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Was
it inevitable it would end this way? Did he jump, or was he pushed?
Is he off to Barcelona or should Martin Jol be sleeping even less
soundly in these nights to come?
Or will he sit happily in semi-retirement on the substantial pay
off that he’s collected from the Bridge, doing a little punditry
and waiting for Steve McClaren to fail in Russia next month?
The world might be Jose’s oyster, his departure from Chelsea
might be bizarre, but the story goes beyond that and into the heart
of a changing culture in English football.
Ever since the football manager as we know him today came into being
in the aftermath of World War Two, he has been, quite literally,
“the gaffer”. He picked he team, decided who you did and
didn’t buy. Whoever was on the board, whoever was the chairman,
the football team manager was really the man in charge, albeit that
at some point in the future, he might get the heave. But, for the
most part, he did the job his way and while he was doing it successfully,
he was untouchable.
As he rebuilt Liverpool in the 1960s, Bill Shankly’s attitude
to the board was simple. You get me the money, and I’ll buy
the players. You let me know how much we’ve got and I’ll
make sure every penny of it is to be seen out there on the grass.
Matt Busby had a similar relationship with Louis Edwards at Manchester
United. Busby and Shankly were football men, the directors were
businessmen, they had similar goals, there was a division of labour,
and there was no real overlap.
The trouble started when the managers began to become celebrities
in their own right, notably Brian Clough. When football was all
about the young men running around on a Saturday, it didn’t
seem to matter that the board were in the shadows. But when the
manager was as popular as the centre forward - more so - then the
other men who wore suits wanted a share of the limelight. From there,
we were but a step from constant conflict. More successful managers
have been ousted because of a battle of the egos than any other
reason, and as Sky offers more and more publicity, there’ll
be more and more dust ups.
Thirty years ago, you had no idea who was the Chairman or the owner
at most clubs. Now they’re everywhere, even when they’ve
gone. All the talk at Arsenal these last few months has been of
David Dein, of Daniel Levy at Spurs, of the Glazers at United, of
Whelan at Wigan, and on and on it goes. And you can understand why,
having pumped in million after million, they want a little bit of
the credit.
What’s less easier to deal with is their equally understandable
desire to have a say about what’s happening to their investment
and, chiefly, to who plays where and how. If you’d put £200million
into a club, I suppose you’d want some say in it, but football
doesn’t work like that. It’s increasingly obvious that
at Chelsea, Mourinho, the most successful manager they’ve ever
had, was having players foisted upon him. He never had any desire
to play Shevchenko and the fact that he went out of his way to leave
Ballack out of his Champions League squad speaks volumes.
More than anything, the arrival of a director of football to work
“with” him, was the beginning of the end. Football mangers,
for good or bad, are autocrats. They have their vision and they
want to implement it. The best ones are willing to listen to others,
get advice, and then draw their own conclusions. The director of
football concept can work, as long as the manager buys into it,
or comes into a club where he knows such a person is in place. When
it’s just imposed upon him, disaster is just round the corner.
As more foreign money - megamoney - gets pumped into the game, the
manager’s job will become more precarious yet. Just as players
move every one or two seasons, so will managers. Yet another piece
of continuity and identification with our football clubs will slip
away. All that remains consistent are the fans. But at what point
are we going to have had enough?
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