I’ve always stood in front of the dugout during the match. It’s been a habit now for many years; I couldn’t even tell you how many. From that position I enjoyed the best possible view of the goal.

Gronkjaer had the ball wide on the right. With his trademark change of pace – in all honesty, something few others in the modern game are capable of – he cut in towards the middle, hit an inswinger with his left foot and found an incredible angle. Dudek couldn’t get to the ball. Chelsea 2 Liverpool 1, and this after having been a goal down from Sami Hyypia’s opener and then levelling through Marcel Desailly. We had stepped on the gas and overtaken our rivals in what was effectively a play-off, contested fortunately for us at Stamford Bridge. No small advantage this, coupled with the fact that of the three results possible on the day, either a win or a draw would have taken us into the Champions League.

Perhaps this is a little unusual for an Italian but I do not like playing percentages or speculating on the outcome of fixtures. This was never my way even as manager of Napoli and Fiorentina in Serie A, when we had to face the likes of Inter and Milan at the San Siro, or Juventus in Turin. I always prepare my team to win. I want to play for the highest stakes, every time. It was the same during my time as manager at Valencia, when playing away to Barcelona or Real Madrid, so it could hardly be otherwise in the Premiership.

This particular game on 11 May 2003 was one we all wanted to win. Why? Because there was something important on the line in terms of our future; because Liverpool had turned us over at Anfield in the last couple of seasons with performances that hardly justified the results; and because we wanted to show we were capable of achieving something together as a close-knit unit, with no help from anyone else, and without any possibility whatever of spending on the transfer market, especially as the state of the club’s finances had been well known for a year or so following their exposure on all the front pages. In short, a mixture of pride and determination, competitive spirit and tactical skill was required. It was just the kind of situation I enjoy.

Running across the pitch and screaming, Jesper was celebrating a great goal. And we were all happy, because we knew it was a really important one, although at that particular moment, none of us realized just how important.

I loaded everything into the car. Alongside me was my wife Rosanna, and in the back, a few suitcases filled with summer clothes (and here’s another myth that needs to be put to rest – the idea Italians and other Europeans have about the British summer. It really does exist, and can be as warm and enchanting as in Mediterranean countries). And there was ‘Shark’, my Alsatian, whose name was chosen by my daughter from the map of Australia in the atlas – perhaps it was Shark Bay that took her fancy – as a replacement for ‘Boss’, the name he had been christened with, and which could not work. There would have been too many of us around: me on the touchline, my wife, the dog …

On that trip back to London after a short break at the end of the season, I was carrying from Italy all my hopes and convictions for another season as manager of Chelsea. I knew I would not be able to ask for anything from the club in terms of buying new players, but knowing the squad I had got together, I was sure I could count on them to make certain we would enjoy our Champions League adventure and maybe even take a few important scalps during the season. After all, these would be the same players we had when we qualified for Europe in 2003, and the same who took us to the FA Cup Final in 2002. Frankly, as we approached Strasbourg on the motorway, I was wondering whether the club would be able to resist the temptation to sell Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink and William Gallas, for the sake of the fans more than my own. I was aware that we had received good offers for both players and the money would help to give the books a healthier look. Knowing the situation, I would not have objected, but they were two extremely important pieces in the Chelsea chess set. And what about Gianfranco Zola? Sadly, I knew I would be losing him, and through nobody’s fault. I would have liked to have kept him on and so would the club, and he wanted nothing more than to sign and finish up his career with the No 25 shirt on his back, but it was obvious he would not be able to accept the only credible offer the club could possibly manage at that moment – a one-year contract with a cut in salary of 45%. This was never meant to be an insult in exchange for all the great things he had done for the Blues, not least the superb performances and 14 goals of this last season, but was intended rather as a heartfelt attempt to keep him. An offer made by a club that could not really afford the luxury. And so, I knew he would make the big decision: return home, play for Cagliari (his childhood dream) and, after so many years, be near his parents once again.

As I was thinking about all this, the mobile rang. It was Trevor Birch calling to tell me – at 11.30 pm – that Chelsea Football Club had been sold to a Russian business organization.

‘What does this mean for us?’ I asked. At that particular moment there were a thousand thoughts and a thousand images running through my mind, though in truth I was unable to picture any real scenario.

‘No Claudio, don’t worry,’ he replied, ‘from the little I’ve been able to find out about the new owner and the few words I’ve had with him, it seems clear he’s someone who wants to achieve great things.’

Trevor’s words sounded believable straight away, even if I could not yet form any impression of Mr Abramovich in my mind, much less of his enthusiasm and his potential to lead the club to better things. At any rate, I was reassured. Then, in a flash, a thought occurred.

‘And Gianfranco?’

Suddenly I realized that the loss I assumed inevitable might still be retrieved.

‘Is there anything we can do?’

I had spoken to him two days earlier and he had said then that the time had come to make up his mind. Massimo Cellino, the chairman of Cagliari, was pressing him and he could not put off the decision any longer; besides there were family matters to take care of, like moving house and schools for the children. So the next day he signed for Cagliari.

It was too late to change things. Although Gianfranco had not yet put pen to paper, he had given his word, and for him that was as good as a signature. About a month later, Cellino was a studio guest on ‘Domenica Sportiva’, a Sunday sports programme on RAI (the Italian state television), and I was speaking on a link from my country home in the Sienese hills of Tuscany. It was then that I learned all about the backstage activity that had accompanied Zola’s signing. Cellino admitted that, having got wind of the extraordinary events happening at Stamford Bridge, he feared he could be in danger of losing Zola even before he had landed him. For Cellino and for all Sardinia, this meant much more than simply acquiring a great player. Zola was a national symbol, a returning hero. He summoned Gianfranco to the club and proceeded to have all mobile phones and fax machines switched off. Once he had secured the player’s signature, he admitted to the ‘manoeuvres’ and offered his apologies. Zola simply smiled, put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a fax he had just received from Chelsea, making him an offer hard to refuse. But, torn as he was between two great loves, he had already given his word. So yet again he had shown fantastic character, although it meant I was losing an exceptional person (quite apart from losing a footballer whose worth everyone knows). I probably never told him as much directly, but I was always genuinely proud to travel the world as Chelsea manager with a standard-bearer like Gianfranco. On the pitch, he enchanted and he scored sublime goals, but he was also our ambassador, our calling card, and an example on and off the field.

A few days layer, on 8 July, I was called into the office. I was to meet Mr Abramovich for the first time and I did not know what to expect. We met in the boardroom at Stamford Bridge. I went up alone in the lift but I was perfectly relaxed, even on this day that was going to change my life, although who could say in what direction? The Chelsea boardroom has no windows, but there is a certain light that emanates from the history in the pictures of the stadium that hang on the wall, showing how the place has evolved over the years. And we who wear the Chelsea jersey, in whatever capacity, are the ones who must keep the story going. It was precisely for this that we were meeting in that room.

Those present were Mr Abramovich with three close associates, me, and Trevor Birch. Instinctively, I spoke up first because I felt I had to make a clear statement concerning my own situation. I said that I had been around long enough in the world of football to realize that a change of ownership might mean a change in approach, or different objectives, and the direct consequence can be the decision to replace the coach. I would not have been upset; in fact I must admit I had already mentioned on the phone to a friend holidaying in Miami that, although I hoped otherwise, I sensed that my time as manager of Chelsea might even be over already.

‘Tell me straight away,’ I insisted, ‘or else you risk wasting your time and money, and I could be wasting time as well.’ Calmly and with the greatest sincerity, I had presented him with an opening, a perfect assist, to end my contract painlessly. No answer. Instead, he began to ask for my opinions on the team, and I saw immediately that he was fully informed as to how we were placed. For my part, I pointed out that even in our financial circumstances, we had already come a long way without buying players. What we had was an optimum basis for a team, but it needed strengthening. With the conversation now moving along more freely, he told me that he had seen the Champions League match between Manchester United and Real Madrid, and while watching it he had got to like the game of football so much that he had decided to buy a team. He admitted he had chosen Chelsea not because he was a supporter (at least not at the time, though he has since become a genuine fan, well beyond any level his business interests might warrant), but because when considering the list of clubs he could have purchased, ours presented the most favourable package. First and foremost, there was our history and the attraction of Champions League competition. I must confess, at this moment I suddenly thought about that goal of Gronkjaer’s, a gratifying snapshot passing through my mind.

‘What do you think this team needs to be able to step up a level?’ he asked, perhaps simply to confirm what he was already thinking.

‘Well,’ I answered, ‘considering that this is Chelsea and we have to contest the Premiership, the Champions League and two national Cup competitions, and try to win them all, I need two players to cover every position. If ambitions are going to be raised, we can’t have a repeat of all the troubles we endured last year, when we started off brilliantly but then, what with injuries and bans, our prospects changed so drastically.’

I spoke on impulse, saying what I thought would be best for the club. He then looked at me, and stressed that he wanted to turn Chelsea into one of the top clubs in Europe – like Juventus, Real Madrid or AC Milan – adding also that he fully agreed with me on the need to have two top-class players for every position. At this point it was inevitable I would ask the question again.

‘Tell me now,’ I repeated, inviting a statement on the coaching position, ‘or you risk wasting your time and money, and I could be wasting my time too.’ I was happy where I was and I wanted to finish the job, but in these situations, things needed to be made clear.

‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘I want you to go on managing the team.’

For me, that simple declaration was enough. As of that moment it was possible to start working for the future. I told him I wanted young players who would show promise as future championship-winning material and who could also be mixed in with experienced players, because I wanted a Chelsea that would be capable of winning things right away, but also equipped to stay at the top level over time. The names I mentioned immediately afterwards also gave clear notice of another aspect I considered fundamental. Above all, I wanted players from the home nations capable of giving a heart, soul and spirit to the squad that would be essentially English in nature. I believed strongly in this. The backbone of a team should reflect the characteristics of the championship it plays in. Equally clear, and demonstrated by the arrival of Hernan Crespo, Adrian Mutu and Claude Makelele, was the importance of including star players from abroad – vital for making the step up in quality – but there should always be a strong local contingent, not least because the fans can identify with them more easily. After all, Manchester United and Alex Ferguson did this very same thing in the 1990s, though with a slight difference. What they did well was to bring up star performers through their own development structure – home-grown talent like Beckham, Scholes, Gary Neville, Giggs and Brown – and bring in players such as Kanchelskis, Stam, and, most recently, Van Nistelrooy from abroad to create a winning formula.

From that day onwards throughout the entire duration of the transfer window, I was in daily contact with Mr Abramovich by telephone, directly or through his associates, and the results were there for all to see. I have to say that we landed almost all the players we dreamed of signing. When making plans with an owner like this, everything is certainly much easier. It was a real novelty for me when considering all the chairmen I had worked under previously in Italy and Spain. While no less passionate, it must be said that none of these had shown the same readiness to back up my technical wishes with actions. Let’s just say that in the past, the players taken from me and sold always outnumbered the players who were bought for me.

Having made our plans for the future at that first meeting and before the buying programme we discussed was so satisfactorily under way, I invited our new owner down to the training ground (a facility not exactly up to the standard befitting a club with a name like Chelsea) so that he could see it at first hand and get to know the group of players who were already preparing for the new season. I was very pleased when he took up the invitation immediately. When we arrived at Harlington, just a short distance from Heathrow Airport, I called the squad together on the pitch and presented all the players and members of my staff to Mr Abramovich, one by one. Beyond the exchange of a handshake and the usual pleasantries, I do not recall any of the players or staff saying or doing anything in particular – apart from Roberto Sassi, that is. Roberto is the little man you see taking the players through their warm-up routine on the pitch before every match, the one who prepares them meticulously every day in training. He has been with me since I was manager at Fiorentina, and in my book he is an outstanding professional, a great worker and a keen student of all the new fitness methods, whatever their origin. He became famous twenty years ago in Italy as the first to see the importance and exploit the possibilities of the computer in our work. At all events, Roberto is not only a friend, and for me an irreplaceable colleague, but also an incredible personality when you get to know him. Just consider the way he introduced himself on that day in July to Mr Abramovich.

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m the second-best fitness coach in the world. The first is dead.’

His standing joke, of course, but remarkable that he came out with it in the presence of such an important new owner. And he has never told me who No 1 might be!

The first of the new players to sign contracts were the two goalkeepers Marco Ambrosio and Jurgen Macho, who had been bought with the limited finances available to the ‘old’ Chelsea, but were still quality players. They put pen to paper on 2 July, which coincidentally was not only the same day that John Terry signed a four-year extension to his contract, to my great delight, but also the day that Ken Bates and Roman Abramovich formally completed the sale of the club and the share transaction with a handshake in the centre-circle of Stamford Bridge football pitch. Recorded for posterity by the photographers, that day changed the history of our club. And a few days later, the face of the squad also began to change, taking on the look I had in mind. The first actual deal under the new regime was made official on 10 July with the acquisition of full-back Glen Johnson. He and Wayne Bridge were two players I wanted desperately, because every time we had played West Ham and Southampton they had really impressed me. Both had given Jesper Gronkjaer a very difficult time and this had attracted my attention. A second point not to be forgotten is that both signings filled another requirement of primary importance to me: they were young and English. In short, they were the ideal first two pieces of the jigsaw that I, or rather we, had in mind.

Transfer negotiations took their course, and as the press threw out a new name every day on the front pages and the fans began to dream, we got on with our preseason training, which we had decided to start on 2 July with the opening Champions League fixture less than six weeks away. The first few days were spent doing nothing more than exercising muscles in readiness for a more strenuous workout later. Right from the start of my coaching career, I have always combined fitness with work with the ball because I feel certain that the players will be more interested and more involved, and so they train better. This is an important stage of the season because you are storing up physical energy and laying the foundations for what is to come. This is all the more important in the Premiership, where the competitive side of things is absolutely fundamental. Many of my colleagues in Italy still keep faith with the ideology of exercise only at first, for a few days. My response is that you can do it all with a smile, simply by adding the ball. The programme for that first week, unlike the usual routine during the season, was based on two sessions with a break for lunch and a couple of hours’ rest at the nearby Holiday Inn. Pre-season is a time that I particularly enjoy. Everyone is meeting up again after the summer, working together, talking about their holidays (perhaps telling one another about their successes with the fair sex – though not when I’m around!) and dreaming about what ambitions might be achieved in the year ahead. This year was a little bit different for Chelsea, with fresh topics being generated daily by the new direction the club was taking.

Unfortunately, it often happens that even before the first pre-season friendly someone in the squad will pick up an injury. On this occasion, the ill fortune suffered by our keeper Macho really was cruel. Not even a week had gone by since the Austrian had started training with us when, during the morning session, he was hurt while making a clearance. We realized immediately that the injury was serious, even before an MRI scan confirmed he had ruptured cruciate ligaments and torn a cartilage in his right knee. That evening I went home very upset because although no-one was to blame, it was a severe blow for the youngster, who would now also have to face an operation and thereafter a long period of rehabilitation. I had not lost a regular first-team player, because my first-choice goalkeeper was Carlo Cudicini, but in these cases it is distressing quite simply from a human point of view.

Having received the official news of Johnson’s signing on 10 July, we set off the day after for Roccaporena in Umbria for the second part of our training camp. During my time with Cagliari and Fiorentina, I had regularly held training sessions there. The place was quiet and consequently restful, and not too hot, so that useful work could be done. No less important, the food was good, and this the lads appreciated. Here the group could really come together, in a place where individuals are a long way from London and therefore able to make friends more easily. The first time I went to Roccaporena it was practically a picnic site and nothing else. There was just one hotel with no television and only two telephone lines. Now things were very different. A local charity, the Opera Pia di Santa Rita (Roccaporena is very near the Sanctuary of St Rita of Cascia) had built and opened a new hotel with all modern conveniences. The food taken by the players was drawn up by the medical staff so as to ensure that whatever the players ate would be easily digestible and at the same time give them the nourishment they needed. For over a year now I had been Zone dieting, this involves sticking to a balanced intake of carbohydrates, proteins and fats, eating less but more often, which meant a few sacrifices. Fortunately the results have been good as I managed to lose 10kg or so, but when I was with the team I never ate anything different to them. It seemed to me only right and proper, since we were a team.

There was plenty of sweat and toil at Roccaporena, as this was the second week of training and the workloads were increased, but there were a lot of laughs too. The new arrivals had to go through their ‘initiation ceremony’, standing up on a chair and singing to the entire assembly during dinner. The proceedings were organized by John Terry and Frank Lampard, usually we would start throwing paper napkins, and finally everyone would clap. Traditionally, one of our massage team, Billy, would also stand up on a chair and entertain everyone, not by singing but by doing a bit of stand-up comedy. I must admit I didn’t understand a word of it (it was only afterwards I found out I was not the only one) but I laughed fit to burst just the same at the way he told the jokes and the way he himself was laughing at the end. This was a wonderful bonding experience, which kept morale high and brought the squad together.

Obviously I do not get as physically tired as my players during the training camp, and so it generally happens that when they flop into bed exhausted (at least, I hope they do) I have a bit of time to myself. The usual phone call home, the usual scribbles in my notebook, jotting down plans and formations, and a chat with my staff, perhaps to find out how work is going with a specific player or more generally with the squad as a whole. All this and more, because after dinner, in the cool evening air, thoughts turn inevitably to what the coming season will, or at least might, hold in store. But this year had been different. There had been no time to think because, fortunately for us and thanks to the efforts of the club, the reality had materialized simultaneously with the dreams. I was in touch continuously with London, both in my mind and on the phone, as there was something important happening every day.

We had still not played our first friendly, a fixture against Lazio in Rome set for 18 July, when a second great piece of news arrived from Stamford Bridge. The Cameroon midfielder Geremi had been signed from Real Madrid for £7 million. I must say that I had had my eye on him for some years. In fact he could almost be considered a fixation of mine. I have always liked players who are tactically flexible, individuals with character who never give up and know how to defend. From what I had seen, before having him at my disposal on a daily basis, Geremi combined all of these qualities. It had been a blow to me when John Toshack, then the Real Madrid coach, plucked him from the Turkish club Glencler-birligi, and I freely admit I had already asked Chelsea to sign him the year before. Now that the resources were finally available to acquire him, he was one of the names I had put on my list. He signed for Chelsea on 16 July, straight after Johnson and on the same day that Eidur Gudjohnsen also renewed for three more seasons. This was a pleasing coincidence for me, as it served to underscore what I had always thought and said. The squad that had taken us into the Champions League needed to be improved if it was going to aim for yet higher things, but not discarded.

Just a few hours later, before sitting down to lunch the next day, I received another important telephone call. I was told that the Blackburn winger Damien Duff had flown to London to begin serious talks with Chelsea and to undergo a medical. In reality the deal was not looking quite so much of a certainty the next day, as we prepared to play our first game of the season. Understandably, Duff had wanted a little time to consider his future carefully. The papers put out the news that Manchester United were stepping up their interest in him, and all we could do was wait for him to make up his mind, confident that we had offered him an attractive deal and the prospect of an equally exciting adventure at the highest level. Damien is a player with many qualities. Tenacious, fast, always ready to shoot, a good crosser of the ball. He was the classic footballer, with something extra. When up against Blackburn Rovers in the past, my main problem had always been to keep him in check, and I had greatly admired him during the World Cup in Japan and Korea – in this instance without the anguish of being on the opposing side – when for me he was the one who shone for the Republic of Ireland team. Damien is highly inventive, and in addition, although he prefers to play on the left, he has the great capacity of being effective in more than one position. From the opposite wing, for instance, he can cut in and shoot dangerously at goal left-footed, curling the ball much in the same way as Chris Waddle used to do back in the 1980s. And this was not all. Soon after having him in the side, I found that by playing him in the hole just behind the forwards, where he had never been used before, he could deliver assists of pinpoint accuracy to the strikers – just like the best playmakers in the NBA.

There’s also a little secret I can reveal about Damien Duff. He is my mother Renata’s favourite footballer. She is forever telling me so on the phone, and if this were not enough, she also said so when interviewed on Sky Italia. She described him as Chelsea’s Nedved, and given that Juventus’s Czech international won the European Footballer of the Year award this season, it seemed an auspicious comparison. It meant I’d have to think twice before I substituted him, otherwise she would have something to say! But even my mother, just like Duff and all my other players, must understand not only that every decision taken is strictly in the interest of the team – this goes without saying – but also that in such an important season we cannot afford to wear anyone down physically, because at the crucial moment, everyone must be at their best. They need to be ready both physically and mentally.

This was one of my concerns when we were drawing up our prestigious and well-stocked player roster. Everyone wants to play and always to have a great game. This is nice, and this is how it should be, but I am there simply to take the decisions that can help Chelsea lift as many trophies as possible. Sometimes the choices are not easy to make, but if there is one thing I have always done it is to shoulder my responsibilities, and I knew I would do the same this time around, except that every decision would attract more commotion.

Waking up on the morning of 18 July, I thought straight away it was probably no accident that the most important season of my career would be starting with a match, albeit a friendly, in my native Rome. It was neither an advantage nor a disadvantage, simply a question of fate. Thinking about it, all the big events in my life have had their beginnings within sight of the Dome of St Peter’s. I was born in Rome, began my schooling there, and naturally my life in football began there too. I saw my first football match at the Stadio Olimpico, as a Roma supporter, and it was in that same stadium that I made my debut in Serie A, wearing the red and gold jersey. Now another important adventure was beginning for me, again in Rome, this time at the Stadio Flaminio, which is smaller than the Olimpico and decidedly seedier. It is attractive and has its own little history, but there is practically no football played there nowadays and it could do with rather more attention, although it has had something of a new lease of life in recent years since Italy began playing Six Nations rugby. The Flaminio also happens to be the sports ground nearest my current home in Rome, a nice apartment in the heart of the Parioli district, just a short walk away.

12 İz.

Proud Man Walking

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CONTENTS

MAY – JULY ‘I want you to go on managing the team’

MAY – JULY
‘I want you to go on managing the team’