Mourinho: Further Anatomy of a Winner Read online

  ‘When you take over a club,’ said Gérard Houllier, who supervised the modernisation of Liverpool before making way for Rafael Benítez, ‘you have to build and maintain three teams – the team that is playing, the team that is not playing and the team behind the team.’

  The first team had already begun to take shape in Mourinho’s mind. Carlo Cudicini was in place and Petr ech was arriving from Rennes to challenge him. Paulo Ferreira and Ricardo Carvalho would join John Terry in a defence stiffened by the presence, just in front of the centre-backs, of Claude Makelele. The other midfield positions would be contested by Tiago, Joe Cole, Geremi and Alexei Smertin with Damien Duff and the most exciting of the new boys Kenyon had secured in advance, Arjen Robben, supplying width. Eidur Gudjohnsen would play a little off the front. Behind Hernan Crespo. The Argentine, though, was to be the subject of a joint reappraisal. When the players reported for duty at the old Imperial College training ground, Crespo was a notable and unexplained exception. When they were handed Mourinho’s guide to behaviour and ethos, the copy intended for Crespo went unclaimed. ‘From here, each practice, each game, each minute of your social life must centre on the aim of being champions,’ it read, ending with a line that might have come from Lord Kitchener: ‘I need all of you.’ Two days later, Crespo strolled in from South America, mumbling excuses about flights. He was called into Mourinho’s office, given a vibrant lecture and asked if he would settle in England and give the same commitment as the rest of the players. He declined and was loaned to Milan, though Crespo was to return in time for the 2005–06 season. And Chelsea promptly smashed their transfer record in paying Olympique Marseille £24 million for his replacement, Didier Drogba.

  The non-playing team, the group of players on the fringes who would have to be kept motivated during spells of inactivity, Mourinho addressed with a clear-out. The last thing a coach needs is malcontents. But sometimes the cost of getting rid of such players when they are in mid-contract can be daunting. Mourinho was lucky. His club could afford to pay them off. Crespo was a good example in the sense that, with wages in Italy under sharp downward pressure, Milan were unwilling to contemplate paying his salary of £4.8 million for the year. So Chelsea gave them two-thirds of it. (Had Chelsea reached the Champions League final, they would have been paying him twice as much as Milan – to play against them.) They had already shipped Juan Sebastián Verón to Inter in a similar loan deal. Off to Birmingham City on permanent transfers went Mario Melchiot and Jesper Gronkjaer. Middlesbrough took Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink. With retirements and less significant departures, the squad was cut to what Mourinho considered a manageable size: twenty-three senior players. Given that two or three of these would be injured most of the time, the potential for grumbling would be minimal. And Mourinho would be working only with players who had a reasonable chance of contributing to matches, even in a small way; there would be no clutter, no wastage of effort, and that is exactly the environment in which Mourinho likes to coach.

  As for the team behind the team – as Houllier referred to the back-up staff – Mourinho had already assembled most of them. He began to form his inner circle of assistants while preparing to go to Leiria. Although only too eager to test his ‘methodology’ after a somewhat false start to his solo career at Benfica, he sensed a requirement for an enforcer, someone who could deal with the players. His wife suggested Baltemar Brito, and Mourinho was to work with him for many years. He was more than an assistant; Brito was a close friend. They had known each other since the Brazilian – a tall and bowlegged central defender, gritty and reliable but of limited technique – played for Mourinho’s father at Rio Ave in 1981–82; José, remember, was a junior member of that squad. Brito was joint ‘assistant manager’ at Chelsea. But some assistant managers are more equal than others and Brito, rather than Stevie Clarke, seemed to take charge when Mourinho was unavoidably absent from the bench during Chelsea’s Champions League run. Clarke, though, was clearly accepted into Mourinho’s group. The former Chelsea defender, a Scot, was one of few surviving connections with the past and his initial function was to point Mourinho to areas which had been neglected under the Ranieri regime, such as youth development. He was the ideal link man and went on to work with Gianfranco Zola at West Ham United and Kenny Dalglish at Liverpool.

  Then there was Rui Faria, the fitness coach whom Mourinho inadvertently exposed to ridicule during the Bayern Munich matches by appearing to use him to pass messages and, in Germany, face the press; one columnist referred to him as ‘puerile’, another called him a ‘woolly-hatted halfwit’. He is the longest-serving member of Mourinho’s circle. When Mourinho was assisting Louis van Gaal at Barcelona, a student from the sports university in Porto got in touch, seeking help in completing his final papers. How could Mourinho, himself a graduate of the corresponding establishment in Lisbon, refuse? They got on so well, furthermore, that when Mourinho joined Leiria, the former student, Rui Faria, was beckoned.

  Silvino Louro looked after the Chelsea goalkeepers, as he had done those of Porto; Mourinho found him there when he arrived from Leiria. Setúbal-born, Silvino had the most distinguished playing career of the group. He played twenty-three times for Portugal in goal and twice appeared for Benfica in European Champions’ Cup finals: in 1988, when PSV Eindhoven beat them on penalties and Hans van Breukelen, his opposite number, was the hero; and in 1990, when, coached by Sven-Göran Eriksson, they lost to a Milan goal scored by Frank Rijkaard. Like Rui Faria, Silvino followed Mourinho to Internazionale and on to Real Madrid.

  André Villas-Boas, when working under Mourinho at Chelsea, had the title ‘assistant coach/scout’ and an air of mystery that transcended it. At Porto he was called something like ‘director of opposition intelligence’. Villas-Boas was Mourinho’s spy. He watched and analysed opponents, just as Mourinho had done for others, and prepared dossiers to be handed to the players, normally twenty-four hours before matches. He too dealt in detail, supplying rundowns on each possible opponent, including what kind of runs the player liked to make, whether he favoured the left or right side, whether he liked to dribble or pass, his stamina levels, capabilities in the air and temperament. Another thing Villas-Boas had in common with the young Mourinho was that he aspired to be a head coach; not long after coming to London, he happened to mention it in public. Mourinho was not pleased and told Villas-Boas to stop speaking to the press. Perhaps it was just as well. Publicity and intelligence work can be strange bedfellows.

  A quick glance at an internet site containing a brief biography of Villas-Boas, however, led us to the information that he had a British grandmother – not unusual in Oporto, due to the port trade – and coached youths at Porto before turning up as technical director of the British Virgin Islands FA in 1999 … when he was twenty-one! Sir Bobby Robson remembered him at Porto. He was in his teens when Robson was coach there and used to wait outside the Englishman’s apartment. At first the boy wanted just an autograph or a chat and Robson obliged. But when he asked for a job on the Porto staff, the response could only be a gentle refusal. Villas-Boas wrote to Robson at Barcelona, repeating his request for a start in the game. He must also have kept in touch with Mourinho, for when Mourinho took charge at Porto, he turned up on the staff, ready to follow in his footsteps. He, too, was a good analyst. Just as Robson and Van Gaal trusted Mourinho, Mourinho trusted Villas-Boas. Maybe the British Virgin Islands job came too soon for him. He is remembered there also. The president of the British Virgin Islands FA between 1996 and 2000, Kenrick Grant, told me: ‘His plans were very impressive on paper and so we gave him a job as youth director and assistant to our head coach on 350 US dollars a week plus expenses. But he was always very quiet. He’d had the privilege to be around the top people in Portugal, apparently, and never really settled or got focused here. Whenever he had the opportunity, he’d go back to Portugal. One time, he wrote to me asking for a reference and I said I was sorry but I could not do that. He never came back to us. I was really surprised to hear he was wi
th a top team like Chelsea.’

  Not for nothing was Villas-Boas called ‘Mini-Mourinho’ before he struck out on his own so successfully. When his erstwhile master was feuding with Frank Rijkaard, the pupil took a prominent role.

  Imagine Kenrick Grant’s astonishment when Villas-Boas was called back to Stamford Bridge as team boss in the summer of 2011. Amid the euphoric scenes as Stamford Bridge prepared for Pierluigi Collina to blow the final whistle on Chelsea’s victory over Barcelona, Villas-Boas swaggered towards the visitors’ dugout and said something that irked Rijkaard, whom a steward restrained. As the Barcelona players trooped off, Villas-Boas was still apparently taunting them and Samuel Eto’o motioned to him to shut up. As again a steward intervened, bundling Eto’o away, Villas-Boas stood triumphant, sneering. It was not an edifying sight.

  Villas-Boas remained a member of the Mourinho coterie until the end of the first Inter season, 2008–09, when he decided to pursue his ambition to be the number one at a club (again just like Mourinho). Soon he was engaged by Academica of Coimbra, who lay at the bottom of Portugal’s first division. He lifted them into mid-table and, in the summer of 2010, followed in Mourinho’s footsteps once more by taking over at Porto. Immediately they beat Benfica in the Supercup, Portugal’s equivalent of the Community Shield, and by 3 April 2011 they were champions, making sure of the title with a 2–1 triumph over Benfica in Lisbon. The comparison with Mourinho’s time at Porto became increasingly uncanny as they went on to win the Europa League. And then he too was called by Abramovich to the Bridge.

  In Mourinho’s time at Chelsea, all of his assistants, from the unassuming Brito to young Villas-Boas, had to be treated respectfully by the Bridge players. Mourinho, who was afforded the same courtesy by Van Gaal at Barcelona, insisted on it. The first commandment of Mourinho’s ‘bible’, the document hidden in his laptop which set out his coaching principles, apparently laid down that no individual must be greater than the club (a tenet which any benevolent dictator would find convenient) and the team behind the team had their own status. Each member was there because Mourinho felt he could trust him. Trust was fundamental to what he called his ‘methodology’. But upon arriving at Chelsea he needed to be able to trust his lieutenant on the field more than anyone and so his choice of captain was a key decision.

  Under Ranieri the role had been taken by Marcel Desailly, with John Terry deputising when the great but somewhat creaky French defender was taking one of his frequent rests (Desailly retired just before Mourinho’s arrival). When Chelsea flew to the United States for their pre-season tour, Terry was only twenty-three but an established member of the England squad who had taken the suspended Rio Ferdinand’s place alongside Sol Campbell in Sven-Göran Eriksson’s defence during the European Championship and done well. But Mourinho’s initial instinct was that Frank Lampard, whom he considered a more intelligent footballer, should be his captain. During the flight across the Atlantic, however, he consulted the players one by one and a consensus emerged that Terry should have the armband. Mourinho went to sit next to Terry on the plane and the choice was confirmed. ‘He told me what he wanted from me as captain,’ said Terry. ‘He told me that, on the training pitch and around the place, he wanted me to be a speaker and out there in games he wanted me to get his words across to the players.’ The consequences of that decision were long to echo around a united, vibrant dressing room; Mourinho had listened to its voice and picked just the man, and towards the end of the season players up and down the country recognised it by choosing Terry as the Professional Footballers’ Association Player of the Year.

  So, having selected a lean squad with a strong leader, Mourinho needed to choose the right tactical framework for them. At Porto he had favoured a tight midfield diamond: in other words, 4–4–2 without wingers. At least that was what he had shown us in the Champions League, when Porto were often facing teams such as Real Madrid or Manchester United who had more players of outstanding individual accomplishment; he would sometimes use a different formation against inferior sides in Portugal. The requirement to switch for the Champions League he explained thus: ‘To win we had to go about things in a certain way. If you have a Ferrari and I have a small car, to beat you in a race I have to break your wheel or put sugar in your tank.’

  At Chelsea, initially, he appeared still to be suffering from small-car syndrome. ‘They started with a diamond and people were saying they were a bit dour,’ recalled David Moyes, whose Everton lost each of their matches to Chelsea 1–0. After nine Premier League fixtures, Mourinho’s team had scored a mere eight goals. But they were without Arjen Robben and his arrival on the scene, belated due to the first of his injuries, changed everything. In their next nine matches, they scored twenty-nine goals and developed a new system. ‘I don’t know if he stumbled on it or what,’ said Moyes, ‘but good managers do that. They find a system that suits their players and, when Robben came into a side that already had Damien Duff, they had two top-class wide players. So Mourinho developed this version of 4–3–3.’

  Whatever circumstances called for, he would supply, notably in the Champions League: against Barcelona, lightning-quick counter-attacking; against Bayern, long high balls towards Didier Drogba, an old-fashioned English centre-forward who happened to come from the Ivory Coast. In the Premier League, one memorable act of boldness occurred in the west London derby with Fulham, who were drawing at Stamford Bridge when Mourinho threw on Robben and moved Duff to left-back, which meant Chelsea had no fewer than six attackers on the field. There were, moreover, forty-five minutes to go. But fewer than ten of those minutes had passed when Duff surged forward and prompted Robben, whose perfectly laid ball Frank Lampard stroked into the net. Mourinho then adjusted the balance of the team again, replacing Drogba with the midfielder Tiago, and Chelsea won 3–1.

  In Ranieri’s day this had been called tinkering; now it was tactical acumen. Only against Liverpool at what proved the end of Mourinho’s Champions League campaign did he fail to come up with a solution to Chelsea’s difficulties, which were probably due to mental bluntness as much as anything else, the second leg having fallen three days after the Premier League had been clinched at Bolton. What he could choose he chose wisely. But he could not always pick his moments.

  Coaching

  David Moyes suddenly grinned. ‘What Mourinho’s done,’ said the Everton manager, ‘is make coaching sexy.’ He was alluding less to his rival’s good looks than to a tendency to use fancy words and phrases to describe his methods. One of these is ‘guided discovery’, by which Mourinho means that players at a certain level must be led gently to lessons rather than told what to do; it is an approach he learned at Barcelona, one he shares with, among others, Sven-Göran Eriksson. On the other hand, we heard from John Terry, he was not above barking to his Chelsea charges: ‘Hey – don’t fuck about!’

  In an interview with Andy Roxburgh for UEFA’s coaching magazine soon after he joined Chelsea, Mourinho described his coaching style as flexible and evolutionary – ‘I am different today from five years ago’ – but very demanding in terms of the commitment required from the players during training. ‘I have always been lucky to have more than one pitch at my training centre,’ he said, ‘and I therefore prepare my sessions in such a way that I can jump from one situation to another with effective working time high and resting time very low. We go for quality and high intensity during short periods. Players want to work, whether it is in Portugal, England or Spain, as long as the training is well organised and serious and they know the purpose of the exercise.

  ‘When I went to Scotland in the late 1980s, after finishing my studies, your methods [he told Roxburgh] made me think about methodology in a different way. The way you used small-sided games to develop technical, tactical and fitness training – a global view of training. I believe in the global method. My fitness coach works with me on the tactical systems, advising on time, distance and space. I want to develop tactical aspects of the game: how to press, when to pres
s, transitions, ball possession, positional play. After that other things come – the physical and psychological aspects are part of the exercise. The individual work is done when we feel the players need that. Often we need to separate the players into groups depending on their condition and the amount of playing time they have had. The emphasis of the work is always tactical.’

  It’s not always so sexy, then, but the Chelsea players did swear that they loved their briskly conducted work with Mourinho and, by his side, Rui Faria. And, while there was no shortage of public testimony – ‘training is enjoyable every day,’ said John Terry, ‘and you learn so much’ – the best evidence was what they said privately. As the anecdotal evidence built up over Mourinho’s first season, the former Arsenal striker Ian Wright said he had been told even the players on the fringe of the first team enjoyed training – ‘and that is a major achievement’. Meanwhile Gérard Houllier, whose post-Liverpool role as expert analyst of English football on French television kept him in touch with the Premier League grapevine, told me: ‘Believe me – the players just love Mourinho’s coaching and man-management.’ The two linked together, of course, in accordance with the global principle.