/ 18 June 2004

It is hard work being a hack

More than a week ago, on the last night back home in England before flying to Portugal, it was time to go over the packing one last time, to make sure the really important stuff was there. Books, magazines, sun cream, swimming trunks, sunglasses … and, of course, all the chargers. For the laptop, the iPod, the three cellphones — one English, one Spanish, one Portuguese — the camera, the bluetooth hands-free. I’m going to eat football, talk football, watch football, and to do all that and enjoy the sunshine, I’m going to have to be connected.

The first two footballers who hear about our central Lisbon villa (with pool), which I’m sharing with Gabriele and Raphael, football-writer colleagues from Italian and German newspapers, are envious, to put it mildly.

‘You in your pool and us in a sort of prison,” Sander Westerveld tells me from the Dutch team camp. Paolo di Canio, chatting by phone to Gabriele, puts it much more bluntly.

‘I want to become a journalist! The sun, the fish, the wine! You lot with the good life and I have to start my pre-season programme on Tuesday … It might be three weeks before we start training, but I am Paolo di Canio. I have to train.”

Still, he can’t complain. He’s calling to talk to Gabriele about Charlton, and the renewal of his contract that he’s just signed. Not bad at 35. The next player to call wasn’t giving information, he was seeking it. One of the Liverpool players in the England camp, who I’d been speaking to at a training session earlier in the day, wants to know: ‘So, is [Rafael] Benitez coming?” (The coach formally joined on Wednesday.) It still surprises me how players sometimes get less information about their club’s decisions than some journalists.

There’s a bit of banter and it’s clear that the Anfield players are hopeful about the club’s future. The England players are relaxed. That’s a healthy sign, because stress and worry can tighten your muscles, which is what has happened to Ivan Helguera and David Albelda in the Spain squad. ‘Doctors say it is a sign they are shitting themselves,” says another poolside caller, Diego Torres, from El Paes.

Talking about Benitez, I’m about to dive in for a few lengths when the phone rings again (the Spanish one this time). It’s Marcelino, former Newcastle player now back in Spain at Poli Ejido. An English first division club are thinking about finding a couple of Spanish players to reinforce the squad and Marcelino, responding to my earlier call, is one of the friends I turn to for advice that I can pass on. The conversation turns to the imminent arrival of the Spanish coach at Liverpool.

‘I remember when I first arrived at Newcastle,” says Marcelino. ‘Rafa Benitez rang me to ask me how they trained in England, what rules they had about food and drink, what tactics they used. He was then at Extremadura and Gérard Houllier in his second season at Liverpool. The world moves fast, mate.”

Will Benitez succeed? I think so, and Marcelino says: ‘He is very scientific in his approach, with individual training and all, keeping track of minutes played, et cetera. It would surprise most English clubs if he appeared with those ideas, but not Liverpool. When I played against them, they were very well ordered tactically, with a code of conduct and all that. So you could say Houllier was a bridge between the old and the new Liverpool.”

Earlier, an agent rang me to ask about Spanish clubs that might be interested in Houllier. I suggested Espanyol, but a few hours later they signed up Miguel Angel Lotina, the former Celta Vigo boss.

Back to the European Champion-ship. Gabriele, Raphael and I chat about pressure before a match and we wonder: ‘Will players be like us now, the day before a match, lying down by the pool, or will they be talking tactics?” Conclusion: they’ll be lying by the pool, too.

I remember a story I heard Jorge Valdano tell. Carlos Bilardo used to have an original technique to relax the Argentine squad in the hours before a big match. Just after arriving at the stadium, he would scream at the players, still on the coach and without leaving his seat: ‘All of you who are eaten by fear, stay put on the bus! The ones who don’t fear anything leave the coach now!”

And of course, the players would fight to be first off the vehicle. Only one person stayed in his seat — Bilardo himself. That would make everybody laugh. The ice was broken.

Talking of ice, where’s my drink … —