The Special One: The Dark Side of Jose Mourinho (5 page)

In the autumn of 2010 Mendes represented Mourinho and four players in Madrid’s first team. Pepe and Ronaldo, on the club’s payroll since 2007 and 2009 respectively, and Carvalho and Di María, signed on the recommendation of the new coach. Angel Di María was the player whom Mourinho had called for most fervently throughout the summer. Pérez found it difficult to accept the outlay of around €30 million, believing that the Argentinian left-winger, despite his success at the World Cup, did not have enough public appeal to justify his price. But Mourinho insisted that he was a good strategic signing.

The acquisition of Di María was more expensive because Benfica held no more than 80 per cent of the player’s rights. Since 2009, the Lisbon club had been ceding percentages of players’ rights to the Benfica Stars Fund, managed by Banco Espírito Santo. In return for greater liquidity, Benfica were required to transfer players only when their sale value ensured a profit for private investors. The sale of Di María marked the first profit in the history of the Benfica Stars Fund. Other equally profitable transactions would follow: the transfer of Fabio Coentrão to Real Madrid for €30 million in July 2011, David Luiz to Chelsea for €30 million in January 2011 and Javi García to Manchester City for €20 million in 2012. It is not known if Mendes participated in all these deals through the fund. He says that he did not and the Banco Espírito Santo guarantees investors’ anonymity. The fund manager, João Caino, provided no documents but said that the participants are a group of companies and rich individuals, but not football agents.

The summer of 2010 was full of high expectations. José Ángel Sánchez could at last count on a friend in the club, a true collaborator with whom he could shape the future from the same dressing room and with equal power. After two years of major investment in players, the board rubbed its hands at the prospect of infallible, charismatic certainty, unanimously agreeing that Mourinho was the missing piece. Inspired by stories that had actually been conceived in the board room, the press and fans dreamed of the wonderful adventures of a team full of stars and led by a secret-weapons scientist of a coach, permanently cloistered inside the perimeter of the impenetrable Valdebebas training complex.

Madrid’s pre-season sessions were held behind closed doors, with the exception of one. Mourinho organised every day’s work meticulously. He was busy with the most diverse of self-imposed tasks but, like many British managers, did not always personally take training. The players remember that on the evening he opened the doors to the press he had spent four days in his office, leaving the training-ground work to Karanka. This time, however, he appeared with renewed vigour on the pitch. Under the gaze of journalists and cameramen stationed on the balcony with their cameras, Mourinho was frenetic, urging a surprising level of movement for the middle of summer. Players laughed, saying that it seemed as if they were training to play the final of the Champions League the following day. This extrovert show aside, sessions were quiet affairs, the press only permitted for 15 minutes as the players left the dressing room and warmed up before beginning work.

One of the routines that most caught the attention of training-ground staff occurred when security guards locked the doors and ushered out the journalists. It happened a few times while it was hot. Mourinho took off his shirt, displaying his naked torso, and let Rui Faria and Karanka supervise the warm-up while he strolled off onto another pitch, walking alone, disappearing into the westerly distance before finally stopping to put his shirt down on the grass and lie or sit on it to sunbathe. Always the same. Methodical. Most players feigned indifference. The only one who dared to interrupt him was Dutchman Royston Drenthe.

‘Boss! What are you doing?’

‘I think my tan is fading,’ came the reply.

Those days at the end of August were the most serene of all Mourinho’s time at Madrid. He dreamed of the huge undertaking he was facing, a work of unknown dimensions that went far beyond his work as a mere coach. Not a press conference went by in which he did not use the word ‘construction’. From the moment he, along with Mendes, began negotiating his contract with Sánchez, he was moved by a determination to start something that would climax in administrative greatness. After winning his second Champions League he felt ready to do more than just coach. His role model was Sir Alex Ferguson. Mourinho did not originally conceive Chamartín as merely a stepping stone. A trusted ally of Mendes said that Mourinho’s plan was to install himself there for good: ‘He believed that at Madrid he would be the emperor. He thought he would retire in Madrid. He believed that so strongly that he got ahead of himself.’

Mourinho did not sign until he was completely certain that Madrid would give him total power to redesign the club as he saw fit. The coach thought this was only logical, since he was leaving Inter after winning a Champions League, and it was Madrid who needed him and not vice versa. He and Mendes established their requirements and the club agreed to the two fundamental conditions requested. First, he wanted control over what the press published, and second, absolute power in team affairs. Having complete discretion over who would be sold and who would be signed was as important as controlling the information that was produced about him and his team. Gestifute say Madrid promised Mourinho he would enjoy the support of 95 per cent of the media.

The project mapped out by Mourinho and Mendes as they negotiated his departure from Inter included the signing of Hugo Almeida, at the very latest in the winter transfer window. At six foot three and dominant in the air, Almeida was the classic target man. He was the perfect choice to complete the direct style of play – long balls bypassing midfield – that would provide an alternative in attack and a shortcut when more elaborate football was not possible. As a goalscorer he was not on the wanted list of any of the top clubs in Europe. Averaging just 13 goals a season in four years at Werder Bremen, he had a worse record than both Higuaín and Benzema. But Almeida had an added feature that made him particularly attractive: he was the most important number nine on Gestifute’s books. And there seemed no market for him. The best offers he had received so far were from Turkey.

There were people at Gestifute who, upon learning of Mourinho’s desire to push Madrid into signing Almeida, tried to persuade Mendes against it so as not to lose credibility with Pérez. They argued that the president might end up thinking that Mourinho was more interested in doing business than building a competitive team. In the opinion of these experts, the most prudent business plan would consist of three stages. First, signing excellent players. Second, winning major titles. Third, with the endorsement of the trophies, buying ordinary and perhaps even overrated players.

Mourinho broke with this plan of progressive action. He was so sure of his power that he tried to advance to third base in the first attack. According to close observers the coach had already taken enough risks with Di María and Carvalho. To sign Almeida, too, would constitute negligence. When the following year he showed off a minor trophy like the Copa del Rey to demand the signing of Fabio Coentrão he took a definitive wrong turn. To pay €30 million for Coentrão, a weaker left-back than Marcelo, would constitute a record fee for a substitute. It was not only the directors of Madrid who began to be suspicious. Those trusted by Mendes noted that from then on the press and clubs were put on guard. And not only in Spain.

The freedom of movement enjoyed by Mendes at Valdebebas contrasted with the prevailing restrictive climate at the training complex. The players ended up wondering if Mendes might not appear from behind the work-out machines one day and surprise them in the middle of a meeting. That never happened but, apart from in the gym and in the dressing room, the man went where he wanted to. After Mourinho’s office, his natural habitat was the cafeteria, where a free buffet was available every morning. He breakfasted and dined with the coaching staff, and went from table to table joking with the players, especially with Ronaldo, Di María and Pepe, with all of whom he shared a personal relationship. It was also where Mourinho mixed with everyone. He liked to tell jokes, to laugh. It was where he was at his most loquacious.

‘You cannot imagine the money this man has,’ he said, pointing Mendes out to a few players as they ate their breakfast one day. Most thought it strange but made an effort to be friendly. Casillas was unfazed. The captain would soon begin to tire of it all and be less than friendly.

Mendes and his entourage would often attend the last part of the training sessions, sometimes with foreign guests whom Mendes wanted to present to players. Having finished training the players would encounter him on their way back to the dressing room, waiting on the edge of the pitch. Players would stop to talk. Ronaldo would say hello, followed normally by Pepe, Di María, Carvalho and Marcelo. Each player, except for Marcelo, was under the administrative umbrella of the Portuguese agent and would regularly have things to share. The group exchanged pleasantries in front of the puzzled looks of the rest of the squad, who gradually became more familiar with what was going on. The Spanish contingent would also greet the agent. Almost everyone, in one way or another, sought to live with the situation as politely as possible – apart from Casillas. The goalkeeper ignored Mendes, pretending that he did not exist. At 29, the captain felt that he had fulfilled his quota of formal commitments. As he once said, winning the World Cup had helped release him: ‘I’ve earned the right to say “no”.’

Casillas believed Mendes’s activity at Valdebebas was invasive and discriminated against the majority of the players, whose agents, friends and family had first to pass through the filter system imposed by Mourinho under principles that were not really clear. The Spanish players and the older employees of the club all believed that the new order was tailored to those who had ties to Gestifute.

What the squad could testify to after just a few months of living together was that Mendes stood at the top of the food chain, the only one who paid homage to no one. The only person Mourinho was docile in front of was his agent. What the president of the club or the players thought did not bother Mourinho. He was at ease. He was not averse to displaying a bit of nonchalance. When he got behind the wheel of one of his cars – the Aston Martin, the Ferrari or the club Audi – he was prone to bravado. Especially if he thought someone was watching him. Revving the engine, putting his foot to the floor as he pulled away, burning tyres in a cloud of white smoke and the smell of burning rubber, it was all part of the spectacle for whoever was lucky enough to coincide with him in the parking area. Mourinho saw himself as an outstanding amateur rally driver.

It took two months for Mourinho’s spiritual well-being to start to evaporate. That was probably as long as it took him to realise that Madrid would not give him all the power that they had promised. On 16 September the first signs of this appeared when Gilberto Madaíl, president of the Portuguese Football Federation, travelled to Madrid to personally request that Mourinho take charge of Portugal in the qualifying rounds of the 2012 European Championships. The unusual thing was not the request itself. The truly exceptional thing was that Mourinho made it public before admitting in a press conference that if he was unable to work for his national team it was not for lack of desire but because the Madrid directors had refused to allow it.

‘Madrid has every right,’ he said, ‘to put an obstacle in my path, and if they do – however small it may be – I cannot go.’

The coach added that he saw no difficulty in reconciling the two jobs, because in the two weeks that FIFA had set aside for international matches there would be very few players left at Valdebebas for him to train.

‘If I go with Portugal I’ll be going with three Madrid players: Pepe, Ronaldo and Carvalho,’ he said. ‘And if I stay here I’ll be with three players: Pedro León, Granero and Mateos’.

This was a stunt to remind Pérez that he did not sign a contract just to train players but also to manage the club. If he was the manager, then fine. If he was just the coach, then why not go with Portugal when there was no one left at Valdebebas to coach. He told the president that he was delaying giving him the power that he had demanded as a condition of signing the contract. He wanted to reform Madrid from top to bottom and if they did not let him, then he would go elsewhere.

Contracts for Carvalho, Di María, Özil, Khedira, Canales and Pedro León for a total of €90 million did not satisfy Mourinho. First, because it would mean keeping Benzema rather than signing Hugo Almeida. Second, because he had not signed Canales or Pedro León, but had only approved what were sporting director Jorge Valdano’s proposals, seeing them as obstacles to his project rather than reinforcements. Third, because it bothered him that Valdano continued to act as the club’s presidential advisor and spokesman. Mourinho wanted to appoint a spokesman he trusted. He also wanted to move Pepe and Di María up the salary scale above Ramos and Alonso. But Pérez was not committed to any of this. He was shrewd enough to suggest he would support Mourinho completely, while at the same time not doing anything to translate that support into anything concrete. He played for time, waiting to test the effectiveness of the methods proposed by the coach. He also played with two hands – in front of Mourinho he showed his condescending, entrepreneurial side. But later his influence would be a delaying and conservative one.

Along with Granero and Alonso, the Murcian Pedro León Sánchez belonged to a long line of Spanish midfielders who had emerged over the previous decade. He was one of those players whose style of play had provided Spain with a distinctive footballing identity. In the pre-season with Madrid he had given the impression of being physically ready to fulfil the potential that scouts from Chelsea, Barça and Milan had all glimpsed in him. His development at Getafe in the 2009–10 season – that combination of vision, creative audacity and a clean strike of the ball – had placed him among the top players in the league with nine assists. Only Alves (Barcelona) with 11 and Navas (Sevilla) with 10 were ahead of him, and he was level with Valero (Villarreal), and Xavi and Messi (Barcelona). Pedro León had succeeded in Getafe, a small team on the outskirts of Madrid, without the attacking players around him that he would have had at Barcelona, Sevilla and Villarreal. When Madrid paid €10 million for him no one seemed to think it was a bad deal.