“I’m not one of…‘of the bottle’.
I’m a s– I think I’m a special one.”
And so the Champions League semi-finals are once more upon
us, European football’s greatest stage, where reputations—and indeed myths— are there to be forged. On one side of the draw, facing the Bavarian behemoth of Bayern
and on terra very much cognita, is José Mourinho; on the other,
taking on Guardiola’s blaugrana
thoroughbreds, is Roberto di Matteo, occupying the same semi-final bench where another cocksure Portuguese manager, the deposed André Villas-Boas, may feel he ought to be rightfully perched. Having left
the “beautiful blue chair” at the Dragão Stadium clutching a fistful of medals just as had his compatriot,
this is certainly the arena in which AVB wishes to operate and be judged.
However, had the
protégé studied his mentor’s arrival in West London (particularly its
myth-building aspects) with greater attention to detail—an arrival when
explicit, inevitable, superficial and probably unhelpful comparison was made
between the two—then he may well have been pitting his wits against Dr. Pep this
week.
Certainly, one cannot imagine Mourinho making such elementary
political mistakes as did Villas-Boas—publically
admitting he feared following Scolari and Ancelotti’s path to the guillotine;
explicitly comparing a misfiring £50m striker to Czar Abramovich’s previous
flunking mega-money vanity signing—since his uncanny political instincts,
his grasp of how to surf institutional situations, extend from the boardroom to
the players. Both men experienced dissent from the troops earlier this year; yet where Villas-Boas, with his high defensive line, proved to be tactically
rigid and was eventually confronted
over it at Cobham by Ashley Cole and other senior players, the ever-streetwise Mourinho demonstrated his resourcefulness and adaptability. Faced with discontent from Sergio Ramos and Iker Casillas over his apparent
negativity against Barcelona (especially in last year’s Champions League
semi-final second leg, when he instructed them to play for a 0-0 that would
have eliminated them), Mourinho responded pragmatically, retreating a little
(though not forgetting the ‘insolence,’
you imagine) and selecting an ultra-attacking line-up for the league fixture
against Athletic Bilbao (won 4-1). By comparison, AVB reacted by leaving Cole, Frank Lampard and
Michael Essien out of the team that was beaten in Napoli
in the first leg of the Champions League last 16 tie, his personal authority by
then fatally eroded.
Laying bare his soul when he needed to box clever, being
dogmatic and idealistic when he needed to be pragmatic—demonstrably,
Villas-Boas lacks the nous, and therefore perhaps the leadership and authority
of Mourinho. But what exactly is authority and how does it connect to
leadership? When a coach is prowling his technical area, or sitting in a press
conference, or behind a desk in contract negotiations, or walking across to
have a look at training, from where precisely does he draw the sort of
authority that can establish order (not timorous subjugation, which even Alex Ferguson admits is a thing of the past), the authority that, increasingly in
the age of player power, is required to motivate millionaires?
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As just about all my
friends know (don’t know about yours), celebrated German sociologist Max Weber
defined authority as power accepted as legitimate by those subjected to it, and
discerned three basic types, ‘pure concepts’ that are rarely embodied by one
person or situation. These are: charismatic, traditional (or sacred), and
rational-legal (or bureaucratic).
Briefly, the traditional or sacred leader avails himself of inherited qualities conferred by
customary beliefs that are established through rituals of succession. It is
“the authority of the eternal yesterday” and often has supernatural anchorage,
as with a king or shaman. Loyalty derives from culturally embedded allegiances—traditions—and the feeling of having a common purpose. Examples of sacred authority are
hard to find in football, although the Liverpool ‘Boot Room’ is perhaps
closest: figures like Shankly, Paisley , Fagan,
Dalglish, and Evans steeped in a methodology and attributed a kind of sanctity
afore the Kop.
Rational-legal
authority, which predominates in modern society, is seen in football in
technocratic cultures of continental clubs. Here, the system itself is
venerated and legitimate authority is exercised through rationally accepted
functions through which are transmitted the norms and decrees to which people
consensually submit. By contrast, charismatic
authority is acquired through a dynamic personality, legitimized through
success, and commanded by acquiring personal loyalty and obedience. As a result,
it is potentially highly unstable. Perhaps the best examples of this charismatic
leadership in British football have been Ferguson and especially Brian
Clough, the occasionally demagogic figure with whom Mourinho is most frequently
compared and whose teary valediction was relegation from the top-flight in
front of a nevertheless eternally grateful Forest
flock.
Now, since there is little football parallel with sacred
leaders, we can assert that there are fundamentally two types or ‘poles’ of
leadership in football: personal and institutional. These forms aren’t mutually
exclusive: it is possible to use an institutional position to acquire personal
authority, and personal authority can solidify your institutional position,
lest a reshuffle be on the cards. History is not short on leaders who emerge
with only personal prestige (rather than institutional mechanisms or traditions) to draw upon and
end up commanding vast imperial structures (Genghis Khan), at which stage they
usually attempt to reconstitute their authority as sacred (the Kim dynasty of North
Korea).
Given AVB and José’s more or less identical institutional
situation at Chelsea
(working under an autocrat happy to foist strikers on his manager), the
charisma of the coach is determinant. To this end, it is crucial for the would-be charismatic
leader that they not miss any opportunity to augment and cement their personal
authority. Nothing is too trivial to redound to the magnificence of their
powers. Thus, Mourinho’s celebrated tendency to put himself in the spotlight,
widely construed as an attempt to protect his players from undue attention, is
also a means of accruing personal authority. Wherever an event happens in which
they are somehow implicated, the charismatic leader will be seen attempting to
appropriate and get back behind the fountainhead from which the events flowed—in
sum, to turn the product or effect (charisma) into a cause. As Elliott Turner has
perceptively illustrated, they have the wheels of this charisma machine
greased by a media that ascribes too much (often bogus) power to them. Ferguson
only has to raise an eyebrow and it’s a ‘mind game’ of some kind. But, as with
the Heisenberg principle, what the journalists believe they are objectively and
neutrally reporting, they are in fact directly causing. They act as amplifiers.
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Mourinho’s now mythical—and
the word is not idly chosen—first press conference as Chelsea boss back in July
2004 constitutes as exemplary an illustration of the fabrication of charismatic
authority as you will see (how all the scribes twitched afore the
Emperor) and should become compulsory viewing for any new coach taking their
first steps in England, special or otherwise. After all, given hypothetically equal resources,
effective communication—be that to players in a man-managerial or tactical
mode, or to the media in a strategic or political mode—is undoubtedly what
separates the good from the great coaches. Villas-Boas may well be supremely
gifted in this regard, a great thinker, but those gifts will remain virtual unless
the communication side of the job enables people (staff, board, media) to buy
into his methods and, ultimately, him.
Admittedly, Mourinho strolled into Stamford Bridge with an
impressive swag and its attendant prestige (AVB only having the Europa League,
of course, which José had snared the season previous to his European Cup
triumph), but in and of itself this presser was the quintessential instance of Mourinho
benefiting personally from a series of contingent, and thus obviously uncontrollable events—among others, Paul Scholes’s dubiously
anulled offside goal, Costinha’s winner at Old Trafford—so as better to inflate
his powers. There was little point in him apologising for any of this, or in pointing
out how different it all might have been (and might be today), how he might have arrived in London
without the Champions League (assuming he would even have been offered the job
at all) and thus how he would have been denied the opportunity to use his beautiful
phrase, sketchily recalled by the hacks in the fuzz of the morning-after. I am not one of… ‘of the
bottle’. I am– I think I am a special one.
Again, a cursory glance through history’s slideshow of
charismatic leaders will repeatedly elicit this device of self-mythologization:
the proclamation of inflated powers through the appropriation of others’
energy, creativity, and force, always accompanied by the effacement of the
messy, complex origins behind their pre-ordained emergence. The birth of Empire is always the obliteration of real history by myth: the Beautiful Blue
Chair (and the most expensively constructed squad in Portugal ). However, what did
Villas-Boas the rationalist say when he arrived in SW6 some seven years later
(again with the caveat that he was following Mourinho so was perhaps
consciously trying to be different)? “I benefit from good players and when they
are not here, I am … ‘The Shit One’.” Technocratic to a fault, he entrusted far
too much faith in player discipline being engendered by System. Essentially, he
misread the culture. Much as England struggled with Fabio Capello’s officious
style and now seem to yearn for the genial, knockabout touch of a Harry Redknapp,
so did AVB’s perfunctory bureaucratic approach fail to sit well with players
who were too partial to charismatic Gaffers, too long in the tooth, too
Mourinhified.
disciple |
As for the puto amo of
the presser, José understood the impression-forming debut encounter with the English media as a
huge opportunity to buttress the kudos and authority gleaned from Porto’s 3-0
victory over Monaco in Gelsenkirchen , veritably thrusting that success in the faces of the press. Thus came his famous
statement, the one that has bequeathed him a famous nickname—the Special One—earned
through (perhaps wilfully, perhaps unconsciously) false reporting and the
credence given to his powers.
However, as
Grant Wahl has observed (albeit without drawing out the full implications),
what Mourinho said that day was “I think I am a special one.” Not ‘the’; just
‘a’. As any student of the Romance languages will tell you, the phrase “a special one” is a simple example of
the common habit of using a noun where we would use an adjective: ‘I am
special,’ not ‘I am The Special One.’ An important difference. But if the English media are intent on
making a myth of him, far be it from the arch-pragmatist to set them straight
over this subtle semantic slippage.
Given the proper meaning of ‘special’ as simply ‘out of the
ordinary’ (extraordinary in its
strict sense, not what it has come, hyperbolically, to mean)—a meaning that is
better understood in Iberia than it is in Britannia—Mourinho is merely saying
‘I belong to the general category: special.’ I am not table wine. And if there can be objective measure of that specialness
(which there isn’t, really, not absolutely, because all coaches have different
resources), then winning the Champions League would be part of it: they are the
‘capital assets’ of his reputation (it being borne in mind that, while undeniably
successful, he has won trophies with major clubs in big leagues with enormous
budgets, capitalizing on his past
exploits to earn this spending power).
So, to spoil the conception behind a hundred rudimentary video montages and thousands
of excitable, charisma-swayed devotees of this luso-winner, he never did say the unambiguously messianic “I am
the special one”—a phrase that only cult leaders and members of Oasis are wont to
say (or perhaps José in the bathroom mirror, occasionally).
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We have, then, undoubtedly the most significant ‘the’ in the history
of football, the most wilfully, libidinally misquoted definite article, and the one that
permitted the English media to portray him as, well, the Definite Article. Like
a self-fulfilling prophecy, he duly became a (sort of) prophet: the Messiah and a very naughty boy (although, no
matter how special ‘one’ is, one runs the team, not the club).
However much authority the figure that walked into the press
conference on that warm July day could mobilize, the one that walked out was—precisely
because of the sentiments he could arouse—one of rare, maybe unsurpassed
authority who had literally seduced (literally
‘literally’, not Jamie Redknapp literally) most of the press pack.
Thereafter, The Special One™ would have his Anglophone audience—which, again,
prefers its caudillos to its
technocrats—largely eating out of his hand for the remainder of his
three-and-a-bit years in charge, the most enjoyable period of his managerial career to date. The experience of Italy , in particular, made him
uncomfortable, with its persistent scrutiny of the minutiae of the coach’s
decisions. And if leadership is about drawing on sources of authority and
making good decisions—decisions whose effects often feed back to affect
authority—then scrutiny tends to demystify the coach’s powers.
The conclusion to all this, then (and one that André
Villas-Boas might be well served to remember), is that charisma is less an
innate property of the body, there from birth and manifest to all, so much as
an aura or spectre that surrounds it, an active layering of cultural meaning
that can be stitched together from anywhere, like a cuckoo’s nest. It is, finally,
less a once-and-for-all property than a continual process of production, the
apparently inevitable effect of a singular, contingent and sometimes chaotic history in which we are
all bricoleurs seeking to shroud ourselves in prestige, charisma, and gravitas.
And if the charismatic leader is to stabilize this aura into a truly sacred
form of authority, then no source of glory should be overlooked. Not even a
simple ‘the’.