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Ridsdale begs to differ again. ‘For Adam to say he forced the issue is wrong. We followed a very methodical process. And if David feels he initiated it, that is disingenuous, because he wasn’t at the first meeting. With the benefit of hindsight, Adam might say: “I always had this solution in mind, I led them there,” but I don’t think that’s true because we started with a blank sheet of paper, worked through all the possibilities, and everybody had their particular suggestions written down.
‘I don’t remember who first mentioned Eriksson – it might have been Adam, to be fair. I said Bobby Robson. I was saying that whatever we did, we should have the next man in place, so we wouldn’t have to go through the whole process again from scratch. The young bucks, maybe two or three coaches, should work alongside the main man, so that a ready-made successor could come from Peter Taylor, Steve McClaren or Bryan Robson, whose names all came up.’
Had Dein blocked any move in Wenger’s direction? Ridsdale was adamant that he did not. ‘People said because I was on the sub-committee, David [O’Leary] couldn’t be picked, which was a joke. He was on the list, but what had he done? He was never seriously considered for that reason. The same people said Wenger couldn’t get the job because of David [Dein], but it was at that first meeting that Sven emerged as our preferred foreign candidate, and David wasn’t even there. Wenger was considered, as was Alex Ferguson, but Sven was the number one non-English choice.’
Dein, away on Arsenal business, could have been contacted by mobile phone, but was not consulted either before or during that first meeting. Had he had any input? ‘No,’ Ridsdale said, emphatically. ‘Well, I know he didn’t speak to me, or to Dave Richards, Noel White or Howard Wilkinson. To Crozier … who knows? But Crozier never said: “I’ve spoken to Dein and we wouldn’t get Arsene Wenger.”’
For the second meeting, it was Ridsdale’s turn to be absent, on club business. Everybody else was present, Dein included. Ridsdale says: ‘All I know about what happened was from a briefing I had straight afterwards by phone, and that was to say that the second meeting had confirmed the conclusions of the first, and that thereafter Adam had the authority to go and try to get Sven.’
CHAPTER FOUR THE MOVE
Having agreed on the man they wanted, the Football Association’s problem was that Eriksson was under contract to Lazio, the Italian champions, who were still in the Champions’ League and intent on winning the European Cup. Naturally they wanted to keep the coach who had brought them the coveted scudetto. Adam Crozier, however, was not about to be deterred, and within two days of his first approach to the Roman club he had his man. He recalled: ‘My attitude was: “If you’re going to go for someone, do it properly. Make your move quickly, equipped with everything you need to get the business done. Get it done there and then, on the spot.” So I prepared everything I’d need to have with me when I got to speak to Sven about the job. I had analysis of matches, profiles of the players – not just the senior squad but the Under-21s and those coming through the youth scheme, right down to the Under-15s. I had videos of all the key games, statistics, everything. That enabled me to say to him: “Look, this is where we are, this is where we’re going, this is what we want to try to do.”
‘The other key thing when I made the move was to be able to offer our man a long-term contract. I’d got the people here [the FA] to agree to five years. If our objective was to win a major tournament by 2006, the contract should last until then. We needed stability, and five years provided the opportunity to train up people with the potential to take over.’
Crozier and David Dein, who has emerged in recent years as the most dynamic member of the FA board, flew to Rome by private jet on Sunday 29 October 2000, and prepared overnight for their meeting with Lazio and their coach the following day. Crozier said: ‘We met Sergio Cragnotti [the Lazio president], his son, Massimo, Dino Zoff [Lazio vice-president and former coach] and one or two others at the club’s training ground, at Formello. Sven was present for some of the time. Cragnotti senior was an absolute gentleman. Top class. We explained why we wanted to speak to Sven, and Mr Cragnotti said he was caught in two minds. Lazio had just enjoyed their most successful season ever, and were on a high, but he and Sven had become very close. A bond had been built up between them over a momentous season, and he didn’t want to stand between his friend and what he wanted. From our point of view, that was a great attitude – one not many would have taken.
‘At this stage Mr Cragnotti asked Sven to join us, and said: “Do you want to talk to them?” Sven said: “Yes, I would very much like to. This is the sort of job I’ve dreamed about, it’s something I’ve always wanted to try.” The second stage was for us to talk to him, and we did that there and then. Everything was agreed between us within 24 hours.’ Money was never a problem, Crozier insisted, and nor should it have been, with £2.5m a year, plus bonuses, on the table. In comparison, just four years earlier Terry Venables was on £125,000 a year when he took England to the semi-finals at Euro 96, and Kevin Keegan had been getting £800,000 annually. At Lazio, Eriksson earned £1.75m a year, tax free. ‘The third stage,’ Crozier said, ‘was agreeing with Mr Cragnotti the timing of the changeover. Initially, Lazio were unhappy about Sven leaving them before the end of the season because they were still in the Champions’ League, but eventually we managed to persuade them to meet us halfway. Sven would join us part-time from February, in time for our game against Spain at Villa Park. Sven wanted to finish on a high with Lazio, to repay Mr Cragnotti. He didn’t want to leave them in the lurch. There was that closeness between the two of them.’
Reluctantly, Crozier and Dein accepted that there was going to be an interregnum. Fortunately, they thought, they had just the right man to plug the gap. ‘We had a friendly coming up against Italy,’ Crozier explained, ‘and our initial objective was to get Bobby Robson as caretaker for that one game, with Steve McClaren and Peter Taylor backing him up. We were a bit surprised when Newcastle said no to that, and poor old Bobby was devastated. He really wanted to do it, and I don’t really see why he couldn’t have done so. After all, it was never the intention to have Bobby for more than that one game. What we said to Newcastle was: “Look, we don’t want your manager full-time because it’s not the future for us, but depending on who we go for [we didn’t want to give away who we were after], could we have him part-time?” Once we couldn’t get him, we made the decision to promote Peter and Steve. The reason for that was that Bobby was unique. He’d done the job before, and everybody would know that he wasn’t going to be our future because of his age. There was no point drafting somebody else in for one game, better to go with youth.’
Eriksson’s decision had been quickly made. He said: ‘My intention had been to stay another year with Lazio, but when the offer from the FA came, I immediately felt: “This is exactly what I want to do.” Such an offer comes only once in a lifetime. I never analysed the risks involved. I never thought: “I might not succeed.” On the contrary, I thought: “If I don’t accept, I won’t be able to sleep at night, wondering what I could have done with the job.” My intuition told me what to do, as it has done every time a new offer has come up. Of course it was a big change to take on England, but it was a bigger step, and an even greater risk, to move from the little village of Torsby and the coaching job with Degerfors to a club the size of Gothenburg. The step from Rome to London didn’t feel as big.’
He had not given much thought to being a foreigner. ‘Sweden had an English coach [George Raynor] in 1958, when they went to the World Cup finals. Why, then, shouldn’t a Swede take England? I read the book The Second Most Important Job In The Country, which is all about the England managers from 1949 through to Kevin Keegan. It showed that all of them were declared idiots at some time, even Sir Alf Ramsey, so I knew what to expect.’
It was as well that he was prepared. The FA’s decision to appoint their first non-English manager in 128 years of international football immediately polarized public opinion. John Barnwell of the League Managers’ Association and Gordon Taylor of the PFA objected strongly, on the grounds that the job should always go to an Englishman. Barnwell described it an ‘an insult’ to his members, and Taylor accused the Football Association of ‘betraying their heritage’. Their comments were widely reported, and, as tends to be the way of it, the newspapers split roughly on tabloid-broadsheet lines, with the likes of The Times and the Daily Telegraph open-minded while others were anything but. The Sun was at its most xenophobic, declaring: ‘The nation which gave the game of football to the world has been forced to put a foreign coach in charge of its national team for the first time in its history. What a climbdown. What a humiliation. What a terrible, pathetic, self-inflicted indictment. What an awful mess.’ Jeff Powell, in the Daily Mail, was outraged, fulminating: ‘England’s humiliation knows no end. In their trendy eagerness to appoint a designer manager, did the FA pause for so long as a moment to consider the depth of this insult to our national pride? We sell our birthright down the fjord to a nation of seven million skiers and hammer throwers who spend half their year living in total darkness.’ The speed with which these opinions changed, once Eriksson’s England started winning, will be seen later.
The new manager was presented to the English media at the ungodly hour of 8am on 2 November 2000. The venue chosen was the Sopwell House Hotel, St Albans, which is convenient for Luton airport, and the time unusually early to enable Eriksson to get back to Rome (by private plane, of course) in time to take Lazio’s training that afternoon. His arrival at the hotel, which used to be Arsenal’s training base, was akin to a presidential procession. Surrounded by FA flunkies, who resembled an FBI close protection squad, his every step through the corridors was tracked by television camera crews, whose lights had him transfixed, like a startled rabbit caught in the headlamps of an oncoming car. The tabloid rottweilers were out in force, scrutinizing his every move and nuance. Much was made of the fact that he wore a poppy, with Remembrance Day in the offing. The Daily Express sarcastically (but accurately) observed that, coming from a nation of pacifists, he must have had it pinned on him by one of the FA’s spin doctors.
Once television and radio had finished playing ‘how-do-you-feel?’ softball, the press let fly with a few bumpers. Eriksson had little experience of English football, how was his knowledge? Could he name, say, the Leicester City goalkeeper, or the Sunderland left-back? He failed on both counts, and there were those (the author among them) who took delight in pointing out that the two players in question, Ian Walker and Michael Gray, should both be in contention for places in the next England squad. What about David Beckham? Was his best position on the right of midfield or in the centre? ‘Please don’t ask me that today,’ Eriksson said. ‘For sure he’s a great player, but I think I need at least a couple of practices with him before I decide that.’
What did he have to do to turn the England team into winners? ‘The most important thing, as always, is to create a good ambience within the group. If you don’t have that feeling, you will never get good results.’ Tactically, he was not prepared to disclose whether he would be playing 4–4–2 or 4–3–3. ‘But the players’ attitude to the game is much more important, and much more difficult to get right, than finding a formation.’ He was not going to discuss individual players before he started working with them. What he would say was that there was no question of abandoning the 2002 World Cup and concentrating on building beyond it. ‘I think you can do both. Of course you should plan for the future, but to give up on qualifying for the World Cup would be very stupid. As long as there is the slightest possibility still there, you should go for it. I think it is possible to win the group. Even second place in qualifying could get you a gold medal in the end. Give up at this stage? I don’t know those words. I never give up.’
Eriksson met every googly with a bat of Boycottesque straightness, hiding behind his unfamiliarity with the language when it suited his purpose, to the frustration of his inquisitors. Rob Shepherd, then of the Daily Express, whose nononsense directness has been the bane of many a manager’s life, turned to me afterwards and said: ‘Christ, to think it’s going to be like that for the next five years.’
It was announced at the press conference, almost by way of afterthought, that Eriksson’s number two at Lazio, Tord Grip, would be coming with him to England, as David Dein put it: ‘as his eyes and ears’. In fact Grip, unlike his boss, was released immediately by his Italian employers, and was scouting in England for three months before Eriksson finally arrived to join him. It was Grip, for example, who spotted, and recommended, Chris Powell, the 30–something Charlton Athletic full-back, who was the first rabbit to be pulled from the new managerial hat.
England’s next game, however, was the friendly fixture against Italy in Turin, where Eriksson and Grip were no more than observers. It was left to Peter Taylor to start the overdue process of rejuvenation with a young, forward-looking squad, and a team led by David Beckham for the first time. England lost 1–0, but gave a good account of themselves and Eriksson, who attended the match, was encouraged by the likes of Gareth Barry, Rio Ferdinand, Jamie Carragher and Kieron Dyer. His tenure was brief, but Taylor served England well by giving younger players the opportunity to catch the eye. The public liked what they saw, and Eriksson had a fair wind.
Meanwhile, events had taken a turn for the worse at Lazio. The revelation that their coach was keen to leave them for pastures new did nothing for the players’ motivation, and after the England announcement, on 2 November, Lazio’s form disintegrated. They won only six of 14 games, dropping to fifth in Serie A, and Eriksson saw his Champions’ League dream turn to ashes with defeats by Leeds and Anderlecht. By the turn of the year it was apparent that one manager could not properly serve two masters, and on 9 January 2001 Eriksson resigned at Lazio to devote his full attention to England.
The quick-break decision had been made in a petrol station, during the drive to training. It was then that he realized he was running on empty. ‘I just knew I couldn’t go on.’ Minutes later, he drove through the gates of Formello and told his players he was on his way. There were tears, and later an emotional meeting with Cragnotti. At a highly charged press conference, Cragnotti said the man who took Lazio to the title would always find a home back in Rome. ‘I want to see you back here, celebrating a long list of victories with England.’ To which Eriksson leaned across and told him: ‘Yes, and with the World Cup.’
Breaking his contract had cost Eriksson £1.3m, but money was the last thing on his mind. ‘I didn’t like what I did, but it was best for the club. Results in football are everything, and the results had been bad. It was better for Lazio to have somebody else come in and administer the shock that was needed.’
The Lazio fans had been resentful when the news broke of his imminent defection, but that same night he was given a standing ovation when he took his seat for a match against the Chinese national team, which was part of Lazio’s centenary celebrations. The warmth of the reception melted ‘The Ice Man’, reducing him to tears. ‘And believe me, I am not a man who cries easily.’ Cragnotti led the Roman salute, with the words: ‘It is only right that Lazio applauds the man who gave us so much.’
A delighted Crozier was relieved that the waiting was over. He remembered it thus: ‘Lazio found that once it was announced that Sven was going to be the England manager, the public profile that goes with that job made it impossible for him to continue in Rome. There were English journalists camped outside the training ground every day and, as a lot of managers have found, once the players know you are going, discipline and motivation is eroded. It was a difficult situation all round, and just before Christmas we all agreed that, even with the best intentions, the halfway house arrangement just wasn’t going to work. Events were conspiring to make it in the interests of all parties to say: “That’s it. Let’s move on.”’
CHAPTER FIVE THE MAN AND HIS METHODS
‘Its mystery is its life. We must not let in daylight upon magic.’
WALTER BAGEHOT, Social scientist 1826–1877.
It ill behoves a newspaperman to say it, but the most perspicacious comment I have heard, or read, about Sven-Goran Eriksson’s public persona came from the BBC’s Head of Sport, Peter Salmon. Contrasting Eriksson’s detached, almost introverted manner with the rentaquote familiarity of his predecessors, Salmon said: ‘The interesting thing about the England managers that I’ve seen is that the closer we’ve got to them, the more difficult the relationship becomes. You’re no longer as impressed as you were in the days when they were still remote figures. The better we know them, the less we respect them. Eriksson has brought the authority back to his position. He’s rather mysterious, hard to get a handle on. We feel there must be a lot going on up there. We might not know what it is, but it has obviously got results.’ It was only when we got to know the man that he lost a lot of our respect.
Salmon’s theme was echoed by Gareth Southgate, the most erudite and articulate of all England players, who says: ‘The fact that we didn’t really know him is a tremendous strength for a manager to have. That distance brought him more respect. Because we didn’t know too much about him, and vice-versa, he was able to detach himself when he made decisions. He took those decisions purely on the basis of the players he saw and the form they were in. One of his strengths has been concentrating on performance. Because he’s from another country, the nationalistic pride of playing for England hasn’t been at the forefront of his thinking. We’re all very proud to play for England, that goes without saying, but that’s also true of every other country. Every team we face is going to be passionate about playing for their country, so you have to produce the quality to be better than them. He has been able to distinguish between the two elements, and I think these players are more comfortable with that than people were in the past.’
Eriksson was neither a ranter and raver, nor a John Bull patriot. ‘At half-time,’ Southgate says, ‘he won’t talk for maybe five minutes, until everybody has calmed down and got their thoughts together. As a manager, you need to get your message across in a short space of time, and flying off the handle isn’t constructive. He never shouted at us, but then I don’t think there’s been a performance where he’s needed to. He has a calming, relaxing influence that helps. If you get a manager who is agitated and not totally in control, I’m sure it transmits itself to the players.’
People who have played for, or worked with, him are among the best equipped to define Eriksson’s je ne sais quoi. David Platt, recruited by Eriksson to manage the England Under-21 team, comes into both categories. He told me: ‘In my two years at Sampdoria, playing for him, I knew I enjoyed his training, I knew I enjoyed working for him and I had massive respect for him, but when people asked me why, I could never put my finger on it. Now that he’s over here, and I’m working for him again, I think about it a lot, but I still can’t hang my hat on what it is that he’s got. I could eulogize, and come out with all sorts of things, but then you’d go to him and he’d probably say: “No, I’m not like that at all.” I don’t think he has ever consciously decided: “Right, this is the way I’m going to be.” It’s just the way he has evolved.
‘I think he gets his respect from his ruthlessness. He doesn’t come across that way, and nobody is ever frightened of him, but he does command total respect. Everybody understands that if you don’t do whatever he wants, or if you fall below his standards, he’ll have you out and lose no sleep over it. There are no favourites, no concessions made. He loved Roberto Mancini, but he left him out at Lazio, and doing it didn’t bother him at all. Sven is controlled, and in control, whatever he does. At Sampdoria, he never came into the dressing room at half-time angry. He was always calm, and if he did have a go at us he was always totally in control of his emotions.
‘Mancini came out with a good statement the other day, to the effect that things don’t annoy Sven. He’s an enigma in that respect. I really don’t know if it’s a conscious effort on his part, telling himself: “I’m not going to let this get to me.” It’s probably a characteristic he’s developed over his career. You can imagine the politicking that goes on within the FA, and sometimes it gets me stirred up. I find myself thinking: “What on earth is going on here?”, and it must be so much worse for Sven. There are obstacles put in his way that would make a saint swear, but his attitude is always: “Fair enough, I’ll come at this a different way.” Nothing seems to annoy him, or knock him out of his stride. He follows his own path, and won’t veer off it, come what may.’
The furore over whether Lee Bowyer and Jonathan Woodgate of Leeds United should be chosen for England after the Sarfraz Nejeib court case provided a good example of Eriksson’s single-minded approach. He wanted to pick both players, despite FA disapproval. Platt, who was party to the discussions on the subject, explained: ‘I warned Sven that if he picked them, there would be a media circus, and other people at the FA spelled that out to him, but his reaction was: “Well, I’ll deal with it.” Not “Bloody hell, perhaps I’d better avoid all that.” You can imagine other people, myself included, thinking: “Hang on, let’s work out the pros and cons here – where could this all lead?” For Sven, the court had administered justice, and now it was 100 per cent about football and nothing to do with what the reaction might be. If you present him with a major problem, he has the ability to absorb it and deal with it. There’s no panic, no “How are we going to get out of this one?” He’s very good like that. I think the politics he had to handle in Italy equipped him for just about anything.’
On the training pitch, Eriksson worked by the power of suggestion. ‘A good phrase, that,’ Platt said. ‘He would stand there while we were playing a practice match, and he might walk over to me, and then Attilio Lombardo, and say “Why don’t you switch?” It wouldn’t be a case of stopping everything and saying: “Right, now I want you to do this.” He’d just sidle over every now and then and suggest something. Players would do it, and if it worked it would become ingrained in their subconscious. With good players, that’s what happens – you don’t have to keep telling them over and over again. That way it becomes too robotic.’
A man of egalitarian principles, Eriksson does not hold with the concept of favourites, but Mancini came close to it, as did Jonas Thern, the multitalented Swedish midfielder who played for him at Benfica. Thern, recently manager at Halmstad, followed the same path, from part-time football in Sweden to the high-pressure environment of one of the most famous clubs in the world. In an interview for this book, he told me: ‘In Portugal, the country was different, the people were different and especially the football was different. It was more technical, and we trained much harder, as full-time professionals. In Sweden at that time, you had to have a job, as well as football, to make a good living, and I had been working for my father’s printing company in Malmo. In Portugal I went full-time, and found it hard work at first. Often we trained morning and afternoon.’
Thern’s mentor had been Roy Hodgson, who had signed him for Malmo. He says: ‘Roy and Bob Houghton, when they came to Sweden in the late seventies, made Swedish football what it is today. They brought English organisation to our game and a new way of playing. Instead of standing off and counter-attacking they pressed when the opposition had the ball. They introduced all the things I’d seen as a kid every Saturday when I watched English football on television. There was conflict in Sweden before that style was accepted, but after a few years even the most conservative Swedish trainers changed over to the new, English approach. Nowadays, Swedish trainers are brought up on the methods and style of play that Roy and Bob brought over. ‘Svennis’ [as Eriksson is known to friends and family] made minor changes to suit Swedish players better, and when those changes took full effect, he won the UEFA Cup with Gothenburg.
‘When we were at Benfica, they weren’t a really rich club, but they had enough money to sign good players, and they also had their famous name to trade on. It was quite something to pull on the shirt of Benfica, with all their history. I think we had a squad of 24, and every one of them was an international of some sort. You expected to win things with players like that around you. Svennis was good at bringing the best out of everyone and finding their best roles. He’s very clever at moulding players so that they fit together to form the best possible team. Stefan Schwarz [another Swede] was a good example. He got the best out of him, to the benefit of the team, at left-back, left-wing and centre midfield.’
Thern admitted that he was basing his own managerial style on Eriksson’s. ‘I learned a lot from Svennis, sometimes without knowing it at the time. The way to treat people, for one thing. Whatever the circumstances, whether they criticise or support him, he always tries to treat everyone the same. Also, he has an aura of calmness around him that he brings to his teams. He is a person you like to listen to because when he says something it is always interesting, always constructive and beneficial. As a player, he makes you feel confident. If you are worried about your form, and you go to him for advice, he’ll always be reassuring. He’ll say: “No problem. Everybody has their ups and downs, trainers as well as players. Just keep on working on what you are good at. I know that when you are in good shape, you’re one of the best.” After you’d been talking to him, you felt: “He thinks I’m one of the best players in Europe and he’s a top trainer, so he can’t be wrong.” In a couple of minutes he’d have restored your self-confidence. He’s very good at building that up, for his players and his teams.’
In common with every other player who has spoken on the subject, Thern had never seen Eriksson lose that famous self-control. ‘I never heard him even raise his voice in the three years I played for him at Benfica. But as soon as he came into the dressing room at half-time, you knew if he was not satisfied. It was a case of: “Oh oh, best to be quiet here and just listen.” He wouldn’t shout. He just stared at you and immediately you knew you had to play much better in the second half, otherwise you’d be off and dropped from the team. He didn’t have to say anything. That look of his said it all.’
Thern explained: ‘Sometimes we’d start a game and wouldn’t be playing well and the opposition would be in command. He’d spot it from the bench and change things very quickly. He’d swap players around or change formation, from four in midfield to five. He was particularly good at knowing what the opposition’s strengths and weaknesses were. I remember when we were playing Porto once he said: “They’re a bit lacking here, on the left”, so we knew exactly where to concentrate our attacks. It sounds obvious and easy, but you’d be surprised how many trainers don’t brief their teams like that. I had a lot of big-name trainers after Svennis. Some of them were good coaches during games, some of them good only at giving instruction during the week. Sven is spot on at both. Overall, he’s the best I’ve played for.’
There had been no favouritism shown towards, and certainly no socialising with, the Swedish triumvirate (Thern, Schwarz and leading scorer Mats Magnusson) at Benfica. Thern had heard that Eriksson had been closer to his players at Gothenburg, but said: ‘I think the relationship has to be different in the professional world. For example, sometimes the Swedish players at Benfica would ask for an extra day when we went home for Christmas. He’d say: “I know you’ll behave if you have another day away from the club, but I can’t be seen to be favouring you because you are Swedish.” He always made a point of treating all his players equally.
‘Yes, he kept his distance, and I think that’s very important for a trainer in the professional game. You have to have a good relationship with your players, but you mustn’t get too close. Everybody has to know who’s boss.’
Peter Taylor was England’s caretaker before Eriksson took charge, and continued as part of the new coaching set-up until his work at Leicester City precluded further involvement. He says: ‘All of a sudden, I got the opportunity to be caretaker manager for a non-qualifying game, and decided that I had enough good, young players who could do well. I’m not sure Italy tried that hard against us, but we did do well. Sven looked at that game and saw decent performances without players like Campbell, Scholes, Owen and Gerrard, and thought: “We’re not bad at all.” We had a new, foreign manager, fresh to the players, who were starting to feel more together. We played Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? in Italy, and everybody seemed to want to join in. For Sven’s first game, against Spain, we had a golf competition at the hotel, and again everybody wanted to do it. The team spirit started to look very good. Players changed from being low on confidence to being on a high, and they’re good enough to take some stopping when they’re like that.’
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