I did. ‘You’ll be photographed with Sir Alex,’ Simon said to me.
‘I imagine so,’ I replied.
I’ll always remember each and every detail from those hours of conversation. It was a dream come true. I felt like a teenage footballer all over again, listening to a knowledgeable coach. I sent the photos that we took of us together to everyone. John McDermott commented that I seemed to be in a trance. He called me a ‘hero worshipper’.
I knew many details from Ferguson’s career and admired him for the way that he turned United into a successful team, while creating something different in world football. But when I met him, what impressed me most was not so much the CV, but his energy and aura. His character, his
charisma engulfs you. I’d love to keep calling on his advice.
He spoke to me about how he had to restructure everything when he arrived at United. He did so in keeping with his own philosophy, even though they finished 11th two years out of three, followed by 13th, sixth, second and only after that did he achieve league success. His Manchester United side were like the Tottenham team that I inherited when I took over, and the chat reassured me about following my own path. ‘You play two games each matchday,’ he told me. ‘The first is in the press. Never lose it.’ We’re slightly different in this regard, but I did take note.
And at the end of the meal there was, as I thought there would be, a fight to pay the bill. I wanted to do it, and so did Sir Alex. But he had planned this beforehand so he proposed a solution. ‘I will ask you a question,’ he said. I smiled. ‘If you get it right, you pay. If not, I pay.’ I suspected that he must have thought of something hard to get so that I would have to admit defeat. But I accepted the challenge.
‘Deal,’ I responded.
‘Final of the 1930 World Cup. Argentina v Uruguay. The result was 4–2.’
‘Yes, go on.’
‘Who scored the goals for Argentina?’
This time I laughed loudly. ‘Carlos Peucelle and Guillermo Stábile,’ I answered.
Ferguson started clapping and shaking his head. ‘Well done, well done . . .’ I proceeded to pay.
Photos from our meeting were published the following day, while I was still on cloud nine. ‘Bloody hell, I was with Sir Alex!’
Why aren’t there more Fergusons? Because football is like an express train without any stops. It’s almost impossible to find someone in charge who is willing to be involved in taking unpopular measures. Sir Alex always says, ‘Many times you have to make decisions that screw you over emotionally, that won’t be understood and you won’t be able to explain.’ I agree. Managers live in a perpetual state of solitude, even when surrounded by people at all hours. Everybody seems to know better. I often joke with the chairman: ‘It’s easy to coach a team: put on Sky Sports, listen to what the pundits say, run a poll in any newspaper that you have access to and at five or six o’clock, when you have all that information, decide who should get a new contract, who has to play, who makes the starting line-up, who is to be sold . . .’
*
After beating Arsenal, Daniel and I celebrated the fact that we were going to finish above our historic rivals for the first time in over two decades. It wasn’t our aim, but you have to stop and enjoy the good moments, even if only briefly.
Two hours later, articles started to crop up about an alleged row between Kyle Walker and me.
I’ve never had a fight with anyone during my three years at Tottenham. I may not have shared the same view as certain players, but nothing more.
Here are the facts: Walker had just played back-to-back games for the national team. Our first match after his return was against Burnley on the Saturday. Kieran Trippier had been doing well in training for a few months and got the nod, meaning Walker was on the bench. We played Swansea on the Wednesday and Walker started. Trippier came back into the team to face Watford on the Saturday and was named man of the match. We won all three fixtures and were happy to have two regular starters competing for a place, with both players looking fresh for the final stretch of the campaign.
Walker came to my office after the Watford game.
‘Gaffer, I’ve been at Tottenham for nine years. I’ve thought about it and my heart isn’t here any more. Nor is my head. I’ve given all I have to give. I wanted to tell you before I tell my agent that I want to leave this summer.’
‘Kyle, you have to stay professional. There’s a month and a half of the season to go. We’re battling for the Premier League and FA Cup. We have to be focused and finish the campaign strongly.’
‘OK, gaffer. But it’s already decided.’
‘Well, that doesn’t just depend on you or me. It depends on the club, above all. You’ve disappointed me because you’ve decided to tell me that you want to leave when there is a month and bit left in the competition . . . You could’ve sucked it up, kept quiet, trained, played and helped the team when not picked . . . And at the end of the season you could’ve come and told me.’
Miguel was present. I always try to ensure there are witnesses during private conversations. I considered it to be an alarming lack of respect for his teammates. It’s also a slap in the face for the club that turned him into a professional.
None of that could be explained to the public at the time; I had to bite my tongue. From that point, the rumours started to proliferate. They clearly suggested that Walker was on the market. We’ll see how possible negotiations with other clubs proceed over the summer.
It’s that time when agents look to secure transfers and improved contracts for their clients, which is lawful, but I’m not one to feed rumours. I don’t read that type of content in the press. If I did, I’d find out we’d signed 200 players and sold 200 others, not to mention the number of managers that could’ve replaced me. Someone should put all the names together and calculate the percentage of accuracy. Having said that, rumours are an important part of the business, since they effectively put the player on the market, help feed his ego and give other clubs ideas (‘What if it’s true and we can sign him?’). You just have to understand it and not let it get under your skin.
It is a sign of success too. One thing that doesn’t often get pointed out is that supposedly twenty players out of our twenty-five-man squad are coveted by other clubs, despite the fact that we aren’t a selling club any more. We sell on the players that we don’t want. Daniel has more experience now and no longer restricts the process to cold and mathematical analysis. I also see things differently compared with three years ago. I understand the club better and know that not everything consists of instilling basic performance-linked principles.
It’s May and the decisions that we make at this stage will affect the whole of next season. We don’t need to change many players. Those who go will be the ones who want to play more or whose motivation differs from the club’s.
And those who arrive . . . Will they fit in? The pitch at Wembley, where we will play our home games next season, is five metres longer and one metre wider than at White Hart Lane. It’s great for playing expansive football, but it requires a bigger physical effort. We have to look for more athletic players who are quick both going forward and defensively, and maybe others who have a trick or two in their locker and use their pace out wide as there is more space. It would be great to improve the team in those areas.
The new players have to be affordable, whether that means they have problems with their current clubs or are entering the last year of their contracts if they ply their trade in the Premier League. If someone wanting to come in demands high wages, we’d have to give the others a salary increase as well, and that simply can’t happen. Daniel is a tough negotiator and hasn’t made many friends in the process. When you dive into the market, they’re waiting for you. As we can’t sign the very best, the next level is young players who need to be nurtured. The demands are higher and higher. If the team’s level drops, even marginally, we’ll fall behind.
So for all those reasons the most feasible option could be to ensure we have good back-ups in every position and improve what we already have even more.
Our club has been linked to major players who are looking for an escape route from their current employers. Some of them called us. I have had a good relationship with Álvaro Morata, who phoned me when he was at Real Madrid B and I was at Espanyol. He wanted to ask me how he could impress José Mourinho, who was in charge of the first team back then. He could see that we also worked with young players and asked me for advice. His agent has been in touch with several Premier League clubs even before the season is over, but a transfer is out of the question for us, partly because he himself does not see how he can take over from Harry Kane. That is the problem we will face this summer – i
t is so hard to improve on our regular players.
Marcus Edwards, our little Messi, the guy who could conquer the world, will be another prickly subject. We’ve set very high standards which not everyone will reach, but he certainly could. But will he? Does he want to? He’s already played for and trained with the first team. He, in tandem with the club, will have to decide which path to take his career and if he feels the process we offer is the right one for him – we think it is. But we live in an era in which it is very difficult for clubs to deal with youth players who have lots of talent – the money other clubs sometimes offer for youngsters who have not even made their first-team debuts can make you dizzy.
To sum up, it’ll be a busy summer.
Anything can happen, but we are ready for anything.
*
During a conference that I attended to renew my UEFA Pro Licence, Arrigo Sacchi, another extraordinary thinker whom I admire, spoke to us about the effort required to win the ball back. ‘What do we coach? Feet or brains?’ he asked us. He insisted that a high press is more about the desire to carry it out than the players’ physical capacity. Attackers find it harder than others to understand how crucial their role is when you lose possession. Christian Eriksen may well be the exception to that.
When we’re on the ball, his link-up work with Dele Alli has worked brilliantly. We have two mobile number 10s who interchange positions, not only between themselves, but also with those who break forward and burst into the area or move from central areas out wide. Both understand how flexible the system is. If necessary, Christian drops deep to help the team build the play from the back in our half.
We call him ‘Golazo’, because he scores so many spectacular goals in training. He isn’t the type who needs people or the press to show him how loved he is. He isn’t after external recognition. He’s remarkably calm, and I’d occasionally like him to be a tad more fired up. At Espanyol I had a player who was scared of contact and decided to do kickboxing to get over it. Christian isn’t scared, but he could make better use of his physique by earning more free-kicks near the box. That’s the next area where he could evolve.
Brave New World Page 29