Editors Note

Editors Note
Jonathan Wilson, Editor

Theres probably never a good time

to have an Old English exam, but
having two on the day of England
versus Scotland at Euro 96 seemed
particularly unlucky. The second
one, the translation paper which was
supposed to take two and a half hours,
began at 2.30pm. The target was to be
back for the start of the second half
that is, to complete the exam in half
the allotted time.
I worked harder for that exam than for
any other exam in my life. Given I was
sceptical of the value of Old English
much of what we studied, it seemed to
me, had value because it existed rather
than because it was good that was
probably for the best. The translation
was from set-texts, so you could
effectively just learn great swathes and,
so long as you recognised the passages
presented, spew it out. Back then,
before booze and age had addled my
memory, I was good at that.
I finished inside half an hour. Theyd
said, specifically, that nobody would
be allowed to leave the exam hall in
the first hour. Maybe they always said
that. I had no idea; it had never been
relevant before. I forced myself to check
back over the paper. I was bored and I
wanted a drink.
After 40 minutes, I decided to try
leaving. What was the worst that could
happen? Theyd tell me to sit down?

I pushed my chair back decisively and

stood up. As I walked hurriedly between
the rows of hunched shoulders, I heard
the scrape of at least half a dozen
other chairs. I knew I was free: to stop
that many of us would be far more
disruptive than letting us go. I dropped
my paper in the tray, and walked on
and out, unchallenged.
As soon as I hit the sunlit pavement,
I ran, mortar-board in one hand,
gown flapping out behind, adrenaline
providing a tremendous sense of release
as I crossed High Street, ducked down
by the Radcliffe Camera, and sped up
Broad Street and into college. I could, I
suppose, have used the door of the TV
room, but that seemed anticlimactic, so
I jumped through the open window and
skidded to a halt among those sitting
on the floor. Still 0-0 and not quite half
an hour played, I was told as somebody
shoved a beer into my hand.
That was the start of the best summer
of my life and not just in retrospect;
it felt brilliant at the time. Part of it
was Euro 96 of course. Part of it was
finishing my first year at university. Part
of it was being young and fit and having
no responsibilities. Part of it was being
in England, which was undergoing an
unexpected and, in retrospect, in parts
faintly embarrassing cultural renaissance
thanks to Britpop, Damien Hirst and Danny
Boyle (although in all honesty, of those
three, I only really cared about Boyle).

Editor's Note

Later that afternoon, after England had

won 2-0 and Gazza had scored that
final totem of his talent, flicking the ball
over Colin Hendry and volleying it in
from the edge of the box, I fell asleep
playing in goal during a kickabout on
the Masters Field, overcome by the
adrenaline comedown and a sudden
intake of alcohol. The day England
beat the Netherlands 4-1, Id fallen in
the river trying to manoeuvre a punt
after a long boozy picnic lunch in the
botanical gardens.
Part of it was getting drunk and having
fun, but it was more than that. Maybe
were all daft and optimistic at that stage
of life, but that really felt like a golden
age. The Conservative government that
had been in power since 1979 had a
year left to run but was clearly on its last
legs. We all had a profound hope that
Tony Blair had found a way to be both
electable and left-wing(ish), an optimism
that perhaps was never wholly justified.
It just seemed like the world was
becoming a better place. The Cold War
was over and democracy had come
to eastern Europe. The economic
outlook was good. The internet had
just been invented. Even when an IRA
bomb exploded in Manchester on the
morning of that England-Scotland
game, there was a sense that it was a
last desperate flail by hardliners as the
peace process went on.
As it turned out, there would only be
one further bombing at the Thiepval
barracks in Lisburn that October by
the Provisional IRA; the few attacks that
came after Omagh most notably
were carried out by splinter groups. (Its
says much for the fallibility of memory

that, checking the newspapers for that

day for a piece in 2006, I was stunned
to learn the Manchester bombing had
been on that day.)
And football, without doubt, was a
better place. Frustration at an economic
model that meant only the very richest
had a chance of winning anything hadnt
set in and the memory of crumbling
terraces and the three great tragedies of
the eighties was fresh enough that few
were too upset by move to modern allseater stadiums.
Symbolically, of course, it was Gazzas
tears at Italia 90 that washed away the
sins of English football. Red-faced,
plump and prone to scabrous outbursts,
he was the footballer as one of us. You
could have taken him off the pitch at
Italia 90 and dumped him with the fans
in a Cagliari bar and hed have blended
in seamlessly. To the romantics, Gazza
represented a new Englishness. After
the years of hooliganism and misery, of
joyless football, here was somebody of
almost stereotypical English appearance
who stood not for violence, but for
beauty. And here he was, denied his
coronation, reacting not with fury, not
by cursing or by lashing out, but by
weeping. If you believe football is a
noble pursuit, the Independent reported,
Gascoigne, in that moment, was noble.
At another time, it would have seemed
a childish act as indeed it was, for
Gascoigne was nothing if not a manchild but at the time it felt redemptive.
And football needed redemption.
In its darkest hour of 1985, after the
very different tragedies of Bradford
and Heysel, it felt like just another
cornerstone of working-class life that

Jonathan Wilson

was disappearing. Manufacturing was

in decline, the mines were as good as
finished, and shipbuilding was following
them. Militancy and discontent were
universal. The miners strike had come
to an end, but the printers strike was
brewing. The inner cities were volatile,
erupting into riots in Handsworth, Brixton
and Tottenham. Yet somehow, despite
the misery and the anger, a Labour Party
riddled by in-fighting failed seriously to
threaten Margaret Thatcher.
But as the eighties went on, a different
sort of fan was emerging, and making
himself heard through fanzines, which
mushroomed from just a handful in
1985 to over two hundred by the end
of the decade. The author James
Corbett suggests the birth of the acidhouse scene and the widespread use of
hallucinogens played a part in offering
an alternative to those who would
previously have got their kicks through
violence. And perhaps it was simply the
case that by the late eighties, Britain had
become a less angry, less violent place.
If you werent fighting police on the
picket-lines, why would you fight them
on the terraces?
England games still attracted trouble,
and the 1988 European Championship
in Germany was marred by rioting
involving England fans, but there was a
growing sense that, inexcusable as most
of the violence was, at least some of
it was provoked by opposing fans and
nervous foreign police and, moreover,
that much of what did happen was
misrepresented by newspapers eager for
easy news.
At club level, though, football seemed
slowly to be rallying. A 1989 survey by

the Football Supporters Association

showed that 77% of fans believed
hooliganism was down on five years
earlier. Then came Hillsborough,
the worst of all Englands football
disasters caused, at least in part,
by the measures taken to combat
hooliganism. This time, it really
couldnt get any worse.
Lord Justice Taylors report into that
tragedy, published in January 1990,
recommended the move to all-seater
stadiums and demanded the removal
of security fences, which he said
effectively treated fans as prisonersof-war. Although clubs quibbled over
the cost, the report was instrumental
in making stadiums places people
actually wanted to visit, and as such
was a major contributory factor in the
nineties boom.
But the green shoots were also visible
on the pitch. Three months before
Gazzas tears, on Palm Sunday, April 8,
English football enjoyed a rare festival
day, as the two FA Cup semi-finals
were, for the first time, both shown live
on television. The FA had previously
rejected all calls for the semis to be
staggered, insisting that the spirit of
the Cup demanded teams should
not go into a game knowing who
they would face in the final, but the
disaster at Hillsborough the previous
season persuaded them at last to give
in to the demands of television. It was
lucky: they were two brilliant games,
Crystal Palace beating Liverpool
4-3 and Oldham drawing 3-3 with
Manchester United. Palm Sunday,
David Lacey wrote in the Guardian,
has witnessed the rebirth For the
past year memories of Hillsborough

Editor's Note

have hung over the English game like a

shroud. Take a brilliantly sunny if chilly
day, four sets of enthusiastic and wellbehaved supporters, attacking football
on all sides and one shock with maybe
another to come, and all seems right
with the world of football.
Television proved the greatest driving
force behind reform. The formation of
the Premier League, that divide that was
placed between the elite and the rest,
was initially planned with the backing of
the commercial terrestrial station ITV.
In the end it was the satellite channel
BSkyB who funded it and from 1992
there has been no live top-flight football
on free-to-air television.
The revenues that generated and the
recommendations of the Taylor Report
led to investment in stadiums and
gradually in playing staff, increasingly
from overseas, the beginning of the
movement towards the situation we see
today, with only around a third of players
in the Premier League being qualified
to play for England while the likes of
Swansea and Stoke can sign players from
Marseille and Bayern Munich.
Did we recognise then what the
consequences may be, the sapping of
atmosphere and the sense that a tiny
elite existed that the vast majority of
the 92 league clubs couldnt hope to
aspire to be among? Probably not, but
even if we had I suspect many may
have welcomed the move away from
the days when watching football meant
living always amid the stench of urine,
stale beer and potential danger.
And at Euro 96, it all came together.
Terry Venabless England played at

least for two and a half games

exciting, fluid, modern football. It was
sunny. Stadiums became a place of
excitement and wonder, not of threat.
Everybody had fun (or at least that was
the perception; the rioting after the
semi-final tended to be conveniently
overlooked). England may have been
awful at Euro 92 and have failed to
qualify for the 94 World Cup, but this was
the harvest of Italia 90. Thirty years from
the last tournament England had hosted
and won, here, perhaps, was another.
I watched the quarter-final win over
Spain in the TV room at university,
joining the mass sigh of relief as Stuart
Pearce scored his redemptive penalty
in the shoot-out victory. By the time
of the semi-final, I was back home
in Sunderland. The endless summer
of books and booze and picnics and
football, that gilded time from the end
of exams till the restart of reality, lasted
10 days. I watched that game in the
living room with my dad. Alan Shearer
headed in a corner after three minutes.
At college, thered have been a melee
of ecstasy. My dad glanced up from the
paper he always put between himself
and televised football and muttered,
Too early. And of course he was right.
Hed long since put aside any belief that
football could bring joy.
Perhaps the death of optimism is just
what happens when you reach middle
age, that you recognise how cruel
and capricious the world can be, how
the brightest dreams are sullied and
perverted, and so cynicism becomes
the natural mode. But in the summer
of 1996, it felt like everything was
moving in the right direction. Perhaps
every generation goes through this, but

Jonathan Wilson

looking back, two decades on, its hard

to escape the thought that we blew it.
Its seems incredible now that that was
half my lifetime ago. Theres still an
irrational part of me that assumes that at

some point the legacy of 96 will be built

upon. It wont, of course, and so for now
Euro 96 stands as the centre-piece of a rare
period of hope. That, perhaps, as much as
the football, is why people of my generation
remember it with such fondness.

Crossword

Crossword
By Knut

Across

Down

1. Bundesliga side lacks wingersthe

directors present plan here? (10)
6. Put into storage broadcast featuring
Tardelli's debut (4)
10 & 28. An example of football's
extraordinary overheads? (7,4)
11. See 14
12. Help Northern Ireland return as a
major nation? (5)
13. One clearing space for a Fernando
Torres header? (5,4)
14 & 11. Twice Big Ron reorganised the
defence - the crowd don't like it! (6,6,7)
19. Sudden agony, sounding like The
Owls visiting home of La Liga! (8,4)
22. Without fear, starting off with no
mistakes (5-4)
25. Phase out tactical formation (5)
26. After international, Rooney reported
having suffered a tear (2,5)
27. Shackled at home, Scolari's beginning
to adopt 'press' (2,5)
28. See 10
29. The Man in Black's extended run at
the Manchester theatre? (6,4)

1. A street-wise character, Yohan takes

thiamine for ever (6)
2. A source of amusement for some,
ridiculous charade sees Hearts knocked
out (6)
3. Campaign to sack Aidy Boothroyd intially
part of training-ground activity? (9)
4. Character shown in home game (5)
5. Royals promoted study (7,2)
7. CAN side beat South Africa in a shock (8)
8. Won one, lost, drawn, drawn - defensive
blunders for Wolves? (4.4)
9. 'United to drop Jenkinson' say Sky in
broadcast (4)
15. 'Rudeness shown by Signor Ancelotti (9)
16. Shed End noisiest? Rubbish! That's lying!
(2,3,4)
17. In Doncaster, is Keegan a star? (8)
18. Like the Brazilian's philosophy? (8)
20. Tip Luxembourg to feature in 0-1 for
Italian side (6)
21. I get stuck into Jameshe's not one for
the physical battle (6)
23. Authentic side (4)
24. Watching England taking on unknown
no.12 (5)

Crossword

20

21

9
10

11

12

13

14
17

15

16

18

19

22

23

24

26

28

25

27

29

Answers are on page 189.

ndesliga side lacks wingersthe directors

sent plan here? (10)

into storage broadcast featuring Tardelli's

ut (4)

An example of football's extraordinary

rheads? (7,4)
14

p Northern Ireland return as a major

on? (5)

e clearing space for a Fernando Torres

Down

1 A street-wise character, Yohan takes thiam

for ever (6)

2 A source of amusement for some, ridiculou

charade sees Hearts knocked out (6)
3 Campaign to sack Aidy Boothroyd intially
part of training-ground activity? (9)
Royals promoted study (7,2)
4 Character shown in home game (5)
5

7 CAN side beat South Africa in a shock (8)

Contents

Contents
The Blizzard, Issue Twenty One

Introduction
3.

Editors Note

8. Crossword

Behind The Throne

15. Aleksandar Holiga, The Captains

Coup
Zvonimir Boban, a controversial
interview and Croatias conflicted
relationship with its national side
25. Samindra Kunti, The Alchemist
Michel Sablon on how his ideas helped
shaped Belgiums Golden Generation
30. James Montague, Standard Bearer
How Ismail Morina and his drone
shaped Albanias Euro qualification

Coaches
40. Dan Brigham, The Idiot on the Right
The tempestuous playing career of the
Republic of Ireland manager Martin ONeill

10

53. Michael Walker, From Nowhere

Michael ONeill on how he inspired
Northern Ireland to qualification
63. Karel Hring, Changing the Culture
How Pavel Vrba took the Czech
Republic to France and changed the
national mindset
69. Luk Vrblik, Mellow Peril
Jn Kozk on how calming down has
helped him lead Slovakia to European
Championship qualification
77. Igor Rabiner, The Cat Rescuer
How a fall from a tree set Leonid Slutsky
on his way to the top

The Hosts
97. Philippe Auclair, The Burial of

the Exotic
Andr-Pierre Gignac plays in Mexico
but could be Frances key striker at
the European Championship

Contents

103. Tom Williams, Le Vocab

A lexicon of French football terms,
what they mean and their cultural
significance

Impression: England
1966
111. Amy Lawrence, Golden Anniversary
A peoples history of the 1966 and
Englands only ever success at a major
tournament

Photo Essay
140. Lajos Kozk, The Golden Squad
For 60 years, extraordinary pictures of
Hungarys greatest team lay undeveloped

Fiction
155. Iain Macintosh, Quantum of Bobby

Greatest Game
167.Rob Smyth, Denmark 3 Belgium 2
European Championship group stage,
Stade de la Meinau, Strasbourg, 19
June 1984

Eight Bells
179. Scott Murray, Euro 76
A selection of key games from perhaps the
greatest ever international tournament

Information
189. Crossword Answers
190. Contributors
192. Blizzard Subscriptions
193. About The

Blizzard

Bobby Manager answers Englands call

to lead his nation at Euro 2016

11

14

Behind The Throne

He would occasionally get into trouble
for petty things like receiving betting
tips from Ante apina, the convicted
king of match fixing in Germany, or
stealing antique coins from a plane.
14

The Captains Coup

The Captains Coup

Zvonimir Boban, a controversial interview and Croatias
conflicted relationship with its national side
By Aleksandar Holiga

There was something very odd about

the Zvonimir Boban interview published
last October in Magazin, the Saturday
supplement of Croatias Jutarnji list
daily newspaper. Well a few things
were, actually.
The interviewer, for one. Probably the
nations most prominent contemporary
author, Miljenko Jergovi is a regular
columnist for Magazin; he mainly writes
about literature and cultural phenomena
and doesnt normally do interviews. The
style in which it was written was striking
as well. Despite the classic Q&A form,
Bobans answers were distinctly literary,
even poetic in many places. Quite
obviously this wasnt just a transcription
of a conversation that took place, but
something that someone be it the
interviewer or the interviewee, or maybe
both put a lot of thought into.
Above all, it was the fact that it didnt
make the front page of either the
newspaper or the supplement, even
though it was clearly a major coup
for Jutarnji. The former national team
captain, whose public stature and
charisma transcends football, rarely
speaks to the media: this was his first
real interview in several years. It was also
densely packed with controversial quotes
regarding the state of Croatian football,
as well as about politics and society

in general. But as it turned out, the

controversy itself was behind the papers
awkward attempt to downplay it: it had
taken a lot of editorial courage just to run
in the first place.

Its now 20 years since Croatia first

stepped onto the big football stage. At
Euro 96 in England, the Vatreni wore
slightly psychedelic checkerboard shirts
resembling tablecloths, held their hands
on their hearts while the anthem was
played and lined up in a 3-5-2 formation
which their manager, the colourful
Miroslav iro Blaevi, claimed to
have invented back in the early 1980s
with Dinamo Zagreb. Representing
a new nation fresh from the War of
Independence which had only ended
the previous summer, they were bustling
with patriotic pride that, as well as the
unconditional support from the fans back
home, was their main drive.
A talented lot, they were. Raised and
schooled in the Yugoslav socialist
system, most players knew each other
from an early age. The squad was built
around the hard core of the so-called
Chileans members of the Yugoslavia
side that won the 1987 World Youth
Championship in Chile. These were Igor
timac, Robert Jarni, Robert Prosineki,

15

The Captains Coup

Zvonimir Boban and Davor uker; Slaven

Bili and Alen Boki had been in the
same 1987 crop but didnt travel to the
tournament. In England, they went out
in the quarter-final against eventual
winners, Germany. Two years later, they
would get their revenge at the World
Cup in France, defeating the Germans
3-0 in the same stage of the competition
before finishing third.
Almost all of them have stayed in
football, one way or the other, since
hanging up their boots.
Slaven Bili, of course, was Croatia
manager between 2006 and 2012
and before that managed the nations
Under-21 side. His staff included Robert
Prosineki, Aljoa Asanovi, Nikola
Jurevi and Marjan Mrmi (the reserve
goalkeeper from the 1990s). Prosineki,
who was in charge of scouting the
opposition, controversially left in 2010
for his first job as head coach he took
over Crvena Zvezda in Belgrade, the club
that made him as a player. It was quite a
bombshell: leaving the national team to
join the club that has always, to Croatians
at least, represented Serbian nationalism.
Incredibly, though, few resented him. A
maverick personality like his could get
away with it.
timac unsuccessfully ran for federation
president, worked as a pundit for national
television and coached a bit before being
appointed Bilis successor in 2012, also

bringing Alen Boki on board. Draen

Ladi managed Croatias U21s for five
years; later he worked in the Middle East.
Robert Jarni, Zvonimir Soldo, Igor Pami,
Igor Cvitanovi and Toni Gabri are
coaches, too. Goran Vlaovi is now a TV
pundit, albeit not a very good one; Dario
imi is the head of the players union,
while Mario Stani writes a column for an
obscure blog that often gets picked up
by other media outlets. He has been the
most vocal in criticising the current state
of things in Croatian football.
The two most iconic players from that
generation, however, had managed to
stay away from domestic affairs for years.
But then one of them got involved as well.
Davor uker mainly travelled the world
and enjoyed the finer things in life for
a decade after his playing days ended.
From time to time, photos of him
relaxing on the beaches of various
tropical destinations would appear in
the media and there were reports of the
former talismanic striker committing
shrimp genocide, as one football writer
put it, on his gastronomic travels. He
would occasionally get into trouble for
petty things like receiving betting tips
from Ante apina, the convicted king
of match fixing in Germany, or stealing
antique coins from a plane1 .
By 2012, however, he got tired of the
bon vivant lifestyle and decided to run
for president of the Croatian Football

In 2011, uker found some antique coins worth 25,000 Euros on a plane he was flying on,

inadvertently left by another passenger. Although passengers were asked to report any info on the
coins' whereabouts, he decided to keep them and later gave them to his lover, who then tried to
sell them. The expert she asked to value the coins recognised them and notified the police. They
tracked uker down, he was charged with theft and fined 8,000 Euros.

16

Aleksandar Holiga

Federation. In one interview, even before

he was elected, he said his main goal
was to get onto the Uefa Executive
Committee, because thats where
all the lobbying is taking place. After
that, the next step is Fifa. Back then, I
spoke to Andrew Jennings, the British
investigative journalist who has spent
years uncovering the numerous Fifa
corruption affairs, and told him what
uker had said. Im afraid he might be
too late, Jennings said with a sarcastic
grin. The golden age of Fifa lobbying is
coming to an abrupt end.
Where timac failed in 2010, uker
succeeded and was elected. The
difference was the support of Zdravko
Mami, the Dinamo Zagreb chief
executive and the most powerful man in
Croatian football by some distance. The
two men made a pact with the powerhungry timac, giving him the post of
the national team manager almost as
a consolation prize but he proved so
grotesquely incompetent and unpopular
that he was fired before the end of the
qualifying campaign for the 2014 World
Cup. Ahead of his last game in charge,
which ended with a defeat in Scotland,
an online poll on one of the most
popular news portals had 97% of people
saying he should leave immediately.
Zvonimir Boban is a different sort. He
graduated in history after his playing
career, owns a restaurant and a pastry
shop in Zagreb and does punditry work
for Sky Italia. Although his charisma
and uncompromised status are such
that many in the country see him as
a potential saviour, he has repeatedly
refused to consider any kind of
engagement in Croatian football. As
things went from bad to worse in the

federation, a number of fans came to

resent him for such an attitude. But, as
he said himself in March last year, in
one of the very rare appearances on
public television, One person cannot
save Croatian football. With the current
constellation, I cant be bothered to lose
myself in all that. Football is trapped in
a small circle of people. In that same
brief outing, he called Zdravko Mami a
scoundrel (hulja).
However, he started a monthly column
for Sportske novosti, Croatias only daily
sport newspaper, in which he wrote
about his former teammates. But not
only that he also returned as the
papers CEO, a position he had held
a decade earlier. This was intriguing,
because EPH, the media conglomerate
that owns Sportske as well as Jutarnji
list, had just changed ownership. In a
rather hostile takeover, its new boss
became Marijan Hanekovi, a wealthy
lawyer also known as Zdravko Mamis
confidant and a member of his clique
that runs Dinamo Zagreb.

I met Boban a couple of weeks before the

controversial interview for the Jutarnji.
Months before that, Id been trying to
speak to him for FourFourTwo magazine:
after long consideration, he agreed to
talk and gave me his phone number via
a mutual contact. I was fully aware of
how significant that was, because he
had refused interviews for the likes of
the BBC and the New York Times. You
dont speak to Boban he speaks to
you if he so chooses, and he also gets
to pick questions: there is no way youre
asking him about that high kick that

17

The Captains Coup

started the War (which is the biggest

myth of Croatian football, by the way a
whole season of the Yugoslav league was
played after that incident, with Dinamo
and Zvezda playing each other home and
away without any serious trouble).
He phoned me to confirm and I
enthusiastically mailed my editor;
then, as the magazine asked people on
Twitter to pose their questions, Boban
backed down because he had not been
consulted about the interview being
advertised on social media. The interview
was postponed indefinitely; I texted him
once or twice to see if he had changed
his mind, but also to commend him on
his columns, some of which were really
good. He always replied and seemed
genuinely interested in what I thought.
As I was rushing to a meeting with my
editor at Jutarnjis Magazin, I bumped
into Boban at a caf just across the road
from the EPH building. He was sitting
on a terrace, wearing a military-style
shirt, smoking a big Cuban cigar and
reading Sportske. It was all a bit surreal
and awkward, so we just shook hands
and exchanged a few pleasantries. Five
minutes later, my editor told me Boban
had contacted Magazin and chosen
them for his big, revealing interview,
provided he spoke to Miljenko Jergovi.
The reason he was doing it, he said, was
to say he was going to vote left in the
upcoming general election that was just
weeks away.
Now, Im aware of how bizarre this may
sound to anyone not familiar with the
quirks of Croatian society: why should
anyone care that much about what an
ex-footballer thinks about politics, even
if he is the legendary captain of the

18

legendary national side? But politics and

football are never far apart in Croatia and
Boban is one of the truly independent and
influential public figures. His opinion very
much counts. Besides that, he is known to
be right-leaning in his political views.

Athletes are our countrys best

ambassadors, Franjo Tuman, Croatias
first president and an avid football
fan, used to say. At the time, everyone
seemed to believe it or at least dared
not to question such a statement that
would soon become a truism. It implied
not only the ultimate honour, but the
ultimate duty as well. The Vatreni did
not simply represent Croatian football:
they represented the whole of Croatia,
in such a way that their fortunes and
success were linked to those of the
nation itself. And the duty extended to
the general population. To suggest you
didnt care if they won or lost would have
been deemed deeply unpatriotic and it
didnt even matter whether you followed
football or not because, you see, its
was not only about football. It was a
matter of national interest.
Tuman himself tried to translate
that point of view to club football
as well. At the time, Dinamo were
known as Croatia Zagreb and secured
lavish funding in a bid to create a true
national club which could compete
with Europes finest while promoting
the new country. The name was the
presidents own suggestion and he
vehemently defended it in public until
the end of his days. He attended the
clubs matches and at times even acted
as their director of football in 1997, he
talked Prosineki into returning to the

Aleksandar Holiga

club he had left as a youngster a decade

ago; two years earlier, he had secured
the signing of 19-year-old Mark Viduka,
an ethnic Croat, during his ceremonial
visit to Australia. The president wanted
me to board his plane and fly to Zagreb
with him straight away, but I told him I
needed some more time, the striker said.
The irony of it all, of course, was that
Tuman used to preside over Partizan
Belgrade as a young general of the
Yugoslav Peoples Army.
And although Croatia the national team
the eponymous club side perhaps
slightly less so took to representing
their nation with patriotic fervour, the
system Tuman tried so hard to keep in
place was already disintegrating by the
late 1990s. Dinamo supporters regularly
protested and demanded the return of
the name: they found the new identity
artificial and resented the fact it had
been imposed on them. Their bitter
rivals, Hajduk Split who as recently
as 1995 had played in the Champions
League quarter-finals had to accept
playing second fiddle, but they would
boo Tuman, seeing him as the main
reason for Dinamos dominance. When
he fell ill, a macabre terrace chant sprung
up among Hajduk fans: Tik-tak, tik-tak,
Franjo ima rak (Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Franjo has cancer).
In January 2000, Tumans nationalconservative party, the Croatian
Democratic Union (HDZ), lost the
general election for the first time since
independence. But the president was not
there to witness it he died less than
a month earlier. In February, the name
Dinamo returned: the clubs chairman,
Zlatko Canjuga, claimed Tuman had

ordered him to do so on his deathbed,

but no one believed him. The following
season, the club lost the title to Hajduk
after winning five consecutive honours
and it took them three years to reclaim it.
Underneath it all, a new, peacetime civil
society started to bloom. Media freedoms
were part of it and Jutarnji list, founded
in 1998, established itself as the most
important national daily newspaper. While
the political alignment of the paper itself
could perhaps be roughly described as
(neo)liberal, the most influential columnists
for Magazin, its Saturday supplement, have
mostly been leftist intellectuals.

I joined Jutarnji in September 2014.

By then, it was well past its prime, but
writing for the Magazin was still as
high as you could get professionally in
Croatia. My debut there was a 2,000word piece about how Hajduk joined
the communist partisan resistance in the
Second World War and played a friendly
against a British Army XI, featuring Stan
Cullis and a young Tom Finney.
A story like that would have been
almost unthinkable in a major paper
back in the 1990s. Although many of
their members, including Tuman, were
former communists, the ruling HDZ did
its best to dispense with the remnants
of the nations socialist past, elevating
an ethnocentric identity and making
patriotism a preserve of the Right. After
2000, it seemed as though those days
were gone, but as economic depression
hit Croatia harder and longer than
most other European countries, the
authoritarian, nationalist past reared its
ugly head again.

19

The Captains Coup

A political block calling itself the Patriotic

Coalition was formed, led by new HDZ
president Tomislav Karamarko, a former
director of the national security and
counterintelligence agencies: the boss
of all spies. The coalition included some
minor parties further right on the political
spectrum and vowed to seize power. It
certainly seemed to have a head start,
especially after its candidate, Kolinda
Grabar-Kitarovi, won the presidential
election in February 2015. But
Karamarkos talk of Re-Tumanisation
and the rising right-wing extremism on
the fringes of the society scared some
people off and their advantage in polls
started to melt.
The members and sympathisers of the
Patriotic Coalition often complained
about what they saw as unfavourable
treatment in the media, which they
denounced as unpatriotic. Marijan
Hanekovis EPH takeover, however,
offered them a chance to start changing
that: allegedly the new owner signed
some kind of agreement with the HDZ,
apologising because the conglomerates
publications often attacked and
criminalised the party, promising to be
less biased in the future.
As an outside correspondent, I tried to
keep my contacts with office politics
to a minimum, but Id hear rumours
about various conservative rightwing columnists being proposed as
counterbalance only to be rejected
by the editors surely much to the
owners discontent. It was a patient
game: he couldnt just fire all the editors
and columnists (although some were
dismissed, immediately after the change of
ownership) and do a U-turn, because he
would then lose much of the readership.

20

Football was a much more important

part of it than you might think. It has
been one of the few walks of life
which was never De-Tumanised
and democratised. In terms of power,
it remained largely a domain of local
populist politicians, HDZ or otherwise,
and the conservative federation made
sure the status quo was kept through
a system of election to its Executive
Committee that favoured local bosses
with strong political backgrounds. About
two thirds of the ExCo members have
been members of the HDZ at any given
time. Meanwhile, chauvinist, racist and
other discriminatory messages remained
the staple of the fans chants, especially
at national team games, and nobody was
doing anything about it. It was as if though
they wanted to say youre welcome here
to all the idiots who had nowhere else to
go with those kinds of attitudes.
Zdravko Mami was the main figure that
rose from the ashes of Tumans Croatia,
the club, and worked his way up. He
established a network of connections
with politics, the judicial system,
the police and the media. His friend
Hanekovi, sometimes referred to as the
Consigliere in the independent media,
was the brain behind the loophole in the
clubs statutes that enabled Mami to
keep power at Dinamo, even though it
is a citizens association and as such
supposed to give all of its members the
right to elect and be elected.
Hajduk was so ruined and looted by
incompetent chairmen, installed by
politics, that it came to the verge of
bankruptcy. When it seemed that there
was no way out and the clubs only
chance was to fold and start from
scratch, it was the fans who saved it.

Aleksandar Holiga

When there was nothing to pillage

anymore, the city Hajduks majority
shareholder offered the supporters
the opportunity to take over. But instead
they devised a set of rules every club
functionary has to meet, mainly to do
with ethics, education and expertise,
organising elections for the Supervisory
Board among the club members. Against
all odds, the new, democratically elected
club leadership managed to stabilise the
club financially and get rid of most of its
crippling debt. But on-pitch results have
suffered: Hajduk only signed players on
free transfers, paid them low wages (their
wages budget last year was 10 times
lower than Dinamos) and patched the
holes with transfers before they slowly
began to breathe freely again.
What they are doing is radical not just
in football, but in Croatian society as
a whole: Hajduk completely expelled
politics from the club and organised it
on a sustainable, community-led basis:
they have around 80, mainly small,
sponsors and partners and at the time
of writing 37,000 paid members for
2016, which would make them a top-10
club in Germany, a country known for
its club membership culture and with a
population almost 20 times as big. As the
support for Hajduk grew into a popular
movement despite the teams failures
in the league and in Europe, it became
a threat to the system: it was clear that
the democratic principles could be
replicated at Dinamo as well, where
supporters have been boycotting games
and campaigning for One member, one
vote free club elections.
These were the kind of things I wrote
about in Jutarnji, while some of the
papers other football journos took to

glorifying Mami and degrading Hajduk,

especially after the new owner settled in
at the EPH. I knew it couldnt go on like
that for much longer.

In late 2011, aged 58 and unemployed

for more than four years, Ante ai
was leading a quiet life, running a caf in
downtown Zagreb. He used to repair TV
sets for a living back in the 1980s before
embarking on a distinctly unremarkable
coaching career, which has seen him in
charge of several smaller Croatian clubs,
as well as briefly managing Libyas U21
side. But then Zdravko Mami called.
The Dinamo Zagreb boss, also known as
the puppet master in Croatian football,
installed ai as coach of Lokomotiva
Dinamos feeder club which is, against all
logic and regulation, allowed to compete
in the countrys top division.
ai only led Lokomotiva in four league
games. Just before Christmas that year,
he was shockingly revealed as the new
Dinamo head coach. He held the post
for almost a year before getting sacked,
having lost all of his five Champions
League games in charge without scoring,
and almost ruining Dinamos brightest
young talents such as Mateo Kovai,
Marcelo Brozovi, ime Vrsaljko and Andrej
Kramari with his relentless tactical
experiments and positional rotation.
By 2015, he was back at Lokomotiva, but
didnt last much longer this time, either.
Two months into his term, Niko Kova
was sacked as national team manager
and ai chosen as his successor.
Widely seen as Mamis house coach,
he was only appointed as someone who

21

The Captains Coup

can be easily controlled and open to

suggestions about who to call up and
who to leave out: he is expected to allow
easier access to the team and better
treatment for players in whose careers
Mami has a vested interest and from
which he may personally profit. This
may include raising profiles and price
tags for those who are still at Dinamo,
but possibly also those who are playing
abroad and have bonuses and sell-on
percentages in their contracts.
The federation didnt even try to deny
that ai was Mamis choice and had
his support from the start, despite not
possessing much in terms of references
for the job and clearly lacking authority
over the players, as well as their respect.
This was the final straw that pushed the
travesty beyond every limit: the definite
proof that Croatia is now Mamis private
enterprise. It inspired a growing anti-team
sentiment and many fans started declaring
that they do not support it anymore.
Meanwhile, the House of Mami came
under serious threat, the foundations of
its business shaken by an investigation
launched against Zdravko, his brother
Zoran (Dinamos sporting director,
who also doubles as their head coach
these days) and his son Mario, who
was the middle man in many transfer
deals. Damir Vrbanovi, a highly ranked
federation officer, was involved as well.
The men were accused of making
illegal personal profits off Dinamo
player transfers abroad, embezzling the
clubs funds on a massive scale through
offshore bank accounts.
National team stars such as Luka Modri
and Dejan Lovren were called to testify:
according to media leaks, they revealed

22

everything about the schemes, because

otherwise they would have been seen
as accomplices. The Mamis were
brought into custody in the summer
of 2015 (Zdravko twice, actually, as the
investigation extended), only to be bailed
out with large sums that, as it turned out,
Davor uker helped pay. The charges
against them were finally raised in April
2016 and they are now awaiting trial.
While Zdravko was banned by the court
from working at Dinamo during the
investigation, there havent been other
real consequences for him so far (or
for his brother, who is still coaching
Dinamo). He resumed his duties as the
federations vice-president and this
further blow to his reputation doesnt
seem to have affected his political links.
He spent the entire election night at the
Patriotic Coalition headquarters with
Tomislav Karamarko and had previously
thrown a birthday party for Croatias new
president, Kolinda Grabar-Kitarovi. He
was seen having coffee and engaging in
friendly conversations with judges.

I feel sorry for Mami, Boban said in the

interview. Ive known him for ages and
that man is a tragedy to himself, but that
could be accepted if that tragedy didnt
cost us as much. Both our football and
Croatia as a whole. That is our shame.
Our national shame. He touched upon
uker as well: Our genius number nine,
the obedient executor of the shady
business who took himself away from us
in the most brutal way
But these observations were lightweight
compared to what he said about
politics, where he was much more

Aleksandar Holiga

straightforward. I believe it is crucial

that the Left wins among other things,
for the sake of the Right. Because
then well perhaps get the true Right
which is closer to me in many respects.
Unfortunately, this current one is not in
any of them. Boban went on to praise
Zoran Milanovi, the Prime Minister at
the time and head of the centre-left
coalition, stating that he wasnt corrupt
and compromised and that, to our
shame, is his big advantage.
The EPH boss Hanekovi, the insider
story goes, was furious upon learning
the contents of the as yet unpolished
interview. He demanded that Boban
retracted some of his statements, which
he refused to do; he then asked the
editors not to run the interview or leave
out the controversial parts, which they
refused to do. It ended in an absurd
compromise that nobody was happy
with the interview was published, but
wasnt advertised on the front page.
Disillusioned, Boban immediately quit
both his columnist and CEO gigs.
This was about a month before the
elections. Polls still favoured the Patriotic
Coalition and almost every analyst in the
country forecast it would win.
But it ended up in a hung parliament,
with both big blocks winning exactly the
same number of seats; none could have
formed the government without the help
of Most a new political power, basically
an alliance of independent candidates
with various ideological alignments
that called for extensive reforms in just
about every sector. After two and a half
months of negotiation and quite a few
dramatic shifts, they chose go with the
Right, but refused to accept Karamarko

as Prime Minister. Tim Orekovi, a

Croatian-Canadian businessman with
no party affiliation, was agreed upon and
appointed instead.
A few months into their term, things
just dont seem to be working, with the
two blocks in power quarrelling and
obstructing each others initiatives all
the time. But the Patriotic Coalition has
managed to push forward their agenda
of bringing the unpatriotic media in
order: there have been purges at HRT,
the public broadcasting company,
while Ministry of Culture abolished the
financial backing of non-profit media
outlets and civil society programmes. A
wave of historical revisionism and neotraditionalism appeared, swooping down
on key opinion-makers as not affirmative
enough for traditional Croatian and
Catholic values.
As for football, some members of Most
stressed clearing off the situation in
the federation as one of their (many)
priorities, while the new Minister of
Sport said Mami was not his biggest
problem. Meanwhile, uker and
Mami himself have called for bigger
government investment in football,
including a new stadium in Zagreb. Its
shameful how little money we receive
from the state, Zdravko said just days
after charges against him were raised.

A majority of Hajduk fans are now

alienated from the national team and
claim they are no longer supporting it. A
good part of Dinamos support feels the
same way, as do some of the neutrals
who cant accept how the Vatreni have
been usurped for private interests.

23

The Captains Coup

Then there are those who are put off

not only by that, but also by displays of
nationalism and hate speech among the
fans. Za dom spremni! (For home
ready!), the salute infamous for its usage
by Croatian fascists in the Second World
War, can be heard at every game.
Its the same salute shouted by Joe
imuni over the PA system that got him
suspended and effectively ended his
international career after the Croatia v
Iceland 2014 World Cup qualifying playoff match. Shooting themselves in the
foot, the federation appointed imuni as
Ante ais assistant despite having no
qualifications, not even his badges, hes
employed in the capacity of a motivator.
While the federation claims to be
committed to the fight against racism and
discrimination, it is, in fact, encouraging
(and rewarding) this type of behaviour.
There will be three types of Croatia
supporters at the Euros in France. Some
will just want to support the team and
have a good time, oblivious of everything
else. Others will go there to support the
Vatreni as hardcore nationalists, shouting
those slogans despite being aware they
can hurt the team that way, racking up
fines for the federation or worse. Finally,
there are those who will do it not despite,
but because of that they are the antifederation, anti-Mami radicals, who will
be looking to sabotage the team, as they
feel that international shame and on-pitch
failure is the only chance for change to
finally start happening in Croatian football.

Those have been actively engaged since

they realised that that was perhaps the
most effective weapon at their disposal,
since all the legal remedies and initiatives
failed. Its very likely that the same thinking
was behind the incident at Splits Poljud
Stadium, where someone sneaked in
during the night and painted a swastika on
the pitch before the Croatia v Italy qualifier
that was played behind closed doors due to
previous crowd incidents.
The team that was once a unifying force
for all Croatians, regardless of their
political and club allegiances, is now very
much a divisive factor.

I only wrote for Jutarnji for less than a

year, but I came very close to quitting
on three occasions during that period.
Ive struggled with it for months, torn
between having the chance to use such
a popular, mainstream platform for
saying things others might keep silent
about, and the nauseous feeling of being
on the Consiglieres payroll.
Then came the Boban interview and its
aftermath, and my doubts were gone. On
the same day it was published, I quit my job
and have since found another that makes
me feel much better about myself. The
next day, Boban texted me. Ill probably
never get that interview if he finds out I
wrote this, but heres what he said: Im
sorry and Im glad for you. Greetings with,
I suppose, Brothers in Arms.2 Zvone.

This is clearer in Croatian, but he is referring to the Dire Straits song.

24

The Alchemist

The Alchemist
Michel Sablon on how his ideas helped shaped
Belgiums Golden Generation
By Samindra Kunti

Belgiums squad for Euro 2016 is replete

with stellar names from the Premier
League, but can they win the European
Championship? Michel Sablon believes
so, and with good reason.
At a young age Kevin De Bruyne and
Eden Hazard possessed so much
talent that they were scarcely team
players, says Sablon, now technical
director of the Football Association of
Singapore. They are icons who need
to find a balance between team service
[and individual play]. You dont have
to ask Hazard to defend. He defended
positionally under [Jos] Mourinho and
did so reasonably well, but he is most
important when in possession. Kevin De
Bruyne is completely different: his vision
is simply unbelievable. He can pass left
and right, while deceiving everyone,
except the intended recipient, wholl
receive the ball at the right moment,
at the right height and with the right
speed. You have to give these players
more leeway, because they are
conflict-players.
The idiosyncratic technical director
recapitulates the footballing renaissance
he instigated in the late nineties and the
early 2000s: based on a 4-3-3 formation,
individual player development and
institutional change, Sablon reinvented
and reshaped Belgian football.

In the stands of the King Baudouin Stadium

Michel Sablon was fretting: Belgium had
begun their Euro 2000 group decider
against Turkey with a ferocious and
strangling velocity, but up front both Luc
Nilis and mile Mpenza lacked an incisive
edge. Marc Wilmots, Belgiums midfield
cog, who had been so outstanding in the
previous group games against Sweden and
Italy respectively, became isolated. Wilmots
slowly got aggravated.
For much of the 90 minutes, Belgium
had been playing to their own limitations:
a contemporary 4-4-2 formation with
rigid organisation, but thoroughly
unimaginative, without any lustre. They
lacked skills, brainpower and composure.
Their game was reactive. Filip De Wildes
vaudeville act and Hakan krs eye for
goal spoiled Belgiums own party as Turkey
won 2-0 to go through in their place.
Sablon sighed. He had just witnessed the
archetypical Belgian malaise, a repeat
performance of the 1998 World Cup:
Belgian players were, at best, blue-collar.
They exuded realism, collectivism and,
at times, efficiency, but, ultimately, they
were limited.
Sablon, a modest player himself with
Merchtem in the seventies, became

25

The Alchemist

Belgiums assistant coach at the World

Cups of 1986, 1990 and 1994. In the
late nineties Belgian football had been
muddling along, drained by partisan
interests and the lack of an overarching
vision. Michel DHooghe, the longstanding Fifa Executive Committee
member and then president of the
Belgian football association, the
KBVB, felt exasperated. His Herculean
achievement of hosting the European
Championship had backfired: Euro 2000
was nothing but a painful indictment.
DHooghe asked, almost pleaded, his
namesake to reengineer the future.
Sablon immediately set to work: he
solicited the universities of Ghent and
Louvain-La-Neuve to research physical
education for both boys and girls in
different age categories. In Leuven, he
challenged Professor Werner Helsen to
define the best form of play. Finally, the
University of Lige would pinpoint the
optimised game conditions to act on
Helsens conclusions.
Numbers tell the tale, Sablon frequently
repeats. With six Leuven students, we
analysed 1500 hours of football long
balls, short passes, the number of
touches of every player, the way of buildup. If ratio and science guided Sablon,
the facts and findings still required a
footballistic interpretation.
Sablons jumble of task forces
and committees, made up of club
representatives and coaches, decided,
after much deliberation, on a 4-3-3
formation as the bedrock for Belgian
football. In the new school of thought
the player remained front and centre in a
triangulated structure of clubs, top sport
schools and national youth teams. Sablon

26

and a core group of loyalists, including

Bob Browaeys, Eric Abrams, Marc van
Geersom and Kris van der Haegen,
became crusaders. To see through their
revolution, they carried their dogma to the
clubs and interested parties in the Flemish
and Walloon hinterlands, which had so
often been undermined by parochialism
and incompetence.
Their maxim was simple: players
have individual traits and positions,
but they must be dynamic within the
system, interchangeability must inform
everything defenders attack and
attackers defend. While they were
inspired by Ajax, the Netherlands, Spain
and other Cruyffian influences, the
adoption of 4-3-3 was not a veiled
attempt at an updated version of Total
Football, but simply a considered
decision in favour of what they saw as
the best formation, for the purposes of
both player development and on-field
success. They abandoned 4-4-2 and
mainstream Belgian football tactics.
4-3-3 is the most efficient system of play,
Sablon says, because you play with a flat
four at the back, a reversible defensive or
offensive triangle in midfield, a striker and
two wingers, for whom dribbling at the
opponent is of pivotal importance.
With a 4-4-2 or 3-5-2 you
predominatantly produce workers and
runners, Browaeys agrees. He played
as a goalkeeper for KSV Waregem in the
eighties. Browaeys coached Belgium to
a bronze medal at the 2015 Under-17
World Cup.
Its about 4-3-3 and zonal football, says
Browaeys. If youth players adopt a libero
and man-marking, what does it imply

Samindra Kunti

tactically? You just follow your direct

opponent the whole game, whereas, if
you play in zones, you have to think, you
have to position yourself in relation to your
opponent and the situation of the game.
Until the age of 17, this formation is the
best learning environment, explains
Browaeys. Within 4-3-3, everything is
possible: an offensive triangle with one
of the attacking midfielders turning into a
support striker, the number 7 and 11 can
infiltrate the centre, your number 6 can
play in between your number 3 and 4.
You barely see that its a 4-3-3. You can
rotate your midfield triangle.
Backed by scientific data, Sablon and
his allies sought to introduce their
preferred formation with small-sided
games at clubs and the national youth
teams. Hans Galj at Club Brugge,
Roland Breugelmans at Genk, the late
Dominique DOnofrio at Standard de
Lige and Jean Kindermans at Anderlecht
facilitated the implementation: 5 v 5
with a single diamond, 8 v 8 with a
double diamond and eventually 11 v 11
with fixed numbers. The players had
to acquire the technical and tactical
basics as well as team tactics from the
national curriculum. Ball circulation was
key: goal-kicks, direct free-kicks and
throw-ins (replaced by a kick-in) were
prohibited to stimulate build-up play.
To source and recruit young talents,
Sablon developed a straightforward sixpoint competence model winning
mentality, emotional stability, personality,
explosiveness, insight into the game and
ball and body control.
The winning mentality is the paramount
criterion does the player have the

attitude to improve? says the technical

director of Football Australia Eric Abrams,
who coached Belgiums U-17 national
team for much of the last decade. A
player can be outrageously talented,
but he wont make it to the elite without
that characteristic. He may not even be
the best player of the team. Its all about
the potential and the long term, not the
match performance.
We had to prepare that wealth of players
for the senior national team, says
Sablon. We chewed it over on a daily
basis. I was one of the first to consider De
Bruyne a fantastic player. At the age of 16,
he read the game three times faster than
the rest. [Vincent] Kompany, obviously,
was a super talent. Hazard moved from
Tubize to Lille. His flashes of brilliance
were not yet supported by a strong
physical condition and mental resilience,
but if he stuck at it, he was predestined.
Sablons new recruits combined a
holistic aptitude with an individualistic
attitude a moderate dereliction of the
collective wasnt uncommon. Cognitive
understanding of the game and decisionmaking under pressure were part of their
DNA. A player has to function in a team,
but always from an individualistic point of
view, emphasises Browaeys.
You have to let the prodigies [De Bruyne
and Hazard] play, but that tension
between the individual player and the
team is conflicting, says Sablon. Few
talented players are easy-going: Messi,
Neymar and Ibrahimovi arent easy
to handle neither is Hazard. Those
players understand their own value and
they need to state: I am going to pull it
together and do it. You need that bit of
anger, its part of the talent.

27

The Alchemist

In 2007, Hazard and Christian Benteke

debuted with the Diablotins [the Imps] at
the U-17 European Championship. They
reached the semis, where Spain prevailed
7-6 on penalties. A year later, Kompany,
Thomas Vermaelen, Marouane Fellaini, Jan
Vertonghen and Moussa Dembl finished
fourth at the Beijing Olympic Games.
Here was a group of eclectic players, their
roots in DR Congo, Congo, Mali Morocco
and Belgium with a dashing sense of
self-assurance and aplomb: a generation
sui generis, sculpted and fine-tuned by
Sablon and the complete antithesis of
their predecessors. They demonstrated
a virtuosity that had previously not been
seen in Belgium: a swiftness in their skills,
a daring swagger in their understanding
of the game, but all executed with a cool
intelligence, encompassing the main
characteristic of Belgian national youth
teams ball possession, if possible up to
a utopian 100%.
At youth level, that attempted dominance
has recently resulted in a more Germanic
style of play: high pressure when out
of possession, more verticality when
in possession. To argue that the senior
team appertains to a Germanic school
of football would be inaccurate. The Red
Devils embody a singular style, neither
Germanic nor Southern, but marked
by the functionality of the midfield
architect and sensible ball artist De
Bruyne and by the many intricacies and
infiltrations of Hazard.
I often exchanged thoughts with Matthias
Sammer, explains Sablon. Germany also
reconfigured their game. Our style does
tilt towards German football, but with
Origi and Hazard Belgium produced a
distinct kind of player.

28

At the last World Cup, the muchheralded Belgians boys had become
men failed to enthuse, except for
a topsy-turvy 120 minutes against the
United States. The 1-0 quarter-final
disappointment against Argentina was an
apposite example.
The game turned around the Belgian
midfielders containing Lionel Messi.
Belgium took a liberal approach with
Axel Witsel as the deepest midfielder, but
both Fellaini and De Bruyne had plenty of
licence to roam. The central defenders
Kompany and Daniel Van Buyten pushed
high up as well. The risky approach
backfired as Messi orchestrated Argentina
to the semi-finals, exploiting the space
around him and neatly adjusting the pace
of the game whenever required.
Towards the end of the game, Belgium
dominated again courtesy of their deep
squad and high-quality substitutes
Romelu Lukaku, Dries Mertens and Nacer
Chadli. On the whole, though, Belgium
were a cast of fragmented individuals,
lacking shape and strategy, with coach
Wilmots facing a big question. He
addressed that during the Euro 2016
qualifiers: De Bruyne became the
undisputed playmaker in place of Hazard.
The Belgians amassed 23 points out of 30,
suffering a single defeat away to Wales.
If their displays were often prosaic, the
overall campaign was merely satisfactory. In
France, their post-World Cup improvement
may count for little: a snap and, once again,
they may be on their way out.

This summer Sablon and Browaeys will

long for success a place in the semi-

Samindra Kunti

finals, possibly something more? Systems

and players are transient after all, but
a methodology based on constant
innovation is not.
We unearth tendencies and integrate
them the Villa-run [the creation and
exploitation of space], the Shevchenko-run
[efficiency in the final third], says Browaeys.
A substandard result elimination in the
first round, because of injuries or fate
shouldnt lead to self-doubt. This is a
wonderfully talented first team.

29

Standard Bearer

Standard Bearer
How Ismail Morina and his drone shaped Albanias
Euro qualification
By James Montagues

Belgrade, Serbia. 14 October 2014.

Silence.
For the past two hours the Partizan
Stadium in the Serbian capital of
Belgrade had been a cauldron of noise.
The stands had been filled hours before
the European Championship qualifier
kicked off.
Serbia were playing Albania. The two
had not played each other before and
Yugoslavia had not played Albania since
a Balkan Cup game in 1977 for good
reason. The two neighbours had a long
history of wars, massacres and countermassacres. But it was the 1999 Kosovo
War that had taken them to the edge of
conflict and defined their modern enmity.
As Yugoslavia disintegrated into its
constituent parts, Kosovo had been left
in limbo. Although part of Yugoslavia, and
having been given special status under Tito
the still popular communist strongman
who had kept the country together until
his death in 1980 Kosovo was not one of
its six constituent republics.
After Croatia and Slovenia had
announced their independence, after the
war that followed, after the evisceration
of Bosnia, after Srebrenica and Vukovar
and Krajina, after Dayton, an uneasy

30

peace of new-old nations was agreed.

But not for Kosovo. The population is
majority Muslim and majority ethnic
Albanian but the territory has great
historical significance for Serbia. The
1389 Battle of Kosovo was perceived
as a crushing but noble defeat for
Serbias princes, who were massively
outnumbered by the forces of the
Ottoman empire and then annihilated.
For Serb nationalists Kosovo had to be
kept at all costs.
Thousands of lives were lost in the 1999
conflict, which brought Nato bombs to
Belgrade. Albania supplied arms and men
via its porous border, engaging in a proxy
war, before an uneasy peace was agreed.
Kosovo was neither independent nor
part of Serbia. At the Partizan Stadium,
frustration at the humiliations forced on
Serbia were vented upon the Albania
team, the majority of whom were born
in Kosovo. The match was deemed the
highest risk by Uefa, and away fans were
banned. The only Albanians allowed
in to the stadium were the players, the
coaching staff and a handful of VIPs,
including the brother of Albanian prime
minister Edi Rama.
Kill the Albanians, the crowd shouted.
As the first half progressed, it was
Albania who had the best chances. The

James Montague

chants grew in volume. Objects were

thrown on the pitch. Martin Atkinson,
the English referee in charge of the
game, had already halted the game twice
because of the flares and missiles. In the
42nd minute, with the score at 0-0, an
unfamiliar object appeared in the sky. Its
humming could barely be heard above
the noise. At first, no one knew what they
were seeing. Then the chanting ceased.
Silence.
A quadcopter drone was gliding serenely
towards the pitch. Underneath, it was
carrying a red and black flag. On it was
printed the word Autochthonous that
is, indigenous rather than descended
from migrants or colonists and the
faces of the Albanian nationalist heroes
Ismail Qemali and Isa Boletini next to
a map of Greater Albania, a nationalist
conceit that many in Serbia fear.
The silence was temporary, like the heavy
pressure at the eye of a passing tornado.
When Serbia defender Stefan Mitrovi
reached up and pulled the drone down,
the players tussled over the flag. The
stadium exploded back into life. It was
out of control, I was really scared for my
players, said Albanias captain Lorik Cana,
who was born in Kosovo and fled the
Yugoslav war for Switzerland as a child.
The match was abandoned. As the
Albanian players ran for the safety of the
tunnel, several fans managed to get onto
the pitch, throwing punches and plastic
chairs. It was only the quick thinking of
the Serbian players, who protected their
opponents, that prevented serious injury.
They were coming from everywhere,
Cana recalled of the fans that had got
on to the pitch. [Alekandar] Kolarov and

[Branislav] Ivanovi really protected us.

Without them we were in big trouble.
In the sanctuary of the dressing room the
Albanian players treated their wounds
cuts and bruises, but nothing more
serious before Serbian police burst in
and demanded to search the players
bags. They were looking for a remote
control. They thought one of us did this
with the drone, which was ridiculous!
Cana said incredulously. When none was
found, blame centred on the Albanian
delegation and the prime ministers
brother. The Serbian authorities claimed
the drone was the a terrorist action
planned in advance. But nothing was
found on him either.
The drones remote control was nearby,
but the police never discovered it. It lay
on the stone floor of a Serbian Orthodox
cathedral next to the stadium. As the police
tore the stadium apart looking for the
culprit, Ismail Morina lay in silence under a
parked car. When the coast was clear, he
moved through the shadows of Belgrades
back streets and made his escape.

Prekaz, Kosovo, one year later.

Aside from the presence of armed
soldiers in Kosovar uniforms, a huge
white marble graveyard that stretches
out into the distance and a semipermanent scaffolding frame used to
funnel hundreds of selfie-taking tourists
around its bullet-riddled facade, the
house that Adem Jashari built has
remained as it was since the day he died.
Jashari was the leader of the Kosovo
Liberation Army (KLA). He is considered

31

Standard Bearer

a hero in Albania and Kosovo, but as

a terrorist by the Serbs. On 7 March
1998, Yugoslav special forces moved on
Jasharis house. Whether they wanted
to apprehend him or kill him is still open
to question. What isnt open to question
is what happened next: a firefight in
which all 58 people in the house were
killed, including Jashari, his brother, their
wives and their children. Two Serbian
policemen also died.
The house was left as a memorial to
the martyrs. Huge holes remain in the
masonry, punched through by artillery
shells. Thousands of bullet holes seem to
cover almost every inch of the brickwork.
The house is now a site of pilgrimage
and a large crowd, larger than usual, had
gathered outside it. The several hundred
men and women were all members of
the Red and Black, the ultras group of the
Albania national team. In a few days time,
Albania would play in arguably the single
biggest match in its history. They were
just one victory away from qualifying
for Euro 2016. It would be Albanias first
appearance at a major tournament. The
team standing in their way was Serbia.
In the middle of the crowd stood a
short man in his early 30s with wild,
curly black hair and an American flag
bandana around his neck. Teenage girls
had surrounded Ismail Morina, taking it
in turns to take a selfie with him before
the Red and Black moved towards the
house. This, Morina said grandly before
going inside, is our Jerusalem. Morina
was here as a guest of honour, invited
by Adem Jasharis one surviving brother
who still lived next door and oversaw
Kosovos most popular tourist attraction.
You are a hero to the Albanians, the
frail old man said as he handed Morina

32

a plaque. In return, Morina handed him

a flag. That was the original flag I was
going to fly with the drone, he explained
after the ceremony. It was too heavy to
fly. I couldnt lift it off the ground!
The members of the Red and Black
marched to the graves of the 58 men,
women and children killed during the
raid and sang songs honouring the KLA.
The visit was part of a two-day patriotic
tour of Kosovos famous war graves in
preparation for the Serbia game. Morina
was the star attraction as they arrived
at different towns, each with stories of
massacres and bloodshed Pritina, Gjilan,
Decan, Prizren. In each town and village
mayors, former KLA commanders, soldiers
and others gathered in large numbers
to wish the Red and Black well for the
upcoming match against Serbia. But, more
importantly, to meet Ismail Morina.
Since the Serbia v Albania match Morina
had become a national hero in Albania
and Kosovo. At first, no one knew who
was responsible for piloting the drone.
Uefa awarded the match 3-0 to Albania
and punished Serbia further with a threepoint deduction for failing to control the
crowd. The Serbians were livid that they
had, as they saw it, been punished twice
and that their qualification campaign for
Euro 2016 was effectively over.
After months of speculation and
conspiracy theories, the identity of
the drone pilot was finally revealed
when Morina gave a one-hour long
interview on Albanian TV. Far from
being a provocation organised by the
government or a member of Albanias
special forces, the culprit was a shy,
clumsy, 33-year-old crane operator living
in northern Milan who had devised a plan

James Montague

five years previously that 999 times out

of 1000 would have been left on the bar
room floor.

draw, and saw that the first game was in

Belgrade, which was perfect. Perfect,
Morina said.

I first had the idea after I had come back

from work one day, Morina said. I spoke to
him as he drove a Range Rover (borrowed
from my brother!) back from Kosovo to
his home in Albania. A huge member of
the Red and Black sat in the back seat.
My bodyguard, Morina said, laughing.

As the match approached he still had

no idea exactly what he would do, until
he met up with a friend who had just
bought a drone for his young son to play
with. He saw the drone flying around the
Milanese park and realised that, with a
little bit of work, it could carry a banner
or a flag. So he went out and bought
a drone. He destroyed the first one.
The second went the same way. By the
time he had bought his third drone he
had mastered it. I got used to it quickly
because it was like when I drive my
crane, I had a joystick. Its like playing on
the PlayStation.

Hed lived in Milan for six years with

his Italian wife and two children. One
evening in 2010, he returned to his
apartment after his shift and, for the
first and only time, didnt jump straight
into the shower. Something told me I
should turn on the television so I did that
first, which I never do, he said. What
he saw would change his life forever.
Italy were playing Serbia in a European
Championship qualifier in Genoa. The
match was abandoned largely because
of the behaviour of Serbias fans. At
the front, on top of the security fence,
sat Ivan Bogdanov, the most notorious
football hooligan attached to Crvena
Zvezda. He had cut through the fence
and used a flare to burn the Albanian flag.
I couldnt believe it, fuck you! Morina
said. They werent even playing Albania,
why burn our flag? At that moment he
vowed to get revenge. But the anger
soon fell away and life got in the way.
It lay dormant until the qualifying draw
for Euro 2016 when Albania were drawn
against Serbia.
If the poltical situation demands it, Uefas
Executive Committee will intervene to
prevent countries from being drawn in
the same group. But no one thought to
separate Serbia and Albania. I saw the

The next issue was how he would get the

drone into the stadium. He used Google
Earth to research the surrounding area.
He flew to Belgrade and walked around
the Marakana, checking potential sites
from which he could fly the drone.
But with the plan set and the date
approaching, he realised he had been
researching the wrong stadium. So
he returned to Belgrade, and this time
settled on the Church of the Archangel
Gabriel, a few hundred metres from
the Partizan Stadium. It provided the
perfect cover. It was left unlocked, was
surrounded by a large park and from
the cupola Morina had a clear view of
the stadium. Most importantly, it was in
range of the drone that he had bought.
A few days before the match, Morina
and a friend drove from Italy to Serbia.
The car was searched at the Croatia and
Serbian border by Serb border police.
Morina thought that the game was up.
They looked at everything and then

33

Standard Bearer

found the drone in a box in the back, he

said. Morina explained that it was a gift
for the son of a friend. The border guard
handed the drone back and waved them
through. It was unbelievable. After that
there was nothing to stop me.
Morina positioned himself in the church
grounds 17 hours before kick off. He had
already hidden the drone and the remote
control in the church two days before.
The plan was to wait there until the game
started. Security, he figured, would have
been too tight if he had left it any later. So
he lay there, listening to the crowd arriving
singing, he says, anti-Albanian songs
until, finally, he moved into position.
There were a few teething problems. The
first flag Morina tried (the one he later
presented to Adem Jasharis brother) was
too heavy. But he had a back-up. As the
match began, he could hear the crowd
in the distance, although not what they
were singing. Outside, the roads were
deserted when Morina launched his
drone into the Partizan Stadium.
There was twenty seconds of silence,
Morina recalled of the moment the drone
entered the stadium. I lowered the
drone so that the players could see the
flag, to give them courage. But Morina
had made an error. Serbia were playing
in red and Albania in white. He flew the
drone towards the red-shirted players
believing them to be Albanian. When he
realised his mistake he tried to power
the drone into the sky. The original plan
was for the drone to circle the stadium
and then head back to the church where
Morina would collect the flag and jump
into a car hed parked a kilometre away
from the stadium. A friend would be
waiting with the engine on. But Stefan

34

Mitrovi grabbed the drone, all hell broke

loose and Morina decided to abandon his
post, leaving the remote control on the
floor of the church.
Morina managed to escape the church
before the police had flooded the area.
But still he had to hide under a parked
car when two policemen passed by.
Once they were out of view he made his
way to the waiting car and drove south
through the border and into Kosovo. I
still thought I had failed at this point, he
said. Then I got a call from a friend in
Italy. He told me, Man, youre famous.
And famous he was. His actions were
discussed on Albanian national TV,
although not always favourably. In a
region awash with conspiracy theories,
he was accused of being a spy for
numerous sides. One analyst on TV said
I was from Isis, because the flag was
black, and that I was paid by the Serbian
secret service! he said. There was
adulation, but he also received thousands
of death threats on Facebook and by text
message, so Morina fled Italy and took
his family to Albania. People knew where
I and my family lived, he said. According
to the Serbian media a businessman from
Chicago even offered a 1 million reward
for Morinas capture. Im not worried
about the Serbian state, but extremist
groups, he said.
Once we had crossed the border into
Albania, he pulled into a petrol station for
a coffee. From the glove compartment
he took out a gun and placed in my
hands a Zastava pistol which, ironically,
was made in Serbia and, even more
ironically, means flag in Serbian. It felt
heavy, but I didnt immediately realise
it was real. It was small and looked like

James Montague

a cigarette lighter. For a split second it

crossed my mind that I should jokingly
put the gun to my head and pull the
trigger. Its real, man, he said, giving me
a concerned look.
I gingerly handed the gun back to him.

Over the next few days, Ismail and I

would travel around Tirana, meeting
members of the Red and Black. We
spoke on the record three times, him
repeating his story, me trying to fill in the
blanks where parts didnt make sense,
or where parts of the story contradicted
each other. There was no sense of
danger or fear. Ismail Morina was a
national hero and he could go wherever
he wanted and spoke to whomever he
chose. The Red and Black had closed
around him, offering him friendship and
protection. He rarely gave interviews
and primarily interacted with the outside
world using Facebook. Every day bought
an avalanche of death threats: Serbian
men, usually claiming they were exspecial forces, sending topless pictures
of themselves wearing balaclavas. Or
simply a collection of guns and knives on
a bed with a threat to slaughter everyone
he knew. But it wasnt all bad. He also
received hundreds of friend requests
from Albanian women who sent pictures
in various states of undress.
The last time I saw Ismail Morina was in
a cliff-top restaurant outside the coastal
city of Durrs, about 45 minutes drive
from the capital. We had agreed to meet
there for the final interview before the
Albania v Serbia game. Morina was dining
with a select group of the Red and Black.
We knocked back blindingly strong

rakija and talked about the moment

he became the most famous man in
Albania. I didnt think Id be offensive
against Serbs, Morina said, now a little
drunk and magnanimous. In that flag
was a map, a map of ethnic Albania. I
didnt claim territories. I just claimed
the history. I have to say to the Serbian
people I dont hate them. I really dont
hate them. But the past has hurt us.
Of greater concern was how the
Albanian authorities viewed him. Both
the Albanian FA and Uefa had banned
him from attending the game in Elbasan,
about 35 miles from Tirana. The fear was
that another drone would be flown into
the stadium. Albanian special forces were
to patrol the rooftops surrounding the
stadium, ready to shoot down any that
might appear. I am a danger man, they
say! he laughed. But, he said, his time
as a drone provocateur was over. Im
going [to the game] and I dont want to
do anything. I just want to support the
national team. Too many people say to
me, the three points [against Serbia]
were because of you. I dont think so.
Our players went to Portugal and won
before the Serbia match. We drew with
Denmark. I can say my achievement was
that I stirred up the patriotic feelings.
When the bar closed Ismail offered to
drive me back to Tirana. It was late and
the restaurant was isolated, so we drove
back down the winding, black, single
lane towards the highway. Morina was
excited. He had received a new message
from a girl. Suddenly, from the pocket of
the car door, he pulled a second gun, a
bigger one, and opened the window. He
raised it outside and pulled the trigger.
Click.

35

Standard Bearer

He hadnt loaded it. Somehow he

managed to drive the car at speed with
his knees, message the woman on
Facebook, load the gun and cock the
barrel all at the same time. He lifted
the pistol out of the window again and
blasted it three times in the air. The noise
in the car was deafening. A spent shell
flew out of the chamber and bounced off
my forehead as Morina laughed until he
had a coughing fit.
The rest of the journey was uneventful.
Morina pulled up outside my apartment
in central Tirana. It was 2am but his
night was not over. He was off to meet
someone else, he said. We would meet
tomorrow and then travel to the game,
he promised.

first time on Albanian TV news: James

Montague, American [sic] reporter and
New York Times.
By coincidence, a story I had written
about Morina for the New York Times
had been published a few hours after his
arrest. In it I had mentioned the death
threats, that he feared for his life, the
fact that he carried a Zastava pistol for
self-defence and, later on, his arrest. But
the police had briefed the media that
they had arrested Morina after reading
the article, which was impossible. But
every TV channel and radio station ran
with it anyway. My picture flashed up
on the TV. Xhjems Montague read the
caption. American reporter. Almost
immediately my phone buzzed again. It
was a message from Ismail.

I fell asleep that night dreaming of the

sea and gunshots.

Why you mention gun?! read the

message. Ismail now in jail. ALL YOUR
FAULT!! It was Morinas nephew, who
had accessed his Facebook account.

Early the next morning I received a

message saying Ismail Morina had been
arrested. I didnt believe it at first, as Id
only seen him a few hours earlier. But,
sure enough, every news channel and
radio station was leading with the story.
I watched a local news channel in a cafe
in Tirana. Morina had been arrested less
than 30 minutes after hed dropped me
off, at around 2.30am. The report had
pictures of a dishevelled Morina standing
in a dock wearing the same clothes Id
seen him in the night before. Next were
pictures of the car we had sat in the night
before, close-ups of the spent bullet
shells in the footwell, not to mention a
pile of 30 tickets for the Serbia game,
one of them with Morinas name on it. It
was then that I heard my name for the

The next few hours were spent running

from police station to police station
looking for Morina and trying to speak
to as many members of the Red and
Black as possible. They too were trying
to find him and arrange a lawyer. He
is in a lot of trouble, one told me. He
was denied bail and would spend the
foreseeable future behind bars. He faced
up to 15 years in jail. They have him
on gun charges, he added, leaving the
statement of fact hanging in the air like
an accusation.

36

On the morning of the Albania v Serbia

match all the roads to Elbasan had been
shut nine hours before kick-off. The

James Montague

highway was lined with checkpoints

while the stadium itself was surrounded
by a ring of armed officers. Residents
of the tower blocks next to the stadium
were told to stay inside and not let
strangers into the building. More than
2,000 police and 500 special forces
officers patrolled the streets. Snipers
prepared themselves on the rooftops
surrounding the Elbasan Arena. Huge
Russian-made helicopters flew overhead
as the police practiced crowd-control
manoeuvres with water cannon and tear
gas canisters. It is for practice, a police
officer explained over the deafening sound
of rotor blades overhead. Practice involved
firing the water cannon into the crowd.
Still, the city had been full six hours
before kick-off. There had been a
carnival atmosphere gradually eroded
by the constant rain and overbearing
security. Outside the stadium a drunk
member of the Red and Black grabbed
me by the lapels and shook me before
he was prised off. It is OK, we found
out what happened to Ismail, said Fitim,
one of the Red and Blacks organisers,
apologising for his friends behaviour.
It turned out that the Albanian police
had been following Morinas movements
for months. Back in the summer he had
posted a video online joking that he
would use a drone to snatch the glasses
off the nose of Serbian Primer Minister
Aleksandar Vui. Ever since he had been
monitored, with the police waiting for
the moment Morina put a foot wrong.
They had followed his car from the
restaurant in Durrs and, after hearing
the gun shots, took their opportunity
once he had dropped me off. The police
had simply used me to cover themselves,
so no one would think they were

working in league with the Serbians to jail

a national hero.
Ismail Morina missed the game, but
the result was a disappointment. The
Serbian national anthem was booed and
the fans chanted in favour of the KLA
but the 12,000-strong crowd seemed
nervous and subdued. Even the snipers
on the roof of a building next to the
stadium saw little danger, and moved
into a tent erected nearby to keep out
of the driving rain. In the end, Serbia
ran out comfortable 2-0 winners. The
victory party had been spoilt. It is my
birthday tomorrow, said Besmir, an
Albanian supporter who had travelled
from Switzerland for the game. He, like
the rest of the crowd, was shuffling out
of the stadium in silence. His face was
painted red, with a black eagle over his
eyes, nose and mouth. I dont know if I
will celebrate it, he added.
Lorik Cana was equally disappointed.
We knew we could qualify but we are
young and wanted to do it tonight, in our
land, in front of our people, he said after
the game. On the pitch we tried to lead
by example and that is what happened.
That is the way we want to show how we
respect people here.
Within an hour of the final whistle, Elbasan
was silent and deserted. It was perhaps
for the best that Ismail Morina was not
allowed to watch the match in jail.

Albania qualified for their first European

Championships with a surprisingly easy
3-0 victory over Armenia a few days
later. The returning team were greeted
as national heroes. Edi Rama, Albanias

37

Standard Bearer

prime minister, held a reception for

them as soon as they landed. Tens of
thousands celebrated on the streets of
Tirana and across Albania.
Morina would spend Christmas in jail, facing
the prospect of a life-changing stretch in
an Albanian prison. But after three months
behind bars there was a breakthrough. He
would be released, but kept under house
arrest for a few more months.
They arrested me ten minutes after we
said goodbye, he wrote shortly after his
release. They came, like 15 policemen.
Morinas house arrest was due to end in
January, then February, then April. He
says he is now done with the national
team and wont be going to France for
Euro 2016 even if he is allowed to leave
the country or his house. It was all
political. I respect the players. I am proud
of them. I am OUT.

38

Thankfully, Morinas house by the

Albania-Kosovo border has a lot of
land. It is spring. Fruit is ripening on
the vine. Man, I am loving the nature,
he says. Earlier that day he was out
planting trees before watching the
news. A terrorist attack had struck
Belgium. Be careful man, about the
terrorist attacks.
He sends a picture of his view, a beautiful
blue sky, a wooden fence and green
fields stretching out into the distance.
In the Netherlands, where I am sitting,
it is grey and wet and cold and the
suffocating feeling that Isis could strike
anywhere next. Perhaps it is safer where
he is, planting trees in the Albanian sun,
I offer.
Yes! he replies. I said the same thing to
my brother just today. And with that he
logged off, to plant more trees in his little
patch of earth.

Jarrod Kimber

39
Coaches

He had some old foreign car and it

was burned in strange circumstances.
It was that kind of time.

39

The Idiot on the Right

The Idiot on the Right

The tempestuous playing career of the Republic of
Ireland manager Martin ONeill
Dan Brigham

Once upon a time, Martin ONeill was a

footballer of some success.

a crime-case enthusiast and Clever

Bollocks to Brian Clough.

Before he was taking Republic of

Ireland to Euro 2016, before he was
linked with England, Manchester United
and Liverpool, before he was leading
Aston Villa to three consecutive sixthplace finishes, before he was winning
the treble in his first season as Celtic
manager and taking them to the
Uefa Cup final, before he was getting
Leicester City promoted to the Premier
League and guiding them to two League
Cup wins, before he was falling out
with the Norwich chairman Robert
Chase, ONeill was a midfielder either
industrious or gifted depending on
which of his managers you asked.

Before he was defined by his managerial

career, ONeill was, for a brief time,
one of the most famous footballers in
Europe. And his story begins at a rundown ground in west Belfast during the
Troubles, as Barcelona came to town.

ONeill has been a manager for 29

years 14 more years than he was a
player - and today a large generation
of football fans know him best for his
tracksuits-and-rolled-up-socks style of
management, the sparky fella with the
quick quip and droll put-down.
Yet, from 1970 until 1985, he won a
European Cup, won Division One, twice
won the League Cup, scored against
Barcelona for Distillery when he was
19, captained the Northern Ireland side
that shocked Spain at their own World
Cup, was a scourge of sports editors,

40

The 77th minute saw 19-year-old Martin

ONeill produce a moment of sheer
magic. He tried a one-two with [Martin]
Donnelly, but the return pass was played
behind him. Somehow ONeill managed
to stretch back, drag it forward, and strike
it in one swift stunning movement. It
rocketed into the net off the base of the
post, with the keeper staring in disbelief
it was a real masterpiece. The Whites: A
History of Distillery Football Club
ONeills eye-bulging goal against
Barcelona at Distillerys Grosvenor Park
on 15 September 1971 in the European
Cup-Winners Cup was when life
changed for him. There had been no
sense of destiny, no sense of certainty
that he was going to pursue a career in
football. He was studying law at Queens
University while playing for Distillery
criminology would become a lifelong
obsession and his mum Greta had

Dan Brigham

been keen for him to complete his

studies rather than have his head turned
by offers from clubs in England.
The sixth of nine children, ONeill was
born and raised in Kilrea, County Derry,
less than 50 miles north-west of Belfast.
His early life was on a gentle council
estate, supporting Celtic and also
following Sunderland because the Irish
defender Charlie Hurley played for them.
His family was Catholic in a Protestant
neighbourhood but it caused little
trouble for them in the 1950s. When he
wasnt at school (which did not involve
Protestants or girls, he later joked) or
plonked in a chair at his dad Leos barber
shop, he was playing sport. Football.
Cricket. Tennis. Gaelic football. He was
good at them all.
Young Martin was a tad stubborn, a tad
obsessive. When he heard that Ferenc
Pusks could perform 200 keepy-uppies
with a tennis ball, ONeill religiously
practised the same trick. Within weeks, he
had matched Pusks. He was very bright
academically and boarded at St Columbs
Christian Brothers in Derry where the
Nobel Prize winners Seamus Heaney and
John Hume were educated before he
went on to St Malachys College in Belfast
for his A-Levels: A in Ancient History, Bs in
Latin and English Literature.
It was there that his fledgling sporting
career reached a crossroads. He was
playing Gaelic football for the college
(the sport was in the family his dad
had founded Kilrea Gaelic Athletic
Association) and football for Distillery,
who were managed by the former
Portsmouth, Stoke and Southend
forward Jimmy McAlinden. ONeills
appearances for Distillery caused some

controversy at the time, as the Gaelic

Athletic Association wasnt keen on its
members playing association football: it
was seen as a British sport.
ONeill was undeterred. At 18 he had made
his Distillery debut in November 1970,
scoring the opening goal in a 3-2 win at
Portadown. He quickly established himself
as the teams star player, with a free role
as an inside-forward, and his first chance
really to shine came on 3 April 1971.
It was the Irish Cup final: Distillery v
Derry, Windsor Park. 6,000 turned up
to watch at an unusual kick-off time of
3.45pm. Derry hadnt won the Cup for
15 years and ONeill gave them a great
start by opening the scoring, slotting into
the bottom corner after a free-kick was
flicked on.
Three minutes after half-time ONeill
doubled the lead with a memorable goal.
The Belfast Telegraph was full of praise:
ONeill beat three men with a mazy
run, actually changed feet and hit the
ball hard into the net. A goal that was
breathtaking and spectacular it will long
be remembered by the fans. No wonder
almost a dozen cross-channel clubs have
made enquiries about him. After the
match, which Distillery won 3-0, ONeill
was slightly less gushing: I thought I had
muffed the final shot. That was a horrible
moment, but I am looking forward to
seeing it all again on television tonight.
With Manchester United and Arsenal
among those clubs watching ONeill, he
soon had another opportunity to give
the scouts an even bigger come-get-me
wave. Distillerys Cup win had sent them
into Europe and they had been drawn
against Barcelona.

41

The Idiot on the Right

It didnt quite have the same effect in

Belfast as might be expected if Barcelona
turned up there today. This was by no
means a classic Bara side they hadnt
won La Liga since 1960 and it was at
the height of the Troubles in Northern
Ireland: not many neutral supporters
ventured out for the game. The ground
was in an area of shootings, violence
and rioting, and plenty of Distillery home
games had to be moved. The chairman
Denis Moore had hoped for 3,000, but
2,000 turned up.
Dawson Simpson, who wrote The Whites:
A History of Distillery Football Club, was
at Grosvenor Park for Barcelonas arrival.
They might have been used to more
glamorous surroundings. It was a small
compact ground in the middle of a built-up
area of west Belfast, Simpson says. It was
surrounded by houses on one side and one
goal end, with a factory behind the other
goal end. There was a wooden grandstand
on one side. The grandstand seating area
was rows of wooden benches and banked
concrete terracing about 10 tiers deep was
around the rest of the ground. There was a
low concrete wall around the pitch, about
six feet from the playing area.
It was in these inauspicious surroundings,
with crumbling terracing and damaged
crowd barriers, that ONeills football
career took off; where any thoughts of
pursuing Gaelic football or studying Law
were squashed.
Barcelona, predictably, dominated from
the start. They forced five corners in
the opening five minutes, and Ramn
Alfonseda and Juan Manuel Asensi put
Barcelona 2-0 up after 57 minutes.
Then, in the 77th minute, came ONeills
moment. Thirty-two years before he

42

would manage Celtic to a famous triumph

over Barcelona, here was his first taste of
European glory: with Miguel Reina rooted,
ONeills driving shot from outside the
area was one small step for Distillery, one
giant leap for Martin ONeill.
Distillery lost 3-1, but all the talk after
the game was of the wonder-goal. It
was clear ONeills head had been turned
towards England: It would be great to be
a part of the big time. That is what I really
want. Playing against Barcelona this week
was such a tremendous experience.
ONeill impressed again in front of a
14,000-crowd in the return leg at the Camp
Nou on September 29. Distillery were
hammered 4-0 Marcial Pina scoring all
four but ONeill didnt look out of place,
with Simpson noting he made several
electrifying runs, including one in which
he calmly waltzed past five opponents.
14 days later ONeill was back at Windsor
Park. He wasnt playing for Distillery this
time, though. This was a step up. This was
his debut for Northern Ireland. Aged 19,
he came on to replace Bryan Hamilton
a former Distillery player against the
USSR in a European Cup qualifier, which
finished 1-1. Alongside him were the likes
of Pat Rice and Pat Jennings, Jimmy
Nicholson and Derek Dougan.
A week later, as if 1971 couldnt get any
better for ONeill, he left university. After
all, you couldnt carry on studying in
Belfast when you had to move to England
to join Nottingham Forest, could you?

I remember being at Nottingham Forest

when Tommy Gemmell came down

Dan Brigham

and I said to him, and you know I was

in awe of him, That was some goal in
the European Cup Final. He replied,
Which one, son? And, you know, he was
right. Martin ONeill
When Tommy Gemmell arrived at
Forest, a month after ONeill had joined,
he brought the kind of glamour that a
young player might have expected of
Englands top division. Scorer of goals
in two European Cup finals for Celtic,
Gemmell was actually just masking tape
as Forest desperately tried to halt a rapid
decline. They were a shadow of the
side that had finished second in 196667 on the back of Ian Storey-Moores
goals and fashionable haircut (he would
hang around until March 1972, when he
joined Manchester United the Forest
secretary and former Yorkshire cricketer
Ken Smales refused to sell him to Brian
Clough at Derby).
But the boy from Distillery knew he had to
make the move. The pull of England was
strong and Forest were very keen; ONeill
was also concerned if he didnt move after
grabbing the limelight in the Irish Cup
and against Barcelona, another chance
may not come. He flew to Birmingham
with McAlinden and drove to Nottingham
to sign. Although it was only five years
since Englands World Cup triumph
and George Best was filling the gossip
columns, football was trying its best to
resist the whiff of glamour. Terraces were
still thick with cigarette smoke and smelt
of urine, while Forests County Ground
was a dilapidated tin shell, a hint of the
future offered by the Main Stand which
had been rebuilt following a fire in 1968.
It was coal-mining country and strikes
were the pervading narrative in the local
newspapers, not the local football clubs.

ONeill had to wait for his chance,

watching as Forest lost 10 of their
opening 17 matches in 1971-72. Their
18th match, at home against West Brom,
would be ONeills debut. Forest were
bottom of the table, but ONeill came on
and, as he had for Distillery, scored on his
debut as Forest won 4-1.
He slowly worked his way into the
consciousness of the national media with
his industry and trickery. Tom German of
the Times was impressed by him in a 3-2
defeat at Old Trafford, where ONeill came
on as a 65th-minute substitute for John
Robertson: This 19-year-old Irishman,
with a direct style and perceptive eye for
the target, had hardly got the feel of his
surroundings before he had driven the ball
through a clutch of retreating red shirts
and past [Alex] Stepney.
ONeills life as a first-division footballer
was brief: only five more wins followed
the 4-1 defeat of WBA and Forest were
relegated. Worse still, Derby, under Clough,
were winning their first Division One title.
Relegation, which would become as
much a theme of ONeills playing career
as winning trophies, meant Forest were
drifting into obscurity. ONeill, playing on
the right wing or as an inside-right in the
WM formation, enjoyed playing under
Matt Gillies and Dave Mackay in Division
Two, but neither managers lasted long.
It was when Allan Brown came in as
manager in to replace Mackay who
had moved down the A52 to join Derby
following Clough and Peter Taylors
surprise resignations that ONeill
encountered his first hiccups.
Brown, a Scot whod played much of
his career alongside Stanley Matthews

43

The Idiot on the Right

at Blackpool, had arrived from Bury

in November 1973. ONeill was in and
out of the side as Forest continued to
struggle with life in Division Two and
Brown would often rebuke him. ONeill
believed Brown had taken an instant
dislike to him because of his education;
although ONeill was a popular figure
in the dressing room his energy and
enthusiasm was infectious, and he
loved to relay information about horseracing Brown was suspicious of his
sharp tongue and his willingness, and
sometimes over-willingness, to speak
his mind. It was to become another
recurring theme in ONeills career.
Brown took the step of fining ONeill for
speaking to the media after hed been
subbed in one match Brown claimed
the fine was for speaking without
permission, but ONeill believed it was
just another way of getting at him. That
certainly wasnt the first time ONeill had
spoken to the press. He was savvy with
journalists, providing good quotes and
not shy of talking himself up.
ONeill showed his flair for writing and
perhaps his loss to the legal profession
when Harry Richards, the sports editor of
the Nottingham Evening Post, criticised
him in his column. Not a good idea.
The thrust was that ONeill was making
a song and dance about not getting
enough game time and that he should
be grateful he was playing football in
England. ONeill did not take this kindly.
With no Twitter to take to, ONeill wrote
a letter to Richards, who published it
in the newspaper: Dear Mr Richards.
Since I received a letter from you, albeit
through the Evening Post, I thought it
proper that you should have a reply, so

44

I shall not disappoint you. You claimed

I made a song and dance about a
seemingly trifling affair, yet you found
the matter sufficiently interesting to
devote a column to it. What were you
trying to tell me, Mr Richards? It is
certainly your prerogative to criticise
from the footballing aspect although
I wonder how many games you have
seen this season but I got the distinct
impression from the tone of your article
that my position in life prior to being
with Nottingham Forest was in question.
I am grateful to the club for giving me
a chance, but I was plucked from law
studies at Queens University, Belfast, not
from the queue at the Labour Exchange.
To use your own words, Mr Richards,
its a cold, cruel world. Your sincerely,
Martin ONeill.
With ONeill battling with the both press
and manager, its no surprise that he
often put in transfer requests. ONeill
called working under Brown his dark
days when despair set in. He wanted
out. And when Brown was sacked in
January 1975 following a 2-0 home
defeat to Notts County, with Forest six
points above the two relegation places,
ONeill still felt his place was elsewhere.
Then, in walked Brian Clough.

"Brian Clough arrived in January of

1975 and changed all of our lives. John
Robertson, myself, Tony Woodcock, Viv
Anderson, Ian Bowyer people like this.
All of us. It was a golden period for us.
I am not even sure that Clough, setting
out, would have envisaged what we
achieved. The sort of success we got was
incredible." Martin ONeill

Dan Brigham

Fifteen months after walking out on

Derby, and just four months after his
inglorious sacking by Leeds, Clough
turned up at Nottingham Forest in his
Mercedes and told reporters that there is
only one thing in the clubs favour now.
Its got me.
He wasnt quite right ONeill,
Robertson, Boywer, Woodcock and
Anderson were all there, waiting to be
moulded into greats but Cloughs
summation in his autobiography revealed
the sorry state Forest had got themselves
into: The club was languishing near the
foot of the Second Division [they were in
13th] after just nine wins, with the season
almost two thirds over. Home crowds
averaged around 12,000. Fine players like
Martin ONeill and John Robertson were
on the bloody transfer list. The club was
rotting on and off the field.
With Cloughs pockets heavy from
the fuck you money as he called
it provided by the Leeds pay-off,
he was content and determined to
restore a reputation forged down the
road at Derby. It was to be the start of
something remarkable for Forest and
also a wonderful but fraught few years
for ONeill. Like Brown, Clough didnt
take easily to ONeills education, nor his
ability to give as good as he got when
it came to arguments. In Provided You
Don't Kiss Me, Duncan Hamilton who
reported on Forest for the Nottingham
Evening Post throughout all of Cloughs
years as manager calls ONeill, the
most intelligent and articulate footballer
in fact one of the most intelligent and
articulate people Ive ever met.
Despite the friction, ONeill recognised
that, unlike Brown, Clough was an

outstanding manager and it was difficult

to hold too much of a grudge against
someone who brought the team success.
Their relationship started well. On
Cloughs first day at the club, he made
it clear that young ONeill, as he then
called him, was part of his plans. He
picked him for his first game, an FA Cup
third-round replay at Tottenham on
January 8. Spurs were 17th in Division
One at the time, but Neil Martin gave
Forest a 1-0 win. It was a false dawn,
however. Cloughs magic, which
appeared to have slipped away at
Brighton and then deserted him at Leeds,
showed no sign of returning as Forest
won only three of their remaining 21
matches that season. They finished 16th.
Despite bringing in Frank Clark at leftback, and Tom Curran to add pace on
the right, Forests improvement was
minimal the following season, finishing
8th after a late-season surge. Things
changed when Peter Taylor left his role
as Brighton manager to join Clough
at Forest in July 1975. A serious knee
injury to Curran, suffered in a home win
over Burnley early in the season, opened
up an opportunity for ONeill. Its when
Cloughs lopsided 4-4-2 really clicked,
with Robertson pushed up high on the
left and ONeill tucked in on the right.
ONeill became something of a patsy for
the overlapping Anderson, and although
ONeill felt his gifts should have given him
a berth in central midfield, he was finally
getting an extended run in the side.
As Forest picked up momentum and
chased promotion, ONeill found it
impossible to please Clough, who called
him the idiot on the right side and Clever
Bollocks and they certainly werent

45

The Idiot on the Right

meant affectionately. ONeill would often

threaten to give up football and return
to his law studies during disagreements;
Clough would retort by telling him hed
buy his plane ticket to Belfast.
As much as Clough belittled ONeill,
he lionised Robertson. Cloughs initial
assessment of Robertson was of a
man who was possibly ten pounds
overweight, indisputably the slowest
player in the Football League He was
fat, often unshaven, dressed like a tramp,
and smoked one fag after another.But
he turned him into one of Europes
most dangerous players. Although the
constant praise heaped on Robertson
grated with ONeill, there was no rivalry
between the wingers. Robertson the
tubby cigarette smoker, ONeill the fit
crime obsessive; very different characters
but very firm friends.
In Daniel Taylors I Believe In Miracles,
ONeill summed up his yin and yang onpitch relationship with Robertson: John
would get the ball on the left and my
job was to try to get to the back post for
any crosses coming in. If John checked
back, rather than going down the line,
that meant I had to check back. Id be
doing all these runs back and forwards
doggies, we called them and Id be
every bit as tired as they were the other
side. I just hadnt touched the ball. So
I would be thinking: Do you think, just
once, someone might turn this way?
We could literally go 13 or 14 minutes
without the ball coming to the right.
ONeill was frequently left exasperated
by watching the ball head out to the
left and, in his foreword to Robertsons
autobiography, tells a story of letting
Clough know at half-time against Leeds

46

in 1979 that he was tired of all of Forests

attacking play going down the opposite
wing to his. Clough, his face a couple of
yards from ONeills, shot back with, And
so it should go down the left-hand side.
Because that lads a bloody genius.
Despite ONeills frustration at his role,
the lopsided formation was working.
Forest won the Anglo-Scottish Cup with
a 5-1 two-legged win over Leyton Orient,
ONeill playing in both matches. It was
a competition that few showed much
interest in or love for, but it was the
clubs first silverware since the FA Cup
win in 1959 and Clough would later say it
was the catalyst for what followed. Forest
finished the season in third place the
final promotion spot.
Forest were promoted and ONeill was
back in the big time.
He had contributed 11 goals to Forests
promotion, had worked tirelessly on the
right defender Colin Barrett called
him the lungs of the team and his
popularity with the fans was confirmed
when he came second to Woodcock in
the supporters player of the season vote.
There was, though, insecurity in success:
ONeill admitted he spent pre-season
worrying about the step-up in quality
Forest would face and looking out for
new signings that might replace him
in the team. But his starting place was
assured when Curran fell out with Taylor
and was loaned out to Bury.
Most newspaper predictions shared
ONeills worries and forecast relegation
for Forest. But they raised eyebrows on
the opening day of the season, away
at Everton. ONeill scored the third
knocking in a parried Robertson drive

Dan Brigham

as Forest won 3-1. They won their next

two games including a 3-0 home win
over Derby and a season of surprise
was up and running. But it wasnt until
two matches either side of Christmas
Day that ONeill really started to believe
they might have a shot at the title.
They were already top of the table on
December 17, but a 4-0 win at Old
Trafford turned them into title favourites
rather than interlopers. The Times
reported that Forest switched the
ball around with speed and dexterity,
channeling men forward to join the
attack at exhilarating pace. Robertson
and ONeill gave Manchester a roasting
on the flanks. They followed that up
with a 1-1 home draw with third-placed
Liverpool, and from then on they were
unstoppable. They beat Arsenal 2-0 and
Chelsea 3-0 as they won the title by
seven points.
It wasnt their only silverware. They had
won the League Cup in March ONeill
playing in the 0-0 draw at Wembley and
the 1-0 win in the replay at Old Trafford.
According to Provided You Don't Kiss Me,
Brian Applebys chairmans report at the
end of the season consisted of just two
photos: one of the Division One trophy,
one of the League Cup.
Once again ONeill came second in the
supporters player of the season award,
this time behind Kenny Burns, and he
had contributed eight league goals. He
was 26 and his best years should still
have been ahead of him. But his fractious
relationship with Clough continued to
sour his experience at Forest.
ONeill was justified in his belief that he
rubbed Clough up the wrong way. In

the Charity Shield game against Ipswich

ahead of the 1978-79 season, ONeill
had scored twice and was keen for a
Wembley hat-trick. Clough had other
ideas, replacing him with David Needham
a centre-half. ONeill was disappointed
and suspected it was because hed turned
his back on Clough during a pre-season
game: Clough would never forget a
rebuke. Another time, when ONeill had
faced a period out of the team, he asked
Clough why he was playing in the second
team. Clough, in front of everyone at
training, told him it was because he was
too good for the third team.
Despite the bickering relationship,
Clough clearly rated ONeill only
Robertson, Burns and Peter Withe made
more appearances than ONeill in 197778. Clough told Duncan Hamilton that
he respected ONeill, but found him to
be a smart-arse. ONeill often used
words that Clough didnt understand.
Later, when ONeill was managing
Wycombe, Clough, with tongue in cheek,
told Hamilton: I decided to handle
[ONeill] by pretending he was thick. I
thought that way I might just shut him
up. Of course, it didnt always work, cos
here was a bloke capable of talking for
Ireland. One day hell be manager of this
club [Forest], and Im going to buy the
biggest dictionary I can find, pick out a
few words he doesnt know, and when
he invites me over for a beer Im going to
drop them into the conversation. I want
to see his eyes roll.
ONeills biggest disappointment in a
Forest shirt wasnt down to Cloughs
attitude. It was down to his team
selection. Their staggering run to the
final of the 1979 European Cup was
ONeill at his best: tenacious, intelligent

47

The Idiot on the Right

and unrelenting down the right. He

scored in the quarter-final against
Grasshoppers and, after a backs-to-thewall 1-0 win in the second leg of the
semi-final against Cologne, he looked
down at his hand after he came off
the pitch and noticed it was a bloody
mess. Hed been bitten by the midfielder
Herbert Neumann.
Ahead of the final against Malm, ONeill
had been struggling with a hamstring
injury after taking a hit on the thigh
against Manchester City. He travelled
with the team to Munich and with Archie
Gemmill and Frank Clark also carrying
niggles, it came down to the three of
them vying for one place, with Trevor
Francis, who had recently become
Englands first million-pound footballer,
guaranteed to start. Clough made the
three players wait, telling them his
decision on the morning of the game:
Clark was in.
Gemmill raged, but ONeill, unusually, fell
silent and stayed that way on the team
bus to the ground. He was in shock.
ONeill celebrated the 1-0 win Francis
scoring the winner with the team, but
he couldnt help but think his one chance
to add a European medal to his domestic
honours had gone. Winning a second
successive League Cup trophy was little
consolation, while finishing second in
the league, eight points off Liverpool,
only added to his gloom. The realisation
sunk in that he had missed his shot at
European glory.
Of course, ONeill hadnt banked on the
extraordinary powers of Clough. While
Forests league form stuttered in 197980, their extraordinary European run

48

continued. Almost a year to the day from

the triumph in Munich, Forest headed to
the Bernabu with the chance for backto-back titles. Their opponents this time
were Hamburg and, unlike the previous
year, Forest were the underdogs. While
they attacked Malm from the start, here
the plan was to hit Hamburg on the break.
This time, there was no hamstring injury.
ONeill was playing. He had a shot at
European glory after all.
In the 20th minute, at 0-0, the ITV
commentator Brian Moore sums up
the opening stages of the match: Its a
fairly constant pattern at the moment
of Nottingham Forest backing off and
soaking up punishment and the Hamburg
side continue to have much of the game.
At that moment, ONeill picks up the ball
on the right in his own half, advances to
the half-way line where he knocks it on
to John McGovern. ONeill quickly gets
it back on halfway, dribbling forward 10
yards before turning back and finding
Frank Gray in space in the centre circle.
Gray surges forward, with ONeill
dropping back to occupy the space Gray
has left, and Gray knocks the ball in to
Gary Mills. Hes tackled, the ball bobbling
out to Robertson on the left. He cuts
inside, beats Manfred Kaltz and plays a
one-two with Garry Birtles on the edge
of the area, before bending the ball low
around Rudi Kargus from outside the
box. 1-0.
Somehow, despite savage Hamburg
pressure, Forest hold on for the win. Nine
years after scoring against Barcelona for
Distillery in the European Cup Winners
Cup, ONeill has had a hand in the goal
that wins the European Cup.

Dan Brigham

Of course, this being a team managed

by Clough, the drama didnt end there.
ONeill, Robertson, Burns and Larry Lloyd
ignored team orders not to celebrate the
win with their partners. Clough, despite
having just won back-to-back European
Cups, was outraged. Robertson says in his
autobiography that Clough threatened to
knock your fucking head off, while Clough
wrote: I was so incensed that I decided to
confiscate their winners medals. Can you
imagine the outcry that would have caused
back home? I would have had the FA, the
League, the players union, perhaps even
the House of Commons gunning for me!
After giving it a lot of thought, I opted for
fining them a few quid apiece. The principle
was the same. And they had to pay up.
It was a typical Cloughian ending to the
pinnacle of ONeills playing career. It was
also his last great moment in a Forest shirt.
Within eight months ONeill was gone.

I've always said that my happiest days in

football were spent at Norwich," Martin
ONeill, 1995
When ONeill handed in a transfer
request in January 1981, the Times
spared only 40 words to report it. I do
not believe in refusing transfer requests
from unsettled players, said Clough.
Norwich were in a relegation battle at
the time and the manager Ken Brown
had been given money to splash to avoid
the drop. But it was some surprise when
ONeill chose to join them in February
for their record transfer fee of 350,000
he, surely, could do better than a team
fighting relegation? Robertson, writing
in his autobiography, was full of praise

upon his departure: As a wide right player

he had become one of the best in his
position in the country. Steve Coppell was
starring for Manchester United and Jimmy
Case was playing for Liverpool but Martin
was certainly their equal in my eyes.
So, why head to Norfolk? His Norwich
teammates Mick McGuire, John Deehan
and Greg Downs all agree on one reason:
ONeill, having won almost all there was
to win, wanted the challenge of rescuing
a struggling side. To be the hero who
turned things round. Quite how confident
he was, however, may be betrayed in the
clause in his contract allowing him to
leave if Norwich were relegated.
Another, perhaps more reasonable
explanation, is that Norwich offered him
the one thing he never had at Forest:
a free role in central midfield. Brown
compared him to his former West Ham
teammate Trevor Brooking: crap in
training, great on match day. He was
happy for ONeill to run things centrally
the position ONeill had always craved.
He was also a big influence off the pitch.
He settled in immediately Deehan
remembers him reading the big papers,
not the Mickey Mouse ones and his idea
that all of the players had nights out as a
team made him a favourite in the dressing
room. ONeill would also put on sessions
for the younger players and get youthteamers to join in a tennis ball game: if they
could get it off him hed let them have his
car. These kids were unaware that ONeills
tennis-ball proficiency had started as child
when he matched Puskss record and
ONeills car was always safe.
On the pitch, ONeills arrival along
with the defender Steve Walford

49

The Idiot on the Right

from Arsenal and the former Forest

goalkeeper Chris Woods from QPR
did improve Norwichs form. But
there was to be heartbreak on the
last day: they lost 3-2 to Leicester as
their relegation rivals Sunderland beat
Liverpool. Norwich were relegated and
ONeill took advantage of his clause to
join the former Norwich manager John
Bond at Manchester City.
It wasnt a wise move. He didnt get
on with Bond and played only 13
times for City. Unlike at Norwich, he
wasnt offered a free role and was
competing against Gerry Gow, Tommy
Hutchison, Paul Power, Asa Hartford
and Bonds son Kevin in midfield. City
were suffering financial problems after
signing ONeill and Francis from Forest
and were happy to recoup some of
their losses and sell ONeill back to
Norwich six months after hed left.
Back in central midfield and with the
freedom of Carrow Road, ONeill gave
huge impetus to Norwichs promotion
push. His goal in a 1-0 win at Bolton
sparked a run that saw them winning 10
of their last 12 matches to move from
13th into a promotion spot.
While Norwich celebrated their swift return
to Division One, ONeill had something
else on his mind: the 1982 World Cup.

There was more to Martin, a subtlety

and a confidence and a composure
that I dont always think Brian Clough
fully appreciated He had his views
and opinions, which he never hesitated
to express. Terry Neill, Martin ONeill:
The Biography

50

ONeill may have bickered with his club

managers but with Northern Ireland it was
a different story: Neill, Dave Clements,
Danny Blanchflower and Billy Bingham
were all prepared to play ONeill as an
attacking midfielder which was when he
was at his most content on a football pitch.
His international career wasnt without
controversy. In 1980, at a time of heavy
fighting between the IRA and Loyalists,
Bingham handed ONeill the captaincy of
Northern Ireland. He was the first Catholic
to lead the country and both ONeill and
Bingham received hate mail and death
threats for the decision. While ONeill
suspected it was a political choice, Bingham
was adamant his decision was based purely
on him being the best candidate. ONeill
was a European Cup winner, after all.
There was no divide between religions
within the team and team spirit was
excellent as they qualified for the 1982
World Cup in Spain. Even 4-0 defeats by
both England and France in the build-up
didnt worry ONeill, who told the press,
Ive been playing international football
long enough to realise the difference
between doing well and not doing well
depends on what happens on the night
I honestly feel that we have the spirit to
do something special in Spain.
Drawn in a group with hosts Spain,
Yugoslavia and Honduras, few gave them a
chance of qualifying from it. The Guardian
predicted that, Northern Irelands problem
in the World Cup will lie in coping with the
fast, skilful Spanish and Yugoslav attackers
who run at their defence.
They coped with Yugoslavia in their
opening match, drawing 0-0 in Zaragoza
as a 17-year-old Norman Whiteside won

Dan Brigham

his first international cap and broke Pels

record as the youngest player to play
in a World Cup. Again in Zaragoza, they
drew 1-1 with Honduras: ONeill missed
a good headed chance to open the
scoring early on.
Then it was on to Valencia, where the
hosts waited for them. ONeills biggest
fear had been the intimidating crowd
and it was a torrid atmosphere. More
intimidating, though, was Spains level of
aggression. Robert Armstrong, writing
the match report for the Guardian,
was not impressed: Spains tactics of
intimidation reduced the game to a
state of violent brawling chaos for lengthy
periods. This was a Spain side attempting
to kick their way to the World Cup final.
Northern Ireland matched Spains
ferocity and Pat Jennings 20 years
older than Whiteside was inspired
in goal. In the 47th minute, Armstrong
picked up a loose ball deep in his own
half. He charged forward, laid it off
to Billy Hamilton on the right, whose
cross from the by-line was slapped by
Spains keeper Luis Arconada right into
Armstrongs path, who drove it back
under him.
Northern Ireland hung on despite
Mal Donaghys sending off and they
celebrated wildly on the pitch at the
final whistle. They had qualified for the
next stages the Guardian called it one
of the bravest and most emotionally
charged victories ever seen in Europe.
Malcolm Brodie in the Belfast Telegraph
wrote, ONeill played a captains role,
inspiring by example and effort.
Northern Ireland went out in the second
group phase, but ONeills place in World

Cup history was sealed. Next was the

return to normality at Norwich, and the
winding down of his playing career.

"I've never planned anything in my life.

I'm Irish. I dont plan." Martin ONeill
ONeill was 30 when he returned from
Spain. Although still a big influence in the
Norwich side, his powers were slowly
declining and he needed grafters such
as Peter Mendham and Mick McGuire
around him to get the best out of him
(the irony of others doing the donkey
work for him wouldnt have been lost on
ONeill). A stunning 35-yard strike past
Bruce Grobbelaar in a 2-0 win at Anfield
in April to complete the double over
champions Liverpool was the highlight
of a season in which Norwich flirted with
relegation before pulling clear with six
wins in their last 10 games.
Then ONeill was on the move again.
While the Norwich board was talking
over a potential sale to Notts County,
ONeill took the rather unusual step of
bursting into the room and dictating
terms. He got what he wanted and, in
August 1983, he returned to Nottingham.
Notts County had been on a remarkable
rise. A Division Four side in the 1970s,
they achieved promotion to the top
flight under Jimmy Sirrell in 198081. After keeping them up in 198182 and finishing 15th, Sirrell moved
in to a general manager role and
Howard Wilkinson came in as manager
(curiously, Sirrell continued to write
the managers column in the matchday programme) and they finished 15th
again in 82-83. Wilkinson left to join

51

The Idiot on the Right

Sheffield Wednesday, and Larry Lloyd

a centre-back who had played with
ONeill at Forest and under Bill Shankly
at Liverpool replaced him after being
sacked by 3rd division Wigan. Before
Wilkinson had left, he had already
persuaded ONeill to make the move.
With ONeill at Notts County were Justin
Fashanu, with whom he had played in
his first spell at Norwich and who had
been hastily moved on by Clough at
Forest, and a young Nigel Worthington
who, like ONeill, later managed
Norwich. He was given a free role again
and scored in the 18th minute of his
debut in a 4-0 win at newly promoted
Leicester City. County struggled that
season, but there was a memorable
comeback on December 27 at Old
Trafford. Manchester United were 3-1
up with 10 minutes left when Fashanu
struck twice in 90 seconds to level
the scores. More remarkable, perhaps,
was that County had nine players
booked: the referee grew tired of the
teams failure to retreat at a free-kick
and booked eight players including
ONeill. It was laughable, said ONeil
after the match. I said to the referee,
Why don't you book the lot of us?
and he did.

52

Notts County were relegated and the

following season they fell back down to
Division Three; their decline even more
rapid than their rise. ONeills last game
had come in February 1985, a month
before his 33rd birthday: in a 3-1 home
defeat to Shrewsbury he was substituted
with damaged knee ligaments. He never
played a first-team game again.
There were attempts to try to prove
his fitness for the 1986 World Cup by
playing in reserve games for Chesterfield
and Fulham, but his knee wouldnt hold
up. ONeills days as a footballer were
finished. Over 15 years hed accumulated
an Irish Cup, an Anglo-Saxon Cup, two
League Cups, a European Cup, a Division
One title, a Charity Shield, a European
Super Cup, a World Club Championship,
two promotions, a famous World Cup
win and thousands of put-downs from
Brian Clough.
One day, when he is done with
management and settled into retirement,
and time has moved on from his
managerial achievements with Celtic,
Villa, Leicester and the Republic of
Ireland, perhaps Martin ONeill will be
remembered the right way round: player
first, manager second.

From Nowhere

From Nowhere
Michael ONeill on how he inspired Northern Ireland
to qualification
By Michael Walker

28 March 2016. In the new room where

Michael ONeill spoke an old image
flickered on a wall. Windsor Park,
Belfast 113 years old is undergoing
reconstruction and refurbishment that
will make it considerably more colourful
than the place Jrgen Klinsmann once
greeted with, Ah, East Germany, 1983!
Green, white and blue are the dominant
shiny shades, but there is still space
for black-and-white. Its there in a
photograph of Gerry Armstrong lashing
a shot low past the Spanish goalkeeper
Luis Arconada at the World Cup in 1982.
Spain were the hosts, Northern Ireland
were down to 10 men, the final score
was 1-0. Those facts are part of why
Armstrongs is probably the most famous
Northern Ireland goal ever.
It deserves to be in this room, as does
another David Healy belting the ball
beyond Englands Paul Robinson in 2005
to inflict a 1-0 defeat on Sven-Gran
Erikssons celebrity England team.
There are two more photographs and
they fast forward to now. They bring us
back to the man at the front behind the
microphone, Michael ONeill.
One is of Kyle Lafferty scoring against
Finland on this ground in March 2015;
the other is of Steven Davis doing the

same against Greece five months later.

These images have taken their place in
Northern Irish football history.
Daviss goals he scored twice that
euphoric night confirmed that
Northern Ireland, a pot-five team when
the Euro 2016 draw was made, would
qualify for the finals in France, a first ever
European Championship appearance.
Three days later, a 1-1 draw in Helsinki
ensured Northern Ireland did not just
qualify but won Group F.
Here in Windsor Parks new press room,
ONeill was reflecting on his blossoming
teams latest piece of work, a 1-0 win
over Slovenia that extended Northern
Irelands unbeaten run to ten games. It
was, and is, a record that eclipsed the
nine-game run put together under Billy
Bingham as 1985 became 1986 and
Northern Ireland reached their second
consecutive World Cup finals, in Brazil.
Gerry Armstrong played there, too,
though with less dramatic impact than
four years earlier in Spain.
Not only did Armstrongs goal send
a shockwave through Spain, the
tournament had an unforeseen
development back in Northern Ireland,
at a time when the Troubles murder
rate was roughly one every three days.

53

From Nowhere

There was one killing in the two and a

half weeks separating the first and last
Northern Irish games 0-0 v Yugoslavia
and 4-1 v France and in a city with
Belfasts history there is always interest in
the context beyond football.
It was again this night against Slovenia.
The friendly coincided with the
centenary of the Easter Rising. There
was a state occasion in Dublin, while in
Belfast a huge white sign was laid out on
the Black Mountain which dominates the
north-west of the city, clearly visible to
the Northern Ireland fans making their
way down Tates Avenue to Windsor Park.
Honour Irelands Dead, it said.
Inside the ground, the message was rather
different. A banner declaring When They
Begin the McGinn, hanging from the
North Stand, honoured the Aberdeen
winger Niall McGinn and tipped a French
hat towards Josephine Baker. There was a
lightness of touch, mood, humour.
Later in the evening there would be a frisson
of annoyance from a couple of Irish players
who were asked about their political and
cultural background, which they felt jarred
with this mood. This occurred in the mixed
zone where players and reporters gather
post-game. The normal procedure is to
ask about the match.
It was an interesting reaction, taking
some back to the whatever you say, say
nothing past of Seamus Heaney. It also
said that this Northern Ireland squad, a
collection of Catholics and Protestants,
considers itself a mixed zone.
ONeill mentioned inclusivity on his first
day back in December 2011 when he

54

succeeded Nigel Worthington, and he

knows politics and culture remain issues
in a city such as Belfast, which still has
more than 40 peace walls separating
antagonistic streets. He also knows the
power of camaraderie and has nurtured it.
In the background, players born in the north
are opting to join the Republic of Ireland.
ONeill prefers to focus on football as an
agent of change. He prefers to focus on
football full stop.
Hence, from behind the mic, he
concentrates on the new ten-game record
and salutes those who have gone before:
Theres players that have gone ten games
without a win and played in bad times.
Its nice for me, because Billy Bingham
was the manager who gave me my debut
at 18 years of age. He believed in me at a
young age.
Ive tried to take that into management
in terms of giving players opportunities.

ONeills reference to Bingham and the

photos on the wall made for a then-andnow connection. As ONeill said, it was
Bingham who gave the teenage winger
his first cap, in Athens against Greece
in the same team as Mal Donaghy.
Donaghy was the one sent off that
Armstrong night in 82.
Athens was six years on February 1988
just three months after ONeill had
made his debut for Newcastle United as
an 18 year old.
It was, as ONeill tells The Blizzard, Not
long after Id been playing for my school

Michael Walker

team. I played for the upper sixth at St.

Louiss that season. I was studying for
my A-levels.
Mathematics, computer science and
geography were ONeills subjects
at grammar school in Ballymena;
meanwhile he was playing Irish League
football for Coleraine. He was literally a
schoolboy footballer.
Even when he moved to Newcastle in
October 1987, ONeill attended school in
Gosforth. On a Saturday he would be in
the same team, the same dressing room,
as Paul Gascoigne.
During that 82 World Cup the first
finals Northern Ireland had reached since
Sweden in 1958 ONeill was 12.
I do remember it, he says, and I
remember that Spain game, sitting at
home watching Gerry score, Mal getting
sent off and Big Pat [Jennings] making
save after save. There was Norman
Whiteside he was only about four
years older than me and he was there.
When we were 12, everybody wanted to
be Norman.
Consciously, and subconsciously, it
must have had an inspirational effect.
Then, and it must have seemed sudden,
ONeill was in Athens, about to make
his Northern Ireland debut. One month
later, winning his second cap, ONeill had
Whiteside alongside him and Polands
great Zbigniew Boniek against him. Even
for a smart young man, the pace of
change could have perplexed him.
It wasnt necessary for Bingham to do it,
ONeill says, looking back. There were

still a lot of players around from 82 and

86, he didnt need to push me through.
He held a training camp at Lilleshall and
I went down to it from Newcastle. He
must have seen something he liked. Then
we went to Greece.
ONeill won 12 caps in Northern
Irelands next 12 games, but he was no
Bingham pet. A major feature of ONeills
management today is his professional
closeness to his players, his personal and
emotional bonds. This is striking because
ONeill did not have that with Bingham or
any of his many other club managers.
Now 46, ONeills roaming 20-year
playing career took him from Ireland to
England to Scotland to the US Portland
Timbers before ending at Ayr United in
2004. He won 31 Northern Ireland caps.
He used those A-levels to enter
accountancy and settled in Edinburgh
with his wife Bronagh, a primary school
teacher. There were almost two years out
of the game before ONeill understood
how much he missed it.
ONeill tells the story: I was working in
finance and doing fine. My daughter was
one and we were shopping in Edinburgh
on a Saturday afternoon and all of a
sudden I was just, like, Gee, this isnt right.
Any route back would do and he took
it assistant manager at Cowdenbeath
alongside his old colleague Mixu
Paatelainen. The pay was 25 per week,
the players part-time.
When asked what an aspiring coach
learns at such a club, ONeill replies,
Dealing with players. Players can say to

55

From Nowhere

you, Im not coming to training. So you

have to build something to make them
come, create standards, togetherness
because its not their job.
ONeill completed his coaching badges
and, independently, finished his Pro
Licence in Lisbon with Sporting.
In 2006 he went to Brechin, north of
Dundee, then back across the Irish Sea
to Dublin in 2009, to manage Shamrock
Rovers in the League of Ireland. Here
people began to notice ONeills
capabilities as he took a gang of players
on 42-week contracts into the group
stage of the Europa League. Then, in
2011, came Northern Ireland.
Along the way ONeill has known a lot of
managers and coaches but when asked
about managerial mentors, his reply
is always in the negative. Mentors are
people you speak to regularly, he says. I
just dont do that. Its not for any reason.
I just dont.
With Billy Bingham, what Id say is that I
always felt better playing under him than
some others. He made you feel part of
the environment, part of the team, part
of it all.
It is a prosaic comment, or could sound
like it, but in terms of ONeills Northern
Ireland team and its rise from losing 3-2
in Luxembourg in September 2013 to
qualifying for the European Championships
in October 2015, it is instructive.
The conversation veers off to Jim
McLean and Dundee United. Newcastle
had paid Coleraine 100,000 for the
teenager in 1987, beating off Dundee
United in the process. Two years later

56

Dundee United were still interested

and broke their transfer record to bring
ONeill to Scotland for 350,000.
The formidable McLean was the
manager. His team had lost the 1987
Uefa Cup final; English clubs were
banned from Europe. ONeill found an
environment he respected: Dundee
United, in 1990, had an athletics coach,
a strength-and-conditioning coach,
the players all had to eat together at the
stadium, the young strikers would be
brought back in the afternoon for extra
training. Newcastle didnt have any of that.
When I then went to Hibs, Alec Miller
had a sports psychologist. There was
sports science, we were getting our
bloods done. Then when I was with
Gordon Strachan [at Coventry City] I
found him to be a modern version of
McLean and Miller. I always thought the
Scottish managers were better prepared
at clubs that were better run.
McLean in particular was the archetypal
Scottish manager, and he could make
it quite a tough environment. But it was
also an enjoyable environment. That
would have to mould you in some way.
It would appear so. What ONeill
discovered as Northern Ireland manager
was that there had to be convincing
attention to detail, but also happiness;
there had to be discipline, but also warmth.
At international level the mood has
to be good, particularly for small
countries, he says. If it isnt, you cant
achieve anything.
Conor Washington, called up by ONeill
to play against Wales and Slovenia in

Michael Walker

Marchs friendlies, having not participated

in qualifying, noticed the group atmosphere.
There are no egos, Washington said.
The boys are so welcoming. They have
made it easy to fit in, both with the style
of play and behind the scenes.
I think that is shown in performances.
Everyone is fighting for each other. The
set-up does have a club feel.
Four years ago Washington was a
postman. His climb from non-League to
Peterborough United and onto QPR and
international football has been fast and
could have been distracting.
Before Washingtons call-up, ONeill
had to check. Not all managers do. He
wanted to know about the characters of
Washington and another he was bringing
in, Peterboroughs Michael Smith. This
was not about ability, this was about
protecting the environment.
I sent one of our coaches, Andy
Cousins, to meet Conor and Michael
Smith, ONeill explains.
Weve got to be careful. Wed been
watching Conor for over a year before he
went to QPR, but thats just one aspect.
We need to know what a player is like if he is high maintenance, for example.
Does he spend a lot of time with the
medical team? We need to know.

of Belfast Lough. Its the same hotel

Germany used for a week before going
to England for Euro 96, which is why
Klinsmann knows Windsor Park.
To go to the hotel is to be struck by
the low-key approachability of players
as they mingle with guests, wives and
children often in evidence. It is an
upgrade from the previous hotel used by
the Irish Football Association.
ONeills management is rooted in common
sense. He is not a manager who will quote
some American baseball coach from the
1970s or use the jargon of marginal gains.
The latter, though, is what Northern
Irelands progress is based on and getting
the squad a better hotel is part of that.
ONeill has done what he can to ensure
turning up for Northern Ireland is not a
chore. As a former player, he knows this
was sometimes the case.
Creating an environment in which
players can come together to prosper
is not as easy as it sounds, particularly
when the personnel are largely the same
as before, when players knew a dragging,
losing culture.
When ONeill succeeded Worthington, the
Euro 2012 qualifiers had just finished with
a 3-0 defeat in Italy. This left the Irish fifth
of six in the group. Played 10, won 2.

Cousins reported back, but that was only

the first interview. Then I went to meet
them, ONeill says. I thought straight
away: Thisll be OK.

It was a flattening ending because

Northern Ireland had begun promisingly.
The first game away in Slovenia was
won 1-0 and the second at home to
Italy was drawn 0-0.

Only then came the call-ups and the

settling in at the team hotel on the shore

Yet by the time of the return match in

Pescara in October 2011, there had been

57

From Nowhere

a damaging 4-1 loss in Estonia. The Italy

result made it four consecutive defeats.
Nigel waved goodbye, Michael said hello.
He was immediately faced with the
prospect of several senior players retiring.
Had he young replacements, ONeill
might have accepted that, but he hadnt.
Instead of replacing them, I got those
players in and told them they had to
drive it, the culture and attitude. They
needed their own motivation too. If you
are continually turning up and getting
spanked and your club manager is telling
you that its time to pack it in, then its
hard. Chris Brunt hadnt played in a
winning Northern Irish team for four
years. Jonny Evans hadnt for two years.
I wanted them to see that themselves.
It was a risk, because it might have
demoralised them.
A 3-0 home defeat against Norway in
ONeills first match in charge gave him
an inkling of what he had taken on and
when Northern Ireland lost 6-0 to the
Netherlands in ONeills second game,
the losing sequence was six in a row.
A 3-3 home draw in a friendly with
Finland arrested that run but the losing
resumed once World Cup 2014 qualifying
began. There was no disgrace in a 2-0
loss in Russia in September 2012 but four
days later there was no thrill in a 1-1 draw
in Belfast against Luxembourg.
A glimpse of ONeills preparation and
organisation was on view in the next
match a 1-1 draw in Portugal in which
Northern Ireland were the better side,
and led but when a 90th minute
equaliser from 33 year-old David Healy
was required against Azerbaijan in the

58

following home game, ONeill realised he

was in for a grind.
On it went, losing at home to Israel and
to Portugal, on a night when Brunt and
Lafferty were both sent off, and then, worst
of all, that 3-2 defeat in Luxembourg on 10
September 2013 that was as embarrassing
and as it was worrying.
The IFA is not a rich association. Fans
travel on planes chartered for the team.
They were on the flight home and ONeill
felt their anger. He has described this
period as like self-harm.
Luxembourg was a landmark loss, but it did
not re-direct the team. Losing continued,
so that when Northern Ireland lined up for
their first Euro 2016 qualifier, in Hungary in
September 2014, they had won only one of
their previous 22 matches.
Then came Budapest. Trailing 1-0 to
Hungary and into the last ten minutes,
yet another defeat loomed.
So its same old Northern Ireland, just
another unlucky 1-0 defeat like all the
others, says ONeill.
But it wasnt, because this is the moment
Niall McGinn began the begin. Equalising
in the 82nd minute via a pass from Lafferty,
McGinn delivered the ball from which
Lafferty scored the 88th-minute winner.
From landmark loss to landmark victory
this did change Northern Irelands direction.
ONeill immediately understood.
Suddenly its different. We are rolling
and psychologically its huge. That
hadnt happened to these players for a
long time.

Michael Walker

It was Northern Irelands first away win in

four years and in the post-match press
conference ONeill said of Lafferty: We
need a big campaign from Kyle now.

There are many strands to this green

story and Kyle Lafferty is most certainly
one of them.
Lafferty was born and raised in Kesh, Co.
Fermanagh, a rural town closer to Donegal
on Irelands west coast than to Windsor
Park in Belfast. A natural runner, he was
a County cross-country champion as a
schoolboy and a footballer who attracted
Burnleys attention as a 16 year old.
One month before his 18th birthday,
Lafferty made his Burnley debut in the
Championship. He was 6ft 3in, a target
man, raw but with a clean touch and rangy
pace. There was some noise about him.
Burnley was a start and after three
years, 90 appearances and ten goals,
he departed for Rangers, the team he
supported as a youth.
At Ibrox Lafferty scored around one
every three games and made headlines,
good and bad. When Rangers went into
financial meltdown in 2012, he left for
Sion in Switzerland, then Palermo in
Serie B. These were unusual destinations
and Lafferty was acquiring a reputation.
Thus, even after a successful season
with Palermo, he was on his way again,
the club president stating memorably
that Lafferty was an unruly Irishman, an
out-of-control womaniser.
His form at Palermo led to a move to
Norwich City last season when they were

in the Championship. It did not work; six

months and one goal later, shortly after
Alex Neil arrived as manager, Lafferty was
on loan at Rizespor in Turkey.
Across Europe people were examining
his contributions with furrowed brows.
Because while Laffertys club career
meandered, his international record was
moving with sure-footed speed. That late
winner in Hungary started something.
Actually, Michael ONeill started something.
When Lafferty and Brunt were sent
off against Portugal that night in 2013,
ONeills frustration was amplified by two
facts: Northern Ireland were leading 2-1
when Brunt was dismissed and Lafferty
was a 67th minute substitute.
Lafferty lasted 13 minutes, by which
time Cristiano Ronaldo had made it 3-2
to Portugal. It ended 4-2 and four days
later, winded and wounded, this Irish
team lost that match in Luxembourg.
We had nothing left in the tank, says
Gareth McAuley.
Some 18 months later, upstairs in the
team hotel, a softly-spoken Lafferty
explained what happened.
He [ONeill] sat me down the day after I
was sent off against Portugal.
Its difficult when you think youve got
a good relationship with someone and a
guy you respect is saying things that hurt
you. But when I went away and had a
think about it, I knew he was right.
He then gave me another chance. A lot
of managers wouldnt have done that.
He sat me down and talked to me like

59

From Nowhere

an adult. The things he said, he actually

made me believe the lads need me in the
team. He made me wake up. Had it not
been for the sending off against Portugal
I dont know if I would be in this position
now, helping the team.
I had to grow up sometime. The team
and the country needs the Kyle Lafferty
with the head screwed on, not the clown.
The transformation is down to Michael.
The transformation Lafferty talked about
is this: in the 2014 World Cup qualifying
campaign, Lafferty had more red cards
one than goals; in the Euro 2016
qualifiers he scored seven in nine and
picked up just two yellow cards.
Because of the change, ONeill has
been asked often about Lafferty. His
side of it is: Kyle came to the fore. He
wasnt focused enough. He never played
poorly but he only played four times in
that [World Cup] campaign because of
suspension. I had him in and showed him
his career in numbers. His goal record
was really good but his discipline was
horrendous 44 bookings.
I told him he was substituted in 65% of
his club games. So I had to get him to
ask himself why. I told him I didnt dislike
him and that if I was in the dressing room
I would be friends with him. But he was
so important to us. I had to make him
realise the need to change.
ONeill is no prude. This is someone
who shared digs with Duncan Ferguson
at Dundee United. But his analysis of
Lafferty reveals his understanding of
numbers and his intelligence, which is
streetwise as well as academic. ONeills
thoroughness of preparation means that

60

each player via video clips knows his

direct opponent. He is surprised when
he hears of coaches who do not tailor
training to combat the opposition.
Laffertys diligent response has surprised
many. While he has been unable to get a
game in the Premier League at Norwich
and ended the season on loan at
Birmingham City, he followed his winner
against Hungary with a goal against the
Faroe Islands in the next qualifier.
Northern Ireland won 2-0 and the victory
held a significance within the squad that
was not felt outside it.
Home to the Faroes, its the kind of
game we dont win, said McAuley.
But they won this one and, crucially, as
McAuley explained, it was a comfortable
win with just one booking. Three days
later, ten of the same starting XI went
to Greece and won 2-0. Again Lafferty
scored. The Irish had plenty in the tank.
The schedule had mattered.
One month later Greece sacked
their manager, Claudio Ranieri. Selfdeprecating, even in casual conversation
ONeill speaks of the job Ranieri is doing
at Leicester City, not what Northern
Ireland did to Greece. He sees parallels
between his Irish side and Leicester
and Atltico Madrid. They win without
having the ball. Its something I hammer
into my players all the time.
There was a hiccup in Romania in the
fourth game, a 2-0 defeat, but that
would be the only loss in qualification.
A 2-0 win over Finland came next two
goals from Lafferty. Mixu Paatelainen,

Michael Walker

ONeills old friend from Dundee United and

Cowdenbeath, was Finland manager, until
he was sacked a month after this result.
It was the first-ever Northern Ireland
home game played on a Sunday and
outside Windsor Park there were leaflets
on Olympia Drive warning of Satan.
At 2-0, inside they were singing, Were
supposed to be in church.
Twelve points from five games
encouraged the humour. Gradually a
qualification tally was coming into view.
A solid 0-0 draw with Romania was
followed by a crucial double-header in
September 2015: Faroes away, Hungary
at home. Lafferty scored in Trshavn to
make it a 3-1 win, which set up Hungary
in Belfast. This could be it.
It turned out to be one of those nights
when the drama exceeded even the
greatest expectation. Hungary had
improved from their opening group
defeat to Northern Ireland, they had
three wins and two draws in the next five
qualifiers and had not conceded a goal in
the last four of them. They were coming
and with 16 minutes left took the lead. It
was the first Irish taste of jeopardy.
One of the most remarked-upon
features of ONeills squad is the calibre
of the clubs the players come from. Here
the Hamilton Academical goalkeeper
Michael McGovern dropped the ball to
allow Hungary to score. Seven minutes
later, Chris Baird, the 33 year old then
with Derby County, was sent off he
had received two yellow cards in the
same Hungary attack.
While the crowd was enraged by this,
ONeill had a greater concern Hungary

scoring again. Wed beaten Hungary 2-1,

so if they won 2-0, we finished level on
points and it came down to the headto-head record, theirs would have been
better, ONeill explains, still sounding
anxious about it seven months on.
It was about trying to get that information
onto the pitch amid all the noise and the
game going on. Id not told the players
this beforehand because Id have been
talking about losing the game. Our focus
was on winning the game. It would be
very difficult to give that information
without sounding negative. But I knew.
I knew that losing 1-0, wed still have
qualification in our own hands.
Breathless, ONeill re-organised. There
were nine minutes left with ten men, plus
injury-time.
We went 3-4-2, then almost 3-2-4 by
the end. Kyle stayed on, at 0-0 I was
going to take him off. 0-0 wasnt the
worst result, if it had to be.
Then the unassuming but always there
Niall McGinn steadied himself at a
corner three minutes into injury-time.
A substitute, McGinn shot low and hard
and Gbor Kirly could only parry; from
four yards out, Lafferty was there to belt
in the rebound.
Despair was replaced by jubilation. On the
touchline ONeill shed his restraint and ran
onto the pitch, a spontaneous celebration
that earned him the nickname Pleaty
la David Pleat at Maine Road in 1983
inside the camp over the next 24 hours.
It was the kind of late recovery goal
Northern Ireland did not score, until now.

61

From Nowhere

ONeill returns to one of his original

discussions with the squad.
It all goes back to the World Cup group,
he says. I showed them the scores at 80
minutes of our games and we were in
every single game at that point. That told
us something.
It told ONeill that Northern Ireland were
closer to achieving something than the
one win in 22 statistic suggested. But he
needed his best players on the pitch.
I looked at our discipline [in World Cup
qualifying]. We had three red cards and
23 bookings, which was sixth worst in
the world.
And when I lose players I am bringing in
replacements from League One. This time
our discipline was the best in the group.
The Baird red card was the first of the group
for the reformed Irish. Lafferty also collected
a yellow and so he missed the next game,
at home to Greece. An example of ONeills
squads depth came via the man who
would replace Lafferty Kilmarnocks
Josh Magennis, who was once a Cardiff
City goalkeeper and Aberdeen rightback. Its surreal, Magennis repeated in
the build-up to Greece.
And of course, Magennis scored. He
got the second in a 3-1 victory that
sent Northern Ireland Pot 5 Northern
Ireland to France.
At 3-0 up in that game, ONeill broke
a habit. The crowd asked him for

62

recognition. And? As soon as I stuck my

thumb up, the Greeks scored. So that will
never, ever happen again. Its not in my
make-up to be like that. The supporters
were singing for me to give a wave.
Personally, I hate that.
It is a very Michael ONeill statement.
He has since signed a four-year
contract extension, but with a
compensation clause should clubs
come calling.
Rooted in reality, he knows the scale
of Northern Irelands achievement but
he also knows that Poland, Ukraine
and Germany in that order await in
France. He knows that his players will
not have the ball for long spells. And his
players know.
ONeills captain Steven Davis is on one
of those photographs in the new Windsor
Park press room. Davis, 31 and with 79
caps, has been a quietly galvanising
presence throughout, one of a clutch
of players who made eight, nine or ten
appearances in qualifying, enabling
ONeills consistency of selection.
Davis is already talking about being
hard to beat in France and this is a
player who knows what that means: he
played in Luxembourg.
It is a hell of an achievement for this
team, Davis said of qualification. We
have come a long way in a relatively
short space of time. From where we
were at in the World Cup qualifiers to
where we are now, its phenomenal.

Changing the Culture

Changing the Culture

How Pavel Vrba took the Czech Republic to France and
changed the national mindset
By Karel Hring

With only two players Petr ech

and Tom Rosick at top European
clubs, others struggling to make an
impact at ordinary foreign teams and
Czech clubs making little impression
on the Champions League, the Czech
Republics qualification for Euro 2016
feels vaguely miraculous. It probably
wouldnt have happened without Pavel
Vrba, an offensive-minded coach who
is a stickler for detail and who has
influenced Czech football far more than
anybody else in recent history.
Vrba was a clear choice when the time
came for Michal Blek to be replaced
as national coach. For a time after he
took the job, the instinctive scepticism
of Czech fans disappeared at least for
a while. So while some hail the miracle,
others say that this qualification, the
Czech Republics sixth in a row for the
European Championship, was simply
the fulfilment of a natural expectation
for Vrba after the job he did at Viktoria
Plze. Once a yo-yo team, Viktoria
twice won the league under Vrba and
twice reached the group stages of the
Champions League. But his chief legacy
was in reminding Czech football how to
attack, restoring the courage to play an
offensive and attractive style.
It is not bad for a man whose coaching
career in the Czech top flight began

in May 2003 as a caretaker at Bank

Ostrava with a 7-0 defeat at Slavia. Its
impossible to forget this match, laughs
Vrba. The next day, the local press even
printed an obituary including the names of
players and members of coaching staff.
But rather than the death of the team,
it was its rebirth. Ostrava did not lose
in the remaining four matches of the
season and extended their unbeaten run
by another 17 matches the following
season. Vrba became an assistant to
Frantiek Komack in summer 2003
and together they led Bank to their first
title since 1981 and probably their last
for some time as the club was relegated
this season. For Vrba, though, the joy was
short-lived. With no proper explanation,
his contract was not extended.
He admitted recently that he regards the
boards decision as one of the biggest
disappointments of his career. But it was
also the beginning of his path to success.
Komack, having some contacts in
Slovakia, recommended Vrba to Pchov,
a tiny club near the border with the
Czech Republic. Matador, as they were
called after their sponsor, were favourites
to be relegated but under their new
coach they finished sixth in a ten-team
league. The board showed little patience
and sacked him in April 2006. A couple
of months later, the ambitious MK ilina,

63

Changing the Culture

also in Slovakia, appointed him. They scored

99 goals in 36 matches as they romped to
the league title by a 20-point margin.
But again, a set-back soon followed.
After MK had finished as runners-up in
the 2007-08 season, Vrba was sacked
in the September after a 1-1 home
draw against Levski in the first round of
the Uefa Cup. I believed we could go
through but not with Pavel Vrbas style
which I normally liked, explained Jozef
Antok, MKs owner. A month later, Vrba
found another job. What followed would
change the map of Czech football.
Viktoria Plze had a reputation of
bouncing between the top two divisions,
but they showed some ambition in
summer 2008 by signing a group of
players unwanted at Sparta: Daniel Kol,
Milan Petrela, David Limbersk and,
most importantly, Pavel Horvth, the
former Sporting and Galatasaray creative
midfielder. But with only eight points from
the first nine rounds of fixtures, Jaroslav
ilhav was sacked and Vrba appointed.
After his first speech in the dressing
room, players looked at each other in
astonishment. Their new boss had talked
about a target of competing in Europe
in the future. Viktoria climbed from
thirteenth to eighth position by the end
of his first season and came fifth in the
next one, equalling their best ever finish.
But the 2010-11 season was dominated
by their ferocious start to the season.
Although Vrba had been a strong central
defender during his career he played
in the Under-20 World Cup in Mexico
in 1983, coming up against Dunga and
Bebeto, but spent most of his playing
days in the Czech second division he

64

prefers attacking football. His favourite

formation remains 4-2-3-1, using fast
wingers, offensively minded full-backs
and creative central midfielders. In
their European adventures, often as
underdogs, Viktoria caused problems
to opponents with fast counter-attacks.
But on the home stage, against tough
defensive teams, they needed to show
patience and a high level of creativity.
I am not saying that defending has
no place in football, Vrba said. It is
important to keep a clean sheet but it
is not interesting for fans if teams try to
play for goalless draws to avoid defeat.
Generally, we try to play offensive
football. Sometimes we are successful,
sometimes not. But our strategy is based
on the fact that we want to be pro-active.
Plzen started the season with 11
consecutive wins following an opening
draw. And with goals loads of goals.
At the end of the campaign, Viktoria
celebrated the first league title in their
100-year history. They earned 69 points,
21 more than their previous record, and
scored 70 goals, 33 more than in the
record season before Vrba.
And it was time to celebrate. The father
of two girls, Vrba is a friendly and
entertaining type who is always good
for a laugh. But he is also, as he says
himself, a stubborn man who can be
edgy if he feels some kind of injustice.
Sometimes during his press conferences
he is wry and ironical towards journalists,
especially if there is an intimation of
criticism. However, most people who
have worked closely with him will not
have a bad word said against him not
only players or members of his staff but
even secretaries or other employees
in the club. It became a habit for Vrba

Karel Hring

to bring doughnuts and coffee for the

women in the club office.
On top of it, he has a sense of humour
and is quite willing to make jokes about
himself. Before the first title, he promised
players that they could shave his head if
they won the league. After the decisive
match, Vrba patiently sat on his chair
in dressing room among screaming
players and champagne and the
players did their barbers job. And it was
not the only bet he arranged.
The coach liked to wear an oldfashioned sweater with two reindeers
on the front and was often the butt of
jokes from players because of it. But he
promised to give it up if Pavel Horvth,
the most influential member of the team,
lost weight before beginning of the
spring season in 2012. He did and Vrba
handed it over. But the players clubbed
together and gave him a new one after
winning the final match in the Europa
League against Atltico Madrid (1-0) and
finishing top of their group.
Successes in Europe are another sign
of Vrbas class. Viktoria paid for their
inexperience in summer 2010, being
eliminated by Beikta after a 1-1 draw and
a 3-0 away defeat, but once they started
the motor they always made it through to
the spring part of the competitions.
The unexpected journey started in the
shadow of Mount Ararat with victory over
Pyunik of Yerevan and wins followed
against Rosenborg and FC Copenhagen.
Six matches, six wins, eighteen goals
scored and only five conceded. Viktoria
became first non-Prague club from
the Czech Republic to reach the group
stage of the Champions League. With

an annual budget of around 3m Vrbas

Viktoria could not cope with big guns like
Barcelona or AC Milan. But a 2-2 draw
against Milan saw them finish ahead of
BATE to make the Europa League.
It was the summer preliminary rounds
that really seemed to suit them. In 2012,
they qualified for the Europa League
group stage, having won five out of
six. They topped a group that included
Atltico before sensationally putting out
Napoli. They were finally eliminated in
the last 16 by Fenerbahe.
After securing their second league
title in 2013, Viktoria went into the
Champions League qualifiers for the
second time. Vrba again prepared his
team meticulously. Having had problems
against eljezniar of Sarajevo, they
hammered the Estonian side Nmme
Kalju before facing the confident
Slovenian champions NK Maribor. Two
wins 3-1 at home and 1-0 away sent
them to the group stage again. And Vrba,
once again, showed his sense of humour.
Before the ties, he had promised to turn
a backwards somersault on the pitch.
And he did a truly magnificent one in
front of supporters and with laughing
players behind him.
However, the signs of comedy should
not disguise the facts. Vrbas Viktoria
won 17 of 18 qualifying matches
between 2011 and 2013, scoring 52
goals and conceding 15. Again, they
were unfortunate with the draw, being
grouped with Pep Guardiolas Bayern,
Manchester City and CSKA Moscow.
Again they played attacking football.
With the exception of a 5-0 defeat
at the Allianz Arena, they acquitted
themselves well.

65

Changing the Culture

Before the final game of the group stage,

against CSKA, there were two certainties:
Viktoria would go through with a win, so
long as it wasnt a one-goal win while
conceding two or more, and that after
five years and two months it would be
Vrbas final game in charge of the club.
Shortly after he set a new league record
by managing Plze for 152 games in the
same spell, Vrba accepted the offer of
the Czech Football Association (FAR).
Viktorias leadership was furious, mainly
because of their frosty relations with
the FAR chairman Miroslav Pelta, who
was also the chairman of FK Jablonec.
But they had to let him go because of
an agreement between the owner and
coach made two years earlier. Vrba
had been very close to taking over the
Slovakia national team in 2012 but Plze
had refused to release him from his club
duties. However there was a clause in a
new, improved contract that if anybody
was willing to pay 300,000 he could
leave. And he did.
There was a bitterness around the
club that November but the situation
had settled down before the glorious
Champions League night in December.
With 15 minutes to go against CSKA,
Viktoria trailed 1-0. But after Daniel Kol
cancelled out Ahmed Musas opener, the
substitute Tom Wagner sent Viktoria
through with a last-minute strike and
ignited a firework of joy. I could not wish
for anything more, admitted Vrba.
He left an indelible imprint, one which
is unlikely to be repeated, winning two
domestic titles, one Czech Cup and a
Super Cup and taking Viktoria to the
group stages of the Champions League,
twice, and the Europa League, staying
in European competition through the

66

winter break three years in a row. But there

is also a hidden bonus. When he arrived
at Plze, the average number of goals per
match was about 2.4. It increased after
their first title season (2010-11) to 2.64 and
kept at at least that level for the following
three seasons (2.65, 2.58 and a record 2.8
in the last one). Other teams like Slovan
Liberec, Sigma Olomouc and others
followed the example of Viktoria and
started to play more offensive football.
And in particular, Sparta Prague, who lost
their reputation as the main power in
Czech football, had to react.
The trend went on even without Vrba
who, he admitted, was in need of fresh
motivation. I had spent wonderful years
at Plze but it was time to try something
new, he said. The Czech national team
was slowly recovering from the failure
to qualify for the 2014 World Cup and
from the negative mood that had hung
over much of the reign of Michal Blek,
despite participation in Euro 2012. The
pessimism stretched back to 2008
and the end of Karel Brckners time in
charge. Neither Petr Rada nor Michal
Blek enjoyed the full support of fans.
Rada was perceived as lacking the quality
for the position while Bleks strategy
was deemed overly negative, something
that played badly alongside his constant
complaints about the lack of quality
players after Pavel Nedvds generation
moved on. With his stony face and lack
of charisma Blek was so unpopular that
during Euro 2012 he was whistled by
Czech fans even before matches in the
group stage began.
Vrbas position was a complete contrast.
The majority of fans wanted to see him
in charge. And he is clever enough to
know what the supporters wanted to

Karel Hring

hear during his first press conference. It

would be an excuse for myself if I said
that I wanted to build a team that would
try to qualify for a tournament in six
years. We want to qualify for Euro 2016
and in a style I like. I am sure fans want
to see goals. And the top clubs in Europe
show that playing offensive football is the
right way. There is no reason to make up
something new when the biggest teams
are successful with this style.
Vrba inherited a struggling team. There
were still two big stars in the heart of the
team the goalkeeper Petr ech (34)
and the midfielder Tom Rosick (35)
alongside the experienced defenders
Tom Sivok (Bursaspor), Michal Kadlec
(Fenerbahce) and David Limbersk (Plze).
The new generation is represented by the
midfielders Vladimr Darida (Hertha BSC),
Ladislav Krej (Sparta) and the right-back
Pavel Kadebek (Hoffenheim). The last
two names, and they are not alone, were
clear proof of Vrbas promise from his
inaugural press conference: to give more
opportunities to young and hungry players
from the Synot liga.
After a run of unimpressive results
and performances in first four friendly
matches, typical Czech pessimism and
doubts began to bubble again. But
52-year-old coach believed they could
be well prepared for the opening match
against the Netherlands. During the last
World Cup in Brazil, he closely observed
the Dutch team. I spent my summer
with Arjen Robben, he joked. I looked
for the way to eliminate him. He was
lucky, the biggest threat of the Oranje did
not come to Prague because of an injury.
Vrbas startling XI featured seven players
from the Czech league. It was something
the fans had not seen for a long time.

The previous qualifying campaign under

Blek started with no player from the
Synot liga. After ninety minutes, Vrba
celebrated a lucky victory. Daryl Janmaat
made a horrible mistake and gifted the
last-minute winner to Vclav Pila who
made it 2-1. The win had a massive
impact on the Czech players confidence.
And euphoria could break out. It has
been first victory of Nrodn tm
against one of the European giants
since October 2007 when the Czechs
humiliated Germany 3-0 at the Allianz
Arena. Karel Brckner was in charge.
Looking like Gandalf with his long grey
hair he now has a consultant role on
Vrbas staff.
A couple of weeks after the important
victory, the coach again confirmed that
he likes fun and challenges. He closed
a bet with one sponsor a brewery
based in Plze that if the national team
earned at least four points from their
October trip to Turkey and Kazakhstan, all
11,000 spectators at the following home
match against Iceland would get one beer
for free. With a 2-1 win in Istanbul and 4-2
in Astana, they gained six.
Coincidentally, Plze hosted the fourth
match and the open pre-match training
session attracted more than 4000 fans.
Welcome back, Mr Vrba, said one man
in a wheelchair to the popular coach
before the session started.
The match against Iceland did not start in
the best way but the Czechs came from
behind and kept their 100% record after
four games. However, their unexpected
winning streak ended in spring 2015
when their limited individual qualities
could not be hidden in games where

67

Changing the Culture

they had to find way through deep

defences like against Latvia (1-1) and in
Iceland (1-2). However, the continuing
misery of Holland and Turkey and two
September wins (2-1 against Kazakhstan
and the same in Latvia) guaranteed
them participation in France with two
matches left.
Vrba was hailed for his philosophy
and creating a working mixture
of experienced internationals and
motivated players from the Czech
league. However, the euphoria was too
brief. A few days later, David Limbersk,
Viktoria Plzes left-back, was caught
drink-driving by police. At the next press
conference, Vrba announced that he
would not call him up for the remaining
two matches but refused to expand
on his decision. After more questions

68

regarding Limbersk, he threatened to

leave the press room.
For many, the scene confirmed what
had been discussed before he took
the job his lack of ability to handle
pressure and criticism. In the following
weeks, he replied to most questions with
unconcealed spitefulness and abruptness.
He admitted his mistake later but you
could not lose the impression that he felt a
sense of injustice and perhaps also a lack of
appreciation for the success of winning a
tough group. This behaviour and the worse
performances of the team in the following
months lost Vrba some of his admirers.
But none can deny the fact that this
temperamental coach changed Czech
football. For the better.

Mellow Peril

Mellow Peril
Jn Kozk on how calming down has helped him lead
Slovakia to European Championship qualification
By Luk Vrblik

Once he was criticised for his eccentric

behaviour, but Jn Kozk has taken
Slovakia to the European Championship
for the first time since they became an
independent nation in 1993. We met one
day before the friendly match against
Latvia in March in the teams hotel in
the small town of Senec. While sitting in
the hotels caf, with team captain and
Liverpool centre-back Martin krtel at
the next table, Kozk explained how he
has changed the atmosphere around the
national squad in a very short time.
What was the turning point in making
a team that hadnt been able to beat
Luxembourg or Lithuania into one of the
most dangerous teams in Europe?
When I took over this team, I had the
opportunity to work with them in the
previous qualification campaign the
forming of a national team always takes
very long time. After the win in Bosnia and
Herzegovina [1-0, in September 2013] I
realised that these players have enough
quality to beat stronger teams, too. When
the Euro 2016 qualifiers started, Id been
with these players for a long period of
time; I knew them well. A great crew
got together and the first four wins,
particularly against Ukraine and Spain,
helped us a lot. Therefore I, and also the
players, convinced ourselves that we
could also fight with stronger opponents.

Slovakia have achieved their biggest

successes with coaches like Duan Galis,
Vladimr Weiss and you that is, with
coaches who have an inner strength as
well as tactical skills. Do you think that
Slovakia have to be led by a coach with
great authority?
Its not easy to coach a national team.
But when you set rules and you play by
the rules, this should not be a problem.
The coach of a national team has a big
advantage while a club coach inherits
the players, a national team coach can
choose. That means that when I choose
somebody, I appreciate him as a player
and also as a human. But I also require his
feedback his respect for me. Problems
can appear, but there are fewer of them.
My advantage is that when some player
does not respect my instructions and
he does not play as I want him to play, I
can decide not to send him an invitation
to the next pre-match camp. Coaches
should have a natural authority not only in
a national team, but also in a club.
When you select your players, how
much does their personality matter? If a
player was playing brilliantly for his club
but his temperament didnt suit your
team, would you risk selecting him?
Of course, these are details you have to
consider. When I arrived, I had coached

69

Mellow Peril

none of these players before. They

were all new to me and its not an easy
business to get to know a person in such
a short time. For example, some players
are very good for their clubs in training,
but when a match comes, some block
appears and they are not able to give
the sort of performance I expect. When
I worked in club football, I had players I
called training players because they
were not able to play in a match as well
as in training. The national team means
the highest level and only players who
are able to cope with stress, with the
pressure for victories and qualification,
can manage to break through.
How could a player in the national
team upset you the most?
Even if a player doesnt perform well, he
has to give his best and give everything
for the collective. In life as well, not
everything goes as you expect. If he
doesnt play a good match, he has to
do a lot more work for the team to be
successful. If he does not manage that,
that is the thing that will upset me.
How do you talk to the players when
they are not playing well? For example,
at half-time during the home match
against Belarus, when they were losing
1-0, did you raise your voice or did you
try to calm the players down? What is
better in such a situation?
In that match, it was necessary rather
to calm them down, as it was a match
that we really wanted to win so we
could celebrate progression to the Euros
with our fans. If we had won, we would
have qualified for the Euros. And that
desire, restlessness and acceleration of
things caused a performance that was

70

not optimal. It was not a problem with

the players attitude, but we lacked calm
and ease. We conceded one goal and
we immediately wanted to equalise. Also
the Belarusians played really well: it was
arguably their best match in the qualifiers.
Marek Hamk was for long time
criticised for his performances for the
national team, but he was the most
important Slovakia player in the last
qualifiers. Did you adapt the tactics in order
to give him more freedom on the pitch?
Marek really is a professional. He gives
everything in every training. He likes
playing for the national team, but football
is a collective sport and it was necessary
to find quality players who suited him.
We managed to do it, as both the boys
in the middle, Juraj Kucka and Viktor
Peovsk, are different types of players,
but they are perfectly balanced together.
He has also other players next to him
such as Vlado Weiss or Robo Mak. He
cooperates well with Adam Nemec, too.
As the performances of all the players
got better, Marek also had a better
environment in which to create.
Do you think that the national team
is, from the point of view of creating
chances and dominating on the pitch,
too dependent on Hamks creativity?
Could that be an issue for Slovakia at
the Euros? If an opponent stops Hamk,
Slovakia could have problems in attack.
I dont agree that everything depends
on Hamk and his performance. It is not
true. Vice versa, I think, that today we
have a lot of creative players, not only
experienced ones, but also players whom
we count on for the future for example
[Patrik] Hroovsk or [Ondrej] Duda.

Luk Vrblik

These are players with great potential

and creativity, as is Vladimr Weiss,
without a doubt.

that its easier for us and also for other

teams to play against, for example, Spain
who are accustomed to open play.

Are Slovakia limited in attack also by

the fact that the options at left-back are
Tom Huboan or Nrbert Gyombr,
both originally centre-backs players
who dont get forward much?

Since the 2010 World Cup, Slovakia

have lacked a reliable centre-forward,
able to score goals regularly. In both
matches against Spain, we played
without a typical striker, in a 4-6-0
system. Did you think about permanent
introduction of this system?

Of course, an ideal player in this position

would be left-footed. We have [Duan]
vento, who has the best abilities to
play there, but he doesnt play for his
club regularly and he is often injured.
Huboan has played as a left-sided
defender he has been a universal
player in all the clubs he has ever
played for. A left-footed player would
be better, but we have to compensate
for certain things that are given to us:
Weiss is strong mainly in the attack, so
on his side, there is need for the sort of
footballer who has defence in his blood.
And Huboan has. So, as a couple, they
function well.
Slovakia are known as a team thats
more comfortable in games against
strong opponents, when the opponent
has to dominate on the pitch and they
have the opportunity to rely on fast
counter-attacks. But, in the matches
against easier opponents, you have
problems. Why?
That is a general truth. It is not only the
case for our team. Its very hard to break
through well-organised defences and
even the best teams have problems with
it. For example, Barcelona have three
strong individuals in the attack they
have the ability to break down wellorganised defences, but for most teams,
it is very difficult. So, its understandable

No, no. We chose this option after

analysing the opponent and having
considered the power of the Spanish
players. When I was thinking if we would
be playing with 4-2-3-1 or 4-1-4-1, I
still lacked one player and the opponent
would have had a lot of space in the
middle to manoeuvre and pass for the
players like [Cesc] Fbregas, [David] Silva
or [Andrs] Iniesta. So, we had to thicken
the space. Our decision was right, as the
result says it all [Slovakia beat Spain 2-1
in ilina]. Before that match, Spain had
not lost for eight years in their qualifying
matches and they have not lost since.
They had, and still have, a great strength
which we had to eliminate and I am very
happy that we managed that. The 4-60 system was an exception that these
matches required.
The atmosphere during the first
four home matches was perfect, but
then, in the match against Ukraine,
the fans whistled the legendary striker
Rbert Vittek and there was also a big
nervousness during the match against
Belarus. Do you think that a Slovak fan
is rather a fan of success? That, when
the team plays well, he supports them
and the stadiums are sold out, but when
some short crisis emerges, he is liable to
react negatively?

71

Mellow Peril

When we played against Malta in ilina in

the friendly match before the qualifiers,
there were approximately 2,000 people
there. At the match against Spain, there
was a full stadium, but lets be honest,
they didnt come to see us, but Spain.
But from that victory, we sold out almost
every match. The stadium was always full
in ilina and even in the friendly match
in Trnava [against Switzerland]. Even at
the friendly match against Latvia, played
during Easter, there were 12,500 people.
This was not normal before. Our players,
thanks to their performances and attitude,
won peoples hearts and they encourage
them. When Im travelling in Slovakia, the
people I meet confirm that. I think that
a really good atmosphere was created.
Emotions are part of football and what
happened in ilina against Ukraine was
unfortunate. We could not lose that
match, because then we wouldnt have
had automatic qualification in our hands.
So the match was more anxious. It should
not have happened, but it happened
and a man can hardly do anything about
such a situation. It happens also in other
countries, but it was not nice. Against
Belarus, it was also tense, but people
supported us until the last minute and
they applauded even after we lost the
match. The proof is also that a lot of fans
travelled to Luxembourg, where they
supported us loudly and created a home
environment for us.
When I interviewed Icelands coach
Lars Lagerbck in September, he said
that even if Eidur Gudjohnsen is not in
the same form as in the past, he is still
a very important member of the squad,
particularly from a mental point of view.
Is it possible to say the same about
Slovakia and Rbert Vittek, who is past his
peak but could still offer a lot mentally?

72

He was not with us for such a long

time that its impossible to answer this
question objectively. I still believe in
him as a player with great experience. I
still have the inner feeling that he could
be able to help the national team. He
lost some weight during the winter
preparation and is physically wellprepared. [Martin] Jakubko has had
health problems. Nemec does not play
regularly. We are looking for a player able
to help the team. And I feel that he could
be that player, as he has been in the past.
In the last squad, there were only
four players from the Slovak league. Is
the Fortuna Liga good enough to test a
players quality?
The results of our clubs in the
Champions League and Europa League
say it is sufficient. We are not able to
overcome a serious obstacle: we are
not successful in the matches against
average European teams. There is a lot of
young talent in Slovakia and that is good.
The good results of Slovakias Under-21
and Under-19 sides are a proof, but
those players are still developing. The
reality is that every slightly better player
goes abroad and there he develops as a
player able to play for the national team.
The best situation would be if there were
two or three clubs in Slovakia where the
best players played together and those
clubs were able to break through at an
international level. But for now it is not
possible. Take, for example, [Milan] kriniar,
a player who was proving his quality in
hard matches and, despite his young age,
he had great authority in MK ilina. In
January, he went to an average Sampdoria
and he has not had a chance to kick the
ball yet. Its important to treat talented
players sensitively and to move them so

Luk Vrblik

that they can improve from the point of

view of football, not only to sell them.
Miroslav Stoch and Vladimr Weiss
went to the Middle East when they were
at their peak and they could have played
in top European leagues. Do you think
they wasted their potential?
Its hard for me, as an outsider, to
enter into such things. But for me the
most important thing is to have a wellprepared player at the national teams
get-togethers. It is true that when Weiss
arrived from Olympiakos, a prominent
European club, he was physically
better prepared than now, because the
conditions and the weather in Qatar
do not allow such intensive training
sessions. But those are the lives of those
boys, not my life. They will be playing
football for a certain time, their careers
could be over even in one or two years
if some some injury comes, and I, as a
national team coach, cannot and do not
want to enter into their lives.
If you were in their position and
could choose between quality football
in Europe and a luxurious contract
elsewhere, how would you decide?
I dont want to talk for him, but I know
why he decided to do what he did. Life
sometimes forces you to take a step,
even if you do not fully agree with it. I
was also talking with his father [Vladimr
Weiss senior, the former national team
coach] about this. But if something at
some big club doesnt function as it
should according to your contract, what
are you going to do? These are very hard
and difficult situations and you have to
solve them very sensitively in a small
amount of time. And it is always better,

for the national team, to have a player

who is okay and who does not have to
think about problems at his club.
Do you think that these players have
personal skills good enough to become
role models for children?
Yes, I am convinced about that. Slovakia
is small, but we have players playing for
prominent European clubs. Mao krtel at
Liverpool, Marek Hamk at Napoli, now
Juro Kucka at Milan. Its a dream of every
player to get to AC Milan. Of course, also
you, journalists, could help with that a lot.
After the final match in Luxembourg,
the media were talking about a
scandal at the team hotel with players
celebrating loudly and the police being
called. Do you think it overshadowed a
historical success?
And what happened? After 36 years,
we qualified for the Euros. After 36
years. And the team should not have
celebrated, should not have sung? Some
manageress came in and asked them
to be quieter. How can we sing Slovak
songs more quietly? On such as joyous
occasion? Can you understand that
to sing a Slovak song quietly? I cannot.
There was a problem, that some alarm
was pressed and because of this the
police arrived. I drank one cup of tea
with my players and I went to sleep. And
if I was able to sleep, they could not have
celebrated so horribly. The police had
to write a report that they were there
and so on. And some of our journalists,
instead of being pleased because of our
victory and qualification, wanted to find
sensation at any cost. Is it normal to
come back to the airport in Bratislava and
to find a journalist there who wants the

73

Mellow Peril

players to do a blood-alcohol test? How

was that good? We could have policed
it more, not to let anything happen, but,
honestly I want us to have reasons for
such celebrations as often as possible.
For me, its important that we created
joy for normal Slovak people, whom I
meet and who are looking forward to
the Euros. That is the fundamental thing,
because football is played for people and
it could be a big help to Slovak football.
When, if not now? Do you think that in
two years we will be at the World Cup?
Its certainly possible.
I hope you speak the truth. Slovakia
is, considering its size, a country of
unbelievable options. So, its necessary
to enjoy our collective success and
when something is not according to our
way of thinking, we have to be slightly
more balanced.
How is it possible that Slovakia are
getting better results than in the past?
The U-21 team has played very well for
a few years and the senior team has
qualified for the Euros. Is it a change
of system or only luck that a very good
group of players have got together?
This generation of players has already
achieved something. Only a few
national teams from countries such
as Slovakia manage to qualify for both
the World Cup and also the European
Championship in six years. You can count
them on the fingers of one hand. Enjoy
that. I really appreciate these players. Its
also true that at the same time we have
to prepare the next generation, as you
cannot stop the ageing process and a lot
of players are in their thirties. Actually,
this is the peak of their international

74

career for some players. Young players

are also coming in and I am convinced
that they will be very good internationals
in the future. A very good crew has come
together and also the teams background
is good. It is important to have the whole
thing functioning.
In Slovakia, a lot of young coaches,
such as Martin evela (Trenn) or
Adrin Gua (ilina) have appeared. Do
you think some of them could become
national coach in the future?
Certainly, these are boys who know what
they want. They tutor good players and
give space to youngsters. Each of them
has his own way and I respect that. I
am not worried that we are not able to
educate coaches who could take over
the national team. We have enough
quality coaches.
During your spell in Koice, you
were involved in several scandals, for
example the press conference with
Pemysl Biovsk [a Czech coach, at
that time managing the Slovak club
MFK Ruomberok. When Biovsk was
talking in Czech, Kozk told him not to
lisp and to learn the Slovak language.
They were both key players of the
Czechoslovakia national team in the
early eighties. When he said it, Kozk
was frustrated because of the way the
match had gone] or the scandal in Nitra
[Nitras management accused him of
verbally insulting the players and club
during the half-time break and even
of attacking the goalkeeping coach
Igor Mesro. Kozk grabbed him by
the throat, shook him and thumped
him onto the magnetic tactics board,
said Nitras general manager Jozef
Petrni] But since you have been the

Luk Vrblik

national team coach, nothing similar

has happened. Has something in your
personality changed?
With the national team, there are fewer
impulses for a man to react, from
your point of view, disproportionately.
I dont have a reason to change my
opinion about Biovsk,. At that time,
I wanted to protect Slovak coaches,
because in our league, there were a lot
of foreign coaches who were not as
good as ours. I think that I am a mature
enough person, due to my age and also
experience, to stand up for our coaches.
Because I still had my job, I did not have
to worry about it. When we are talking
about other incidents, for example
in Nitra or Trenn, time showed that
those were expressly provocations. But
that is behind us. Of course, each of
us changes, a man gains experience
and when I began as the national team
coach, I was talking with the football
federations chairman [Jn Kovik] about
how it will look. There were not and will
not be problems in the national team. If
somebody is waiting for them, he will be
waiting for a very long time.
What influenced these incidents more
your temperament or your passion for
football?

Czechoslovakia national team, the players

were split into Czech and Slovak groups,
with players eating at different tables. Did
you have the same experience?
I had a very good relationship with Czech
players. I played for Dukla Prague, where
12 of the national teams players were
and they accepted me well. When I meet
with them now, we have a lot of things
to talk about, but also with the others
Raso Vojek from Bank Ostrava, or
Libor Radimec, Werner Lika, also players
from Brno like [Petr] Janeka or [Karel]
Kroupa. I did not have the feeling that
we split ourselves up in any way. When I
arrived in the national team after the 1976
European Championship, there were
fourteen Slovaks and four Czechs and
after Belgrade, [Ivo] Viktor and [Frantiek]
Vesel [both Czechs] retired. On the other
hand, when I retired in 1985 when Josef
Masopust was coach, there were only
two Slovaks in the national squad me
and Jn Kocian and fourteen Czechs.
The structure of the national team always
depended on the teams that were at
the peak of the league. In the seventies
that was [the Slovak clubs] Slovan
Bratislava and Spartak Trnava, then, in the
eighties [the Czech clubs] Dukla Prague,
Bohemians Prague and Bank Ostrava.
So, the majority of national team players
played for these teams.

When I felt injustice, I reacted, maybe

sometimes disproportionately, but that is
life. Maybe I would take some things back,
but its not possible. Really, with age, a man
gains experience and changes himself.

People often have dreams about

their problems in their job. Is it the
same with you? Do you dream about
football after the match?

Antonn Panenka in interview for The

Blizzard1 said, that during his spell in the

I do not have to have dreams about

football after a match, because I am

In Issue Six.

75

Mellow Peril

not able to sleep [laughs]. So, it is also a

mental ballast and it is not easy.
Coaches educate themselves today
by going on various courses. How
important is intuition for a coach?
Intuition is very important, particularly
for coaching during the match. Because
a training session is one thing, but
coaching is something different during
the match, you have to solve certain
situations immediately and intuitively.
It is typical in football that almost
every fan thinks that he understands the
game. What do observers including
journalists miss most often?
Criticism doesnt upset me. When a stadium
is full and somebody pays for a ticket, he
or she has a right to an opinion. They can
criticise, whistle, support. Of course, stimuli
are given particularly by the performance
of the players. Im experienced enough
to distinguish these things.
What is your target for France?

76

Im not the type of person to be satisfied

with qualification alone. With Koice, we
got into the Champions League group
stage [in 1997], but the team got no
points from Manchester United, Juventus
and Feyenoord. I was not managing the
team at that time. But when I later talked
with the players from that squad, they
subsequently agreed with what I said to
them: You were looking forward to the
matches and you wanted to enjoy them,
but football is not about that. Football is
about something different. I believe that
I will energise the players enough and I
will be able to explain to them that it is
not enough to go and to enjoy the Euros,
but to achieve good results there and
to do everything to make it a successful
tournament. A team that achieves good
results is appreciated more also by its
opponents. Because if someone beats
you, he pats you on the head. But, he
really respects and appreciates you
when you beat him. We are going to
the Euros with the goal of fighting for
the best result. But it is also necessary
to respect our opponents. And they are
strong. We will see.

The Cat Rescuer

The Cat Rescuer

How a fall from a tree set Leonid Slutsky on his way
to the top
By Igor Rabiner

Sir Alex Ferguson didnt shake Leonid

Slutskys hand.
It was the evening of 4 November
2009 and the 38-year-old Russian was
making his first visit to Old Trafford.
Hed changed, conducted the warm-up
and gone back into the dressing-room.
When he emerged again for the match,
Ferguson ignored him.
It wasnt arrogance or rudeness. Ferguson
simply didnt realise that the stoutish figure
in front of him was the manager of CSKA.
Slutsky had been appointed just three days
before the game. In the matches Ferguson
probably watched as preparation, the CSKA
managers were first Zico and then Juande
Ramos. The Spaniard had been in charge
of CSKA two weeks earlier when United
had won 1-0 in Moscow despite fielding a
significantly understrength team.
90 minutes later, Ferguson knew who
Slutsky was. With seven minutes remaining,
CSKA had led 3-1, but United came back
to level with the aid of a deflection off
Georgy Shennikov in injury-time. It was the
first time United had conceded three at
home since the 4-3 win over Real Madrid in
2003, the game that had persuaded Roman
Abramovich to invest in English football.
Slutsky was annoyed not to have won,
but it was a point that would help CSKA

on their way to the quarter-final, the

first time the club had got that far in
the competition and only the second
time, after Spartak in 1995-96, that a
Russian team had reached that stage.
Even getting out of the group was a
remarkable achievement given CSKA had
just four points from four games.
To be honest, Slutsky told me, I had the
feeling that I was watching a movie. That
it wasnt happening to me. That I found
myself in a format that wasnt just 3D but
something like 10D. The Champions League
anthem is sounding, Ferguson is managing
his team a few yards away, [Alan] Dzagoev
opens the scoring No, of course, we
prepared seriously for that game, analysed
the opponent, chose the tactical model. But
I didnt feel a full participant in the game.
I was like a spectator who got in the
middle of the event.
I didnt even catch Fergusons eye
he was looking somewhere else. He
couldnt have known my face and I
wouldnt have run in front of him and
said: Hello, Im your colleague, lets
shake hands! After the game he also
went away immediately. But at that
moment a handshake with Ferguson
was the last thing I thought about. I was
disappointed about how everything had
finished. Nobody knew at that moment
that this point would become golden

77

The Cat Rescuer

as CSKA got through to the knock-out

games of the Champions League
At the end of the game at Old Trafford
there was great pressure from United,
the stands were roaring so wildly, that I
wanted just one thing the game to be
finished as soon as possible. In the past,
when I had worked with other teams, the
excitement sometimes was so high that
I wanted just to close my eyes, then to
open them and to see the final score
regardless of the result! At CSKA I didnt
feel anything like that, but it happened
beforehand. Sometimes there is the fear
that at one moment your nature wont
be able to cope with this level of stress.
Thats why, for example, Johan Cruyff,
having been so successful, quit coaching.
That draw was the first step to two
league titles with CSKA and then
becoming manager of his country a
prospect that, back then, would have
seemed incredible. Nobody before
Slutsky in Russian and Soviet history has
ever been national manager without
having been a professional footballer.
But Slutsky defied the national tradition
and, in so doing, became the first
Russian manager of Russia in nine
years. In August 2015, he replaced Fabio
Capello during what was shaping up to
be a disastrous qualification campaign
for Euro 2016, turning Russia from the
country playing the biggest salary for a
national manager to one of the lowest
payers. Slutsky continues to work for
CSKA, who are paid compensation when
he is away with the national side. He
gets no extras other than a small bonus,
the same as that paid to the players, for
reaching the Euros (Capello would have
got a 1m pay-out for qualifying). When

78

Slutsky took over, Russia trailed Sweden

by four points in the race for second
place in the group behind Austria. He
won four out of four to push the Swedes
down to third and a play-off.
The striker Artem Dzyuba of Zenit St
Petersburg, CSKAs main rivals scored
six goals in those four games, including
the winners against Sweden and
Moldova. Dzyuba had never worked with
Slutsky before and has a reputation for
being difficult to manage, but he warmed
to the new boss instantly. Slutsky turned
the atmosphere 180 degrees, he said.
He radiates positive energy: hes not
just a winner but a very decent man.
And all that is supported by the fact that
he is a professional and super-strong
coach. Leonid Viktorovich was the best
option for the national team, and all the
team fell in love with him and started
respecting him at lightning speed. We
truly believe and trust him. He is Number
One! And regarding me, Im playing
personally for him. He trusted me from
the first day and I never leave that sort of
thing unnoticed. Im just obliged to show
everything and to prove that he didnt
make a mistake. More than anything I hate
to disappoint people who believe in me.
As Dzyubas words suggest, Slutsky is not
just a meticulous tactician but somebody
who sees his greatest strength as being
the relations he fosters with his players.

When Slutsky was 18, he dreamed of

being a professional goalkeeper and even
played a few months in the third division
for Zvezda Gorodishche in his native
Volgograd region when the first-choice
keeper was injured. It was shortly before

Igor Rabiner

the fragmentation of the USSR and Zvezda

played in the ninth zone, which included
the Caucasian republics and central Asia. It
was a region notorious for crowd violence
and match-fixing. In one away game
against Kyapaz Kirovabad from Azerbaijan,
the referee awarded five penalties against
Zvezda. Slutsky saved the first.
Would he have progressed to a higher
level? Nobody knows. One awful and
stupid accident changed everything. His
young female neighbour came to him
in tears and showed him a poplar her
cat had climbed. The cat was stuck and
she wanted him to get it down. Slutsky
suspected the episode would not end
well but for complicated reasons of
manly duty felt he couldnt refuse. He fell
from a height of around three storeys,
shattering his patella, breaking his nose
and incurring concussion.
A whole year I spent lying in a 20-bed
room of a typical Soviet hospital, Slutsky
said. The others were in a much worse
state people with amputated legs, with
fractures of the spine. For three months I
just lay on my back. I couldnt even turn
over. I started walking after six or seven
months. When I started to work on my
leg, the pain was infernal. But when every
day your leg bends a little more, you feel
like the happiest person in the world. And
when you realise that you are able to
walk without crutches, to help other sick
people to a toilet and back... And when
you go from the hospital to the university
with a cane to pass tests...
His leg doesnt bend fully even now.
Nevertheless, he hoped to get back into
football and even played at amateur level
and in a regional championship. But later
everybody who finished the football school

with Leonid, went to Rotor Volgograds

reserve team. Only Slutsky wasnt taken
there. That was when he realised that his
dream of professional football was over.
A few years later I thought that if Id
gone back to repeat that year in the
hospital, it would be better to die than go
through all that once more. When its all
behind you, it seems that it was not so
dangerous. But as soon as you imagine
doing it again no, no, no! No I realise
it was very important for my personal
growth. But back then it was madly hard.

Soon, at the age of 22, Slutsky began to

train eight and nine year olds in the local
academy, Olimpia. He gathered his first
pupils by writing adverts himself and
having his mother post them in the lobbies
of the apartment blocks near his own.
Two years later he was at the Uefa Cup
game between Rotor and Manchester
United that finished 0-0. Slutsky couldnt
go to the second leg at Old Trafford and
the game wasnt even televised in Russia.
Peter Schmeichel scored a last-minute
equaliser to preserve Uniteds unbeaten
home record in Europe, but a 2-2 draw
took Rotor through.
Could he have imagined then, looking
down from the stand at the Tsentralny
Stadium that 14 years later he would draw
3-3 with Alex Ferguson? Or that two of
the kids he brought through at Olimpia,
Denis Kolodin and Roman Adamov, would
be in the squad that Guus Hiddink led to
the semi-finals of Euro 2008?
After becoming a professional and
signing his first serious contract with

79

The Cat Rescuer

Rostov, Adamov gave Slutsky $40,000

towards the cost of an apartment in
Volgograd. Slutskys mother, who had
regarded her sons involvement with an
ironic indulgence, was stunned by the
gesture: it was more than half the price
of a flat.
Many years later, when Slutskys CSKA
finished ahead of a Zenit side including
Hulk and Axel Witsel and an Anzhi team
featuring Willian and Samuel Etoo to
clinch his first league title, he dedicated
it to his mother at the post-game press
conference. I wasnt ready for those
words, Lyudmila Nikolaevna Slutskaya
told me. I couldnt even have suspected
that they could be said. Words dont
always mean a lot but here they did. I
cried quite strongly.
She received dozens of phone calls asking
if shed heard what Leonid had said. When
she recalled that, she said to me, voice
trembling, Tell your parents more that
you love them. That you miss them, that
you miss them. Its nice. Its necessary.
The whole Slutsky family still lives
together in a large six-bedroom
apartment in north-west Moscow in a
luxury complex on the banks of the river
called the Scarlet Sails. After games,
Leonid will sometimes stay up till 5am
with his mother, talking. They are not just
mother and son but best friends.
Her husband Viktor Borisovich, a Jew
from Odessa, was a professional boxer,
and later became a tsehovik an
underground Soviet businessman. He
was 15 years older than Lyudmila and
had a son and daughter from an earlier
marriage. They emigrated to Germany,
and Leonid met his stepbrother Dmitry

80

only in 2010 in Munich. Slutskys 11-yearold son is also called Dmitry, but he
named him without knowing he had a
brother with the same name.
The Slutksy family had a decent life in
Volgograd, living in a two-bedroom,
60m2 apartment in a new block built
in the Brezhnev era. Compared to the
reality for many in the Soviet era, it was
luxury. The apartment seemed perfect
to me, Lyudmila Nikoloaevna told me.
I thought: thats it, here well be all our
life. Lyonia [a diminutive form of Leonid]
will marry here, well all live together
Meanwhile, we had to pay 120 roubles
per month for it. It was a cooperative
apartment translating into todays
language, a 25-year mortgage. But Viktor
could have afforded it, and we had a
good life. We also had an elite Soviet car,
a Volga with a deer on the bonnet
But the good life ended in March 1978.
After suffering lung cancer for six
months, Viktor died.
Lyonia was just six. His mother raised him
alone and never remarried.
Now Slutskys 11-year-old son
Dmitry, who studies at the Cambridge
International School just outside
Moscow, in Skolkovo, says that his dream
is to invent a tablet which saves people
from cancer and Aids. A good dream,
Slutsky says. Dima doesnt care about
football and started to attend his fathers
games only in autumn 2015 because his
friends started to ask him for tickets to
national team games.
Leonid barely remembers his father. He
knows only from his mother that Viktor
was a big fan of Chornomorets Odessa

Igor Rabiner

where Igor Belanov, the Ballon dOr

winner of 1986, who was born in the
city, once played. Odessa was known
as the Soviet capital of jokes and it
seems reasonable that Slutskys famous
humour, his creativity and his talent for
improvisation have their roots in the
Free City, as Odessits like to call their
home. Its no coincidence that Slutsky
is always a welcome guest on comedy
programmes on Russian television.
You could tell a player a serious thing
through a joke, says Slutsky. You want
to make him think about something but
to put it in such a way that it wont annoy
him. For example, once we watched a
Milan v Inter game with Pavel Mamaev
during a training camp and bet $100. He
was for Milan. As soon as Inter scored,
I started to attack him, and did it harder
and harder. I said that he was to blame
for AC Milans loss because his behaviour
didnt deserve to win $100, and if he had
put money on Inter, then they would
have been doomed to failure.
In that way, I got to the point I wanted
to reach. Sometimes, especially when
Pasha didnt get into CSKAs first XI, he
would greet the coaching staff not with a
handshake but with a barely perceptible
nod of the head. If Id started to discuss
this subject seriously, the reaction could
have been much more painful. But here I
expressed my discontent through the joke,
and after that his nods and handshakes
became much more obvious.

Three decades before, in 1978, the sixyear-old Lyonia and his family had little
to do with jokes. They had to find a way
of living without their breadwinner.

Viktor died on March 7, Lyudmila

Nikolaevna recalls. I turned 30 on March
19, Lyonia turned seven on May 4. Could
you imagine how we remained alone in
the cooperative apartment which we had
to pay for? It was very hard to survive,
but we did it.
Lyonia was small. He didnt know and
he didnt have to know that my salary
was 90 roubles a month, and we had
to pay 120 for the mortgage. All the
money we had saved was spent on
Viktors treatment. Our new life started
immediately. We sold the car and the
garage. My mother lived with us, and
we lived on her 30 roubles pension.
My salary, as well as the benefit due to
Lyonia for the loss of breadwinner, all
went to mortgage payments.
When Lyonias needs started to grow
in sixth and seventh grade, I took extra
work. I washed floors in an institution at
night. I tried to make sure nobody knew
about it because by day I was a head of
kindergarten, and here I was a cleaning
woman. I worked there for two years and
earned 70 roubles per month. It was a
big support. Lyonia said later, Everybody
said that our life was hard, but I dont
remember that we ever lacked anything.
He didnt know that I did extra work. I
told him later.
Theres no need to explain further why
Slutsky dedicated his first title in Russia to
his mother.
I had a great childhood, he said. The
Volga River was just 300m from home.
Football, swimming, friends from our
courtyard I guess all kids in the USSR
had a happy childhood at that time. We
didnt have a chance to think that there

81

The Cat Rescuer

are rich and poor people: everybody

was the same. We didnt know that there
are countries where people live better.
When you opened the last page of the
geography textbook, you read there that
the USSR is in first place in all key spheres
say, oil output or steel production. You
believed 100% in all that and there was
no place for doubts that you lived in the
best country in the world.
I understand very well what Slutsky
means. Soviet schools educated children
not to doubt. Once at the age of nine I
found myself in Red Square and when
I saw the Lenin Mausoleum and the
Kremlin Wall I saluted as a Soviet pioneer
and started, to the horror of my dad,
loudly to sing the Soviet anthem. People
laughed and I refused to stop until Id
finished all the words.
It may look strange now but in Leonids
case this style of upbringing gave him
a kind of external happiness that he
needed, being without a father.
Lyudmila was not just the head of a
kindergarten. She had built it herself
and made it the best in the city with a
number of innovations. Its standard
every Volgograd parent wanted their
child to attend it showed a level of
ambition that has passed from mother to
son, as well as her pedagogical instincts.
She graduated from the faculty of
Russian language and literature at
Krasnodar University but never taught
those subjects in a school. She spent all
her linguistic and literature knowledge
on her son, which is the main reason
Slutsky speaks to the media so differently
from most Russian football coaches.
When you listen to his metaphors and

82

comparisons, his quotations from films

and books, thats where it comes from. At
least originally. Now he is a big theatrelover and theres not a good theatre in
Moscow he hasnt visited at least once.
Leonid was a perfect pupil, getting a gold
medal after graduating high school (in
the Soviet Union and Russia all pupils
who get a 5, the highest grade, in every
subject, received gold medals which
enable easier access to colleges and
universities) and then a red diploma (the
same but at bachelors degree level).
Later, already working as a manager in
the Russian Premier League, he got a
masters degree.
Six years ago I asked him if he regards
himself an ambitious person. At the time
he hadnt won a single trophy at senior
level. Yes, Im very ambitious, he replied.
At school, I cried if I got a 4. I wanted to
be the best of the best. When I joined the
Volgograd Institute of Physical Training,
I was the second person in the history
of the college who came to the football
faculty with a gold medal. I couldnt say
that I wanted it so much. I just wanted to
be perfect.
Being a professional educator, I never
educated him, Lyudmila Nikolaevna
told me. I never punished him, never
beat him, never swore at him. He didnt
give me a single reason to do that. Every
subject was pretty easy for Lyonia. He
almost didnt do homework, preferring
to go into the backyard and play football.
He just memorised almost everything in
the school, during lessons.
But it was a huge blow to his mother
when Leonid opted to go into the
football faculty of Physical Training

Igor Rabiner

Institute of Volgograd. She first sent

Lyonia to study as a pianist in a musical
school he lasted two years, and his
reluctance to continue was the first small
sign of his character and later saw her
gifted son as a lawyer or a journalist.
Many years ago, when she and Viktor had
just bought their apartment, it was very
hard to get furniture for it: there was a
shortage of everything for people in the
USSR. So they had to get acquainted with
the bosses of furniture stores to obtain
it in ways that werent official. When the
deals were done, they had to go to the
back entrances of the stores to get the
furniture and ask the loaders for help to
take it home. She had found all these
big men were graduates of the Physical
Training Institute. This information had
lodged in Slutskys mothers memory.
When she learned her son was going to
study there she was horrified. It was the
end of the world, she said. I lay down for
several days. It was a kind of heart attack.
It was Leonids first truly independent
decision. He dreamed about football, not
about law, science or journalism, and even
his mothers tears couldnt destroy the
dream. A Soviet footballer was officially
regarded as an amateur, although in reality
he was a professional. But anyway a man
in the USSR was obliged to work or study
somewhere, otherwise he could have been
arrested and imprisoned for parasitism.
Slutsky was playing as a goalkeeper and
studying at the same time. When he was
a sophomore, he fell from that tree and
spent his year in hospital. His career as a
footballer was over. It was a good luck that
he regained the ability to walk.
But it was a double piece of good luck
that he didnt surrender and learned so

much about patience and hope that year.

It would help him a lot in his coaching life.

With a powerful and rich president (for

junior football) in Nikolay Chuvalsky and
with Slutsky as head coach, Olimpia
became the best junior team in Russia,
winning the all-Russian Youth Football
League twice. Winning a final against a
Dinamo Moscow side led by the former
Soviet champion Yury Kuznetsov was a
huge achievement.
Slutsky still recalls that time as the
happiest in his life, even happier than
winning back-to-back titles with CSKA.
As the boys became teenagers and their
talent became more obvious, Slutsky
persuaded Chuvalsky not to sell players
to other clubs but to take the whole team
to a professional level. They won the top
amateur title with a team of 15-16 year
olds and joined the Russian third division.
What followed was an extraordinary time
in Slutskys life as he went from the joy
of his sides victories to being betrayed
by his closest ally, from the nobility of
Adamov and his gift to a burned out car
and threats from gangsters, from the
worshipping eyes of a couple of dozen
youth players to a punch on a referees
jaw, from living a dream to being trapped
in a pit with seemingly no way out.
Every year all the former Olimpia lads
gather in mid-December and spend
several days together, whether theyre
Adamov, who was top-scorer in the
Russian league in 2007, or players
who can barely get a game in the third
division. Each of them call Lyudmila
Nikolaevna Mam and they all call her

83

The Cat Rescuer

three times a year at New Year, on

her birthday and on March 8, which is
Womens Day in Russia.
My mam was far more stunned by
Adamovs money than I was, said
Slutsky. I have always been
indifferent to the material side of things,
concentrating on my work. But she
was always feeding them, washing their
clothes, and always saying, When they
grow up, they wont say thank you!
Romans gratitude shook her.
I did many things at Olimpia not from a
professional but from a personal point
of view. Otherwise Kolodin and Adamov
would have been sent away. Kolodin was
growing up extremely slowly. Adamov
was sick for a whole year. Today, in the
professional life, I would have expelled
them. What I did with them was an
amateur act. But at the end of the day
exactly those people who should have
been expelled became the best-known
footballers. I regard it as a payback for
my personal attitude at the hardest
period for both of them.
Adamov, who was from Belaya Kalitva
and lived at the Olimpia school, said,
Once I had very high temperature. So,
Lyudmila Nikolaevna, who worked as a
boss of a good kindergarten, took three
days off and treated me all these days,
put on mustard plasters That was the
way Slutskys family treated all of us. His
mam is very, very kind.
Regarding the money for the
apartment There is a personal gratitude.
And an evaluation of the role of the
person in your life, how much energy,
anxiety and everything else he put in you.
And his mam who nursed me

84

I learned years later that the Olimpia

president wanted to get rid of me. He
tried not to hurt our mentality. I know
our president, and I can imagine how
hard it was for him to save us. Expulsion
could have been the biggest tragedy in
life for me and it would have been very
hard to get out of it. Especially at that
age, and at that time, the nineties in
Russia, when a young man could have
gone different ways
Let me decode Adamovs words. The
nineties were the time of Big Crime in
Russia as it became independent and
turned from Communism to a wild
capitalism. Because of the danger of his
boys getting involved with criminal gangs,
Slutsky implemented a tough regime. At
10pm everybody had to be in bed and the
coach was extremely strict about that.
Adamaov admits that a lot of the players
cursed Slutsky for his disciplinarian
approach, but they now name him as the
most important man in their lives. Adamov
even became godfather to Slutskys son
Dmitry. And at Adamovs marriage last
December, Slutsky sang a rap song hed
written himself. It was recorded by one of
the guests and put on YouTube, quickly
becoming a national sensation.
But only those who dont know Slutsky
could have been surprised by the rap.

Olimpia played their first professional

season in the 3rd division in 2000. Very
soon Slutsky was given a brutal lesson
in management. It happened in Saransk,
the same city where 15 years later his
CSKA would win 6-4 after going in 3-0
down at half-time.

Igor Rabiner

It was not first time when our young

team had been killed by referees, Slutsky
said. But that day in Saransk all the worst
things came together. First we conceded
a goal from a kilometre offside. Then
they scored from a penalty kick, and
later the Referees Committee admitted
there was nothing like a penalty, banning
the referee for life. Our players started
to push the ref near the touchline, just
where I was standing. The ref showed
a red card to a player who hadnt even
touched the opponent when the penalty
was given. He stood with the card just a
metre from me.
I had always regarded football as the
height of fairness. With that feeling I
coached Olimpia for many years. So, that
moment I had a feeling as if somebody
was hitting my child cruelly and I,
as a father, didnt choose a method of
defence. I saw how these 17-18-yearold guys who didnt understand what
was going on, were looking at me,
saying with their eyes: Please defend us
somehow! So, I hit him on the jaw with
my right hand. I understand that it was
awful. To hit a referee is not the most
effective way to change the world.
The eyebrow of the referee, Nikolay
Pavlov from Cheboksary, bled severely
(suggesting he missed the jaw). Nobody
would have suspected that Slutsky never
fought in his childhood but he had the
genes of a professional boxer.
He was suspended for half a year and he
still thanks the well-known referee Alexei
Spirin who officiated at the World
Cup in 1986 and at Euro 92 who, as a
representative of the referees committee,
didnt agree to the proposal to give
Slutsky a life ban.

Actually he continued to work with

Olimpia, sitting in the stands during
games. But then came an unexpected
blow. At the end of the season
Chuvalsky told me I was fired as a head
coach, Slutsky said. He didnt explain
the reasons but I understood them. It
happened because theyd made big
profits from player sales and it was wrong
not to pay me anything. At the end of the
day I got nothing, despite the fact that
they made US$1m from player sales and
at that time it was very big money.
I think, if he hadnt fired me, I could
still have been working there even now.
Because Im a very grateful and affectionate
person. If somewhere was nice and
comfortable for me, if people made
something good for me and Chuvalsky,
to be fair to him, did that I would be ready
to work there for my whole life.
Chuvalsky is a unique man. Today my
relationship with him is very good, but
there was a situation. We already played
in the third division and he started to give
apartments to the players. He called me and
said: I wanted to give you an apartment.
But Lyudmila Nikolaevna called me
We really communicated pretty closely.
We spent all birthdays and other holidays
together. Me and mam, him and his
wife. So, according to his version, my
mam told him: Nikolay Nikolaevich,
Lyonia is my only kid. If you give him an
apartment, hell go away from me. And I
can not live alone! Thats why I decided
to show respect to her and wont give
you an apartment.
Im certain he invented this story from
the beginning to the end. It was totally
impossible for my mam, who worked

85

The Cat Rescuer

all her life for that apartment, to refuse

one. Moreover, she had always been
sure that I was doing rubbish and that
our mutual work would never pay any
financial dividends, that wed spend all
our life in our apartment. So, to refuse
that new apartment, she would have had
to have been tortured by the most brutal
fascists. And anyway they wouldnt have
a chance.
Firing me, Chuvalsky gave a push to my
career. I understand it now, but at the
time it was awfully painful. It was a real
tragedy for me. You could ask my mam.
Chuvalsky, disagrees with Slutskys
explanation of his dismissal but
nevertheless admits, Say, for Adamov
I should have paid Leonid Viktorovich
about $10,000. But there was one
thought to save our football club. We
had got a loan and if we didnt pay for it,
the club would have been bankrupt. It
was necessary to ease the pressure.
Slutsky was replaced with his assistant
and previously his best friend, Sergey
Popkov, who is the only person now with
whom Slutsky, his mother says, wouldnt
shake hands. Lyudmila Nikolaevna,
Adamov and some more people from
Leonids close circle refuse even to
say his name. Leonid speaks his name
readily, and now there is a feeling that he
personally could be ready to talk to him.
I would be not surprised after learning
the most shocking story, the story about
Slutsky and Chuvalsky.

After being fired Slutsky went to the

middle of nowhere the village of

86

Poltavskaya in Krasnodar region. This

small page of the Russia managers
career is almost completely unknown.
He brought there a group of his
Olimpia players who remained without
professional contracts.
Viktor Gorlov, the president of the Youth
Football League, who was and is friends
both with Slutsky and Chuvalsky and so
can be regarded as an objective witness,
is on Slutskys side. In the hardest
situation Lyonia didnt abandon the kids
whom Olimpia didnt need, he said.
He returned some of them into football
and some of them even into the second
division. He couldnt get anyone who had
a contract at Olimpia. At the time he had
some old foreign car and it was burned
in some strange circumstances. It was
that kind of time.
As soon as I started to look into what
those strange circumstances might
be, some interesting details appeared.
Slutsky and his relatives and friends came
to the conclusion that it was done by
Chuvalsky, who was deputy speaker of
the Volgograd parliament at the time. It
appeared impossible to prove, although
Lyudmila Nikolaevna made a claim to the
prosecutors office.
Lyudmila Slutskaya told me, It was a
small old BMW. That time I went to the
drivers school, thinking: Soon Ill learn
and will drive this car, while Leonid will
buy something else. Finally he bought a
Zhiguli model six.
Everything started from the moment
when Lyonia brought some of the
unwanted players of Olimpia to
Poltavskaya. How did he dare, who was
he? Not only the car was burned. Also

Igor Rabiner

there were bandits, threats It was a

knife into the back.
But somehow we sorted it out. More
precisely, I did. I went directly to that
man and said, I know, this is you. Dont
say no. I know everything. If anything
else happens, I have nothing to lose
in my life. There was nothing more.
Everything finished.
We went to the milicia, to the
prosecutors. But it was useless. I was
told, We know everything but cant do
anything. But we overcame it.
Slutsky himself mentions an important
detail, after which the heroism of his
mother becomes even more vivid.
Obviously years heal wounds he
almost laughs when I speak about
the burned car. Yes, it happened. My
mam was the person who resolved the
problem. She came to Chuvalsky and
threw the keys of our apartment to his
table. And she said: Why would you burn
a car? Here are the keys, you can get in
and take everything you want. And Id
like to point out: I took those footballers
whom Olimpia didnt need. But Nikolay
Nikolaevich decided that all of them
were his property and even those who
were without contracts should live and
die there. But I felt for them and their
futures too much to abandon them.
Chuvalsky looked at it as though I
stole them. Naturally, nobody else
did. Contracts at Olimpia at that time
were signed for one year. They expired
and nobody planned to extend them,
and I took them away absolutely
legally. But, as he saw it, I deprived
him of some potential income and he
decided to punish me. My mam went

to the prosecutors office, tried to do

something. I was already in Poltavskaya
at the time and didnt get into the
process deeply. Now I regard it very
calmly. Meanwhile, did you ask Nikolay
Nikolaevich a question about the car?
Of course, I did. And here was the reply:
Its lunacy, I promise you! Chuvalsky
exclaimed. We looked for a year and
a half who could have done that. Of
course, there were accusations that it
was done by us. But it was a coincidence.
We had a conflict with Leonid exactly at
that time. At the time I was the deputy
chairman of Volgograd city council.
Where was he and where was I? I think it
was just a matter that some freak came
to a street and did it. Many cars were
burned then.
But the most amazing thing is that
Slutsky and Chuvalsky started to
communicate again. I asked Leonid
how it was possible. The reply says a lot
about his personality. I couldnt believe
it myself, he said. Maybe my brain is
built such a way that I try to remember
only good things. Today Chuvalsky for
me is the man who gave me my first job.
The man who was a founder of Olimpia,
and without whom it would have been
absolutely impossible to do anything
there. The man who helped me to live
the best years of my life.
Slutskys mother seems fairly critical of
her sons communication with Chuvalsky.
Nikolay Nikolaevich is the kind of man
who never regards himself as being in
the wrong, she said. He just doesnt
think that he did something bad to you.
So it wasnt any problem for him to make
a call. And Leonid is not resentful. He
wont say, Thats it, I dont speak to this

87

The Cat Rescuer

person any more. I would play this role

better. Lyonia can forgive people. I dont.
He calls, you answer. He asks for tickets for
the games, you give them. Once he invited
Lyonia to his holiday camp to rest. At the
end of the day 15 years passed since those
events. But from my side it will be never
such a relationship as it was before.
Olimpia still exists but is just an average
football school in Volgograd and doesnt
play at a professional level any more.
Chuvalsky himself admits that he hasnt
had such a passion for football since
Slutskys times. He hasnt visited a single
youth football game since.
More generally, there is no serious football
in Volgograd now. At the time of Slutskys
success at Olimpia, the main team of the
region, Rotor, was a consistent contender
for the Russian title and knocked
Manchester United out of the Uefa Cup.
Now Rotor have lost their professional
status and no one has replaced them. The
same is true of junior football.
I have a dream to organise a serious
football school in Volgograd, Slutsky
says. But, naturally, there is absolutely
no time or opportunity to convert this
dream into reality. So far these thoughts
have the format: It could be great to
Nothing deeper. I assume that at some
point I will decide to work on this idea
more seriously.

Many years passed. Slutsky went step by

step. Taking over the completely new
Uralan Elista B team (which appeared
only because the A team was promoted
to the top division), he achieved fourth
and second places in the Premier

88

League reserve league. Then there

was the FK Moscow B team and the
champions title in the same tournament.
Yury Belous, the extravagant and risktaking general manager of FK Moscow,
unexpectedly replaced the experienced
manager Valery Petrakov with Slutsky in
the summer of 2005. Since then Slutsky
has been working as a manager in the
Russian Premier League.
He set a record for the defunct FK
Moscow with fourth place and the
Russian Cup final in 2007, before being
suddenly fired by Belous as soon as the
season was over. He spent two seasons
with Krylia Sovetov from Samara and
finally, in October 2009, the 38 year old
was appointed by CSKA. He has worked
there since and is the third-longest
serving top-flight manager in Europe.
Slutsky won the Russian title in 2013, 2014
and 2016, despite CSKA being far from
the wealthiest side, and has also won two
Russian Cups and two Super Cups. Plus,
there was that Champions League quarterfinal in 2009-10. After the 3-3 draw at Old
Trafford, Slutskys side beat Wolfsburg and
Beikta to get out of the group and then
saw off Sevilla in the last 16 to set up a
quarter-final against Internazionale.
He was welcomed to Milan in a
characteristically Jos Mourinho way.
We arrived in Milan two days before
the game, Slutsky recalled. According
to the rules we could train on the pitch
of the San Siro (to my amazement, the
visitors dressing-room there appeared
worse than at any stadium in the Russian
Premier League) only on the last day
before the game and we looked for a
long time for a place to work the day
before. Although Milan is a big and a

Igor Rabiner

football city, there was a big problem

with pitches there. In the end, Inter
agreed to give us one of the pitches at
their country training base.
After a difficult flight we drove there for
50 minutes. The team started to whine:
Why are we going to the middle of
nowhere? Was there really not a pitch
closer? So, they got to the training
session with this negative mood. At that
moment a representative of Inter came
towards us with three bottles of wine
signed Mourinho. He approached us
with the words: Its a present from Jos
and gave the package to me in front of
all these displeased players.

reason for the nickname was that Slutsky

had never played at professional level.
Reacting to that, Mourinho said, Since
you havent played, you had more time
to study! Players who played at the top
level dont have time and sometimes
dont have enough brain for that.
Mourinho also said, I hope hell have a
fantastic career. I dont know if he was
sincere, but his blessing has worked, at
least in terms of Russian football. In the
same conversation, Mourinho told us he
dreamed of going back to Chelsea.

And it started: OK, now its clear why we

travelled so long to get here the manager
wanted his present from Mourinho!
Immediately everything switched around
and the training was great. But the
present was a surprise for me: in my
communications with him, I wouldnt have
said he was an open person.

The first meeting between Mourinho and

Slutsky was engineered by Belous at a
time when many managers and pundits
were sceptical of Slutsky because of his
lack of a playing career. In 2005, Belous
explained, I was in Madrid at some
negotiations and Jorge Mendes suddenly
said, Do you want to meet Mourinho?
And Jos was in the middle of his glory,
being very close to the first league title
for Chelsea in 50 years.

Once I participated in a conversation

between Slutsky and Mourinho. It
happened at the same training ground
outside Milan. Slutsky was not at CSKA
but at Krylia Sovetov, the provincial team
from Samara. The two clubs signed a
contract of cooperation and Slutsky
along with the club management arrived
in Milan. I covered it along with my TV
colleague and we spoke with Mourinho
for about 20 minutes. Slutsky joined in
the conversation.

I recalled that in the upcoming

November Roman Abramovich was
arranging a trip for all Russian managers
to introduce them to Mourinho. And I
thought that Leonid Viktorovich, whom
I just had appointed, at that time was
the odd one out, but it would be very
important for his self-image. Mourinho
was his idol. He also had no playing
past, but went all the way and worked
with Abramovich at Chelsea. OK, I told
Mendes. But Ill come with the manager.

At that time, Slutsky was nicknamed

the Russian Mourinho, a tag invented
by Yury Belous, although in terms of
personality Slutsky is much more like
Guus Hiddink and Carlo Ancelotti. The

Then I called the club [FK Moscow]

and said, Send Slutsky to London in
three days. For him it was something
extraordinary! He had just become a
manager and because of me, when he

89

The Cat Rescuer

beat Spartak in his first game, the phrase,

Here is our Mourinho! was spoken on
every corner. I created it right as I was
being interviewed and it worked 100%!
So, we arrived in London, were
introduced to Jos, then drank coffee
and talked for about 40 minutes. Leonid
Viktorovich asked questions, Mourinho
replied. Then we took some photos and
he presented us with shorts on which
was written Mourinho, No 1.
In November the group of Russian
managers visited London, and the
outcome was very important for me.
Vladimir Shevchuk [a former assistant of
Valery Gazzaev at CSKA and manager of
Saturn] said, What was that? We came
to London, stood in a line, Mourinho
appeared in a bathrobe and slippers.
He saw Lyonia and threw himself on
his neck: Leo! And thats it. All other
communication was with an assistant
coach. What the fuck? We went to
London to stand in a line and see
Mourinho throwing himself on the neck
of Lyonia Slutsky?
Of course, I was very happy. That was
exactly the result I was looking for. But,
surely, the group of coaches didnt
look at him differently because of that.
They found out how interesting it is to
talk to Slutsky about football. If we take
away the swagger of those coaches
or ex-footballers who literally dont
know about the coaching profession
and simply envy Slutsky, then Leonid is
respected now by almost everybody,
including the old masters.
Nevertheless, Belous sacked Slutsky,
explaining that it was not his decision
but that of the FK Moscow owner, the

90

billionaire, current owner of New Jersey

Nets in the NBA and former candidate
in Russian presidential elections,
Mikhail Prokhorov. As Belous told me,
Prokhorov said, Well fire Slutsky. He
doesnt have balls and I want a manager
with balls. [Oleh] Blokhin [who replaced
Slutsky without any success] had a
head full of balls. But it was very hard
for footballers to see and work every
day with this kind of man. Especially in
contrast with the intelligence of Slutsky.
It was obviously a mistake.
That dismissal also appeared to
benefit Slutsky. Within two years he
had started working for CSKA and FK
Moscow collapsed.

Last year Slutsky said that one day he

wants to work abroad, perhaps not
even not at the top level but in the
Championship. Many people say that
one day Chelsea could become an
option because the manager has had
close relations with Roman Abramovich
for a number of years. I asked Slutsky
if its true. Yes, he replied. German
Tkachenko [a Russian football manager
and Abramovichs friend] introduced us,
and then it went its own way. I couldnt
say that lately we are communicating
often. But if necessary, I can call him, or
vice versa. We have a good relationship,
but it would be exaggeration that to
say that its friendship. When I asked
if its true that Abramovich has been
taking his advice about players, Slutsky
answered, If Chelsea are interested
in a player whose path weve crossed
somehow for example, CSKA played
against him in the Champions League
then yes.

Igor Rabiner

Tkachenko gave me more details. Its

not a rumour that Chelsea wanted
Slutsky, he said. It was several years
ago, when the London side planned
to sign a contract with Guus Hiddink
as a full-time, not an interim manager.
Chelsea wanted Slutsky to be an assistant
to Guus, to get used to England and its
football, to improve his language skills.
I remember how we sat once with Leo
and Roman, and all three complained
about our problems at Chelsea, CSKA
and Anzhi [Tkachenko was a member
of board and put together its glittering
squad in the days when Hiddink was
the manager and Roberto Carlos and
Etoo played for them]. It was in the
winter of 2012. It was a very deep talk.
Roman Arkadievich thinks very positively
about Slutsky. Sometimes he has called
him, taken advice about some players.
Abramovich is a phenomenal person;
its interesting to talk to him about
everything. And he judged the extent of
Leos personality.
I consider Slutsky as a world-class
manager. Knowing that, Ive introduced
him to some strong people in the
football world, including Roman. To
prove his level, Leo just has to overcome
the language barrier because in his
style a lot depends on communication,
on explanations. He is a very detailed
person, very systematic but he has to
deliver these details and his system. And
the language becomes the key point.
Evgeny Giner, the CSKA president, is sure
language is not a problem. Can Slutsky
learn the language? he asked. Im sure,
yes. He graduated from high school with
a gold medal, he graduated from the
institute with a red diploma. It means he

is a person who is easily taught and has

the will to study.
If there is a need, in Holland and
Switzerland there are courses of deep
immersion. In ten days to two weeks
people already give interviews in a
language. So why not?
Regarding perspective of Leonid
Viktorovich to work with European top
clubs overall, I have a philosophy: Never
say never. Its normal that they have met
and have communicated with Roman
Arkadievich. We never discussed Slutsky
with Abramovich. Slutsky is a strong
manager. But if he could work in one of
the top clubs of the continent, it depends
only on him. Not all people who move
overseas adapt to that life. Only time can
be the judge.
Slutsky could have gone from CSKA in
2012, after they finished third and failed
to qualify for the Champions League. He
even wrote to Evgeny Giner outlining his
desire to leave the team, but the patient
Giner didnt accept it and persuaded
the manager to stay. Slutsky was so
impressed with his reaction that he said
later, After what I heard there, it would
have been a betrayal not to stay. In
the following two seasons CSKA were
Russian champions and in 2013 even did
the treble, winning the Russian league,
the Cup and the Super Cup.

Several months after he reached the

Champions League quarter-final I asked
Slutsky at what moment hed felt he
was ready to work with a top club in
Russia. His answer was, I dont have
that feeling yet.

91

The Cat Rescuer

Not even after the Champions League

quarter-final?
Not even after that. Ive never had high
self-esteem. I guess I always regarded
myself rather critically. Nevertheless, the
first Champions League game gave me the
feeling of unbelievable inner comfort. Its
a great happiness for a coach. It turns out
Im in the profession not without reason.
The future proved it was not without
reason. Slutsky still sways on the bench
like a pendulum, as he did before he
had won any trophies. But now he is
the greatest authority among Russian
coaches by far. And all respected
coaches of the older generation, men
like Oleg Romantsev, Valery Gazzaev and
Yury Semin support him.
I asked him in 2010 if he had any
desire to be Russia national manager.
Certainly, he answered. I think that
the highest level in our profession is to
coach your national team. But, first of
all, I feel so comfortable now that I want
the current situation [being the manager
of CSKA] to last as long as possible.
Secondly, Im far from the level as a
coach that would allow me to manage
the national team.
What do you have to achieve to consider
yourself ready for this job?
Titles. In youth football, in reserve teams,
I had a lot of titles. But I want to get them
at the level of the Russian Premier League
and international tournaments. But if
winning these titles mean hard relations
with players then, possibly, I wouldnt
make a choice in favour of titles. This
relationship is the biggest factor for me.
Maybe it will make me a man without

92

titles, but I hope thats not the case.

My work at CSKA will provide answers
because at FK Moscow and Krylia
Sovetov it was very hard to win titles.
His work at CSKA offered a clear picture
of Slutskys abilities. Slutsky kept to his
philosophy. He is still a players favourite,
as the Swedish midfielder Pontus
Wernbloom recently pointed out in an
interview with ifa.com. And he has won
enough titles to be regarded as the
number one manager in Russia.
Finally he got what he dreamed of:
the position of Russia national team
manager. After his first game in charge
of Russia, the decisive 1-0 win against
Sweden, he equated his feelings during
it with his first game in charge of CSKA,
against Manchester United.
Relations between Capello and Slutsky
have been very good, and even Leonid
described the huge gulf between their
salaries as right and honest. They have
met and had long dinners several times,
speaking in detail about the profession.
Slutsky still wants to learn. He enjoys
reading about football. Sir Alex
Fergusons autobiography is one of his
favourite books: he often quotes from it
in interviews and at press conferences.
If I mention that sometimes Leonid
even reads poems at press conferences,
quoting Ferguson shouldnt come as a
surprise at all.
Slutsky also has very good relations with
Avram Grant and some other foreign
managers. After speaking for a long time
to Slutsky in 2010, when he didnt have a
single senior trophy, Grant told me, This
guy will become one of the greatest

Igor Rabiner

Russian coaches ever. He knows and

understands a lot about football.

But after Euro 2016 Slutsky, CSKA and

the Russian Football Union will have to
decide. In our December interview the
manager dismissed the possibility that
hell continue doing both jobs at the
same time. The RFU president Vitaly
Mutko also said that the national team
will have its own manager after the
Euros. But in Russia sometimes things
change quickly.
The Russian football media wants him
to remain national manager more than
anything else. After the nightmare of
Capello with his strict rules, now theres
a smell of freedom. And what Slutsky did
himself after the qualification game in
Moldova was far beyond what he needed
to do. The game finished at 11.35pm
local time. It was a tense 2-1 win and the
press conference happened at around
midnight. After it finished, four other
journalists and I approached Slutsky with
a request for a 10-15 minute interview in
the team hotel one hour later. He agreed.
With writing our pieces and having to

travel 30 minutes to the hotel, we were

late, arriving at about 1.20am. But he
was still available for the conversation,
explaining all the details of the game
and his decisions, despite looking
extremely tired.
Its one of many, many reasons why the
open and sincere Slutsky is going to
be highly supported by Russian media
and public during Euro 2016. At the
World Cup in 2014 in Brazil Capello did
everything possible and even more to be
murdered by the media, which happened
as soon as the team didnt get out of the
one of the weakest groups. The squad
is still average and doesnt offer Slutsky
much of an opportunity. If Russia arent
embarrassed in France, that should be
enough for Slutsky to carry on until the
2018 World Cup. Nobody deserves to
guide the national team to the most
important football tournament in Russian
history more than the former youth
coach from Volgograd.
All the quotes in this story are taken
from Igor Rabiners new book Leonid
Slutsky: the Coach from Next Door,
which was published in Russia by
EKSMO in May 2016.

93

94

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The Hosts

Something very special has

happened between him and us,
from the very first day.

96

The Burial of the Exotic

The Burial of the Exotic

Andr-Pierre Gignac plays in Mexico but could be Frances
key striker at the European Championship
By Philippe Auclair

Footballers come in many shapes and

sizes; dwarves, elves and orcs. Then
there is Andr-Pierre Gignac, who
belongs to a previously unknown
species of which its difficult to think
another specimen can be found. Hes
huge, but not a giant a la Jan Koller,
Stefan Maierhofer or Nikola igi. With
a weight which oscillates (and visibly
so) between 84 and 90 kilos, a career
in professional football should have
been beyond him. He was, he is, too big
and, lets be frank, too fat, something
which fans never tired of reminding
him of in Ligue 1, including those of his
own clubs, despite the almost universal
affection in which hes held at all of
them. Dd, you see, is fond of the good
things in life, eating in particular.
Its safe to presume that theres no
NutriBullet in the Gignac home in
Monterrey; but youll probably find
the Mexican version of chorizo in his
cupboards, as well as a few imported

delicacies such as the Southern French

charcuteries Gignac loved to nibble after
training while his teammates lay down
for the customary siesta1 . Olympique
de Marseille, whom he joined in 2010
from Toulouse for a surprisingly high
transfer fee2, were concerned enough
to send their centre-forward to the
famous Merano health farm, a favourite
of Zinedine Zidane, Arsne Wenger and
Johnny Halliday. It didnt work out as
hoped; on his return, Gignac swore hed
changed his habits and cut down on
the daily slices of saucisson, but scored
a single goal in the 21 league games
he played in the ensuing season (201112). Perhaps the Montpellier chairman
Loulou Nicollin, whose own personal
circumference defies calculation, was
right when he said: Ive no idea what
Gignac was doing there. Merano is hell.
For dinner, they give you a couple of
carrots under a silver bell, because its
so expensive. Carlos Valderrama went
there and was as thick as a piece of string

Dd is not the only footballing Gignac known for his colossal appetite. His younger brother

and doppelgnger Alexis, now a striker with toile Sportive Fossenne (the amateur club of
Fos-sur-mer, which plays in the Division dHonneur, the sixth level of the French football pyramid),
got up to 118kgs (18 and a half stones) before realising that his weight might be something of an
impediment in his chosen career.
2

Between 16m and 18m, not including various shady commissions which are the subject

of a police investigation in France at the moment. Gignac himself is not suspected of any
misdemeanour whatsoever.

97

The Burial of the Exotic

Marseille perhaps neednt have been

that concerned about Gignacs lifestyle.
Hes a proper club player, Nicollin had
also said in the same interview. Give him
a club he loves, and, believe me, hes
going to score a few. And Gignac loved
OM3, with whom his goal-scoring record
improved year after year, ending with 21
in 37 matches in his last season at the
club. Marcelo Bielsa was the Phocens
manager then and that as demanding a
coach as the Argentinian included the
overweight striker in every OM league
game but one in 2014-15 should suffice
to show that Gignac was no dilettante
where and when it mattered, even if he
sometimes looked like an aberration. But
thats quite enough about Dds diet
and bulk. There is far more to this player
than XXL jerseys.

young Andr-Pierre lived the traditional

life of travellers, working on the family
stall in village markets. The older Gignac
fights what homesickness he might feel
in Monterrey by listening to gypsy songs
on his way to La Cueva, the Cave, north
of the capital of Nuevo Lon, where
he trains with his teammates at Tigres
UANL. It is hard to describe, his father
Grald answers when asked about the
gypsyness of his son. I can feel it in
his behaviour, his attitude. Its pride and
reluctance to make much about your
worries in public. There is much to be
proud of, for the father as well as for the
son, for the players family as well for all
of the French gitan community. AndrPierres cousin Jacques Abardonado,
known as Pancho, was the first French
Gypsy to become a football professional
in the top division, with Olympique de
Marseille4; another relative, Yohan Mollo,
now with Krylia Sovetov in the Russian
Premier League, was the second, with
Saint-tienne; but Dd is the only one
to have played for France.

His background, to start with. The

England rugby union prop Joe Marler
called Welsh forward Samson Lee gypsy
boy and was fined 20,000 by the RFU
earlier this year. Gignac wouldnt have
reported the insult. Hed have taken it
as a compliment. A Gypsy he is, at least
through his mother Corinne, and would
never use more politically correct terms
than gitan when talking about a heritage
he shares with Andrea Pirlo, Hristo
Stoichkov and Gheorghe Hagi. The

The first call came in the spring of 2009,

when Gignacs hammer of a right foot
had taken him to the top of Ligue 1s goal
scoring charts, where he would remain
until the end of the season. Johan
Elmander had left for Bolton Wanderers
at the beginning of the campaign and
Toulouse FC had gambled on the 23
year old to lead their attack despite a
mediocre return of two goals in twentynine games in the previous season. No
one thought of him as an international-

when we got him back. His translator,

Nstor Combin, thought theyd sent us
his brother Carlos couldnt move at all.
When I came back myself, I couldnt get
a hard-on.

He still does, setting his alarm clock to watch OM when theyre scheduled to play an early kick-off.

Brittany-born Pierre-Yves Andr, of Sporting Club de Bastia (and of Bolton for a handful of games

in 2003) is sometimes described as a gypsy footballer in France, as is ric Cantona. In neither case is
there tangible proof of the veracity of this claim.

98

Philippe Auclair

to-be at the time; Lorient, where hed

signed his first pro contract after coming
through the ranks of the clubs academy,
had even shipped him to an amateur
club, Pau, for most of the 2005-06
season. The best Gignac could hope for, it
was believed, was a moderate career in an
average club. He had no left foot to speak
of, unless it was to deride it. As to his
physique, weve already dealt with that;
that he could cut it in the top division was
enough of an achievement in itself.
Gignacs explosion in his second season
at Toulouse5 was, therefore, a surprise
to all but the most fervent members of
his appreciation society. That such a
supposedly one-dimensional striker could
thrive in a team that had just escaped
from relegation and be called to wear
the blue jersey as a result was beyond
most peoples comprehension. Gignac
didnt disappoint, however. Without the
three goals he scored in Frances two
games against the Faroe Islands it is not at
all certain that Domenechs team would
have qualified for the 2010 World Cup.
Still, he was still seen as a last resort, a
willing performer you could rely on (but
only to an extent) when the top names
were unavailable; Karim Benzema, for
example. But the very idea that Dd, not
Karim, could start Euro 2016 as a member
of Deschampss eleven wouldnt have
crossed anybodys mind then and troubles
many today. The doubters might have to
revise their opinion.

Outside La Cueva stands a solitary fan

wearing a replica of Gignacs French
shirt. Hes a god to us, he tells the
France Football reporter whos been
chasing the striker for an interview for
several months now. Gignac himself
will not appear not yet. Its not that
LigaMXs Footballer of the Year is playing
hard to get for the sake of it. He does
live in a luxury compound, in the wealthy
city of San Pedro, but he regularly meets
up with the Tigres fans, almost none
of whom could hope to get past the
security guards who patrol the area. Hes
been spotted buying skateboards for his
children at the Mercado Fundadores,
a covered market which is a haunt for
a variety of Monterrey urban tribes,
death metal fans, would-be rastas, drug
pushers. The shop where he stopped
Paranoa has now become a shrine to
the man they call el bomboro6.
The ultras of the UANL barra Libres y Lokos
have become used to his visits at their HQ,
which is also situated in the Fundadores.
One of the barras leaders, Sam Reyes, had
the surprise of seeing Gignac step out on
the malls parking lot to take part in a charity
tournament the barra had organised to raise
funds for drug addicts. Hed been invited as
a guest of honour, but insisted on playing,
scoring a highly symbolic goal. This was
not a PR exercise, but another illustration
of the unique bond the player established

Twenty-four goals and four assists in the league, having played all of TFCs thirty-eight games in

that competition.
6

Bomboro does not mean bomber or bombardier. Gignacs nickname refers to the nonsensical

title of a (wonderful) salsa-flavoured hit song by the Mexican band Sonora Santanera, Bomboro
quia quia, which has been updated to Bomboro Gignac Gignac. The first G in Gignac, which is
soft in French, is pronounced as G in Gattuso in this instance.

99

The Burial of the Exotic

with the fans as soon as he set foot on

Mexican soil and which hes nurtured ever
since, not just by finishing as the clubs
top goalscorer in their league-winning
season, but also by adopting the Libres y
Lokos trademark sign, fingers spread to
make a double L shape. This is how he
celebrated his goal in Frances 2-0 win
over Germany in November of last year.
Not even a player whod come from
the clubs academy wouldve thought of
that, says Jonathan Llanes, the barras
figurehead. Something very special has
happened between him and us, from the
very first day. No doubt it was so, but that
it ever had a chance to happen at all defied
common sense to start with.

Back at the beginning of June 2015, as

Gignacs contract with OM had only a
couple of weeks to run, nobody had the
least idea that the 29 year old might cross
the Atlantic to pursue his career and
whats more, for LigaMX, not MLS, which
has at least a measure of recognition in
France since Youri Djorkaeff and Thierry
Henry had chosen to taste the high life in
New York City. But Monterrey? Check the
US Department of States latest security
report on Mexicos third-largest city; it isnt
pretty. Homicide rate: high. Rate of drugsrelated crimes: high. Kidnappings: frequent,
numbers rising. That report concluded:
Due to drug-related violence associated
to Transnational Criminal Organizations
(TCO), U.S. government personnel are not
permitted to drive between Monterrey and
the US border. Just stay away, folks!

Its not that Gignac wanted for proposals.

He was at the peak of his career, he was
free, hed scored more goals in Ligue
1 than Zlatan Ibrahimovi and Edinson
Cavani over the previous twelve months.
He was back in the French team, and
scoring, after having endured a five-year
goal drought with Les Bleus. Internazionale
were interested and so too were, and in a
big way, Olympique Lyonnais. It was still
being reported on 15 June 2015, three
days before Tigres announced theyd
got their man, that the Saudi champions
Al-Nasr had offered him a kings ransom,
guaranteeing a tax-free 4.5m salary
per year over three seasons, plus a
considerable signing-on fee. West Ham
and Sunderland were also rumoured to
have had a sniff. Then, bang, it was Mexico.
Some columnists predicted that Gignac
would never be called to the France
national team again, as hed clearly chosen
to bury himself alive in a league that most
French football fans didnt even know
existed. Gignac was accused of many
things: laziness, lack of ambition, greed
charges which have more than a faint hint
of the absurd today.
Laziness. Not a word used by the L&Ls
when they talk about their hero, who has
scored 33 goals in 48 games in his first
Mexican season. Lack of ambition. Gignac
has been crowned a national champion
for the first time in his career. Tigres have
reached the final of the Copa Libertadores,
having seen off Internacional in the semis
(when Gignac scored); no French player
had ever gone as far in Conmebols
premier competition7. They also played

David Trzguet was the first French footballer to score in a Copa Libertadores game with a double

for Newells Old Boys against Nacional of Montevideo (4-2) on 26 March 2014. Newells Old Boys
were still eliminated in the group stage of the competition.

100

Philippe Auclair

in the final of the Concacaf Champions

League, which they lost to Club Amrica,
but not without another goal by el
bomboro. Greed. Ha, greed.
It is true that Gignac has listened to the
song of money in the past albeit on
one occasion only. That was almost 10
years ago, when a decent season with
Lorient had encouraged Lille to offer
him 40k per month, a proposal to
which hed given his verbal agreement.
Lille, bizarrely, went completely silent
after this and Toulouse entered the fray,
putting twice as much money on the
table. Gignac came back on his word and
signed in favour of the Southern club.
That hardly constitutes a capital crime,
but the culprit never forgave himself. Id
made them a promise, he said several
years later. I didnt keep it. I swear, I am
not a mercenary. But I had just had my
first child. [Lilles manager] Claude Puel
never called me. Their plan of building
a new stadium was stalling but I really
regretted my decision.
Such a man would not have sacrificed his
future with the national team for money
alone; in fact, contrary to rumours of a
fantastically generous deal with Tigres
whose owners have very deep pockets, it
is true8 Gignac earns far less than what
he would have commanded in Serie A,
the Premier League, at Al-Nasr or in
Ligue 1. His pay is 1m per year after tax,
which works out at slightly over 19,000
a week. Even accounting for significant
bonuses, this is far less than what Lyon,

for example, would have had to pay him

had their repeated approaches been
successful. They were not, something
that their chairman Jean-Michel Aulas has
never been able to accept, to judge by a
bizarre tweet he wrote in April of this year,
after seeing his young team beat Toulouse
3-2 away from home. If his message
almost defies translation9, its meaning
was clear to Gignac. What a game from
our OL! Aulas said. I am convinced
that the France national team cannot do
without our Lyonnais. Theyre better than
the exotics (sic). Take the final s off.
There was only one exotique that Aulas
had in mind the player hed courted
so assiduously over the last few months
of the 2014-15 season that Gignac
called this courtship bullying. When
he couldnt get through to my agent, he
recalled when France Football finally got
him to talk in May, he was sending me
text messages which read like novels.
I have to reassure him, lexotique
went on. Mexico is a great football
country, perhaps more powerful, more
competitive than France. The LigaMX
has nothing to be jealous of compared
to Ligue 1. These words caused some
merriment in France, where Aulas, for all
his remarkable qualities, is used to have
his own way a bit too often to be an
object of unanimous esteem. Gignac,
in any case, had more important
things to say than settling accounts
with his jilted suitor. To him, choosing
Mexico, choosing Monterrey, choosing
Tigres had not been gambles or

Tigres majority shareholder is a Mexican multinational company, CEMEX S.A.B. de C.V, which

makes material for construction and whose revenue was US$15.7bn in 2014.
9

It reads thus in the original French: quel match de notre OL je suis convaincu que l'EDF n peut

pas se passer d nos lyonnais :c mieux que ls exotiques.

101

The Burial of the Exotic

challenges. It was only a challenge

for those who criticised my choice, he
says. To me, it is the most wonderful
human and sporting experience of my
life, in personal and collective terms,
something I could only have known in
Europe if I had played for Real [Madrid],
Bara or Bayern. People are kind here,
respectful and helpful. I am lucky to live
in such a country.

When the lucky Gignac was visited by

members of his family in February, there
was no question as to where they would
watch him play from: not from a VIP

102

box, but from the terrace where the L&Ls

assemble, the hottest part of the Volcano,
as everyone refers to Tigres home
ground, the Estado Universitario. The
whole Gignac clan got together at Dds
house afterwards, a few Ultras in tow, as
well as one Csar Ritual, one of the barras
favourite tattooists and a bit of a celebrity
himself among Mexican footballers. This
is how Grald, Dds father, left Mexico
with the logo of Tigres tattooed on his
back, while his brother Alexis offered
his chest to the body artist. This was not
Andr-Pierres idea, by the way . I want
to keep my body clean, he explains. I
dont want to look like anybody else [in
football]. As if there was a chance.

Le Vocab

Le Vocab
A lexicon of French football terms, what they mean and
their cultural significance
By Tom Williams

The French have always had a way with

words. From the scandalising satires of
Molire to the candid incantations of
MC Solaar, via the poetry of Rimbaud,
the rousing oratory of De Gaulle and
the smoke-enwreathed seductions of
Serge Gainsbourg, France is a country
defined by its determination to define
itself. Its footballers Thuram, Cantona,
Gourcuff are an uncommonly
introspective bunch and its national
football vocabulary is thick with
inventiveness and lyricism.
This glossary of selected French football
terms will not help those heading to
France explain who they are or what they
hope to obtain by wildly flailing their
hands around at the local boulangerie,
but it might just enable them to pass
themselves off as habitus of the way
the game is discussed in the country
that brought us Kopa, Platini, Zidane,
Henry and, of course, the European
Championship itself.
aile de pigeon (n) pigeons wing
I recently saw Zidane control the
ball with his ankle, Jorge Valdano
once remarked. It was defective, but
beautiful. French footballers do not have
a monopoly on unorthodox methods of
ball control, but the countrys football
lexicon has thrown up some imaginative
ways of describing the games technical

nuts and bolts. Aile de pigeon refers to a

player extending a bent leg either behind
him or to one side mimicking the
shape of a pigeons wing and using the
exterior of his foot or his heel to control
the ball, flick it on or steer it towards
goal. Zlatan Ibrahimovi is a master
of the craft, as demonstrated by the
astonishingly adroit taekwondo flick he
scored against Bastia in October 2013.
automatismes (n) automations
One of the joys of learning a foreign
language is encountering words and
phrases for which there are no direct
equivalents in your native tongue.
Automatismes is used in French to
describe the reflexive understanding that
develops between players on a team
when they have been playing together
over a certain period of time. A star
signing who is taking time to settle at a
new club will be said to be still searching
for automatismes with his team mates.
bijou (n) jewel
Typically used to describe a delightful
goal. Can also be used to describe a
particularly refined pass, touch or piece
of skill. Quel bijou!
casser les reins (v) break the kidneys
The NBA has popularised the concept
of the ankle breaker a sharp change
of direction or feint that sends your

103

Le Vocab

opponent careening off in the wrong

direction, their ankle ligaments creaking.
In French football it is the kidneys,
curiously, that are destroyed when a
full-back is left grasping at thin air by a
slippery wide player.
caviar (n) caviar
Its not a clich to say that France is a
country obsessed with food. Eating a
sandwich on the Paris Mtro is liable
to earn you stares usually reserved for
public nose-picking and the average
French person is so sensitive to the
amount of seasoning required in a
dish that you start to wonder whether
they arent taught about it in school.
Appropriately, then, when a player
creates a chance for a teammate that
simply cannot be missed, it is known as
un caviar.
champ de patates (n) potato field
A poor playing surface is often referred
to as a champ de patates.
coaching (n) coaching
French football writing teems with
inelegantly appropriated English terms,
of which coaching is one. Its typically
used to refer to a coachs substitutions.
A substitute who comes on and scores is
said to be an example of bon coaching. A
substitute who proves ineffective or the
withdrawal of a player who was playing
well are signs of mauvais coaching.
coup denvoi fictif (n) fictive kick-off
A beloved conceit of French football
administrators, the coup denvoi fictif
involves a former player, coach or
club official, local dignitary or minor
celebrity shuffling across to the centre
spot prior to the match and performing
a ceremonial kick-off often an

104

uncultured toe-poke before trotting off

and allowing the match to begin for real.
cuir (n) leather (ball)
The modern ball may be a mixture of
polyurethane, latex and made-upsounding technology, but in France it is
still occasionally referred to as le cuir or
the leather.
double contact (n) double contact
A double contact [doo-BLUH con-TACT]
is the piece of skill used by a player who
sweeps the ball square with one foot
and then rapidly knocks it forward with
the other in order to evade an incoming
tackle or squeeze through a gap between
two opponents. In Spanish it is known
as la croqueta and Andrs Iniesta is its
patron saint.
enrhumer (v) give (someone) a cold
A player who leaves an opponent for
dead or ties them up in knots is said to
have given them a cold.
faire une arconada (v) do an arconada
The concept of the championshipwinning goal is one of footballs most
evocative, but its striking to note how
many major tournament finals have been
decided by blunders rather than brilliance.
For every Geoff Hurst hat-trick or golden
goal by David Trezeguet, there is Roberto
Baggio ballooning his penalty into the
Pasadena sky in the 1994 World Cup final
or Oliver Kahn shovelling the ball into
Ronaldos path in 2002. Even Trezeguet
had his own fall guy moment, his missed
penalty in the 2006 World Cup final
effectively deciding the shoot-out and
handing Italy the trophy. On 1 May 1984,
France marked 80 years since its national
teams first ever game, a 3-3 draw against
Belgium in Uccle, near Brussels. It was

Tom Williams

both a milestone and an indictment, for

despite having been a founder member
of Fifa, a participant at the first World Cup
and the birthplace of both the European
Cup (later to become the Champions
League) and European Nations Cup (later
to become the European Championship),
France had never won a major trophy.
That wait would come to an end less
than two months later and while it owed
much to the goal-scoring genius of
Michel Platini, it was also partly due to the
inadvertent generosity of Luis Arconada.
Having reached the final of the 1984
European Championship on home soil,
France were struggling to break Spain
down at the Parc des Princes when the
Spanish centre-back Salva was penalised
for bringing down Bernard Lacombe
two yards outside the penalty area, and
slightly to the left of centre, in the 57th
minute. Platini, already the tournaments
top scorer with eight goals, curled the
set-piece towards the bottom-right
corner. Arconada, positioned on that side
of his goal, had a relatively simple save
to make, falling forward and a little to the
left to gather the ball. But as he landed,
the ball squirmed out from beneath him
and rolled over the line. Yvon Le Rouxs
dismissal came too late for Spain to
exploit and in the final minute Jean Tigana
freed Bruno Bellone to run through and
chip Arconada for Frances second goal.
The Basques role in Frances moment of
glory is recalled to this day whenever a
goalkeeper commits a similar blunder, he
is said to have done an arconada.
fesse (n) - spanking
Used, as in English, to describe a heavy
defeat.
Footix (n) - Footix
A jaunty blue cockerel with red plumage,

Footix was the mascot for the 1998 World

Cup in France. The -ix suffix in his name
reflects the names given to the Gauls in
the Astrix comic strip. Footix gained
a second lease of life as a pejorative
nickname for people who suddenly
developed an interest in football after
France won the tournament.
grand pont (n) big bridge
In Aston Villas 3-1 defeat at Sunderland
on January 2, the Midlands club scored a
memorable goal when Adama Traor ran
from his own half, knocked the ball past
Wes Brown and crossed for Carles Gil to
score with a flying left-foot volley. The
piece of skill that Adama used to beat
Brown toeing the ball past him on one
side and collecting it on the other was
something you see all the time, but in
English it doesnt have a commonly used
name. In French its known as a grand
pont, big brother of the petit pont (see
below). Ibrahimovi and Jrmy Mnez
have both used it to elude goalkeepers
prior to scoring in recent years the
former against Saint-tienne last season,
the latter against Parma in 2014 with
Mnez adding a sublime back-heeled
finish (or talonnade) for good measure.
joli (adj) pretty
A favoured exclamation of cocommentators, the cry of Oh, joli! will
often go up when a player embarrasses
an opponent with an extravagant piece
of skill. Oh la la! is another, the number
of las rising in direct proportion to the
quality of the goal or magnificence of
the skill.
langue de bois (n) wooden language
Term used to describe any vague
platitude trotted out by a player or
coach. Limportant, cest les trois points.

105

Le Vocab

lanterne rouge (n) red lantern

(bottom team)
Borrowed from cycling (specifically the
Tour de France), lanterne rouge refers
to the team at the bottom of the table.
In times past a lanterne rouge would be
hung from the hindmost carriage of a
train to let those in the vicinity know when
the entire train had passed through.
lucarne (n) dormer (top corner)
In Britain, when a shot or header sails
into the top-right corner so squarely as
to make a mockery of any attempt to
keep it out, the ball is said to have hit the
postage stamp. In France, the equivalent
expression is the lucarne, or dormer a
gabled window projecting out from a
sloping roof. A particularly well placed
shot will end up en pleine lucarne (right
in the top corner).
madjer (n) madjer
Born in the Algerian coastal city of Algiers
in 1958, Mustapha Rabah Madjer began
his football career with the local team
NA Hussein Dey. A stylish and versatile
striker with an eye for the flamboyant,
he came to global prominence at the
1982 World Cup in Spain when he
scored Algerias first goal in a famous
2-1 win over West Germany. But the
Desert Foxes were eliminated nine days
later after the Germans beat Austria
1-0 in a result that sent both teams
through at Algerias expense a game
that would come to be known as The
Disgrace of Gijn. It was the match that
prompted Fifa to rule that, in future, all
final group-stage games would kick off
simultaneously. A domestic regulation
preventing Algerian footballers aged 25
or under from playing overseas initially
prevented Madjer from exploiting his
new status by joining a major European

106

team and following a long stand-off with

the Fdration Algrienne de Football,
he signed for Racing Paris in 1983. From
there he was to join Porto, in 1985,
and it was with the Portuguese giants
that he scored the goal that secured
his place in European football folklore.
Appearing in their first European Cup
final against Bayern Munich in Vienna in
1987, Porto were trailing 1-0 in the 77th
minute when the Brazilian forward Juary
gathered a pass from his fellow substitute
Antnio Frasco and played a square
ball across the six-yard box from the
right. A deflection on the cross meant
that Madjer arrived slightly ahead of the
ball, but he adjusted brilliantly, planting
his left foot in the turf, allowing the
ball to pass between his legs and then
guiding it past the covering defender
Hans-Dieter Flick with a deliciously deft
back-heel. I was already running to the
near post and I let the ball go between
my legs and I hit it with the back of my
heel, he told the Uefa website in 2012.
There was a defender on the line, so if
I had controlled the ball, Id never have
scored. Three minutes later Madjer
returned the compliment by setting
up Juary for the winning goal, making
Porto the first Portuguese side to lift the
European Cup since Benfica 25 years
earlier. Later that year Madjer scored the
winner as Porto beat Pearol of Uruguay
to win the Intercontinental Cup and in
1990 he captained Algeria to glory on
home soil at the Africa Cup of Nations.
But its for his back-heel that he is best
remembered in the French-speaking
world, where back-heeled goals are
routinely referred to as madjers.
mouiller le maillot (v) wet the jersey
When discussing the physical effort put
in by either himself or his team, theres

Tom Williams

only one phrase that will spring to a

French footballers lips and its not a
particularly attractive one. Where British
players will speak of giving 110% (if not
more) or leaving everything out there,
the French player is likely to the employ
the phrase mouiller le maillot, or wet
the jersey. As Marseilles notoriously
demanding supporters are fond of
chanting: Mouille le maillot ou casse toi!
(Wet the jersey or sod off!)
neuf et demi (n) nine and a half
The French share many of our
expressions for footballs various subtly
different attacking positions renard
des surfaces for fox in the box, pivot
for target man but they can also lay
claim to a few coinages of their own.
One of those is the neuf et demi, used
to describe a player, perhaps like Wayne
Rooney, who is not quite a number nine
but not quite a number 10 either.
papinade (n) papinade
As demonstrated by the YouTube video
that shows Mark Hughes hammering
a shot into the top-left corner with
arresting crispness during a Manchester
City training session a few years
back, some players never lose the
ability to time a volley. The Welshman
accumulated armfuls of sugar-sweet
volleys during his playing career, but
if any player in the recent history of
European football is synonymous with
the art of meeting the airborne ball
on the full it is Jean-Pierre Papin. The
Marseille great scored over 300 goals
in his club career, as well as 30 in 54
games for France (a better scoring rate
than any French international apart from
Platini and Just Fontaine), but what set
him apart was less his strike rate, more
what his goals were liable to do to the

onlookers heart rate. He specialised in

scorching right-foot volleys, struck with
the laces and invariably lashed high into
the net past goalkeepers who knew what
was coming but could do nothing about
it. Even when his form deserted him,
his ability to strike a flying ball did not.
He scored only three league goals for
Bayern Munich during a disappointing
two-season stint in Bavaria, but one of
those an encyclopaedia-entry scissors
kick against KFC Uerdingen in August
1995 is remembered as one of the
most spectacular goals in Bundesliga
history. Noticing the uncanny similarities
between a pair of Papin volleys scored
in December 1986, against Racing Paris,
and May 1988, against Niort, the Le
Provenal sports journalist Alain Pcheral
coined the term papinade. It came
out spontaneously, in a manner just as
sudden as the technique itself, Pcheral
would later explain. These days it is used
to describe any heart-stopping volley,
further enshrining Frances most explosive
striker in his countrys cultural history.
passe dcisive (n) decisive pass (assist)
Each season, the Ligue 1 player who has
provided the most assists is rewarded
with the Trophe du meilleur passeur.
patate (n) potato
Used to describe a particularly emphatic
goal scored from long range. Quelle
patate de Paul Scholes!
petit filet (n) side-netting
For British football fans, there are few
things more likely to induce a wince than
hearing an American commentator refer
to the side-netting as being inside the
goal, but our trans-Atlantic cousins are
not alone in that respect. The French do
it, too in this case using the phrases

107

Le Vocab

petit filet and petit filet extrieur to

distinguish between the two sides of
the netting. Which rather provokes the
question, why doesnt British football
writing have a specific phrase for the
inside of the side-netting?
petit pont (n) little bridge (nutmeg)
The little sister of the grand pont, the petit
pont is the French name for a nutmeg.
petit poucet (n) little thumb (underdog)
The name given to unfancied teams,
typically amateur or semi-professional
sides in cup competitions. Effectively the
French equivalent of the English minnow.
pieds carrs (n) square feet
In an insult/term of endearment that
recalls the famous 'Blame it on the
Boogie' chant sung by Liverpool fans
about their Malian dangerman Djimi
Traor (chorus: He just cant/He just
cant/He just cant control his feet!),
useless players in France are said to have
pieds carrs or square feet.
roulette (n) roulette
Synonymous with Zinedine Zidane,
the roulette or roulette Marseillaise is a
dainty piece of skill used by a player to
circumnavigate an opponent moving in
to attempt a tackle. In one fluid motion,
the player performs a drag-back with his
lead foot, spins away from his opponent
and then performs a drag-back with
the other foot to bring the ball into his
direction of travel.
rush (n) (solo) run
An expression borrowed from English, the
rush is a brazen dribble past a posse of
opponents (sample YouTube video title:
Le rush INCROYABLE de Lucas Moura!!!).
It can also be described as a raid solitaire.

108

sentinelle (n) sentinel

Name given to the midfield player who
sits just in front of the back four. Also
known as a numro six.
troisime poteau (n) third post
Whereas in English we refer to the near
post and far post when describing the
relative positions of the uprights during a
teams attack, in French they use premier
poteau (first post) and deuxime poteau
(second post). Troisime poteau refers to
an imagined spot roughly a goals width
beyond the far post, where an attacker
might ghost in to meet a deep cross.
tueur (n) killer
Used to describe clinical finishing, either
by a player or a team. A striker struggling
for goals might be heard to say that he
needs to be plus tueur (more killer) in
front of goal.
ventre mou (n) soft belly (mid-table)
Mid-table teams are said to be in the
ventre mou of the league standings.
Zlataner (v) to Zlatan
Charles de Gaulle spoke, famously, of
having a certain idea of France and in
France there is also a certain idea of sport.
Winning is all well and good, but nothing
quickens the French heart like an artistic
flourish. Its why Roger Federer is liable
to receive the backing of the crowds at
Roland Garros even when hes playing
against French opponents. Its why le
French flair continues to resonate as the
standard towards which all French rugby
union teams must aspire. And its why
Zlatan Ibrahimovi was the ideal marquee
signing for Paris Saint-Germain following
the Qatari takeover in 2011. When Qatars
sovereign wealth fund set its sights on
buying a major European club in 2010,

Tom Williams

PSG had gone 16 years without a league

title and were more famous for fan
violence than football. What the Qatar
Investment Authority saw was a club with
an enormous catchment area, as the only
top-flight football team in one of the
western worlds most iconic cities, and
vast untapped sporting and commercial
potential. Having landed their quarry, they
set about conferring some of the glamour
of Paris the city upon Paris the team. You
could conceivably spend your life in Paris
without knowing that there is a major
football club nestled in its southwest
corner, but the Qataris have done what
they can to change that, planting their flag
in the city centre one sunny afternoon in
July 2012 when Ibrahimovi, 30 and at
the peak of his powers, was presented to
a crowd of over-excited teenagers and
bemused tourists in front of the Eiffel
Tower following his transfer from AC
Milan. Here was a player with a bigger
trophy collection than the club he had
just joined, a natural haughtiness to
rival even the snootiest Parisian waiter
and, crucially, a playing style that allied
elegance and individual skill with jawdropping panache. When Ibrahimovi
brought down a high ball, disdainfully
dispatched a penalty or left an opponent
trailing with an audacious wiggle of the
hips, the purrs from the Parc des Princes
could be heard from Sacr Coeur. He did
not speak French, but he did not need
to. His cocky soundbites were instantly

comprehensible to young football fans

raised on Hollywood films, American
TV shows and gangster rap and seemed
tailor-made for rapid dissemination on
social media. It did not take long for Les
Guignols de lInfo, the satirical puppetry
show seen as Frances answer to Spitting
Image, to notice the colossal ego in
their midst. In his first appearance on
the Canal+ programme, Ibrahimovi
was depicted as the voice of Fifa 13,
informing a befuddled teenage gamer
who had chosen to play as PSG that he
would be playing as Zlatan because
PSG is Zlatan. He continued, Which
opponent do you want to Zlatan? OM,
came the reply. Bravo, you have Zlataned
Marseille 2-0. But Ive not even played!
protested the gamer. No need to play,
replied Ibrahimovi. With Zlatan youre
sure to win. Embarrassingly, PSG had
been beaten to the title by Montpellier
the previous season, the first since the
Qatar takeover, but the Guignols sketch
was to prove prescient. PSG have won
every Ligue 1 title since it aired. PSG have
Zlataned France and the verb coined by
the Guignols has taken on a life of its own.
It was added to the Swedish dictionary
later in 2012 (zlatanera, meaning to
dominate) while Nike ran a Dare to
Zlatan advertising campaign in 2014.
The City of Love had wrought another
perfect match a dream of a footballer
propelling a slumbering club into the
sporting firmament.

109

110

Impression: England 1966

The best day of my life. I found
my girlfriend at the time was
not pregnant, saw the game live
standing behind the Hurst non-goal
end and then saw The Who.

110

Golden Anniversary

Golden Anniversary
A peoples history of the 1966 and Englands only ever
success at a major tournament
By Amy Lawrence

As a young lad aged 13 I went to all the

World Cup games played at Goodison
Park. In those days before all seated
stadiums I would get into the ground early
and stand by the wall next to the pitch.
For most of the games I stood next to
one of the big glass dugouts either side
of the players entrance. The first game
between Brazil and Bulgaria was held
on a really balmy night and I remember
Kenneth Wolstenholme standing at the
side of the pitch before the game talking
about the Brazilian support in the Bullens
Road stand. It was fantastic to be able to
get that close to the players and see them
close up. During the match when Brazil
were 2-0 up the Brazilian fans started
Ol chants when Brazil kept the ball. I
joined in and was rewarded with a slap
from the Bulgarian coach who leaned
out of the dugout to deliver it! He was
admonished somewhat by some of the
adults stood next to me and kept his head
down after that.
Michael Jones
I was eight years old and lived in
Hendon, North London, about eight to
ten miles from Wembley. I went to the
local school and just down from it is
the Hendon Hall Hotel. It was the place
where Cup final teams used to stay and
where the England team stayed before
internationals. We would go down after

school and get autographs. One day

during the World Cup my dad took me
to the pictures to see Those Magnificent
Men in Their Flying Machines at the
Hendon Gaumont. I can remember
going up to the circle and there, waiting
for the doors to open for the next
screening, was the whole England squad.
I sat down next to George Cohen and
gazing over to Jackie Charlton. For an
eight-year-old boy it was mesmerising.
After a few minutes the doors opened
and everyone filtered in for their seats. I
cant remember anything about the film.
Ian Marshall
I was 13 during the 1966 World Cup and
living in Durham City which welcomed
the Italian and Soviet squads for two
weeks, the latter training at the spanking
new University sports centre with the
Italians over the road on the grounds of
the agricultural college. So my routine for
a fortnight was to spend all my days there
between the training sessions. Remarkably
there was no security at all, but then there
were remarkably few of us trying to hang
out with these world greats.
My abiding memories (backed by photos
and autographs) are of befriending
Facchetti, Mazzola and Rivera and Lev
Yashin who never seemed to tire of pesky
autograph hunters.

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Golden Anniversary

I still have this image of the ferocity of

the shots and Yashin shuffling a couple of
giant steps to the right or left to prevent
a goal into the top corner and, at least as
I recall, punching them back from where
they came well into the other half of the
pitch. Of the Italian training sessions I
only recall the dramatic shouting and
how they would bite into whole lemons,
the like of which I have never seen since.
From the Korean victory, our French
teacher, who was in the seats, claimed
that Rivera who had been dropped
jumped to his feet when Pak Doo-Ik
scored and screamed Mamma Mia.

game and me quizzing my mother

relentlessly as to what these strange
unfamiliar new words really were
John Kenealy
We got our first television when I was 10,
so that my dad could watch the World
Cup. Even though it was only black and
white, it totally changed our lives. We
watched snooker (balls in shades of
grey), Formula One motor racing, major
series like Civilisation and The World At
War, animal documentaries and dramas The Forsyte Saga.
Jackie Carpenter

My dad and I saw all the six group

matches, plus the Soviet-Hungary
quarter-final. A true feast capped by
getting tickets to the final. I can also
remember prior to the final making a St
Georges Cross flag, bigger than I was
and pinned to a large broomstick, and
being allowed to take it into Wembley.
John Bevan
My parents lived in Edmonton four
children under eight in a two-bedroom
flat. Our house was close to Harlow
Common where there were a few
football pitches. In the summer of 1966
I was six years old. Portugal had their
camp a few hundred yards away in what
is now the Moat House Hotel, back then
known as the Saxon Inn. My brothers and
I spent so many hours watching as the
squad trained on the common. Eusbio
of course was a magnificent athlete and
a lovely man, as they all were. The locals
got to be very fond of them all as I recall.
Another early memory as a young child
is my father losing it during the Uruguay

112

In 1966 I was 13 years old and lived in

Wembley. Myself and a couple of friends
had been bunking into the stadium to
see various matches for the previous
year or so. To the side and fairly high up
on the walls besides all the steps leading
up to the turnstiles were apertures with
what looked like the archetypal prison
bars set vertically into them. I assume
the apertures were there to let light into
the inner stairwells. We found that there
was one place where the bars permitted
a very tightly squeezed entry and we
always got through those, usually to
the cheering of the older supporters
queueing up. Once through there was
another squeeze through a folding gate
and it was just a question of finding
a sympathetic-looking official at the
bottom of the steps leading into the
arena. We did not go for the first game
but saw all the other games played in
Englands group. Also saw the quarterfinal against Argentina (when Rattin was
sent off), the semi-final against Portugal,
the third-place play-off and the final
against West Germany. For the final there

Amy Lawrence

were four of us and we spent the first

half sitting high up in a gangway (would
definitely get moved nowadays). There
had been four empty seats nearby and
no one came for them so we occupied
them throughout the second half. High
up behind the television gantries, on the
halfway line.
Kevin Hall
I was competing in a swimming gala in
Telford (then known as Dawley) when
England played Portugal in the semifinal. I toyed with the idea of crying
off from the swimming, but Alan, our
volunteer coach, made it clear that no
one would have a cold or cough that
week! I have memories of confused
messages/Chinese whispers from friends
whose other friends had brought along
transistor radios when Eusbio scored
the penalty. It was a wee while before it
became clear that England had not lost.
Would that I could say the same about
my swimming!
Steve March
I had tickets for the group matches
at Goodison, where Brazil were
based. After a match that Brazil won,
I remember coming away from the
ground seeing Brazilians celebrating
in and on cars in the street by hooting
horns and sitting on the bonnets. It
seemed extraordinary in the rather grey,
dull British culture of the time.
Stephen Perry
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive.
But to be young was very heaven! That
quote from Wordsworth sums up for me
the summer of 1966.

I was 16. My friends and I had arranged

to meet up in Ashbourne, the town one
mile from where I lived with my parents.
We usually met on a street corner and
then decided where to go. Sometimes
the Rec, sometimes around the shops
and sometimes we sat in a pub garden
with a lemonade or went to the Green
Man, the hotel where my dad worked,
and had a free orange squash.
On this particular day, Ashbourne, a
small market town in the Peak District,
was buzzing with people. More than
we had ever seen at that time of day. In
fact more than we had ever seen at any
time of day. And whats more, they were
all MALE. What on earth was going on?
There were more young men and boys
than we had ever seen in our entire life!
And so the World Cup had come to sleepy
Ashbourne with the arrival of the West
German supporters who were staying
for a month near where the team were
staying at the Peveril of the Peak hotel just
outside Ashbourne. The next four weeks
were absolutely wonderful. Every day we
would go to town and hang out with the
supporters who were really friendly.
After the first week we decided to go
for the bigger fish and so, in our friends
mini, we headed up to the Peveril to
see if we could catch a glimpse of the
players. Some of the older girls who were
hanging out caught more than that! On
Sunday there was always a disco at the
Dog and Partridge pub nearby and it was
there we encountered members of the
team. We danced with them and then
had quick snogs outside. I got quite close
to a player who was in the final (not that
close, I was only 16) but my friend, who
was 20, got very close to another player,

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Golden Anniversary

who fathered a child, unbeknownst to

him. I think he died 40-odd years later
without ever knowing.
By the last week and the final, we had
been with the players quite a lot and
were told that if they won we would be
invited to the party at the hotel. We must
have been the only English people who
wanted West Germany to win, although
deep down I was glad England won in
the end, really.
Brenda Livingston
I was six. There were nougat bars which
cost 6d and had a free World Cup Willie
badge with each bar. The boys at school
competed to cover their blazers in these
badges. The headmistress made us take
them all off for class photos but apart
from that she didnt mind them.

The final game produced good sales of

ice cream as I remember it as very warm,
though the Italians failed to rise to the
occasion. I found myself yelling Viva
Korea after their goal, only to realise
that I was in the middle of a hoard of
Italian supporters I didnt sell any in
that section but I did get out alive. The
tension, volume and hope rose steadily
during the second half, with support for
the underdog rising to fever pitch. We
even wanted the Russians to win to let
North Korea through to the quarters.
The keeper became a local hero for his
saves which held the Italians at bay just
long enough to give the whole crowd an
unexpected feeling of joy.
Tony King

I was in the Sixth Form at the time, at St

Marys College, when we were offered
the opportunity to watch all the matches
held at Ayresome Park, selling ice cream
for 10/- a match. I took up the offer and
spent each match climbing up and down
the stairs in the seating area.

I was 13 in the summer of 1966, old

enough to remember the World Cup
clearly but young enough to enjoy
pasting newspaper clippings into my
World Cup Willie Scrapbook every day of
the tournament. Whether I would have
remained so enthusiastic had we been
knocked out, I dont know, but by the
end of July I had pasted in introductions
to each team and reports of every game,
and carefully written lists of all the games
and results.

Most of the Middlesbrough supporters

were disgruntled at first that we were to
see only North Korea and felt that Roker
Park had stolen a march on us and would
get all the better games. However, after
the typical minnows display against an
aggressive Russian team, which they lost
0-3, we began to warm to the new Red
Devils. The first chants of Viva Korea
began to appear during the next game
with the ground erupting in the last two
minutes with North Koreas equalising goal.

Looking through it now, its the hints of

a then unknown future that make me
smile most. The first sentence in the Radio
Times introduction to England, quoting Alf
Ramsey, Yes, England will win the World
Cup (p4), echoed in the first sentence
of the last article, post final (p40); the
diplomatic blind eye to North Koreas flag
at the opening ceremony (p11); Greaves
has stitches in leg injury after the French
game (p24); the list of usually forgotten,
but still remembered, officials for the final

Pete Green

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Amy Lawrence

(p33). What also strikes me is the lukewarm

assessment of Englands performance
up until the semi-final and the beautiful
unadorned simplicity of Englands kit.
Alastair Kidd
My first memory was how easy it was
to get a ticket. I was at Marsh Hill Boys
School in Birmingham. From the top
floor we could see Villa Park. One day a
few of us went down to the ground and
simply went up to the ticket office and
bought tickets for the West Germany v
Argentina game.

Holiday Camp where I dressed up as the

mascot World Cup Willie and won First
Prize. I seem to remember that the prize
was a plastic sub-machine gun. There
was a tremendous sense of optimism
about the future and the greatness of
the nation. Looking back now it seems
an incredibly innocent age.
Simon Banks

Im now retired and living in France. On

arriving here I joined a local veterans
football team. Talking one night I told
my tale of going to the World Cup match
and another ex-pat turned round and said
that he had been at the match. He had
travelled from Leicester to see the game.

I was only ten years old. I met the

North Korean team who were staying
at a Jesuit retreat next to the school I
attended. They stayed at least for a time
at Loyola Hall in Rainhill near Liverpool.
The school was run by nuns who I
remember urged us to be cautious as
they were communists. We were told
that they had asked for the crucifixes
to be removed from their bedrooms. I
understand the team presented a chalice
to the priests before they left.

Bill Rhodes

Steve Johnson

Went to all the matches on my Lambretta

Cento 100cc (and very underpowered)
scooter. I lived at home in Edgware and
worked in Harrow. You could buy a foot
long hot-dog at the stadium for a shilling.
Derek Andrews
I remember being very miffed when we
drew 0-0 with Uruguay in the first game
which I watched through a crack in the
living room door halfway down our stairs
of our terraced house in Thornton Heath
as it was a night game (I was seven).
Keith Hoult
I was five years old and I went on holiday
that summer with my family to a Butlins

I was six at the time and have vivid

memories of the run-up to the World
Cup as it was when we got our first
black-and-white second-hand telly! My
two sisters and I were so excited and the
day my uncles friend, Norman, came to
install it was like all out Christmases came
at once. When the World Cup began,
we started scrapbooks and collected tea
cards and I became fascinated by all the
funny names of the players.
Christine Osgood
I was a young girl living in Sunderland
and my friend and I got wolf-whistled
by some foreign footballers who were
sightseeing in the area. Twenty-odd
years later I organised a celebrity golf

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Golden Anniversary

tournament. Bobby Moore took part, he

was the most perfect gentleman, what a
marvellous human being he was.

come true for a 15 year old like me.

Brazil were the ones everyone wanted
to see though and their game against
Portugal drew 62,000.

Jan Scott-Collier
Fran Kearney
I was 14, travelling on a bus along Lord
Street in Liverpool in the days when
buses still travelled from there and
along Church Street. I had just finished
my exams at school and the weather
was scorchingly hot and sunny. The
city seemed to be full of exotic people,
mostly Brazilians because Brazil and
the great Pel were playing at Evertons
ground at Goodison Park. The crowded
street seemed to have more than its
fair share of handsome dark-skinned
men who stood out from the crowd. I
remember feeling really proud that my
city and my Dads teams ground were
playing host to such important guests.
Kathleen Pimlett
The Soviet Union were playing Hungary
in my hometown of Sunderland and
several Russians (players or supporters, I
dont know) approached us a bunch of
10 year olds at the Barnes Park tennis
courts. They handed out Lenin badges
all round, which, of course, we wore to
school the next day.
Paul Shapiro
My Dad somehow managed to get
both of us mini-season tickets for the
games at Goodison Park. Portugal,
Brazil, Hungary and Bulgaria were the
teams in this group. Fresh from seeing
Everton win the FA Cup in May, the
thought of seeing such world-class stars
as Pel, Garrincha, Eusbio, Simes,
Beckenbauer and Jairzinho was a dream

116

I went to two group games at Old

Trafford with my parents. It was 20 years
later that they let slip they knew Mr and
Mrs Stiles and Nobby, who holidayed at
my mums home farm in Ireland in the
early 50s! Well, it was really only his
mum and dad, not Norbert.
Ged Parker
As a 10-year-old lad in 1966 from
Liverpool on a school camping holiday
in Peel on the Isle of Man early on in our
stay we received mail from home which
included a five-shilling postal order for
extra spends, plus the great news that
Sir Roger Hunt (honorary knighthood
bestowed upon him by the Kop) had
scored two goals for England the night
before against France.
A few weeks later back home in
Liverpool myself and a mate went to
Goodison Park to savour the atmosphere
of the World Cup, all the streets around
Goodison Park were decorated with
bunting and flags amidst a great carnival
atmosphere when all of a sudden a
drunken old man (probably about my
age now) thrust a ticket in my hand for
that nights match. Brazil v Bulgaria,
Pel and all that Then the dilemma hit
home. One ticket and two 10-year-old
lads, what do we do? Democracy kicked
in, wed have to sell the ticket and split
the proceeds between us which we
truly did. After selling the ticket for five
shillings and getting blitzed on Schofields

Amy Lawrence

lemonade, crisps and Mars bars we

thought wed hit the jackpot.
Roy Darby
I watched the opening match, then went
off to do my evenings stint as a barman.
The bar in question was at a place called
Scalby Mills, which is at the northern end
of the North Bay in Scarborough, Yorkshire.
It was the summer before I went to Uni in
the September. I was stacking clean pint
glasses on the under-bar shelf, three per
hand, hot from the glass washer, when one
of them started to topple. No problem, I
could nudge it back on with my knee. No, I
couldnt. It broke, sending me to get eight
stitches across a dazzling white patella and
immobilising me for the duration of the
competition. As the Buddhists would say,
we get the accidents we need
Peter McDonald
For me the best match of the tournament
was the semi-final between England and
Portugal. Great goals and unbelievable
tension after Portugal had brought the
score back to 2-1. But perhaps most
remarkable was something else entirely
one of my fathers friends, working late in
central London that day, had on a whim
decided the World Cup semi-final wouldnt
be a bad evenings entertainment. So he
took a tube to Wembley, paid for his ticket
at the turnstile and arrived in the stands
about five minutes after the game started.
He confirmed what a wonderful game
it was but it was the casual nature of the
whole thing that always made me marvel.
I cant imagine you could have wandered
in to a World Cup semi-final without a prebooked ticket on many occasions since!
Andrew Cole

I remember the event simply because

I wasnt allowed to watch it. The men
had the TV and cans of Watneys Party
Sevens. The women were sent out
shopping for the afternoon - and had to
take the children (including me) out with
them. So I remember vividly this event
that I really wanted to be part of - but
was banished from!
Jon Keen
I was 15 at the time and two of my friends
and I went to London for the Stampex
exhibition to see the Jules Rimet trophy.
It was stolen that night. Friends at school
joked that we had stolen it.
We lived in Harlow at the time. Uruguay
were staying at a hotel in the town.
When the semi-final stage was reached,
Portugal moved into the same hotel.
Some friends and I walked about two
miles to the hotel in an attempt to catch
a glimpse of Eusbio and his teammates.
I dont know what we expected, but we
didnt manage to see anything. I do think,
though, given that we were never going
to see a match live, it made us feel a little
more involved, rather like seeing the
Olympic Torch did in 2012.
Colin Phelps
I didnt watch any of it. I recall being out
on the window-cleaning round with
my dad when the big matches were
on but have to say I was completely
uninterested as were the majority of
my young mod mates at the time.
More interested in going to the Mecca
Highland Rooms [in Blackpool], listening
to and dancing to the latest soul and I
think by that time ska records and trying
to pull girls. I was also waiting for my

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Golden Anniversary

O-level results. I seem to recall copious

amounts of snakebite at this time.
Graham Jackson
What an experience, I have many fond
memories to this day. I still tell anyone
who cares to listen, I was there! I
saw every game at Wembley and one
Friday evening game in the rain at the
now disappeared White City Stadium.
I believe the game was played there to
avoid a Greyhound meeting at Wembley,
unbelievable! Although it is nearly 50 years
ago I still recall the atmosphere, colour and
emotions as though it were yesterday.
David Payne

The final
I was at a wedding on the day of the
1966 World Cup final. The ceremony
was scheduled for late afternoon which
allowed the guests to watch the first
45 minutes of the game. At half-time
with the score at 1-1 most of the guests
were hooked and, unable to continue
watching the game on television, they
sat clustered around one of the guests at
the back of the church with a transistor
radio pressed to his ear. Any attempt
to pretend that this wasnt happening
was blown away mid-service when
the man with the tranny announced
Englands second goal by bellowing,
Weve scored! This outrage was further
compounded when the vicar called
across to him, Who got it? Im not
making this up. There was more to come.
Outside the church the photographer
gathered everyone together for a group
shot and called for a cheesy smile at
which point a familiar voice came from
the huddle, Theyve equalised. This

118

resulted in a shot of people turning round

in some dismay for confirmation of this.
Im pretty sure that photo didnt make
it into the wedding album. What it also
meant was that a fair proportion of the
guests were missing for the soup course
at the wedding reception as theyd sloped
off to watch extra-time on a telly in the
nearest pub. Guess what the only topic
of conversation was when the match was
over? The bride looked ready to kill.
Barry Purchese
My parents had tickets for the first-round
matches at Aston Villa and went into a draw
for the final and got tickets. Dad always
insisted that the disputed goal went in
because he could see it from where he was
in the stand. I took the match programme
to school. Everyone wanted to touch it.
Chris Yapp
I was 18 at the time and remember being
on holiday for two weeks prior to the final
at what wed now call an old-fashioned
holiday camp. The organiser would
announce the dances on match evenings
with the phrase, Ladies, enjoy yourselves!
I drove home in a Ford Popular and got in
five minutes after the start.
Bob Harrold
The match was played on my 13th
birthday. I got a new transistor radio for my
birthday and as I didnt feel well listened
to it in my bedroom. But it became too
exciting so went downstairs to watch with
my Mum and Dad so saw the best bits. Im
always so proud to tell people we won the
World Cup on my birthday.
Jackie Owens

Amy Lawrence

My dad was at the final and got his ticket

because one of his mates had to work on
that day. But more interesting in my
view anyway is that the brother of one
of my dads workmates owned Pickles,
the dog that found the World Cup.
Julie Cattell
The best day of my life. I found my
girlfriend at the time was not pregnant,
saw the game live standing behind the
Hurst non-goal end (saw every England
game) and then went to Reading to see
The Who at an early Reading Festival.
Back for Trafalgar Square revelry, then
home to my rented Ilford flat.
Ian Dewar
I had just turned 21 years old on July 12.
I was working in Bradford for J H Langtry
Langton as a junior quantity surveyor.
We were entitled to two weeks paid
holiday and could take these when we
wanted. I had chosen to the last week in
July and the first week in August, which
was known as Baildon and Shipley Tide
weeks. For the previous two or three
years I had been hitchhiking abroad,
usually not getting too far but seeing the
sights of France, Germany, Belgium and
Italy. In 1966 I once again set off, with a
mate called Alan Turner, who later was to
be my best man. We set off to hitchhike
to London on the Friday night prior to
the day of the final, London was our first
destination.
We wanted to watch the game on TV, so
at first we thought about standing outside
a TV shop. We decided against that and
thought maybe of trying to find a pub with
it on, but ruled that out as back then pubs
couldnt stay open all day and usually closed

at 3pm and reopened at 5.30pm, which was

when the game was being played.
One of us had the idea of going to
Wembley in the hope that as it would
be busy, there might be a cafe open
with a TV showing the match. So we left
our rucksacks/kit bags in a left-luggage
office at Kings Cross and got the tube
to Wembley station. The train was full of
people of different nationalities, many
heading for the game.
When we got off at Wembley and headed
down the platform we were approached
by men trying to sell tickets for the game.
We each bought a ticket but they werent
for the same section, so once we were
through the turnstiles, we waited outside
one of sections until we found someone
on their own who would swap their ticket
for one of ours. Someone came along on
their own who agreed to do us a favour
and we gave him 5/- as an inducement to
exchange tickets. So there we were inside
Wembley at about 2.30pm and the 1966
World Cup final between England and
West Germany was about to kick off.
Paul McNicholas
I was seven in the summer of 66 and we
had no TV so we used to walk round the
corner to my aunts house to watch the
games. I still have my World Cup Willie
badge and can remember all the words
to the song Red, white and blue, World
Cup Willie. During the final I was very
excited and fidgety and my dad kept
telling me to sit still or leave the room!
Most of all I remember the unbridled joy
of my dear dad and my uncle dancing
round the room when we won.
David Lloyd

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Golden Anniversary

It was the day we were married in

Wilmslow, Cheshire. The service was in
the morning and towards the end of the
reception the maitred suggested that if
we wanted to watch the second half we
should be leaving in about 15 minutes.
My new wife and I went to a friends
house and the rest of the crowd went to
my mother-in-laws to watch.
David Flower
I was 21 years old, and attended the final
with my father and a group of other
Spurs supporters. Dad and I lived near
Wembley Stadium, just the other side of
the North Circular. Wed been to several
of the preceding games at Wembley. The
atmosphere was fantastic. I remember
seeing the Queen for the first time, albeit
from a distance. She wore a yellow coat
and hat. When it was finished and we
were walking down the outside steps, just
in front of us was a German woman and
I assumed her two teenage children, a
son and daughter. All three were wearing
German rosettes. The woman opened her
handbag and without altering pace took
out three red, blue and white England
rosettes. She kept one for herself and
handed the other two to her children,
they each removed their German ones,
which she placed into her handbag, and
pinned on the English ones. I thought that
they didnt want to be seen as supporting
the losing side, which I thought was
bad, as West Germany played very well,
especially to go to extra time. Many of
us walked to the Harrow Tavern, as it
was known then. It was absolutely jampacked, singing and chanting the teams
names. My father wasnt much of a drinker,
but he had a couple of G&Ts that day.
Richard Merlin

120

I was 17, living in Cornwall. A friend invited

me to London to look at the modern
architecture. During the day we went to
the South Bank and some other places.
That evening we watched the 1966
World Cup on a small black and white
TV. Afterwards we went to Soho and had
a meal with this amazing red wine, Bulls
Blood, pretty naff by todays standards
but all the rave back then. Afterwards
I remember walking down the street
shouting at some Germans supporters
how we had beaten them. All good fun.
Adam Purser
As a young Scot (19 years of age) I was
living in the Hornsey YMCA in North
London during the World Cup in 1966.
I watched the final on television in
the hostels viewing room. Myself and
a young German were the only two
non-Englishmen in the room. Not
surprisingly, we were the only two who
cheered Germanys goals. At least we
had the grace not to boo when England
scored the winner, but we did question
its legitimacy. Needless to say, we
werent the most popular of the hostels
residents that day.
Bob Hall
My mother bent down in front of the TV
to pick up the tray with the teapot on
it just as Germany scored to send the
match into overtime
Tony Locke
Very strong memory of the anguish
of the 2-1 lead, heading for full-time.
It felt like an equaliser was coming.
Dying for a pee during extra-time but
refusing to leave the sofa. Then Geoff

Amy Lawrence

Hurst smacked in the fourth. I was so

impressed the keeper hadnt seemed to
move at all, just watched it fly in. Longest
pee I can remember followed.
Michael Woodward
It was my first holiday without my
parents. I went with three school friends
to a chalet in Maldon in Essex. It was
on the River Blackwater and one of the
friends had a dinghy which we sailed. I
spent the week of the final looking for
somewhere to watch it. These were not
the days where every pub in town had a
TV and advertised that they showed live
football and anyway I was only 16 and
lived in fear that if I ever did go to a pub I
would soon be spotted and a policeman
would come in and arrest me!
I found a TV shop in Maldon high street
that had their TVs fairly close to the
door so I stood in the doorway to watch
the game. The salespeople didnt seem
all that bothered about the game and
eyed me with a little suspicion as I stood
there and watched. At no point did they
invite me into the shop so I could get a
better view.
When Geoff Hurst scored the winner I
couldnt contain myself any longer and
I threw my hands in the air and cheered
loudly. I had forgotten that I was in a
doorway and I stubbed my thumb on
the door frame directly above my head
and recall that it was painful for several
days afterwards.
Tony Masters
Eighteen months before the World Cup
was to be played around a dozen of us
applied for a book of tickets 10 games

in all including all the England group

games. The camaraderie, the joy, the
feeling of being free, even for a short time,
from the drudgery of our jobs was truly
intoxicating. We counted up at least eight
times our section (to the right side behind
the goal where the players came out)
started the mighty clap clap, clap clap
clap England chants and thrilled as the
chant swept around the ground. We were
witnessing and were part of something
so very special. All of us remember every
game we saw. Come the final what
a day! Our band of happy lads went to
the West End that evening. Shook hands
with many German fans. We swam in the
fountains at Trafalgar Square and had as
many beers as we could afford.
Peter Olsen
I watched it on our TV, but left pretty
quickly because I had arranged to meet a
boy I fancied in the centre of Birmingham.
I was wearing bell-bottom trousers and
a skinny rib top and I think I had a little
crochet beret. A woman at the bus stop
told me I was sinful for wearing trousers.
We were the only ones getting on at the
stop but she insisted on sitting next to
me. The city centre was eerily quiet until
a couple of hours later, when it became
very merry. It was the first and last time I
had Black and Tans with whisky chasers.
Ros Napier
My dad had a friend in Germany who
got tickets for the final, then couldnt
make it so he took me. I was 11. We
had 5 seats right opposite the royal box,
among lots of German supporters, given
the origin of the tickets. They had small
German paper flags to wave, with a bear
printed on in brown with a red tongue.

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Golden Anniversary

Every time England scored they threw

some on the floor and ground them up.
Ive seen a quick flash of me in the film
Goal! as we were just below the camera
gantry in the roof.
Charlie Hislop
I was at Wembley with my dad and uncle.
We left before the end because my dad
was worried about missing the train back
to Leeds.
Terry Macalister
I was a student then. It was the end
of term, and my family had nobly
volunteered to collect me and my
luggage from my digs in Birmingham
and drive me back home down the
comparatively new M1 motorway. We
didnt have anything fancy like a car
radio to tell us what was going on. It was
only when we hit London hearing car
hooters going off en masse, and then in
central London seeing jubilant crowds
capering about that we realised
something spectacular must have
happened. A thrill and a bit. Glorious.
Elisabeth Kimber
I am one of an elite group in my
generation. When others recall Englands
victory in 1966, it is through the phrase,
It is now! that they heard uttered live
on TV by Kenneth Wolstenholme. But
I didnt hear those words until much
later, because I WAS THERE. And for any
sceptics, I have the tickets to prove it.
Alan Preskett
I was a 17 year old in 1966. I managed
to buy a ticket for all the matches being

122

played in London for a cost of just over

4 each! The highlight was of course
being able to attend the final and seeing
England win. I had been invited to
attend my first formal black-tie dinner
that evening and was in a quandary
whether to stay until the finish as it
would make getting to the function
very rushed. In the end it was certainly
worth staying. After the dinner, where I
was by far the youngest guest, the ladies
adjourned and I was left with cigarsmoking older gentlemen. I felt very out
of my depth until someone asked, Does
anyone know who won the football?
I could answer that I had actually been
there and share the wonderful story of
us winning.
Geoff Session
1966 was the year in which I became
engaged and subsequently married
on September 16. However my most
exciting day in that year, and probably
my whole life, was watching England
win the World Cup at Wembley. My first
visit to Wembley had been for the Cup
final between Portsmouth and Wolves in
1939. I had been back many times since
then for international matches both
during and after the war watching stars
such as Cullen, Matthews, Mortensen
and Lofthouse. Another memory
along the way was Englands defeat by
Hungary. Nothing however matched
the excitement of beating Germany and
seeing the Geoff Hurst hat-trick and
to top it off my friend Lawrie at the
end of the game producing a bottle of
champagne and two glasses just like a
magician with a white rabbit out of a
top hat.
Peter Jones

Amy Lawrence

I was 18 and had just left school in July

1966. I was a keen West Ham supporter
and had already been at Wembley in
1964 and 1965 to see West Ham in the
FA Cup and European Cup-Winners
finals. Bobby Moore was my favourite
and had been for several years so it was
very emotional to see him take the World
Cup for England from the Queen.
The iconic photo of Bobby Moore
supported by his colleagues holding the
cup aloft is framed and hanging on my wall.
And in addition I have the programmes for
the three Wembley matches (signed later
by Geoff Hurst) framed together with the
two rosettes I wore on the day. England
and West Ham a unique piece of history.

Remember meeting the Spanish team in

Erdington Birmingham when they used
the Delta Metals social club in Holly Lane
to train on my dad worked at the Delta
at that time. We watched the final with
my pal Steve on a black-and-white set
in our living room I was 11. When the
last goal went in I remember dad got so
excited he upended the settee with me
and my mate on it.
Gerry Tuckley

My diary for 1966 (which I still have)

records the day: Went with Dave [he
was a school friend and had managed to
get the tickets] to see World Cup Final
England won 4-2 after extra-time Geoff 3,
Martin 1 & Bobby collected cup a West
Ham final. Later that evening I went with
my boyfriend to see Those Magnificent
Men in Their Flying Machines. The
following day another friend (Alan) arrived
with all the Sunday newspapers (also
recorded in my diary) and I cut out and
saved all the articles in a scrapbook.

On the morning of 30 July 1966 I was

at home looking after my two young
children. My husband was getting
ready to go to the final by train with his
friends. He had been to all the matches.
My husband was just leaving when the
phone rang. He told me that there was
a spare ticket and that this would be a
memory of a lifetime for me. I had never
seen England play or been to Wembley
before. Having got the children ready we
left in our car and went to my mothers
to leave the children. We parked at
Wembley Town Hall and got to the
ground just in time. We stood behind the
goal and I had a clear view of that goal
the ball was well over the line! We are
avid West Ham supporters and remain
season ticket holders.

Marjorie Hume

June Tilley

I was nine. I watched it at home with my

dad and sister. My dad bet me sixpence
Germany would win. A few weeks later
I went to watch it again at the cinema
with my football friends from school.
They turned the whole game into one
glorious technicolor film. You dont get
that nowadays!
Charlie Swan

After the World Cup my wife June met

Bobby Moore on many occasions as our
children went to the same nursery school
as his and he was often there to pick them
up so had many chats with him.
John Tilley
My sister and I were allowed extra money
for sweets on the day (usually we had to

123

Golden Anniversary

make our shillings worth of sweet ration

last a week!), probably to help keep us
quiet. The clearest memory for me was
of Nobby Stiles skipping and the final
goal plus my mum and dad dancing
after the match to a medley of Beatles,
Everley Brothers and Elvis records (on the
Dansette). The best thing about it all is
that my brother who is six years younger
than me cant remember it at all! If you
have a younger brother, youll know
what that means.
Lauren Hughes
The episode I remember the most,
though, (and its never been seen since)
was my quiet, mild-mannered dad getting
up from his seat when the final whistle
went at the end of extra time and running
around the house shouting his head off.
Joseph Morgan
I was the only one watching at home.
Mum, Dad, Gran and my sister were in the
garden as they could not bear to watch it.

groans coming from the lounge. The

results dessert and the final score
were brilliant.
Daisy Fearns
We watched it on the telly at home.
As extra-time approached, there was
a thunderstorm and my mum insisted
on the TV being turned off and the
aerial unplugged (given that lightning
would strike one house out of millions
in south London). We listened to the
only World Cup England are ever likely
to win on a dodgy transistor radio.
With hindsight, I think being struck
by lightning has higher odds than an
England World Cup win
Gary Messer
Before the contest started one of my
friends said, If England win the World
Cup Ill take off my trousers and shit in the
road. Afterwards we were curious to see
if he would. As far as I know he didnt.
Bob Fox

Graham Stephenson
We flew from Cyprus to the UK to watch
the World Cup at my aunts house in
Grove Park, London. All went well until
her walnut cabinet television developed
a faulty tube which reduced the grainy
601 lines of the black and white picture
to a compressed strip six inches high.
We decamped to another aunts home,
this time in Pontypridd, Glamorgan. I
watched all the matches (as a 14-yearold girl I had never watched football
on TV previously) but couldnt bear
to watch the final, so I recall making
chocolate mousse with my aunt in the
kitchen, but could hear the roars and

124

I was 11 and watched it on TV with my

older sister in Tunstall, Stoke-on-Trent,
and remember the great excitement. It
was the first and only football match Ive
ever seen and I suspect thats true for my
sister too.
Annie Rhodes
I was only three and a half at the time,
living in York, but my mum wanted
England and my dad, an American, had
put a bet on Germany winning. My only
memory is that of my dad laughing and
laughing hard when Germany scored at
the end of normal time, and my Mum

Amy Lawrence

punching him over and over on the back,

saying Shut up! Shut up!
Nicholas Alvarez

I was six at the time and remember most

of all my mum turning on the radio
about 10 minutes after the final finished;
first record on: The taxmans taken all
my dough...
Richard Withnell
My sister and I grew up in Wembley and
were aged seven and five respectively
at the time of the match. We watched
the match with our parents on a blackand-white TV in our parents bedroom
as Mum had flu. As soon as the match
finished we walked down towards
Wembley Stadium. The road leading
up to the North Circular was lined with
people and we joined the cheering and
joy when the England team drove past
in a coach.
Cathy Burnstone
On this Saturday my father, a lifetime
football fan and one-time player, agreed
to drive me and three friends to Windsor
for the music festival. We were all 16 at
the time. Football? We did not care a jot.
The Who were topping the bill. Cream
were playing their first set the next day.
In the middle of the music there was an
announcement with the result. Greeted by
a single cheer. Then the music continued.
My fathers memory of the day says it all.
Not one of the miserable buggers even
said thank you.
Chris Queree

I was there! With my father, Robert, and

my wife Marjorie. Because we had tickets
for a West End show that evening we
had to leave the ground immediately
after the final whistle. Hurrying down to
the underground we managed to board
the first tube train away from Wembley.
Imagine our amazement when we
sat down to the cries from the other
passengers (at least a dozen or so) of
What was the final score? Did we win?
They had left their seats before the end
to ensure they missed the crowd.
I wonder what they tell their grandchildren?
George Thompson

From Afar But There In Spirit

I was in the Royal Navy and watched it
in a pub in North Queensferry, Scotland,
just me and the landlord.
Ken Coombs
I watched most of the games on
TV but missed the final as I went
on my first holiday with a couple of
friends, camping near Bowness-onWindermere. That afternoon I remember
seeing a couple of brief glimpses of
the match in a butchers shop. My
compensation for missing the match
was meeting my first serious girlfriend,
the beautiful Audrey from Windermere.
Ian Pounder
Having booked my summer holiday
months ahead, without thinking for a
moment that England had a hope of
getting to the final, England v West
Germany coincided with our DoverCalais crossing. With my friend Richard,

125

Golden Anniversary

I was driving to Italy in his sisters MGB.

We found ourselves on deck during a
pretty rough crossing listening to the
running commentary around a very basic
transistor radio with scratchy reception.
There were lots of England supporters
and a fair number of Germans too. As
the game progressed, more and more
people congregated around the radio.
Half-time coincided with us being half
way across the Channel. The second half
was anguish for everybody, accompanied
by the fact I was feeling increasingly
seasick. More and more beers were
being bought by everybody. As we came
into the harbour the Germans equalised.
Groans all round. When we disembarked
we found the guy with the radio and all
hung around on the quayside. At one
point the radio cut out and we frantically
dashed about trying to pick up reception.
When England won we all piled off to
a local hostelry, probably 20 or 30 of
us, our new friends who we met on the
boat. We celebrated Englands win over
several hours at which point we realised
we were not in a fit state to commence
our long drive to Italy. We hung around
to sober up, big smiles on our faces.

When the World Cup came round my

dad bought two books of tickets, one for
me, one for him. We went to a couple
of early games and then I was playing
cricket. When England got to the final I
got a call saying would I play a cricket
match? I was trying to establish myself.
Nobody wanted to play this bloody
game but Id do anything for a game of
cricket. So I didnt go to the World Cup
final. I gave my ticket away to play in a
game instead.
My dad went. He was a very straight
bloke, a civil servant, liked everything
orderly. He didnt like the hassle of
queues and things. If we ever went to
see a film wed go in after it had started
and sit down to watch it from halfway
through to the end and start again until
we went back to the bit we started at.
It wasnt until I was older that I ever
watched a film properly.
My dad, not wanting to get stuck in the
crowd at Wembley, left the final with five
minutes to go. It was 2-1 when he left. I
missed the game for a game of cricket,
my dad missed extra-time because he
didnt like queuing.

Peter Lawrence
I went to Derby Baths in Blackpool as
usual on that Saturday afternoon with
my friend Marion. We were expecting to
meet up with the usual gang and I was
particularly looking forward to seeing
a boy I fancied but there were no boys
there at all. No lifeguards either or indeed
any other adults so we amused ourselves
by running around and doing all the
things normally not allowed. Weirdly
magical and certainly unforgettable.
Bee Wyeth

126

37 years later, when England got to the

2003 Rugby World Cup final in Australia,
it was transmitted back in England at
9am on a Saturday morning. My little girl
had a gymnastics class so we decided
to record it, we went off to class trying
to avoid everything. We got back and
turned on the video. But we had only
set it for 80 mins and after that it went
cccssshhhhh and turned off. So the only
two World Cups England have won the
Selvey family have missed both of them.
Mike Selvey

Amy Lawrence

Driving back from our holiday in north

Wales listening in to the car radio: a
Radiomobile valve set. I got my Dad to
flash everyone coming the other way
after we won.

which luckily we found and together with

a crowd of other people saw England
win 4-2 over West Germany. A super
start to our holiday!
Clare Handrup

Richard Jones
I remember the tournament as a seven
year old. Id kept my World Cup wall
chart up to date each morning as most
of the games were concluded after my
bedtime. The real memory though is the
Final. Come the glorious day my sports
apathetic parents decided the day of
the final would be a great day to take
my little sister and me to Chester Zoo
as it would be nice and quiet. They were
100% right - we were about the only
people there and my grumpiness was
compounded by the fact that the animals
seemed as fed up as I was at missing the
big day.
Ever since, Ive not liked zoos. For some
people it may be a view based on animal
welfare but for me I cant see a lion
without thinking of Bobby Moore.
David Carrington
I was 14 years old. On the day of the
final we were going on holiday, driving
from London to Southampton, the port
where we were to set sail to Lisbon. As
West Ham supporters we had an added
interest in the match as the trio of Martin
Peters, Geoff Hurst and of course Bobby
Moore were playing. We listened to
most of the game on the radio in the
car and reached Southampton ahead
of departure with extra time to go. So,
we drove hectically around the town,
looking for a television shop that had
a television turned on in the window,

My dad was 11 in the summer of 1966

and grew up in Ponders End, Enfield,
what was then your typical white,
working-class London suburb. He lived
with his two older brothers and his
parents in a rather loveless, joyless home
filled with mutual unhappiness. So the
day of the World Cup final, my dad and
several of his relatives are watching the
match in the living room on their rented
television. (A year later on 1967 FA Cup
final day, Spurs playing Chelsea, a poor
sap from the TV rental store came to
collect the telly due to unpaid rent.
My grandad chased him out the house
with an axe.) He wasnt the kindest of
individuals was my grandad.
The game duly goes to extra time.
Now, my grandad at the time did an
afternoon paper round and extra time
in the game clashed with when he was
supposed to be delivering newspapers.
What does he do? Goes up to my
dad and tells him he has to do it. So
its extra-time in the 1966 World Cup
Final and my dad, age 11, is delivering
newspapers rather than watching the
game. He would hear people cheering
in their living-rooms when England
scored which just made him feel worse.
He never saw England win the World
Cup. He never saw Bobby Moore lifting
the Jules Rimet trophy.
Even now, its a topic I darent bring up.
Jack Howes

127

Golden Anniversary

The day England won the World Cup

was the same day that my parents
and I were going to Italy on our first
package holiday. Needless to say we
just made it in time to catch our plane
and celebrated with a crowd of young
taxi drivers from the East End of London
when we arrived in Riccione.
Lucille Grant
I was nine when England won the World
Cup. I still remember the day.
My brother and I had the Saturday job
of collecting our pre-ordered boxes of
groceries from the village shop. As we
walked down I commented that the
village was strangely silent and deserted.
It was a warm summer day but there
was nobody in their gardens not
even any cars. The shop was open but
the shopkeeper wasnt there. When we
called out the old man came running
out, bundled the boxes onto the counter
then disappeared with hardly a word.
When we got home I asked Dad what
was going on.
Oh, I think its the football World Cup
today, he said.
Oh, I said.
And we got on with our normal Saturday
things.
Andy Williams
I was on holiday on the Clyde coast
at a place called Millport on the Isle of
Cumbrae. I was there with my parents,
and unlike me, my dad had little interest
in football. Although television was fairly
widespread throughout the country back

128

then, Millport was a holiday town and

hardly anyone had a television set in their
rented property. This wasnt a problem
normally. People were active outside
most of the time. No one wanted to
waste their holiday watching TV.
This year was different, though. We knew
that the World Cup was being televised
live and a few of us wanted to see some
of the games. One particular cafe, the
Swiss Caf, had a television set and
people piled in to see the first match,
but rather mysteriously the set went on
the blink and never worked again for the
entire tournament.
The World Cup was frequently discussed
by my holiday mates but we never saw
any of it and then England reached
the final. I asked my mum and dad if they
knew anywhere that was showing it and
eventually they told me I could watch it
at a nearby guesthouse, but Id need to
be on my very best behaviour. When the
big day came, I was ushered into a room
where 15-20 people boys and men
were waiting to see the action. I wanted
West Germany to win.
As a 12 year old, the thing that I became
aware of as the goals were scored was
the different allegiances of those in
the room all of us Scots. I noticed
support for England from the dads, but
all the boys desperately wanted England
to lose. The adults, like my own dad, had
been through a war against Germany.
They had stood side by side with their
English comrades. There was no way
they wanted West Germany to beat
England but youngsters like myself just
wanted to see our football rival beaten.
Gordon Semple

Amy Lawrence

It was the last but one day of our caravan

holiday in Wales. No television. My father
and me and my brother wanted to drive
back to our Birmingham home to watch
the match. My mom refused to cut her
holiday short. Words were exchanged.
We had to listen to the match crouched
around a tinny transistor radio. Never
mind, we shared in the drama and
excitement of an unforgettable occasion.
What my mother did I do not remember.

and now we will finish them. Suddenly,

piercingly our peace was threatened
Gregory get your bag and get yourself
to that paper round. I turned to Greg
and said, Dont worry Ill tell you all
about when YOU get back from your
round.. Oooops He turned to mum
and said those immortal words, Its
NOT FAIR! I was adamant that I was
staying put. Then mum turned to me and
said, You can go with him youll be
back soon you wont miss much.

Steve Keeling
Greg and I had Subbuteo that year and
had had several World Cup finals of our
own. But, this was the real thing. You
know those days when you just feel,
this is special this is a special day.
We all crowded into the front room,
even Grandad Taylor came to watch the
match. Bloody Jerry you cant trust him,
hes either at your feet or your throat,
Grandad quipped. He had been through
the First World War and saw action at the
Somme, just over 50 years before. I loved
my Grandad. Greg and I lay on the floor,
with our hands supporting our chins, we
were transfixed.
Extra time came. Greg, its time for you
to do your paper round, mum said as
she went into the kitchen. We just looked
at each other; surely mum was having
a laugh? We decided to switch into
invisible mode and simply merge with
the carpet, surely mam would forget. Its
the World Cup final, its extra time in the
World Cup final!
We watched the Germans sitting on the
pitch they were done surely they were
done? Alf Ramsey and the coach told
the England lads to get up, stand up, lets
show them we are fine, we are English

And that is how Greg and I missed

Englands finest hour. We went, the only
two lads in Braunstone in England
in the world in the bledy UNIVERSE to
miss extra-time. Walking up Pollard Road
towards the end of the round, it was a
ghost town.
Then there was the sound of a huge
outbreak of sound. England had scored!
Some neighbours invited Greg and me
in to see the final few minutes of the
match. We ran out of the neighbours
house, and ran all the way home.
That evening we played and replayed
Englands World Cup win like thousands
of kids. What a moment in time.
Adrian Wait
I was 14 and saw a lot of the matches on
TV. I remember thinking Farkass goal for
Hungary against Brazil was the best goal
Id ever seen. The World Cup final was
the day we left for Boys Brigade camp so
I didnt see it.
Jon Dean
I was eight-and-a-half months pregnant
and as vast as a barrage balloon. My
husband and I didnt even know the

129

Golden Anniversary

World Cup final was on we had other

things on our mind, like buying a spin
dryer before the baby arrived. So, there
we were, in the electrical goods section
of our nearest department store when
we realised we were completely alone.
It was like the Marie Celeste. Eventually
we came across the staff all watching
the largest TV in the store. They took one
look at me and two of them wordlessly
wheeled up a huge settee

came. A second ring, still no response.

Yelling through the letterbox, I could
hear the excitement mounting. Dad
opened the door. Youll just make the
extra-time whistle weve won!
I push past towards the living room and
the black and white screen. There are
people running onto the pitch. No one
even noticed my new glasses.
Rosalind Atkins

Jacky Steemson
I was eight years old and stuck on an
extremely hot and cramped coach
returning from a weeks break at a
Pontins holiday camp on the south
coast. I remember all the men on the
coach with pensive faces trying to catch
the commentary on a tin-can tranny
drowned out by the growl of a struggling
engine. They kept asking the driver to
stop for a wee every ten minutes, during
which time they crowded around grainy
black-and-white TVs in Little Chefs. I
think the six-hour journey took about ten
that day!
Reg Bull
I was ten years old and a glasses wearer
since the age of two. A new pair was
ready to be picked up at the opticians but
I hung on as long as possible watching
the final. Eventually the end of full-time
was approaching, and Dad said I had to
go. I trudged through deserted streets
to the edge of town, to find a bored
optician, who asked me the score. I told
him we were losing. Oh well, he replied.
At least Im not missing anything.
Back home, again the only living soul on
the street, I rang the doorbell. No one

130

I was six, my brother four. We were so

excited by all the talk about the World
Cup Final that, instead of actually
watching the game, we played football
in the hall with a rolled up sock. England
won the main game, I hear, but there was
some debate about who won the game
between me and my brother. Probably
him because he had a good engine and
more of a will to win than me. You cant
teach that.
Mike Dunne

Watching From Overseas

I remember as a teenager in Montevideo
listening to the games during class at
school (four hours difference with GMT)
from an earphone cupped in my hand
and artfully connected via my sleeve to a
portable Spica in my blazer pocket. The
opener was a goalless draw with England
(they never could beat us in a World
Cup). The day of the opener we were on
a farm in upcountry Uruguay, where we
woke up to the sound of heavy rainfall.
As we were breakfasting in the kitchen
the foreman popped his head through
the doorway to say, Doesnt look good
for the game, this is going to carry on all
day. We all giggled while Dad patiently

Amy Lawrence

explained that London was thousands

of kilometres away and then invited him
to come and listen to the match on the
radio with us at midday. Sure enough,
he turned up about five minutes before
kick-off just as the commentator was
informing that both teams were coming
on to the pitch at Wembley under a
steady downpour. As he sat down to
remove the mud from his boots he gave
us children a complicit wink and turned
to Dad to say, Told you it was a bigun.
Gods truth.
Kenneth Gilmore
I remember this with such clarity. I was in
Lyon, France, and my French wife to be,
Martine, had left the apartment to buy
her wedding dress. Her grandmother and
I watched the game together sitting on a
sturdy sofa bed. Memories of the war and
occupation were still raw and everyone
I knew in France supported the England
of mini cars, Beatles and Carnaby
Street. When Hurst scored that last
goal I jumped with delight landing back
heavily on the sofa which duly collapsed,
splintering in all directions and enveloping
Grandmaman in a mayhem of wood
and cloth. The event became a muchembellished family story. The wedding
took place a few days later and nearly 50
years on survives. Vive la France!
Bob Moon
My memory of the 1966 World Cup final
was from the perspective of a 10-yearold football-mad kid living in Singapore,
where my dad was stationed with the
RAF. We had to listen to the game in the
wee hours of Sunday morning on the
World Service, by means of a crappy

shortwave radio. No footage of the final

reached Singapore for about two or
three months, until Goal!, the feature
film of the 66 finals, was finally released
and made it out to Asia, I then finally
saw what I had heard on that fateful and
brilliant day in July.
Many years later as a young sound
technician at the BBC I had the great
pleasure of working alongside Bobby
Charlton and regaled this tale to him
over a game of Subbuteo, (which he won
with great aplomb). I did, however, get
to deliver the immortal commentary line,
Charlton shoots and Charlton scores
as the greatest No 9 ever to pull on an
England shirt bore down on my goal.
Happy days indeed.
Paul Kennedy
In the summer of 66 I was a recently
graduated art student with all the
prerequisite Left Bank posturing and
pretensions (very big at the time). I
wasnt that into football, despite having
played for my school. French cigarettes
(Gitanes), Thelonious Monk and an
existential scowl was my thing. Football
didnt solve the true meaning of life,
man. I was too cool to fool. But it was
hard to miss the excitement building
around London. A friend insisted on
giving directions in terrible Spanish to
a group of Brazilians on the top of the
Fulham Broadway bus. They thanked
him in excellent English. I hoped
England would win of course. But really,
did I care? I was off on a soul-searching
quest, hitch-hiking around the Aegean
to soak up classical antiquity. Was a man
throwing a discus superior to a man
kicking a ball? Would Praxiteles have
chipped out a great Bobby Charlton?

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Golden Anniversary

Through the preliminary rounds I had

made my way to Athens and admired
all the naked goddesses and frozen
athletes that I was supposed to admire.
My idea was to make the full circle.
Istanbul down to Rhodes, across to
Crete and back to Athens. I moved on,
thumbing my way up to Thessaloniki,
where at the Youth Hostel I was warned
getting to Istanbul could be dodgy.
Enmity between the Turks and the
Greeks severely restricted cross-border
traffic. They were right, the first day I
tried there was nothing. I dont mean
nothing stopped, I mean there was no
traffic at all. The second day a couple of
other travellers showed up at my spot,
a Swede and his girlfriend. And by the
time the flat bed lorry pulled up a Swiss
kid had joined us. We climbed onto the
back and hung on for life as the beast
bounced and sped along the empty
pockmarked roads. As the day got hotter
we took off our shirts, even the girl, and
cooked ourselves in the Aegean sun. For
the whole day! It was a very long trip.
By the time we arrived in Istanbul, late
afternoon, I was all too aware of my
crisply burnt back. The kind of pain that
makes you cry without realising you are
crying. I could only cringe at the weight
of my shirt on my shoulders. The cafs
lining the ancient streets were crowded
with noisy men huddled at tables, too
focused on little transistor radios to
notice us. From the ebb and flow of
the Ooos and Ahhhs and muted cheers
it was obvious they were following a
match. I had lost track of the World Cup
schedule, and not speaking a word of
Turkish, I had no idea who was playing.
Then finally there was a unanimous
cheer, a thunderous roar as cafs up
and down the street erupted. Men

132

jumped from their seats hugging and

shouting and waving.
They saw us, me in particular, and with
mob instinct immediately focused their
frenzy. Was it my long hair? My arty
clothes? Then I realised my skin by now
boiled lobster pink gave me away. Was
that good or bad? I couldnt tell when they
rushed me, I was too freaked to read their
expression. It was only when they began
to pound me on the back while jubilantly
shouting Engleesh! Engleesh! Engleesh!
that I understood. Their delight was so
great they took my tears and howls of pain
to be an English expression of joy.
Michael Harvey
The morning England won the World Cup
I was sitting in a room with 15 or so others
listening to the World Service broadcast
in Borneo. It was about 3 oclock in the
morning, ceiling fans whirring, mozzie nets
tucked in. We were serving with the Army
Air Corps by Kuching airstrip. Twelve years
later, I met up with Bobby Moore in a bar
at Terminal 3 at Heathrow. I was on my
way to the desert in Abu Dhabi. He was
heading for Singapore.
Roddy Kyle
I was eight years old and my family
lived in Paris. We always went to
my grandfathers house in deepest
rural Brittany (Tremel, population
300) for our summer holidays. It was
barely 20 years since the German
occupation had ended and many
families, including mine, had suffered
greatly. Needless to say, the Boche
were not forgiven. The English, on the
other hand, were extremely popular,
especially in my family.

Amy Lawrence

My grandfather lived in a small house

with no running water, but in 1966 he
had just had the electricity connected.
On the day of the final he hired a blackand-white TV, which was incredibly
exciting, for us kids especially. It sat on a
sideboard in the kitchen and the whole
family (my grandfather, parents, aunts
there were about 10 of us) crammed
into this room and sat on wooden
benches to watch the game.
Englands goals brought screams
of delight, my normally very severe
grandfather, my parents, my aunts,
all jumping up and down, hugging
each other, clapping and laughing. I
remember this so well, because I had
never seen my entire family so happy,
and so united. However, when Germany
scored the second time, one my aunts
left the room in floods of tears. She
didnt come in again for ages, but she
was standing outside listening, I could
see her through the window. When the
third goal was awarded by the Soviet
linesman, we totally knew it was for all
the Russians who had died in the war there were cries of Bravo les Russes!.
I had not experienced anything like it before.
It got me and my brother into football.
Sophie Tarassenko
The game wasnt shown live in Canada.
Rather, we had to wait till later in the day
to see the tape. I settled down in front
of the TV to watch. Five minutes before
kick-off the phone rang. My mother said,
Hello, Willie, isnt it wonderful about
England winning the World Cup! Her
and her bloody radio.
William Moore

Meanwhile In Germany
What a year 1966 was, I was 16, just
left school and got my first girlfriend
(or should I say she got me!). Then,
big blow, my father was posted to RAF
Rheindahlen at HQ RAF Germany, where
I got a temporary job in the NAAFI,
stacking shelves. I had never been
interested in football, but everyone at
work was trying to watch the World Cup
final in the stock room on a small, grainy,
black-and-white TV. When England
actually won the Cup, I joined in the
celebrations and was sacked soon after.
That evening, to mark Englands win,
myself and some friends went into the
local town of Mnchengladbach and put
washing liquid in the fountains. Such fun!
Ken Cross
I watched the final in a bar in Germany
with my mate Geoff. We were students
hitchhiking around Europe and were
trying to get to Denmark to watch it, when
someone told us and I never found
out whether or not this was true that it
was not being shown live there. The bar
was packed. We were the only English
people there and the atmosphere was
quite hostile. We couldnt understand why
the place erupted when the white shirts
scored. We then realised that England must
be playing in the dark shirts! (The television
was both small and black and white).
The bar emptied a bit when England
took the lead in extra-time and, once the
last goal went in it emptied completely.
By the end, there was only Geoff, me
and three Norwegians who joined us
for a celebratory beer not as easy as
it sounds as the solitary barmaid was
sobbing her heart out behind the bar!

133

Golden Anniversary

When we left, there was a major traffic

jam and a group of British soldiers not
exactly on their first drink of the day were
doing their bit for Anglo-German relations
by walking up and down the road banging
on car roofs and shouting out the score.
John English
On the day I was 16 and with a Venture
Scout group camping in southern
Germany near Freiburg. We found a local
inn with a TV and took over a section
of the bar to watch the final as we had
done to watch the semis. When Hurst
scored that disputed goal there was a
bit of reaction from the other customers
but apart from that the reaction was
always friendly towards our group and
philosophical about the result.
Laurie Goldberg
I was on my first trip abroad on a
school coach trip to Belgium and
Germany. July 30 was my 11th birthday
and we were staying at a hotel in
Knigswinter on the Rhine. The tour
schedule for the 30th was a visit to
the Drachenfels and on the way back
the German coach driver had the
radio tuned in to the final. There was
a communication problem and by
the time we got back to the hotel we
believed that England had lost the final
3-2. It was only the next day that we
found out the truth. Maybe the coach
driver was scared of being mocked by a
bunch of unruly school kids.
Steve Carroll
My school had a Scout group. In 1966
we were camping in Bavaria, hardly
following the World Cup. It was the 70th

134

Birmingham Scout group based at King

Edwards School. We were camping
near Mittenwald. On the day of the final
we went to a local hostelry to watch
the match. The Germans were very
generous and came over to shake our
hands when the final whistle went. The
next day a couple of them came and
challenged us to a game of football.
There was quite a crowd the following
day to see us play. We lost 3-0 . They
felt they had restored German pride (in
a friendly way). We didnt tell them that
at our school we did not play football.
Rugby was our game.
John Sommer
Was a 15 year old on holiday in Germany
for the duration of the World Cup. Saw
the final on a black-and-white TV in a bar
in Michelstadt. Went outside at the end
and the whole village was quiet, and I of
course celebrated. The shutters opened
and heads looked out, Englnder! they
all shouted. Great fun.
Mike James
My friends and I were travelling in
Germany at the time in a little red mini
and it had a GB plate on it. We were
South Africans but had hired the car in
the UK. When we came to the Austrian
border there was a long queue but when
someone spotted our GB plate there was
much cheering and we were invited to
join the head of the line! This in spite of
the fact that we four girls were blissfully
unaware of the World Cup, were not
football fans and not British. We kept
quiet however and gratefully accepted
the accolades!
Judy Hargraves

Amy Lawrence

I travelled through Germany on a train

on the day of the World Cup final. I was
19 in 1966 and had left my home city of
Sheffield busy erecting flagpoles for the
World Cup along the front of Sheffield
Wednesdays Hillsborough stadium.
I didnt give them a second glance.
Football bored me silly, still does. I was
doing something far more exciting, off
to join a group of complete strangers
in London for an international youth
working holiday in East Germany or
the GDR as I quickly learned to call it.
Behind the Iron Curtain! That sounds
such an obsolete phrase nowadays
but then it caused a real frisson of
apprehension and disbelief when I
told people where I was off to. It was
part of Project 67, organised by CND
to promote friendship, peace and
understanding between young adults.
It certainly promoted that, along with
muscles and exhaustion as we worked
12-hour days on a collective farm a few
miles from the Polish border alongside
others from the USSR, Sweden,
Denmark, Malta and other places Ive
forgotten. Collapsing onto our bunk
beds when we got back at the end of
the day we found to our dismay that
a relentless programme of social and
political education awaited us. A quick
shower and meal of some variety of
sausage and potatoes and we were off
again. We visited schools, factories,
nurseries, coal mines (the first socialist
nursery, the first socialist coal mine).
The trip was a powerful experience
which did lead to friendship and
understanding, but it was the journey
home that I remember so clearly. We
travelled back in a train through West
Germany on the day of the World Cup

final. The football enthusiasts in our

group were glued to their transistors
as indeed were most of the other
passengers. There was just the small
problem that we were on opposing sides
to each other. International friendship,
peace and solidarity was suddenly off the
agenda. Naked nationalism just as quickly
took their place. As the match progressed
to its conclusion the entire train could be
heard to groan collectively. Sobbing on
manly German shoulders took place.
Our football enthusiasts were beside
themselves, until the more savvy
members of our party picked up on the
vibe coming towards us in waves from
the other passengers. It was clear that
things could take a nasty turn as some
male passengers got up and advanced
towards us shouting. I didnt need to
understand German to get the drift. We
beat a tactical retreat and regrouped
in another carriage. But feelings were
running high throughout the train and
we silently communicated with each
other that speaking English out loud
was not a great idea. We spent the rest
of the journey through Germany in
complete silence nervously looking over
our shoulders for any looming German
football supporter. It was a genuinely
threatening situation to be in.
Several weeks spent working alongside
Germans and others, sharing experiences,
learning about each others life and
countries, making friends, all gone, all
wiped out by 120 minutes of football. So
yes, I do remember the 1966 World Cup,
and the lesson I learned on the homeward
journey has stayed with me over the years.
So has my intense dislike of football.
Chris Scarlett

135

Golden Anniversary

I am from Germany and the family

bought a TV just for the World Cup. My
grandma could not grasp the concept of
people on a screen and insisted that we
all put on our Sunday best just in case the
people inside the TV could see us. When
it came to the end of the game and
Germany lost we heard an almighty row
next door. Our neighbour had thrown
their TV out of the window, followed by
various bits of furniture. The wife and
kids were crying and so everybody came
out of their houses trying to help and
calm down the very irate TV thrower.
Six years later I married an English man
and have lived in the UK ever since. I
watch the game whenever its shown on
TV enjoying these memories, realising that
the rivalry between England and Germany
has never really stopped. Its just a game?
Aggie Smith

And Now, 50 Years On

Our parents decided television in the
home was stultifying for children. It
must have been halfway through the
1966 World Cup coverage that despite
this they decided watching the games
would be educational. They went out and
bought what was probably one of the
first portable TVs so that we could watch
England win. Im not sure what was the
most amazing: England winning or a box
in the corner of our sitting room.
Once the tournament ended, the TV
went up into the attic, to come out
about three years later, so that me
and my brothers could witness a man
walking on the moon.
Diane Mathewson

136

My Grandad was there, behind the goal

where Geoff Hurst thundered in the
fourth. My Grandads name is Dennis
Wells but he is affectionately known to
everyone as Wilbur. He has dementia
now so not too many clear memories. I
do recall asking him why he never kept
the programme. He gave it to a little boy
outside Wembley who couldnt get in.
Jordan Conte
In the late 70s I read Richard Crossmans
diaries about serving in the Wilson
government. There are detailed entries
for almost every day in 1966. There is no
mention of the World Cup or football
at all in June or July. Nothing on either
July 30 or 31. Complete silence. The only
reference is I think in September when
he complains that Wilson was late for a
meeting because the Prime Minister had
been at a World Cup celebration event.
Now of course the politicians would be
all over the place if England got to a final.
Dave Emmerson
In 1966 I was at boarding school.
My exams were over but the school
didnt break up until sometime in the
week of July 18. I pleaded extenuating
circumstances to go home a few days
early; my mother was away and my
father a GP needed someone at
home to take messages from patients.
It was exciting to have football on
the television every day, see all these
different countries although the
commentator would remind you who
was playing from left to right across your
screen as there was no colour TV then.
At the start of the Final there was just
my 10-year-old sister and me watching.
However by the time the second half

Amy Lawrence

progressed I think all my three sisters and

both parents were watching. The injurytime equaliser drained us all.
There was for me a sad sequel to that
weekend which many have forgotten.
As a family we used to go every August
to the Roseland peninsula in Cornwall.
On the Monday following we learnt of
a pleasure boat disaster off the Cornish
coast costing many lives. For some
people that victory sadly was the last bit
of joy they would have known.
Richard Carton
I was 16 in 1966 and went with my
Dad to the group games at Goodison
and the final at Wembley. I have three
abiding memories.
First, we got one of our two tickets for the
Final through a lottery. Everyone who went
to the group games was part of the draw
to qualify for a final ticket. What could be
more democratic? What could be further
away from the football of today?
Second, I saw two unforgettable games
that were symbolic of the time. One
was Hungarys defeat of Brazil and in
particular the goal scored from a cross
on the right wing. I was in line with the
winger and the forward in the centre who
together conjured up one of the best
moves I have ever seen. The other game
was the remarkable recovery of Portugal
against North Korea. Eusbio worked
miracles to overcome a 3-0 deficit and
became one of my great heroes.
Third, the final. A great match which
for us began with a Wembley steward
willing to let my Dad and me into the
same enclosure, despite having tickets

for different parts of the ground. Perhaps

the oddest part of the day was that, for
reasons I cannot explain, my Dad decided
to support Germany and wore a German
rosette. I acted as if I did not know him on
the journey to and from the ground!
All in all, football experiences that have
remained among the most vivid of my
life, matched only by just escaping being
crushed in Block Z at Heysel 19 years later.
Michael Shackleton
In 1966, aged 15, I was at Villa Park to see
Argentina, including the notorious Rattin,
beat Spain (Gento, Surez and all) 2-1,
but watched the rest, including the final,
on TV. When I came to Azerbaijan as an
English teacher in 2000, one of the first
thing my students were anxious to talk to
me about was the great Tofik Bahramovs
role in the 1966 final - of course, like
most other people, Id assumed the
famous linesman was Russian.
I didnt meet Tofik but, with my
Azerbaijani wife Saadat, I interviewed his
son Bahram, and held the golden whistle
that his father was presented with. In
the action pictures that Bahram keeps
with pride, his father is invariably smiling,
enjoying the game, a fan of football.
What was in his soul was on his face is
how his family remembers him.
Ian Peart
I drew World Cup Willy for my friends. I
grew up to be a graphic designer.
Joseph Scerri
My brother was in Aden at the time. When
the Post Office issued World Cup stamps

137

Golden Anniversary

overprinted with England Winners they

quickly sold out in England and were
attracting a premium from collectors.
BFPO in Aden however had plenty in stock
so my brother was able to source a lot of
them and the sales earned enough to keep
us both in beer money for many months.
Ken Smith
It was the first thing that really bonded
my father and me together.
Legh Davies
Never forget my wedding anniversary
married on the day that England won the
World Cup!
David McInally
I was six and my brother ten. Our Dad
took us to the England v Mexico game.
I remember waving my Union Jack flag
lots. That summer we went on our first
foreign holiday to Tangier in Morocco,
flying from Manston airport on an
Air Ferry DC6. Our hotel was in the

138

middle of the souk and when the local

kids found out we were English they
just shouted Bobby Charlton, Bobby
Charlton at us.
Ric OConnor
Got married March 1966. Winning the
World Cup was the best wedding present
I had. It was just wonderful the feeling
I had for Alf Ramsey who proved all
his critics wrong. I have the greatest
admiration for Bobby Charlton for his
achievements in football, his demeanour
and his part-tragic history. I love that
man and he doesnt know it.
Len Sugarman
I was born during the match; my dad
watched it and mum was a bit fed up
because she couldnt.
Mrs Maxted
I was born the day after.
Simon Turner

Amy Lawrence

139
Photo Essay

For 60 years, extraordinary

pictures of Hungary's greatest
team lay undeveloped.

139

The Golden Squad

The Golden Sqaud

For 60 years, extraordinary pictures of Hungarys
greatest team lay undeveloped
By Lajos Kozk

The Hungary side of the early fifties is

widely regarded as having been one
of the greatest of all time. They went
almost four years unbeaten from 1950,
winning gold at the 1952 Olympics and
losing to West Germany in the final of
the 1954 World Cup, but beyond that,
they helped transform the game. Their
6-3 victory over England at Wembley in
November 1953 was the first England had
ever suffered at home against continental
European opposition, and shattered the
complacent myth that England remained
the worlds great footballing power,
provoking a wave of self-recrimination
and tactical experiment.
The photographer Lajos Kozk spent
some time with what became known as

140

the Golden Squad and, using a modified

film camera, took phase photos of them
in training. In total he produced more
than 100 rolls of negatives which lay
undeveloped for 60 years before being
bought by Istvn Bujki.
Bujki had the whole collection
catalogued and digitised. A part of it was
restored in high resolution and images
were edited and printed in exhibition
quality. Thanks to the unusually good
quality, 10 of the best phases were
enhanced by modern techniques
and were interlaced to create 3D-like
super slow motion full HD films. Bujki
has already staged one exhibition in
Budapest and hopes to take the whole
collection to display in other venues.

Lajos Kozk

Gyula Grosics

141

The Golden Squad

Gyula Grosics

142

Lajos Kozk

Gyula Grosics

143

The Golden Squad

Gyula Grosics

144

Lajos Kozk

Gyula Grosics

145

The Golden Squad

Sndor Mtrai

146

Lajos Kozk

Sndor Mtrai

147

The Golden Squad

Sndor Mtrai

148

Lajos Kozk

Sndor Kocsis

149

The Golden Squad

Ferenc Szusza

150

Lajos Kozk

Mihly Kispter

151

The Golden Squad

Ferenc Pusks

152

Lajos Kozk

Nandor Hidegkuti

153

The Golden Squad

154
Fiction

The press conference went as well as

you would expect when a man who has
been in a coma for four years is suddenly
named as the England manager.

154

Quantum of Bobby

Quantum of Bobby
Bobby Manager answers Englands call to lead his
nation at Euro 2016
By Iain Macintosh

Theorising that radio-controlled

clouds could help Qatar manufacture
a climate suitable for football, the
authorities experimented and very
nearly killed their national coach
Bobby Manager with one. Manager
awoke to find himself trapped in the
past, facing challenges that were not
his own, driven to change history
for the better. His only guide on this
journey is Karren Brady, or at least a
subconscious manifestation of Karren
Brady, who speaks to Bobby in a voice
that only he can hear. And so Bobby
Manager finds himself leaping from life
to life, striving to put right what once
went wrong and hoping each time that
his next leap will be the leap home.

brain and squeezing it until it pops. My

bones are throbbing.
Beep.
Hello, Bobby, said a soft female voice.
I opened my eyes slowly and a familiar
face swam into focus. She was standing
above me, looking at me with what
looked like mild amusement.
Karren Brady, I croaked.
Youve been asleep, she said. Frankly,
we werent sure if youd ever wake up.

Beep.

Slowly, gingerly, I moved my head to one

side. I was in a bed, a nice bed. Fresh
white sheets. The room was small, a tall
machine stood next to me, beeping.
Wires linked us together.

Beep.

Im home, I said quietly.

Someone make that noise stop.

Not exactly, smiled Karren. Youre in a

hospital in Doha. You were struck on the
head by a radio-controlled cloud. But
youre going home. Thats why Im here.
Youre coming with me.

Beep.

Beep.
Beep.
Someone make that noise stop. And can
someone please get me a Paracetamol.
The pain in my head, my skull feels like a
leaking balloon, contracting around my

I laughed and then regretted it, my

aching body rejecting the mirth.
We did it, Karren. All those challenges.

155

Quantum of Bobby

Keeping Brian and Peter together at Forest,

calming down Roy Keane, escaping to
victory, multiple penalty shoot-out defeats
with England. We did it.
Karren stared at me blankly.
I have absolutely no idea what youre
babbling about.
I didnt know if that was true, but to be
honest, I didnt care. How long was I
out? I asked.

is there now. They have an Olympic

Stadium and a bright future. The
days of hiring the likes of you are,
mercifully, long gone. Besides, I dont
work there anymore. I work at the
Football Association.
Then what do you want from me?
Bobby Manager, she said. Im here to
offer you the England job.
Not a fucking chance, I said and I
started to get out of bed.

Four years, said Karren brightly.

Dont get out of bed, Bobby, Karren said.
I didnt say anything. Not immediately. I
didnt know what to say. So I started to
cry instead.
Why are you crying? asked Karren,
cocking her head to one side.

Why? So you can talk me into it? Im not

that stu-AAAARGH!
No, said Karren as my tears flowed
freely again. Because your catheter is
still attached.

Why do you think Im crying? I howled.

Four years?! Thats thats thats forever!
Thats four years of my life Ive lost!
We sat in the departure lounge in silence.
Four years isnt that much, sniffed Karren.
Eat right, dont smoke, do exercise, youll
live until youre 80. Four years is just 5%. Its
nothing. Get over it and move on.
Thats easy for you to say, I snapped.
But I have to hang on. What do you
mean, Im coming with you?
Karren smiled again. I have a little job
for you.
I am not going back to West Ham,
Karren. The last time we worked
together, you tried to Taser my testicles.

Karren flicked through a copy of Time

magazine. I just stared into space. Id
been awake for two weeks, slowing
regaining my strength and rebuilding
atrophied muscles. I needed much more
time, but Karren had made it clear that
there wasnt any. My country needed
me. Sort of.
Why am I the number one candidate?
Id asked her.
There isnt anyone else, Karren told me.
Alan Curbishley?

Dont be silly, Bobby. Youd never get

the West Ham job now. Slaven Bili

156

No-ones seen him since 2008.

Iain Macintosh

Harry Redknapp?

What about you? I asked.

Got QPR relegated. Twice.

I think youre the perfect patsy, Bobby. We

bring you into the job on a tide of goodwill
and nostalgia and if it all goes wrong, then
at least the next idiot to sign up for this will
be able to hurdle the low expectations you
leave as your legacy. Welcome to the team.

What about Sam Allardyce?

We had him at West Ham. Awful man.
Poos with the door open.
But what happened to Roy Hodgson?
You said that he was doing the job, that
hed got England into the European
Championships with a 100% record?
Karren had shaken her head sadly.
There was anincident. Roy went
rogue at a press conference. Someone
repeatedly asked him why he wasnt
taking Andy Carroll to France and he just
flipped out, started chucking chairs at the
man from the Sun, screaming, Hes been
injured for the better part of five years,
you fucking morons. Are you that easily
impressed? We had to stand him down.
It was for his own good.
But that still doesnt explain why you
want me, Id said.

Karren, Id said. You always know how

to make a man feel special. Now why
dont you just fuck off?
Well pay you a one-off sum of 1m
to take the team to the European
Championship and you can have another
5m in the unlikely event that you win it.
I accept your terms and conditions!
Id shouted.
And so we found ourselves in the
departure lounge together, waiting for a
flight that would take me back to England.
And back to football. Real football.
What was it like? asked Karren idly,
without looking up from her magazine.
What was what like?

You won the Champions League with

Liverpool. You did quite well with West
Ham. Youre a candidate.
I gave her a look.

The coma. What was it like? What do

you remember?
You wouldnt believe me if I told you,
I said.

She sighed.
Try me.
Okay. Well try honesty. Bobby, youre
yesterdays man and theres a strong
possibility that youll suffer lingering brain
injuries that will impair your judgement
for the rest of your life. Thus, the FA
board members think youre perfect
England manager material.

A series of football-related challenges,

each more fiendish than the last, designed
by an abstract version of you who lived in
my head, taunting me at every turn.
There was a long silence.

157

Quantum of Bobby

Youre a very odd man, Bobby, she said.

The man whispered again.

We didnt speak much on the flight back

to Heathrow.

Who the fuck is Jamie Vardy? I said, as

the camera flashes lit up the room.
The headlines the next day were really
very unkind.

The press conference went as well as

you would expect when a man who has
been in a coma for four years is suddenly
named as the England manager.
Is this some kind of a joke? asked
Henry Winter.
No, Henry, I said calmly. Next
question, please.
Every hand in the room went up.
If your next question is, No, seriously,
Bobby. Is this a joke? please put your
hand down, I said.
Almost all of the hands went down.
I hesitate to ask, said Henry, as I fear
it may make this process even more
farcical, but have you actually seen any
football recently?

So much had changed since my

accident. Not only were Leicester City
back in the Premier League, but they
had inexplicably won the title. And if
that wasnt enough, Tottenham had
suddenly become the very model of
a modern football club, combining
exquisite technical ability with calm
defiance in defence. Manchester United
were boring, Liverpool were odd and
Manchester City still hadnt experienced
the kind of sustained consistency youd
expect for the better part of a gazillion
pounds. Thank God for Arsenal and
their unstinting desire always to do not
quite well enough. They were the rock I
clutched in the confusion.

A young man in an FA blazer skittered

over to my table and whispered in my ear.

I needed help. There was no way I could

do the job on my own. I needed someone
who had actually been conscious since
2012 and who knew about the little
things, like who was good at football. But
I couldnt seem to get anyone to take the
job. I thought that perhaps someone who
had been turned down in the past might
want to come and help out, but Alan
Curbishley was still MIA, Harry Redknapps
phone had a foreign ring tone and never
picked up and Sam Allardyce just laughed
and hung up on me. There was only a
week before we left for France.

Retired?! I gasped. All of them? Then

whos left?

I returned to my hotel room that night,

head hung low. I took off my jacket,

Not as such, Henry, no. There was a

loud groan from the press corps. But
Im confident that with simple values
like hard work, good organisation and a
lot of pointing, well be absolutely fine
in France. Every nation in Europe would
love to have players like Steven Gerrard,
Frank Lampard and John Terry.

158

Iain Macintosh

tossed it on the bed and then nearly

soiled myself when a low voice rumbled
out of the darkness.

need to rule with an iron fist and Ive

seen enough of you to know that theres
no iron anywhere on you.

Are you an ostrich?

Oh, thanks, I said.

Jesus Henry Christ! I exclaimed,

backing away to the door. Who are you?
What are you doing in here?

Its not an insult. You need a mix of

characters. Take law enforcement, for
example. When youre trying to break a
suspect, you always need a good cop to
make a connection with a suspect. Thats
you.

A large shadow moved in the gloom.

Are you flexible enough to get your head
in the sand? My suspicion would be no.
Look! I blustered. Take my money!
Take it all!
I dont want your money, Bobby. The
shadow reached out and pulled the
chord of a large lamp. My name is Nigel
Pearson, son of Alan, and if by my life or
my death I can save you, I will.

That doesnt sound so bad,

And then you need a bad cop. Someone
to shove the bastard down a flight of
stairs if he gets a bit lippy. A few internal
injuries, nothing that shows up when you
drag him in front of the magistrate the
next morning. You know what I mean?
Well I stammered. I dont think we
need to do anything like that.

You want a job?

Nigel nodded and sat down in an
armchair.
Well, I said. I do need an assistant
manager. And you have shown a certain
amount of aptitude by gaining access to
my hotel room. How did you do that, by
the way?
Nigel smiled. I killed a porter.

Nigel crossed the room in two strides

and pushed his face into mine. His breath
smelled of HP sauce.
Are you frightened? he hissed at me.
Yes, I whimpered.
Not nearly frightened enough. He
looked around the room furtively. I
know what hunts you.

Nigel laughed uproariously.

I gave him the job if he promised to go

home and leave me alone. It seemed the
wisest course of action at the time.

Im joking with you, Bobby! Im just

joking! I didnt kill him. And Im convinced
hell make a full recovery. The important
thing is that Im here. I can help you. You

Picking a squad was relatively easy, not

least because there are only about 29

I stared at him in horror.

159

Quantum of Bobby

eligible players in the Premier League

now. Nigel guided me through the
process and showed me clips of the
youngsters whose development Id
missed. I was particularly impressed
with Dele Alli and John Stones, but not
so much with Wayne Rooney. As far as
I could see, hed lost his pace and his
touch, and he was still as volatile as ever.
You have to pick him, Bobby, said Nigel.
Hes scored more goals for England than
anyone else ever.
Yeah, I said, but he scored most of
those goals when he could still run. If
were just picking on the basis of the
past, why dont we just partner him with
Gary Lineker?

Nigel was concerning me too, but I had

to admit that he did come in handy in the
dressing-room. There was no messing
around from the players when Nigel was
around. Whenever he came close to
them, their heads dropped and they fell
silent. It was like watching a dominant
male prowling around a zoo enclosure.
He didnt have to demand respect,
people gave it to him quickly just in case
he tried to take it by force.
This ones got chewing gum, he barked,
standing next to Adam Lallana.
I havent, gaffer! Lallana squealed. I
promise you, I havent.

There was a loud crack as the pen in

Nigels hand shattered. His eyes bulged
and his jaw stiffened. Drops of blood
blotted his notebook as he stared at me
in silent fury.

Nigel shook his head and mouthed the

word, Liar, to me across the dressingroom. Quick as a flash, his hand whipped
out around Lallanas throat. The Liverpool
midfielder tried to scream, but as soon as
he opened his mouth, Nigel thrust his other
hand inside and started to root about.

I decided, on balance, that there was a

place for Rooney in the squad.

GGGGNFFFH! exclaimed Lallana as

tears filled his eyes.
Nigel withdrew his hand and shook off
the spittle.

Our first opponents were Russia, the

old men of the tournament, grizzled
and unfancied. The worst kind of team
to go up against. Win, and no one
makes anything of it. Lose, and youre in
trouble already. I knew Karren wouldnt
hesitate to pile the pressure on me,
though shed been conspicuous by her
absence thus far. Id grown so used to
her snide comments and asides in my
head that I I sort of missed her. But
every time I saw her, she turned and
walked away. It was concerning. What
was she planning?

160

It turns out hes telling the truth, boss,

he said. No chewing gum.
Lallana sagged against the wall and
rubbed his mouth. Nigel glared at him,
made a V with his fingers, pointed to his
own eyes and then to Lallana.
Im watching you, he growled and then
he strode away. We won 2-0, both goals
by Harry Kane. I decided to leave Lallana
on the bench. He didnt really look like he
was in the mood for it.

Iain Macintosh

The next game was the one wed all

been waiting for, the chance to face off
against Chris Colemans Wales. We knew
that everyone back at home would be
up for this one, that there were bragging
rights at stake, that the people of Wales
would never let their neighbours forget
it if we failed to win. More so than ever,
we had an obligation to our country. But
they had Gareth Bale.
Bale gave me nightmares. He was
so quick, so strong, so deft, so
everything. How could he possibly
be stopped? Nigel told me not to
worry about it and insisted that he had
everything covered.
I saw Chris before the game. Hes always
good company, is Chris. Hes got that
cheeky smile and that joie de vivre. We
were catching up in the tunnel as the
groundsmen made late checks on the
state of the pitch. Then I saw Nigel.

Listen to me, you grinning freak showp,

he growled. If Gareth Bale plays for
more than five minutes today, I will pull
your little cock out of its socket and
make you eat it, do you understand me?
Bulge your eyes if you understand me.
Chriss eyes bulged.
Good, said Nigel. Im glad weve had
this conversation. He let go and Chris
dropped to floor, gagging helplessly.
Im so sorry, I said, leaning over Chris as he
gasped for life. Hes not usually like that.
Bale was withdrawn after three minutes. He
rubbed the back of his calf ostentatiously
and then quickly retired to the dressingroom. Nigel watched him go and laughed.
See, Bobby. Ha ha! Bad cops and
good cops.
We won 1-0. A Daniel Sturridge volley.

Nigel! I shouted. Do you know Chris?

Good to see you again, big man, he

said. How are you keeping?

The last game was against Slovakia. We

were already through, but we wanted
to top the group and get ourselves a
good route to the final. Nigel felt that the
lads were going to get complacent. We
chatted about it over drinks in my hotel
room the night before the game.

Nigel just looked at his outstretched

hand and sneered.

Ive seen it in their faces, he said. Its all

been too easy for them.

Oh, right! grinned Chris. Playing the

hard man, eh? Rightio. Well, when this
game is over, whatever the result, you
two need to come for a drink with me,
yeah? I think well need it!

Maybe you should ease off on them, I

said gently. We dont want to make them
so anxious that they cant function.

Nigel jerked forward and wrapped his

hand around Chriss throat.

Maybe youre right, boss. Maybe

youre right.

Nigel spat on the ground and walked over,

looking Chris up and down carefully. Chris
held out his hand and smiled.

Nigel shrugged.

161

Quantum of Bobby

My stomach rumbled. I hadnt been

eating properly with all the work and
media commitments.
Are you hungry? asked Nigel. Here, try
one of these. I got the chef to help me
make them.
He passed me a paper bag with the most
enormous pair of pork scratchings youve
ever seen. Ive always loved those things.
I thanked him and took a big bite of one,
it was outstanding. Hard on the exterior,
but filled with that soft, salty fluffiness
thats so delightfully moorish.
Where did you get pork scratchings from
in France? I chuckled through the crumbs.
Oh, theyre not pork scratchings, Bobby,
he said. I was attacked by one of the hotel
guard dogs when I was coming back from
a night-time stroll. I got him with my carkeys and took his ears as a trophy.
I didnt realise it was possible to be quite
so violently sick.
Nigel certainly had a measure of the
situation though there really was a bit
of light-heartedness in the dressing-room
before the game. It ceased when he walked
through the door, obviously. Dele Alli
stopped talking, mid-joke. Harry Kane found
something very interesting on the floor to
look at. Adam Lallana hissed and hid inside
his locker. Now they were focused.
Were almost there, boys, I said. Win
this game for me and I promise you well
have an easier ride to the final.
We won 2-0, a Rooney penalty and a
Sturridge header. But I couldnt deliver
on my promise.

162

Germany had had a terrible tournament.

They had beaten Ukraine, but then theyd
taken their foot off the pedal and lost
to Poland. Another defeat to Northern
Ireland saw them plunge into third place,
which, because of the strange vagaries
of the expanded tournament, deflected
them into our path. That was just what
we needed. I made the mistake of telling
Nigel that Id been in this situation before
and then couldnt back it up with any
evidence that wasnt a coma-memory. He
gave me a funny look. I really didnt like
his funny looks. They werent very funny.
Lads, I said before kick-off. This is our
chance to get our own back on history.
Youre not just doing it for this England.
Youre doing it for all the Englands that
have fallen to Germany before. The
England of 2010, the England of 1996,
the England of 1990, the England of 1970.
Brave, bold men who fell just short when
it really mattered. But youre going to
buck that trend. You are going to beat this
wretched Germany team and youre going
to take a huge step towards immortality.
We were a goal down after two minutes.
The ball was played back to John Stones
and instead of clearing it quickly, he sat
down and started to sketch it. Thomas
Mller didnt need to be asked twice, he
nipped in, stole it away and then thundered
it past Joe Hart. It all felt so avoidable.
Nigel wanted to have a quiet word with
John at half-time. Centre-back to centreback. They went for a chat in the stadium
car park, but when Nigel returned alone
he said that John had been feeling poorly
and had decided to go home. That was a
real blow to us, he was a popular member
of the team and I dont know why he
didnt want to say goodbye.

Iain Macintosh

But we rallied in the second half and

it wasnt long before we started to put
the world champions under sustained
pressure. Sturridge hit a superb strike
to bring us back into the game and I
couldnt believe it when Dele Alli hit the
bar in injury time. Extra-time came and
went without incident, but instead with
a mounting sense of inevitability. Of
course, it was going to go to a penalty
shoot-out. But instead of being scared
witless by the process, I asked the players
to see it as a wonderful opportunity to
bury all the ghosts of the past. And so
when Wayne Rooney stepped up to
take the first spot-kick, I felt secure and
comfortable with what was to come.
Naturally, he ballooned it over.
But Germany missed too. And then Harry
Kane scored. So did Mesut zil. And so it
continued. Right up until Leighton Baines
smashed his penalty, our fifth, against the
crossbar. Up stepped Andre Schrrle, tall,
calm and devastatingly German.
Joe dived the wrong way. He knew it
too. He knew it immediately, instinctively
pulling back on the dive, falling helplessly
to his right as the ball zipped to his left.
The German supporters roared in delight
and their players ran to the corner of the
pitch, jumping and punching the air. It
was over. It was all over again.

I never woke up, did I? I whispered.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned
my head.
Come on, Bobby. Karren said softly.
I never woke up, I said again. I died out
there in Doha.
She reached up and wiped away a tear as
it slid down my cheek.
I watched as my players trudged towards
the supporters, saluting them, applauding
them. Did any of them really exist?
Was it real? This team, those fans, this
tournament, this world? Did any of it ever
happen at all?
Nigel looked at me crying and sneered.
You big soft twat, he said. Im
heading into town to smash up some
BMWs. If you want to join me, follow
the car alarms. He stormed off,
stopping only to headbutt one of the
German coaches.
Is he real? I asked Karren.
I dont know, she said. I dont even
know if Im real.
What do we do now? I asked her quietly.

There are some things, said a soft,

familiar voice in my head, that can
never be changed. And England losing to
Germany on penalties is one of them.
There was an awful pause, a yawning
gap opening up as I tumbled into
realisation. I sighed and shook my head.
Of course. Of course. Of course. How
could I be so stupid?

Karren took my hand and squeezed it.

We leap. And we keep on leaping. And we
live forever for whatever forever means.
I nodded. And I smiled. And I squeezed
her hand back. And then we leapt.
Oh boy.

163

164

165

166
Greatest Games

I was not a nice person on the field,

said Vandereycken. But having a player
like that is so important. I would like to
have a Vandereycken in my team.
166

Denmark 3 Belgium 2

Denmark 3 Belgium 2
European Championship group stage, Stade de la
Meinau, Strasbourg, 19 June 1984
By Rob Smyth

Scifo

Busk

Berggreen

Claesen

De Greef

Elkjaer

Qvist

M Olsen Nielsen Bertelsen Arnesen

Grun

Lerby

Pfaff

Vandereycken

Laudrup

Rasmussen

Clijters

Ceulemans

Vandenbergh

De Wolf

Vercauteren

Pop isnt the only thing which eats itself.

In football, pretty much everything is
a copy of a copy of a copy. Yet there
has never been a match quite like the
one between Belgium and Denmark
at Euro 84. It was a genre-bender that
could have been enjoyed equally by
characters Danny Dyer, Kevin Keegan,
Jerry Bruckheimer and Frank Skinner:
a warped fairy tale that had extremes
of aggro, romance, drama, comedy and
football brilliance.

What sets the match apart even more

even 32 years later is that most of the
aggro occurred between teammates.
Nine of the players were at Anderlecht
and what happened when they came up
against each other in Strasbourg gave
new meaning to a club v country row.
Even before the tournament they knew
their match would probably be decisive,
especially as it was the final group game.
Its amusing right now, but I doubt that

167

Denmark 3 Belgium 2

any of us think that it is amusing when

it gets serious, said Morten Olsen, the
Danish captain and Anderlecht sweeper.
It cant be very nice having to battle
against your club mates for something as
attractive as the European Championship.
It was attractive and exclusive. Between
1980 and 1992 there were only eight
teams in the tournament, which meant
considerable jeopardy in qualification.
Italy, the world champions, won only
one of their eight qualifiers for Euro 84
and finished fourth behind Romania,
Sweden and Czechoslovakia. In Group
6, Northern Ireland won home and away
to the reigning European champions
West Germany yet still did not reach
France, while the Netherlands missed out
when Spain needing an 11-goal win
in their final game miraculously and
mysteriously beat Malta 12-1.
Denmark were given little chance when
they were drawn with England and
Hungary, who had set a new World Cup
record by beating El Salvador 10-1 in
1982. The Danes had only ever qualified
for one major tournament, Euro 64, and
the only teams they beat to reach that
were Malta, Albania and Luxembourg.
Their first qualifier for Euro 84 was at
home to England, playing their first game
under Bobby Robson. Although Denmark
needed a gorgeous last-minute solo
goal from Jesper Olsen, in which he
demonstrated his peerless sleight of hip,
to earn a 2-2 draw, even Robson said
that England had been battered.
A year later Denmark won 1-0 at
Wembley, a landmark victory for their
emerging side, and went on to qualify at
Englands expense. Belgium comfortably
won a relatively easy Group 1, which

168

also included Scotland, Switzerland and

East Germany. They were European
Championship aristocracy semifinalists in 1972, finalists in 1980 and,
like Denmark, had an exceptional
generation who were mercifully
described by nobody as golden.
A bribery scandal that broke early in
1984, relating to a Standard Lige match
two seasons earlier, meant that a number
of Belgium players were suspended,
including Eric Gerets and Walter Meeuws.
Both were regulars in the defence as
was Michel Renquin, who chose to play
in the Swiss Cup final with Servette rather
than go to the European Championship.
Guy Thys needed almost a completely
new defence.
It showed. After beating Yugoslavia
2-0 in their opening game, they were
walloped 5-0 by the hosts France, with
Michel Platini scoring the first of his two
hat-tricks in the group stage. Denmark
had lost 1-0 to France in the first game,
when the great Allan Simonsen still
Denmarks only Ballon dOr winner, back
in 1977 suffered a cruel leg-break in
his first major tournament match. A few
days later they thrashed Yugoslavia 5-0,
which put them ahead of Belgium on
goal difference. It was a group game in
name and a knockout game in nature:
with the hosts France already through to
the semi-finals, there was only room for
one of Denmark or Belgium to reach the
last four.
Anderlecht were not Belgian champions
Beveren pipped them but they had
reached the final of a very strong Uefa
Cup (including Bayern Munich, Real
Madrid, Inter, Atltico and Celtic) before
losing to Spurs on penalties. That said, it

Rob Smyth

was later confirmed that the referee had

been bribed during their semi-final win
over Nottingham Forest. Eight of their
players started the match at the Euros,
six for Belgium, two for Denmark, with
another Denmarks Kenneth Brylle
on the bench. This was unusual back
then, but Denmark had a jump start on
globalisation. Fourteen of their twentyman squad played overseas; the other
seven teams had only five overseasbased players out of 140.
We are all professionals and cant take
anything else into account, said Franky
Vercauteren. Morten Olsen and Frank
Arnesen are two of my very good friends
in Anderlecht, but if it is necessary I will
commit one of the professional fouls on
them. They have to be stopped legally
or illegally. I know that Morten has the
same view. Well drink a beer and chat
about things afterwards. Nobody bears a
grudge in this business, unless somebody
goes over the top and sends a man to
hospital. But that wont happen, at least
not intentionally, tonight.
There were other Danish players based
in Belgium, including the centre-forward
Preben Elkjr. He played for Lokeren,
whose rivals were Beveren, whose
former goalkeeper was the feisty JeanMarie Pfaff. He and Elkjr couldnt stand
each other. Belgium in those days were
a very good team, says Elkjr. Im
married to a Belgian, and many of us
were playing against teammates. You just
cant lose a game like that.

What followed was like a training

game an Anderlecht training game.
I expected it to be a little bit nasty,

says Per Frimann, the young Anderlecht

midfielder who did not make the
Denmark squad. The mentality at
Anderlecht was that you played tough in
training. There was a very good winning
energy I had never experienced that
before. These were top players who really
wanted to win. They were clever guys and
they were good guys but they were also
very competitive. They didnt back off.
And everything started with the training.
Part of what happened with the Danish
national team also came from this spirit.
That spirit manifested itself after 12
seconds in Strasbourg, when Vercauteren
committed the first foul of the match on
Klaus Berggreen. Arnesen later said he
had heard from Belgian journalists and
players that Thys, the manager, had told
the players that the only thing they had
to do was butcher us from the start. Not
that Denmark were innocent bystanders.
In the second minute Elkjr left a
passing elbow on Rene Vandereycken,
who soon after left a foot in on Sren
Lerby when the ball had long gone.
Vandereycken was on the ball more than
anyone in the early stages and was trying
to run the game in more ways than one.
He was constantly waving his hands at
the East German referee, Adolf Prokop,
though he was not alone in trying to
influence the official. Prokop did not lose
control of the match, because he did
not have it in the first place. The players
made it desperately difficult for him.
Many of them seemed determined to win
by foul means or fouler.
In the 13th minute Vercauterens tackle
on Berggreen unwittingly sent Elkjr
through on goal. Pfaff charged from his
line and jumped towards the ball with

169

Denmark 3 Belgium 2

both feet off the ground. Elkjr got

there first, knocked the ball round Pfaff
and was sent flying. It looked a clear
penalty, though Pfaff instantly wagged
his finger in an attempt to smooth
Prokops decision-making process.
By then Prokop had already waved
play on. Denmark had another penalty
appeal rejected soon after, following
a thrilling dribble from Arnesen. He
ignored Vandereyckens sliding tackle,
nutmegged Michel de Wolf on the edge
of the area and fell over after a collision
with the last man Walter De Greef. There
was a tangle of legs, though it was hard
to discern if there was any intent from De
Greef. It looked a fair decision.
The first half was a stop-start affair in
more ways than one: every time the
game stopped, the players started on
each other. Regrettably it must be said
that much of the play by both teams,
especially the first half, reduced football
to a level where it was almost worthless,
wrote David Miller in the Times. The
fouling, mostly obstruction by blatant
tripping with no thought of the ball, by
two teams rich in skill and intelligence,
was instant, incessant and often more
cynical than in the World Cup final.
Belgium were the more brazen
offenders: when Vandereycken clearly
hacked Arnesen on the right wing, both
he and Jan Ceulemans repeatedly made
the universal signal for a dive. Arnesen
and Vandereycken were roommates at
Anderlecht, with an unusually strong
bond: they both suffered serious injuries
upon joining the club and helped each
other through their rehabilitation.
Vandereycken was a constant source of
encouragement in Arnesens attempt to
be fit for Euro 84. He was also white-line

170

fever on legs. I was not a nice person on

the field, said Vandereycken. But having
a player like that is so important. I would
like to have a Vandereycken in my team.
There were a few Vandereyckens on
both sides. Morten Olsen needed stitches
after being elbowed by Vercauteren, his
Anderlecht teammate, as they jumped
for a high ball. The actual football was
generally dictated by which team needed
a goal. The situation in the group and
the fact that, unlike a knockout game,
there was no recourse to penalties
meant that one team always needed
to score to avoid elimination. Early on,
that was Belgium. Nico Claesen, the
diminutive forward who later went to
Spurs, lobbed an overhead kick not far
over the bar, and Ole Qvist had to beat
away Erwin Vandenberghs snapshot.
Belgium took the lead in the 26th
minute, when Vandereyckens inswinging
free-kick skimmed off the head of
Olsen and flashed across the box to
Georges Grn. He cushioned it towards
Ceulemans, who was loitering 15 yards
from goal. As Ceulemans controlled the
ball, it spun awkwardly off the pitch. With
his right foot planted, he stretched his
left leg as far as possible so that he could
get just of his around the ball to drag a
stiff-sinewed shot in off the near post. It
was a deceptively superb finish.
Arnesen had a goal disallowed almost
immediately, a lovely chip on the run from
Lerbys pass. Arnesen was onside but Elkjr,
slow to retreat, was in an offside position.
This was a time when Bill Nicholsons
comment if hes not interfering with play,
whats he doing on the pitch? generally
applied to offside and the fact that Elkjr
was not directly involved was irrelevant.

Rob Smyth

Belgiums goal ended any stick-ortwist dilemma for Denmark, who

started to become more of an attacking
threat. Even Jens Jrn Bertelsen, the
little defensive midfielder who scored
only two goals in 69 international
appearances, had a long-range shot that
was saved by Pfaff.
All the while, Vandereycken was trying
to ensure that a full set of Danish players
visited the turf on his watch. When
they were running back upfield after a
Denmark corner, Vandereycken slyly
tripped Berggreen, a gesture of admirable
pointlessness. A couple of seconds later,
as the camera concentrated on a battle
for possession by the touchline, it was
possible to discern in the background an
arm clouting Vandereycken around the
head and sending him to the floor.
Even the brilliant teenagers, Michael
Laudrup and Enzo Scifo, were dragged
down. When they went for a 50-50 ball,
an accidental collision left Scifo down
holding his face.
Denmark were in big trouble when
Belgium scored again six minutes before
half-time. The goal came out of nothing,
from a throw-in just inside the Denmark
half on the left. It was flung down the line
to Vercauteren, who headed it infield away
from Bertelsen and then, as it bounced up,
drove a spectacular lob over Qvist.
When Denmark kicked off, they needed
to score two goals in 50 minutes to
reach the semi-finals. Within 20 seconds
they had a penalty. After fine play from
Laudrup, Elkjr tried a Cruyff-turn in
the box and went over De Greefs leg.
It looked soft, certainly compared to
the one Elkjr was denied earlier in the

match. Preben Elkjr, said Pfaff after

the game, is the worlds biggest actor.
The penalty was taken by Arnesen. At
the best of times he ran with the urgent
pitter-patter of a man in dire need of
the nearest Armitage Shanks and here
he couldnt get to the ball fast enough.
When he did, he sidefooted it high into
the net. The immediacy of the goal
meant that Denmarks task never really
felt unmanageable, though it might have
done had Ole Rasmussen not made a
vital interception from Ceulemans just
before half-time.
Belgium brought on a midfielder
for an attacker at the break, with
Internazionales Ludo Coeck replacing
Claesen. Within two minutes they had
a great chance to make it 3-1, when
Denmarks cavalry charge offside trap
failed and Vandenbergh ran on to
Ceulemanss superb first-time pass.
He was an accomplished finisher
and is the only Belgian to have won
the European Golden Boot but he
sidefooted his shot too close to Qvist,
who had charged to the edge of the area
to make the defining save of his career.
The match continued to oscillate
between football and fouling. At the
other end Elkjr tripped Leo Clijsters,
whose momentum took him into a
forward roll. As he did so he thrust his
leg up into Elkjrs thigh to trip him.
Elkjr bounced up, collected the ball
and shaped to volley it at Clijsterss
face. As Clijsters flinched, Elkjr gently
flicked the ball up and ran off. The word
razz probably wasnt in the dictionary
then, but this was, at least in context, a
relatively playful incident; the two players
shook hands a few seconds later.

171

Denmark 3 Belgium 2

Sepp Piontek, Denmarks German

manager, then decided to try his last
throw of the dice even though there
were 34 minutes remaining. He brought
Brylle, the young Anderlecht striker, on
for Rasmussen. Piontek almost patented
the tactic of replacing a defender with an
attacker if his side were one goal down
early in the second half. It backfired
spectacularly at Mexico 86 when Denmark
2-1 down to an inferior Spain side in the
second round, having breezed through the
Group of Death were shredded on the
counter-attack and lost 5-1.
The margins are scarily fine in major
tournaments and here Pionteks decision
had an instant impact. Within four
minutes of coming on, Brylle scored
with his first touch in tournament
football. The goal was made by the
inevitable Arnesen. He may have been
playing in central midfield for once, but
he still found time to demonstrate his
ingenious wing-play. Like so many of his
teammates he had a devastating change
of pace and there were few players in
world football with as many imaginative
ways to beat an opponent; one speedshuffle against West Germany at Mexico
86 in particular took the breath away.
This, by contrast, was all about economy:
from the moment he approached
Vandereycken on the left corner of the
box, he needed just three touches to
create the goal.
The first dragged the ball slightly to the
left, tempting Vandereycken to prepare
a slide tackle; the second, perfectly
weighted, pushed it towards the byline
and allowed him to scoot away from
Vandereycken; and with the third he
stood up a lovely left-footed cross that
took Pfaff out of the game at the near

172

post and allowed Brylle to jump between

De Greef and Coeck and head into the
net from a few yards. Brylle had bitten
the hand that would feed him; later in life
he changed his nationality to Belgian.
In the minutes after Brylles goal, the
game put the asbo in Strasbourg. De
Greef was booked for a challenge on
Elkjr, and Arnesen was very late on De
Wolf, even if his instant apology seemed
sincere. De Wolf took his frustration out
on Laudrups right leg.
It is easy to imagine Vandereyckens
internal monologue at this point. When
Arnesen swerved past him once again,
just past the halfway line, Vandereycken
scraped his studs across Arnesens knee.
It was an appallingly high challenge,
especially as the ball had not left the
floor and that this was the same knee
that had kept Arnesen out for so long.
With friends like that, who needs friends?
Vandereycken immediately signalled that
he had won the ball, a preposterous lie.
As Arnesen screamed with a combination
of pain, outrage and confusion, Olsen
charged towards Vandereycken. He
smashed the ball in his direction, just
missing him, and then shoved him over.
Olsen was one of the most serene
footballers around, yet even he had lost
it. Vandereycken is a great guy, said
Olsen in the marvellous film Og det var
Danmark. We all forgot we were club
mates. We played for our countries. Now,
my own reaction surprises me. If I had a
gun, Id have shot him.
Vandereycken was booked, one of
only two yellow cards in the match.
(By contrast, the semi-final involving
Denmark and Spain, a much gentler

Rob Smyth

game, brought nine yellow cards

and a red. It was refereed by George
Courtney.) There were times
particularly in that furious spell after
Brylles goal when the match looked
like a Quentin Tarantino set, with bodies
strewn everywhere.
Grn staggered around holding his
face, being held upright by Pfaff, after
accidentally head butting his teammate
De Wolf, and Vandereycken tried to
use Berggreen as a deckchair on the
edge of the box. Berggreen was then
floored by a two-footed tackle by Coeck,
while Vandereycken wrapped his hand
around Berggreens face and pushed him
over. On it went: Vandereycken fouled
Arnesen yet again and, summoning the
unyielding righteousness of the guilty,
indicated another dive. Scifo threw the
ball at Arnesens back when he was on
the floor. Piontek decided to protect
Denmarks no-goal lead, and Arnesens
bone structure, by replacing him with the
young defender John Sivebk.
When the Belgian substitute Eddy
Voordeckers went on a storming run
from the halfway line, Lerby tried and
failed to trip him from behind. Ivan
Nielsen got the job done with a brazen
foul just outside the area and followed it
with an even more brazen complaint that
he had won the ball.
The moment of the match came in the
84th minute. It was a microcosm of the
match, too, a mixture of skill, human
spirit and unapologetic brutality. Elkjr
picked up Nielsens clearing header and
realised nobody was near him. So he
turned and started to run, and he kept
running until he had scored the greatest
goal of his career.

Elkjr had support only from Laudrup,

with three defenders back. He got past
the halfway line and tried to sprint
between De Greef and Clijsters, who
stretched to make a successful slide
tackle. The ball hit the heel of De Greef
and looped back to Elkjr, whose deft
half-volley moved the ball forward at an
angle. Then he flicked it the other way,
past De Greef, to move through on goal,
and as Pfaff tried to put him off, maim
him or both with a diabolical foot-first
challenge, Elkjr stretched wearily to
dink the ball into the net. Pfaffs studs
cut his thigh open but Elkjr was so lost
in the moment that he didnt realise: he
cashed in the last bit of energy in his legs
to run a few yards in celebration before
rolling over in a clumsy cartwheel and
lying on his back, waiting to be buried
under adoring teammates.
He scored smoother goals not to
mention a World Cup hat-trick but
this was his finest moment in a Denmark
shirt, because of the significance and
manner of the goal. It was Elkjr in
excelsis. As with his most famous club
goal, scored without his right boot for
Verona against Juventus in 1984, nothing
in the world was going to stop him. He
was the personification of determination
which was even more impressive given
that he could have been a poster boy
for smoking. As well as demonstrating
considerable heart, the goal was a
masterpiece of skill and improvisation.
Unbelievable! said Svend Gehrs, the
Danish John Motson, as the ball drifted
into the net. That man is fantastic!
In the mid-1980s, before Marco van
Basten reached his elegant peak, Elkjr
was the best centre-forward in the world.
He was the inspiration for Veronas

173

Denmark 3 Belgium 2

staggering Serie A win in 1984-85 and he

finished third, second and joint fourth in
the Ballon dOr between 1984 and 1986.
When play restarted, and the adrenaline
hit started to subside, Elkjr felt the pain
in his thigh, noticed a huge gash and
started waving angrily to the sidelines.
Medical science was less sophisticated
back then: somebody ran on sheepishly,
dabbed a sponge in the vague direction
of Elkjrs thigh and scarpered.
Belgium needed two goals and knew
they were done, but there was still time
for another chapter in the ongoing hate
story between Elkjr and Pfaff. As Elkjr
chased a through ball, Pfaff charged
a long way out of his area. Elkjr,
sensing that Pfaff might want to give
him a matching gash on the other leg,
jumped out of the way and in doing so
knocked his boot against Pfaffs head. It
looked accidental, though Vandereycken
didnt think so. A performance of heroic
misanthropy peaked when he completely
misplaced his excrement: he gave the
referee the thumbs up, then clapped him,
all the while wearing a huge false smile.
It seemed that Vandereycken had lost an
important part of his brain, somewhere in
a field in Strasbourg. In fact, he was just
in character. When the final whistle went,
he embraced Elkjr and some of the
other Danish players.
Denmark celebrated with the naive
disbelief that had characterised their run
ever since they drew 2-2 with England
in the first qualifier. On Danish TV, Gehrs
described them as this unconquerable
team of optimists. They were no
angels, and played their part in the more
deviant elements of this match, but

174

their game was largely characterised by

the charming innocence that is usually
only evident when a team or nation are
exploring uncharted territory.
There was not even a token attempt to
seem impartial on Danish TV. When they
cut back to the studio, the host HansGeorg Mller tooted a horn, whipped a
comedy Danish cap onto his head and
said: How about that? to his co-hosts.
Gehrs went straight to the TV studio to
interview a number of the players. That
was the plan, anyway. Only Bertelsen,
the little Duracell bunny, had enough
energy left. He broke off from a question
about his club future to send a message
to Simonsen. There is something that
falls close to my heart which is that we
miss one of our steady guys down here
and we think a lot about him at home,
he said. About wee Allan who I am
absolutely sure would have loved to have
been here. We send our regards to him.
That was not the only bittersweet
element to the victory: Elkjr was
told straight after the game that his
grandfather had died a few days earlier.
Elkjrs wife decided to keep the news
from him until after hed played. The
parents of Boris Becker did something
similar during his famous Wimbledon
victory a year later. Becker said he would
never have won Wimbledon had he been
told. The story of Denmarks 1980s side
could be similarly different.

With that Denmark team, the final whistle

was rarely the end of the match. They had
what was known as the third half, the
post-match socialising. There were five

Rob Smyth

days to the semi-final, so Piontek let his

players off the leash and they sat around
drinking and eating with Danish fans at
the team hotel. There is one picture of
Laudrup, Nielsen and Jan Mlby eating
burgers so big that Laudrup can barely fit
his into his mouth. Arnesen sat at the bar
strumming his guitar and the only thing
that had an ice bath were the beers. It was
a lovely night, said Olsen. We drank beer
and wine, but nobody crossed the line.
The locals were fascinated by Denmarks
refuelling habits. What a third half,
said Lquipe. The Danish players are
really healthy. After the deciding win
over Belgium they held an all-night
party. And that didnt hurt them. Their
manager Sepp Piontek gave them a
5am curfew and the win was celebrated
appropriately. Some players were spotted
in the hallway at 6am. Breakfast was
served at midday and lunch at 5pm.
Piontek was unhappy with such reports.
There is no point in sending the players
to bed at 1am after such a big game,
rather than, say, 5am, he said. Thats
fine by me. Its also OK if they drink 5, 10

or 15 beers and smoke some cigarettes.

The players just have to keep the
agreements. And if that means breakfast
at 11, then they have to show up. And
they did. Whats upsetting me is that
foreign journalists are snooping around
our hotel and searching for scandals.
Denmarks fairy tale ended in the semifinals, when they lost a penalty shoot-out
to Spain, the team who would become
their nemesis. They would have met
Belgium again in the quarter-finals of
Mexico 86 but for that shocking 5-1
defeat to Spain. Instead Belgium went on
to the semi-finals, where they lost 2-0 to
Diego Maradona.
At Anderlecht, life went on as normal.
What happened in Strasbourg stayed in
Strasbourg. There arent any problems,
said Arnesen a few months later of his
relationship with Vandereycken. We
talked about it just after we got back
from our summer holiday. He played
for Belgium. Afterwards, you can think
about it but not during the game. I guess
he had also become tired of me running
past him all the time.

175

176

Zemans Prodigies

178
Eight Bells

Even by their own lofty

standards, this Dutch campaign
proved a risible farce.

178

Euro 76

Euro 76
A selection of key games from perhaps the greatest
ever international tournament
By Scott Murray

Qualifying group one:

England 3-0 Czechoslovakia
(October 1974)

New manager, new kit, new dawn.

England were recovering from the
monumental balls theyd made of
qualifying for the 1974 World Cup,
Poland, the clown Tomaszewski, Hunters
non-tackle on the touchline, all that. In
the interim, Alf Ramsey had been put
out to pasture, and the caretaker Joe
Mercer had taken the lads on a beano
around eastern Europe. The avuncular
Mercer restored spirit in the squad. The
team, smiled Uncle Joe, were happy
and healthy, save perhaps Kevin Keegan,
who got himself beaten up by goons at
Belgrade airport while sitting quietly on
a luggage carousel. A nice earthenware
coffee set, freshly purchased from the
airport shop, was ground to dust in the
melee. Still, Keegans wobbly bottom lip
apart, England were in good spirits as
they embarked on a new campaign.

Keegan had subsequently managed

to get himself sent off in the Charity
Shield for reacting to being harassed
in playground style by Leeds United.
However, his six-week FA suspension
was up by the time England faced
Czechoslovakia at Wembley in
the first qualifier for the European
Championships. It was Don Revies first

match, too, though the new man didnt

do too much tinkering to the team
bequeathed to him by Mercer. New
cap Gerry Francis came in for Trevor
Brooking and Dave Thomas would later
make his debut from the bench QPR
2 West Ham 0 but that was that. The
main changes were cosmetic, courtesy
of Revie and Admiral; England ran out
with tradition-tweaking blue and red
stripes down the arms of their previously
pristine white shirts. The Osmonds would
have thought twice about the collars.

Czechoslovakia were clearly a disciplined

and talented side. The right-back Jn
Pivarnk grazed the crossbar from the
best part of 40 yards with a riser that had
Ray Clemence puffing out his cheeks in
ostentatious relief. And for 70 minutes,
they held England, who had buzzed
around entertainingly, Keegan, Mick
Channon and Frank Worthington coming
at the Czechoslovaks from all angles,
Worthington hitting a post.

Then the dam burst and England scored

three late crackers in a 12-minute
flurry of creativity. Channon broke the
deadlock, Paul Madeley taking a quick
free-kick out on the right, Thomas
whipping in a cross, the striker planting
a header past a static keeper. It was the
sort of goal Geoff Hurst had specialised
in at the World Cup eight years earlier,

179

Euro 76

not entirely dissimilar in style to his

quarter-final winner against Argentina.
The crowd struck up a chorus of
Youll Never Walk Alone. The past is a
foreign country, all right, and within its
harmonious boundaries lay Merseyside.
Good luck trying to get that one going in
these more polarised times.

Channon whose place had been

questioned as he was plying his trade
in the Second Division, Southampton
having been relegated the previous
season proved a few more people
wrong by following up his goal with an
assist. He glided in from the left to roll an
exquisite curling pass towards Colin Bell,
who ran through a big hole in the centre
created by Keegans dummy run and
poked past Ivo Viktor into the bottom
right. Finally Channon pitched a cross
in from the left, allowing Bell to guide a
header into the top right. A good team
had been routed, and in some style too.
It augured well for the championship.

Qualifying group one:

Czechoslovakia 2-1 England
(October 1975)

England didnt take long to become a

shadow of the team that sashayed their
way past Czechoslovakia. So much for
Revies honeymoon. A cynical Portugal
ground out a goalless draw at Wembley
against increasingly frantic and clueless
hosts. Then there followed a couple of
matches against a hilariously timid Cyprus,
the first a one-sided rout against a team so
bereft of ambition that they spent most of
the match with all 11 players in or around
their own penalty area. Peter Shilton,
noted David Lacey in the Guardian, could
have demanded, reasonably, a brazier.

180

England were far from impressive. A fivegoal victory had been considered the bare
minimum requirement before the match,
in an era when minnows were routinely
swallowed up by the bigger fish. And
5-0 was how it ended. Bog average. But
the game was salvaged by the exploits
of Malcolm Macdonald. The Newcastle
striker scored all five, becoming the
first England player to achieve that in a
competitive game. Four headers and a
shot, and he hit a post as well. Nobodys
matched it since.

England travelled to Limassol for the

return fixture and scraped through 1-0
courtesy of an early Keegan goal. During
the half-time break, Englands mascot,
resplendent in a buffoons uniform of
John Bull Union-Jack waistcoat, top hat
and tails, disappeared under a shower of
oranges dispatched by irate locals. But
while those supporters were happy to play
fast and loose with their vitamin intake,
they were less blas about the galoot
who made a grand show of ripping up a
Cypriot flag. Englands half-cut answer to
Henry Kissinger was set upon in the oldfashioned style and had to be winched
off to the nearest emergency ward by a
helicopter which landed on the pitch.

England required a result against

Czechoslovakia in Bratislava. A win would
have seen them through to the quarterfinals but despite raising their game, it
couldnt be achieved. The Czechoslovaks
were too good. England had taken the
lead: Channon, released by Keegan down
the inside-right channel and looking
suspiciously offside, lobbed deliciously
over Viktor and into the top-left corner.
But Zdenk Nehoda equalised on the
stroke of half-time, and in the second
half Marin Masn turned on the burners

Scott Murray

down the right to cut back for Duan Galis,

who Keith Houchned a header home.

The tabloids cried foul, the Express whining

over blatant, calculated intimidation,
wilful tripping, holding and shoving by the
Czechoslovaks as they saw the game out. In
the Guardian, though, Lacey reported that
an extremely tough game was generally
good tempered and that England had
been beaten on skill. A draw in Portugal,
followed by an easy win in Cyprus, sent
Czechoslovakia through to the last eight.
Revie was left to contemplate the qualifying
draw for the upcoming World Cup: Italy,
Finland and Luxembourg. This is the good
news England badly needed just now, he
said. I am optimistic! Oh Don.

Qualifying group three: Spain

1-1 Scotland (February 1975)

The former Scotland manager Willie

Ormond is generally considered to have
been a stand-up chap, a proper gent. A
legend at Hibernian as one of the Famous
Five in the 1940s and 1950s, he was
nevertheless capable of winning over the
fans at Heart of Midlothian upon taking
over as manager in the late 1970s, despite
results never being very good. Takes some
doing. When he died in 1984, the Glasgow
Herald argued that he was too nice to
have got involved in the grubby business of
managing an international team.

So here follows quite a rant, the reaction

to the Belgian referee Alfred Delcourt
awarding Spain a goal when Martin
Buchan handled on the line, a decision
that effectively knocked Scotland out
of these championships. He must have
come from the home dressing-room.
The ball was two feet clear of the line. I

admit it was a penalty. Buchan definitely

handled. But it was never a goal. I do not
often criticise referees, but he was a real
homer. Even when we scored, he was
looking round to see if he could possibly
do something else. And they say modern
managers can be too trenchant at times. If
Jos Mourinho ever made an accusation
like that, with even one hundredth of
the vehemence, every social media in
existence would shear off the internet and
spin away into space.

Spanish football was a complete non-event

during the seventies, at both club and
international level. Spain went on to meet
the world champions West Germany in the
quarter-finals. Santillana gave the Spanish a
first-minute lead at the Vicente Caldern in
Madrid, but otherwise it was no fair match.
Erich Beer grabbed an equaliser and away
goal for the Germans, and in the second
leg at the Olympiastadion in Munich, Uli
Hoeness and Klaus Toppmller wrapped
things up without too much fuss.

There was plenty of managerial talent on

show in that match, incidentally. Franz
Beckenbauer and Vicente del Bosque both
went on to win the World Cup; Toppmller
took Bayer Leverkusen to the Champions
League final in 2002, that year being peak
time for cigarettes and booze; while Berti
Vogts won Euro 96 and also inspired the
Scotland to a two-goal comeback in the
Euro 2004 qualifiers against the Faroe
Islands. The Scots never have enjoyed
themselves much in the Euros.

Quarter-final: Wales 1-1

Yugoslavia (May 1976)

The Welsh performance in the qualifying

group stage was a bizarre facsimile of

181

Euro 76

Englands: a turgid start followed by a

series of increasingly impressive displays.
Mike Smiths side lost their first game, 2-1
in Austria, then won the other five, seeing
off Hungary and Luxembourg home
and away, then repaying Austria in the
group decider. Star man of the campaign
was the veteran Wrexham striker Arfon
Griffiths, enjoying a late flowering on
the international stage at the age of 34.
Griffiths scored four goals in the group,
the last the winner against Austria at his
home ground, Wrexhams Racecourse.

Wales had made the quarter-finals

of a major championship for the first
time since the 1958 World Cup, but
theres where the fairytale ended. For
they proceeded to come unstuck in
spectacular fashion. Wales didnt really
turn up for the first leg of their quarterfinal against Yugoslavia who had
seen off Northern Ireland at the group
stage in Zagreb. They fell behind in
the second minute to a Moca Vukoti
goal and eventually lost 2-0. The return,
at Cardiffs Ninian Park, proved to be an
egregious shambles of an altogether
different stripe. Malcolm Page clumsily
lunged at Danilo Popivoda, a dyspraxic
disaster of a tackle, as the striker raced
into the Welsh box on 19 minutes. There
wasnt a whole lot of contact, but the
challenge was daft enough to present
Popivoda with the option to go down.
He went down. The East German referee
Rudi Glckner was forced into a decision.
Penalty. Which was dispatched without
much fuss by Josip Katalinski. Yugoslavia
were disappearing into the distance.

Amid a febrile atmosphere, Wales lost

the run of themselves completely.
Leighton Phillips tap-danced on Draen
Muini and was fortunate to avoid a

182

red card. He escaped with a booking,

as did Brian Flynn, who had set about
Demal Hadiabdi a future Swansea
City star in a hot-headed hwyl. Terry
Yorath would also find his way into the
book - and cautions were no small thing
in these more laissez-faire days. The
Yugoslavs were no saints themselves:
Jure Jerkovi was cautioned for an attack
on Flynn. But with a large lead they could
afford to engage in battle there were
50 free-kicks in the game with cool
detachment. As Geoffrey Green noted
in the Times, the fiery Welsh dragon
became its own worst enemy in the end,
as discipline and rhythm were lost and
chances went begging.

Ian Evans made it 1-1 on the day just

before the break, giving Wales a glimmer
of a chance. But the hope proved too
much to bear. Midway through the
second half, John Toshack scored. But
Glckner disallowed the strike, penalising
John Mahoney for nearly knocking
Hadiabdis head clean off his shoulders
with a devil-may-care scissor kick. Welsh
supporters flooded the field, one punter
giving it the full hold me back routine
as he faux-threatened several of the
Yugoslav team while fortuitously being
escorted off the pitch by a number of his
pals. Beer cans and other mind-altering
missiles flew hither and yon. Glckner
pocketed a stone the size of a mans
fist which hit one of his linesmen on the
neck. When the game finally restarted,
Toshack had another goal disallowed for
offside, Yorath missed a pea-roller of a
penalty and the referee had to endure
weak satire in the form of Sieg Heil!
chants from a (slightly) calmer crowd.

At the final whistle, to the surprise of

absolutely nobody, there was another

Scott Murray

pitch invasion. As the players jostled their

way through the crowd and down the
tunnel, one garrulous punter leaning
out of the stand attempted to engage
Jerkovi in Socratic dialectic. Jerkovi
turned and remember, ric Cantona
was still in primary school whacked the
mouthy fan upside the head. When you
think about it, footballs pretty much like
jazz, rocknroll and pseudo-intellectual
football quarterlies: everythings already
been done, years and years and years ago.

Semi-final: Czechoslovakia
3-1 Netherlands aet; 1-1 after
90 mins (16 June 1976)

Even by their own lofty standards, this

Dutch campaign proved a risible farce.
A 5-0 win over Belgium in the quarterfinals had, according to David Lacey in
the Guardian, reasserted their claim to
be the worlds most effective attacking
side in the wake of their no-show in
the World Cup final. All well and good.
But sure enough, behind the scenes, the
players, manager and assorted KNVB
apparatchiks were busy at work, loading
up the guns, pointing them at their own
tootsies, preparing for yet another round
of masochistic skeet.

Pull! During the group stage, a simmering

row between Johan Cruyff and the
teams best goalkeeper, Jan van Beveren
of PSV Eindhoven, boiled over. The
pair had fallen out over the allocation
of sponsorship money before the 1974
World Cup, causing the keeper to miss the
entire tournament. An uneasy truce was
brokered, but another brouhaha erupted
during the Euro 76 qualifiers when Van
Beveren refused to let his business affairs
be managed by Cruyffs father-in-law.

Cruyff manufactured a ludicrous row with

Van Beveren in training, a bespoke spat
specifically designed to coerce the manager
George Knobel into siding with him and
lining up against the proud and stubborn
keeper. Van Beveren effectively had no
option but to walk from the international
scene before getting the push.

Pull! Ahead of the semi-final against the

Czechoslovaks, another long-running
feud reached its tatty denouement. Knobel
had long been disliked with a trademark
Dutch passion by the KNVB head honcho
Jacques Hogewoning, presumably over
who had first go on the swings. Knobel
agreed to end his tenure after the Euro
finals in Yugoslavia, but the KNVB decided
to leak the story to the press just before
the showdown with Czechoslovakia. The
reason for this manoeuvring has never been
made clear; perhaps Knobel broke the lid
off Hogewonings sippy cup. Its almost as
though the Dutch enjoy blazing arguments
just for the sake of it and get their rocks off
on any resulting social awkwardness (which
may or may not last several decades).

Sure enough, the semi-final did not

go according to plan. Many put this
down to the uncertainty regarding the
manager. Knobel himself maintained
that his revenge-crazy players were so
obsessed with the possibility of a final
against West Germany that they took
their eye off the ball against a very good
Czechoslovak side. Whatever the reason,
one accusation cant be levelled at
Holland: they did play to win, contesting
the semi in an absurd manner bordering
on the manic.

With 19 minutes gone at Dinamo

Zagrebs rain-swept Maksimir stadium,
Wim Jansen and Johan Neeskens

183

Euro 76

needlessly teamed up to clatter Zdenk

Nehoda on the left. Antonn Panenka
2,500 words into an article on Euro 76
and this is the first mention of Antonn
Panenka; youre welcome floated the
free-kick into the box. His captain Anton
Ondru rose highest, and planted a fine
header into the top left.

The Dutch didnt take going behind well.

Minutes later, Willy van de Kerkhof went
in high on Ondru. His attempt to set
up the players testicles as independent
traders should have earned a red. But
the referee Clive Thomas only showed
yellow. The Czechoslovaks would further
rue that non-decision when, on the hour,
Jaroslav Pollk chopped Neeskens down
as the Dutch star sprinted along the left
wing. It was his second booking off the
match. Off you go!

Never mind the Pollk, who would not

be the only man to receive his marching
orders. The Dutch equalised on 77
minutes, a right-wing cross from Ruud
Geels dispatched spectacularly into
the top right of his own net by Ondru.
The volley was an astonishing act of
unintentional genius, Ondru leaping
high, corkscrewing his body to sidefoot
into the corner, an ersatz call-back to
the famous phantom mid-air backheel
guided home by Cruyff for Barcelona
against Atltico Madrid in 1973. Oh
Ondru! His folly ensured Holland
would contest extra-time, though like
the Czechoslovaks theyd be doing it
with 10 men: a couple of minutes after
their equaliser, Neeskens got savage on
Nehodas shins and was sent packing.

Extra time was decided in controversial

circumstances. Cruyff, looking to break
down the inside-left channel, was scythed

184

down by Panenka. No foul was given.

The ball was blootered upfield, allowing
Frantiek Vesel to tear off down the right
wing. His cross was rich and deep, and
Nehoda, rushing in from the other flank,
planted a gorgeous downward header into
the net. Cue a full and frank exchange of
views between a livid Wim van Hanegem
and referee Thomas. Both men specialised
in haughty self-regard, but there could
only be one winner here. Van Hanegem
was booked for dissent as Holland trudged
back to the halfway line, then sent off for
encroaching at the kick-off, the absurdly
pompous Thomas having specifically
warned the player to stay in his own half
until the game had been restarted.

Well, that was the referees version,

anyway. The player insists Thomas
rather weirdly ordered him to kick off,
then sent him off when he refused. Its
a puzzle that refuses to be solved, not
least because the video suggests Thomas
gave Van Hanegem his second yellow for
refusing to come to the referee for his
first bollocking. (There had been a long
stand-off earlier in the game when Cruyff
had refused to walk towards Thomas
to receive a booking; the referee had
eventually won that petty showdown too.)
Whatever: Van Hanegem channelled his
inner Antonio Rattin and refused to leave
the pitch, though, unlike the wronged star
of the 1966 World Cup, was persuaded
to bugger off quickly enough. In the final
seconds of the game, Vesel rounded the
sprawling goalkeeper Pieter Schrijvers to
seal the deal for Czechoslovakia.

Years later, upon viewing footage of

the match for the first time in over 30
years, Thomas would admit he got the
Panenka-Cruyff decision wrong, but
refused to recant over Van Hanegem.

Scott Murray

Not that the player was in the mood to

make any conciliatory moves either.Hes
just incredibly vain. When you see that
little man walk, so pedantic! An annoying
little fellow, always saying, Come here.
You dont think he has [seen footage of
the match in over 30 years]? He was the
first to have one of those plasma screens,
believe me, to watch that. Thats the sort
of little man he is. As we say, even by
their own lofty standards, a risible farce.

Semi-final: West Germany 4-2

Yugoslavia aet; 2-2 after 90
mins (17 June 1976)

Yugoslavia had been poor at the 1974

World Cup: they made the second stage
more as a result of Scotlands lack of
attacking gumption than anything else
and were easily seen off in the secondphase group by West Germany, Poland and
Sweden. More was expected of them here,
though: they had put the Swedes back in
their box during the qualifying groups, seen
off Wales impressively in the quarters and
now they were hosting the finals.

They didnt disappoint in the first half. On

20 minutes, Jovan Aimovi and Branko
Oblak combined down the left and Danilo
Popivoda was sent racing down the middle,
an arcing long ball dropping perfectly at his
feet. Popivoda took a touch to step clear
of Franz Beckenbauer, then scooped into
the left-hand portion of the net. Thirteen
minutes later, Ivan Buljan crossed from
the right. Maier, confused by the presence
of Berti Vogts, flapped at the ball. Dragan
Daji bundled it into the empty net.

With less than half an hour to go and

Czechoslovakia already in the final, it
looked like another triumph for eastern

Europe was on the cards. It would have

been another shock: the Germans
were the reigning world and European
champions. Admittedly theyd suffered a
slow decline: the Euro 72 winners were
a cut above the 1974 world champions,
who were in turn an improvement on
this lot, not least because Gerd Mller
had called it a day after the World
Cup final. But lets keep the picture in
proportion: the tail end of one of the great
international eras is still a place to be.
Also, Gerds namesake was about to prove
himself a pretty decent replacement.
On 64 minutes, Heinz Flohe pulled a goal
back, his deflected shot wrong-footing
Ognjen Petrovi in the Yugoslav goal. With
11 minutes remaining, Helmut Schn sent
on substitute Dieter Mller for his debut.
His first significant act was to meet Rainer
Bonhofs corner, planting a header into the
top right. Extra time, and with five minutes
of it remaining, Heinz Flohe skinned
Slavia ungul down the left and fired
low across the face of the goal towards
Bonhof, who rolled it back towards Mller
to roof home. With a minute to go, Bonhof
hit the post and Mller followed up to
complete his hat-trick. West Germanys
comeback instantly entered the pantheon,
observers declaring it one of the great
international matches, comparisons made
with their 1970 World Cup humbling of
England. Displaying the determination of
champions, the Germans still had a hold
on their continental crown.

Third-place play-off:
Netherlands 3-2 Yugoslavia
(19 June 1976)

Now why couldnt the Dutch have played

like this three days earlier?

185

Euro 76

The star quality of their team was

drastically reduced in the wake of their
semi-final diva fit: no Johan Neeskens,
no Johnny Rep, no Johan Cruyff.
Still there was plenty of strength in
depth. Just before the half hour, Rob
Rensenbrink, out on the left wing, teased
a lovely curling pass into the middle for
Ruud Geels to stride after. Geels drew
the keeper Ognjen Petrovi and slipped it
under his body. Twelve minutes later, Jan
Peters wedged a glorious ball down the
right for Willy van de Kerkhof, who drilled
home low and hard from the tightest of
angles. Marco van Basten Country, theyd
have called it, if only theyd known.

The hosts hauled themselves back into

contention. Josip Katalinski chested
down and battered one past Pieter
Schrijvers just before half-time. With
seven minutes to go, Dragan Daji
whipped a free-kick into the top right.
But for once this Dutch side found
enough inner strength to bounce back
from a setback. Just after the start of
the second period of extra time, they
went Total Route One: Kees Kist hoicked
a long, high pass down the middle of
the park. Geels won a foot race with
Katalinski, and splatted a shot into the
bottom right. Petrovi might have done
better at his near post, but what can you
do? Geels celebrated with a good oldfashioned roly-poly and a wide smile.

Ah yes, wide smiles. So heres the thing.

Without the likes of Cruyff and Wim van
Hanegem around to sour the mood
with their righteous anger and miserable
pusses, this great Dutch side finally
delivered in a big match. Sadly for them,
their only prize was the consolation
of third place. But how instructive
that theyd gone into the game with a

186

carefree attitude and won, having sulked

their way through a World Cup final and the
Euro semi. The love beads they famously
sported should have fooled nobody.

Final: Czechoslovakia
2-2 West Germany aet;
Czechoslovakia win 5-4 on
penalties (20 June 1976)

The greatest international final of all

time. It didnt have the sociological,
historical and political resonance of the
1950 or 1954 World Cup finals; it wasnt
drenched in the celebratory, almost
lysergic, haze of Mexico 70; it wasnt
decided when the greatest anti-hero
in football history crushed a comeback
with one insouciant flick of his boot, like
Diego did in 1986. But in pure footballing
terms, this was the greatest international
final of all time.

All the action, naturally, has been almost

totally forgotten as a result of the
outrageous last kick of the match. But well
get to that seriatim. First, all that action.

The Czechoslovak captain Anton

Ondru set the tone early, spectacularly
barrelling down the middle of the park
in the style of his opposite number Franz
Beckenbauer. West Germany had been
rocked onto the back foot and they
couldnt recover. Jn Pivarnik, racing
down the right, couldnt find a teammate
in the box, but Beckenbauer, having
intercepted to the right of his own goal,
played a short hospital pass to Berti
Vogts, who then compounded the error
by taking a heavy touch. Vogts gifted the
ball to Marin Masn, who rolled a pass
inside to Jn vehlk on the penalty spot.
vehlks fierce shot towards the bottom

Scott Murray

right was parried by Sepp Maier, but only

towards Zdenk Nehoda to the right
of the goal. Nehoda fired low and hard
through the six-yard box. Ondru, having
kept on keepin on, swung and missed.
But no matter! For vehlk was behind him
and battered the ball home. Beckenbauer,
whose mistake had set off this absurd
chain of events, stood helplessly on the
line as the ball sailed into the net.

West Germany responded well. Rainer

Bonhof strode down the inside-right
channel and unleashed a riser towards
the top left from distance. Ivo Viktor
punched clear. Bernd Hlzenbein,
dropping deep, nearly set Dieter Mller
free down the inside-left channel. The
striker couldnt break clear into the area,
but bustled enough to earn a free-kick.
Bonhof sent a low curler inches wide of
the right-hand post. Then Uli Hoeness
sashayed down the right and dinked a
ball towards Erich Beer, who ducked and
left the ball for Hlzenbein, in space in
the left-hand side of the box. He took a
touch and curled majestically for the top
right, only for Viktor to fingertip wide and
over at full stretch.

But there was no equaliser, and

Koloman Ggh romped down the
Czech left, threatening to break clear
towards the box. Georg Schwarzenbeck
unceremoniously hooked him down,
setting up a free-kick that was as good as
a corner. Beckenbauer headed the setpiece clear, but only to Karol Dobia, just
to the left of the D. The full-back stunned
the ball with his right, then shot towards
the bottom-right corner with his left.
He didnt connect cleanly, but the ball
scampered past Maier and into the corner
anyway. Just 25 minutes gone and the
Germans were two down yet again.

They should have been three adrift soon

after the restart. Jozef Mder, deep in
his own half, lifted a glorious high ball
down the left channel for Masn to chase.
Bernard Dietz had a head start on Masn,
but not the pace, and the striker got to the
ball first, taking a touch to scoot into the
area, then poking across and past Maier,
who had come out to narrow the angle.
The ball bobbled agonisingly wide of the
right-hand post. It could have been 3-0.
Then again, the Germans could have had
three goals themselves and a third of the
match had yet to be played.

And suddenly the gap was only one.

Herbert Wimmer powered down the right
wing, cut inside, and slid a pass down
the channel for Bonhof, just inside the
box. Bonhof dinked a clever cross to the
far post, over the entire Czech defence,
the ball dropping to Mller, eight yards
out and level with the left-hand upright.
Mller twisted, shaped and swept a volley
into the bottom left. Gerd who?

The Germans came roaring at the

Czechs. Beer and Mller one-twoed
down the inside-left channel, but Viktor
came out to smother at Beers feet.
Mder battled down the middle and tried
a curler around Beckenbauer and into
the top right. Maier saved at full stretch.
Beckenbauer sprayed long for Mller
down the right. Mllers cross was fisted
clear by Viktor. Hoeness returned the ball
hard from 20 yards. Jozef apkovi took
it full on the nips. The ball, cushioned,
dropped to Beer, who couldnt squeeze
a shot past a fully spread Viktor. The ball
squirted to the right of a melee. Hoeness,
following up, toe-poked goalwards, only
for the ball to somehow clank off the
inside of the post at the base, avoid the
rushing Hoeness and Ondru as a result

187

Euro 76

of some vicious checkside spin when

any contact at all would have cannoned
the ball into the net and spring back
into the arms of Viktor. The keeper calmly
threw the ball out to the Czech left wing
as though nothing had happened, a surely
disingenuous show of insouciance.

Phew.

Ggh burned Hoeness down the left

flank and hit a deep cross for Svehlik, who
chested down on the edge of the box,
spun and sent Masn into space on the
right. Masn clipped a chip onto the head
of Nehoda, 12 yards out and level with the
left-hand post. The resulting effort beat
Maier but clattered off the left-hand post.
In the resulting scramble, Panenka saw
glory, but his shot was charged down just
outside the area. His time was yet to come.

With 60 seconds to go, Ladislav Jurkemik

came through the back of Flohe, who was
attempting to turn down the right. Freekick. Beckenbauer, casually flicking with
the outside of his boot, sent a dipping
ball screeching towards the far post. A
corner was conceded in a panic. Whistles
rang around the Marakana. Masn stood
ludicrously close to the quadrant in an
effort to put off Bonhof. No matter.
Bonhof threaded high and hard past
Masnys lugs and towards the near post.
Viktor rose to punch, but missed, and the
ball skimmed off the top of Hlzenbeins
pate and home from a yard out. The final
whistle went immediately afterwards.
Displaying the determination of
champions, the Germans still had a hold
of their continental crown (part two).

Extra-time, and the substitute Hans

Bongartz danced his way to the byline
down the left and chipped across for

188

Mller, who threw himself for a diving

header but was denied by Viktors lastditch scooped clearance. Gerd would
have buried it. Panenkas free-kick from
25 yards, heading into the bottom left,
was turned clear by Maier. Beckenbauer
chanced his arm from nearly 30 yards,
but Viktor stopped it going into the top
right. With a minute of extra time to
go, Hoeness dug out a cross from the
right, and Mller very nearly bicycled
a volley into the bottom right. Inches
away. Penalties it was, a first in majorchampionship history.

A better series of spot kicks youd do

well to see. Masn into the bottom left.
Bonhof, the set-piece specialist, into the
right, amid an ear-piercing din caused
by a Yugoslav crowd desperate to see
the Germans lose. Nehoda and Flohe
slotted away to the right too. Ondru slid
a three-step penalty into the bottom left,
ice in the veins. Bongartz think Pablo
Honey-era Thom Yorke sidefooted
confidently into the top right. Jurkemik
nearly ripped the net off the goal frame.

But its the last two everyone remembers.

Hoeness made the sole error, leaning
back and blootering hopelessly over
the bar and into space. And up stepped
Panenka, who ... well, we all know what
Panenka did. Spare a thought for poor
Maier, though, the only man in the world
to miss this act of delicate genius, rolling
away to his left, his back to the ball as
it sailed serenely along a parabola of
perfection and landed gently into the net.

Panenka and his moustache found

themselves instantly buried under a redtracksuited pile of bodies. Also buried: the
rest of this excellent final, thanks to the
groundbreaking beauty of one kick.

Scott Murray

Crossword Answers
By Knut

C H A L K
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I N D I A
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B O
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S H O O T
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E R R O R
A
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I N T W A
I
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K I C K

B O A R D
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A R S E
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A L I C E B
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F R E E
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F E R G I E T

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189

Contributors

Contributors
The Blizzard, Issue Twenty One

Philippe Auclair is the author of The

Enchanted Kingdom of Tony Blair(in
French), Cantona: the Rebel Who
Would Be King, which was named NSC
Football Book of the Year and Lonely
at the Top, his biography of Thierry
Henry. He writes forFrance Football
and Offsideand provides analysis and
commentary for ITV, RMC Sport and
Radio 5 Live. Twitter: @PhilippeAuclair
Daniel Brigham is a freelance cricket
writer and editor who has written for
Cricinfo, the Cricketer, Wisden, the
Cricket Monthly and All Out Cricket.
He has also written on football for
FourFourTwo, the Set Pieces and the
Times. Twitter: @dan_brigham
Karel Hring writes for the Czech daily
Sport and has contributed to various
English football magazines. He is also
a regular studio guest at TV Digi Sport
covering the English Premier League.
Twitter: @KHaring75
Aleksandar Holiga is an independent
football writer who has contributed to the
Guardian, FourFourTwo and ESPN among
others. He is a columnist for Telegram

190

in Croatia and a co-founder of Bara, a

new collective blog gathering together
writers from the countries of the former
Yugoslavia. Twitter: @AlexHoliga
Samindra Kunti is a freelance football
reporter. He writes for Mail & Guardian
and Inside World Football. His work
has been featured for the Set Pieces,
FourFourTwo, Bleacher Report and Kick
Off. He is writing a book about Brazils
1970 team. Twitter: @samindrakunti
Amy Lawrence writes about football
mostly for the Guardian and the
Observer. She is the author of Invincible:
Inside Arsenals Unbeaten 2003-2004
Season. Twitter: @amylawrence71
Iain Macintosh is a reporter for ESPNFC
and the editor of The Set Pieces. He
is a regular on the Guardians Football
Weekly podcast and has published eight
books, the latest of which is The Football
Manager Guide to Football Management.
Twitter: @iainmacintosh
James Montague writes for the New
York Times, World Soccer and Delayed
Gratification magazine. Hes the author

Contributors

of When Friday Comes: Football War and

Revolution in the Middle East and ThirtyOne Nil: On the Road With Footballs
Outsiders. Twitter: @jamespiotr
Scott Murray writes for theGuardian.
He is co-author ofAnd Gazza Misses
The Final, a history of the World Cup
through the medium of minute-byminute match reports. He also cowroteThe Anatomy of Liverpool, and
Phantom of the Open: Maurice Flitcroft,
the Worlds Worst Golfer.
Igor Rabiner is s football and icehockey columnist for Sport-Express. He
is the author of 17 books including How
Spartak Has Been Killed (in Russian),
winner in the Sports Investigation
category at Knizhnoe Obozrenies
Sports Book Awards. He has been
Russian Football Journalist of the Year
four times.

Luk Vrblik is a Slovakian football

journalist, writing regularly for Dennk
N newspaper. He has contributed to
FourFourTwo, ESPN and the Guardian.
Twitter: @LukasVrablik
Michael Walker is originally from Belfast
but has lived in north-east England for
the bulk of the last 30 years. For the last
20 he has reported on the areas football
for several national newspapers. He
currently writes aSaturdaycolumn for
the Irish Times.
Tom Williams reports on English
football for Agence France-Presse,
having previously spent four years
in Paris covering French football. He
has also had articles published by
theGuardian, ESPN FC and Eurosport.
Twitter: @tomwfootball

Rob Smyth is co-author of Danish

Dynamite: The Story of Footballs
Greatest Cult Team and And Gazza
Misses The Final, a collection of
minute-by-minute reports on classic
World Cup matches.

191

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