Читать книгу Proud Man Walking - Claudio Ranieri - Страница 4

I’ve always stood in front of the dugout during the match. It’s been a habit now for many years; I couldn’t even tell you how many. From that position I enjoyed the best possible view of the goal.

Gronkjaer had the ball wide on the right. With his trademark change of pace – in all honesty, something few others in the modern game are capable of – he cut in towards the middle, hit an inswinger with his left foot and found an incredible angle. Dudek couldn’t get to the ball. Chelsea 2 Liverpool 1, and this after having been a goal down from Sami Hyypia’s opener and then levelling through Marcel Desailly. We had stepped on the gas and overtaken our rivals in what was effectively a play-off, contested fortunately for us at Stamford Bridge. No small advantage this, coupled with the fact that of the three results possible on the day, either a win or a draw would have taken us into the Champions League.

Perhaps this is a little unusual for an Italian but I do not like playing percentages or speculating on the outcome of fixtures. This was never my way even as manager of Napoli and Fiorentina in Serie A, when we had to face the likes of Inter and Milan at the San Siro, or Juventus in Turin. I always prepare my team to win. I want to play for the highest stakes, every time. It was the same during my time as manager at Valencia, when playing away to Barcelona or Real Madrid, so it could hardly be otherwise in the Premiership.

This particular game on 11 May 2003 was one we all wanted to win. Why? Because there was something important on the line in terms of our future; because Liverpool had turned us over at Anfield in the last couple of seasons with performances that hardly justified the results; and because we wanted to show we were capable of achieving something together as a close-knit unit, with no help from anyone else, and without any possibility whatever of spending on the transfer market, especially as the state of the club’s finances had been well known for a year or so following their exposure on all the front pages. In short, a mixture of pride and determination, competitive spirit and tactical skill was required. It was just the kind of situation I enjoy.

Running across the pitch and screaming, Jesper was celebrating a great goal. And we were all happy, because we knew it was a really important one, although at that particular moment, none of us realized just how important.

I loaded everything into the car. Alongside me was my wife Rosanna, and in the back, a few suitcases filled with summer clothes (and here’s another myth that needs to be put to rest – the idea Italians and other Europeans have about the British summer. It really does exist, and can be as warm and enchanting as in Mediterranean countries). And there was ‘Shark’, my Alsatian, whose name was chosen by my daughter from the map of Australia in the atlas – perhaps it was Shark Bay that took her fancy – as a replacement for ‘Boss’, the name he had been christened with, and which could not work. There would have been too many of us around: me on the touchline, my wife, the dog …

On that trip back to London after a short break at the end of the season, I was carrying from Italy all my hopes and convictions for another season as manager of Chelsea. I knew I would not be able to ask for anything from the club in terms of buying new players, but knowing the squad I had got together, I was sure I could count on them to make certain we would enjoy our Champions League adventure and maybe even take a few important scalps during the season. After all, these would be the same players we had when we qualified for Europe in 2003, and the same who took us to the FA Cup Final in 2002. Frankly, as we approached Strasbourg on the motorway, I was wondering whether the club would be able to resist the temptation to sell Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink and William Gallas, for the sake of the fans more than my own. I was aware that we had received good offers for both players and the money would help to give the books a healthier look. Knowing the situation, I would not have objected, but they were two extremely important pieces in the Chelsea chess set. And what about Gianfranco Zola? Sadly, I knew I would be losing him, and through nobody’s fault. I would have liked to have kept him on and so would the club, and he wanted nothing more than to sign and finish up his career with the No 25 shirt on his back, but it was obvious he would not be able to accept the only credible offer the club could possibly manage at that moment – a one-year contract with a cut in salary of 45%. This was never meant to be an insult in exchange for all the great things he had done for the Blues, not least the superb performances and 14 goals of this last season, but was intended rather as a heartfelt attempt to keep him. An offer made by a club that could not really afford the luxury. And so, I knew he would make the big decision: return home, play for Cagliari (his childhood dream) and, after so many years, be near his parents once again.

As I was thinking about all this, the mobile rang. It was Trevor Birch calling to tell me – at 11.30 pm – that Chelsea Football Club had been sold to a Russian business organization.

‘What does this mean for us?’ I asked. At that particular moment there were a thousand thoughts and a thousand images running through my mind, though in truth I was unable to picture any real scenario.

‘No Claudio, don’t worry,’ he replied, ‘from the little I’ve been able to find out about the new owner and the few words I’ve had with him, it seems clear he’s someone who wants to achieve great things.’

Trevor’s words sounded believable straight away, even if I could not yet form any impression of Mr Abramovich in my mind, much less of his enthusiasm and his potential to lead the club to better things. At any rate, I was reassured. Then, in a flash, a thought occurred.

‘And Gianfranco?’

Suddenly I realized that the loss I assumed inevitable might still be retrieved.

‘Is there anything we can do?’

I had spoken to him two days earlier and he had said then that the time had come to make up his mind. Massimo Cellino, the chairman of Cagliari, was pressing him and he could not put off the decision any longer; besides there were family matters to take care of, like moving house and schools for the children. So the next day he signed for Cagliari.

It was too late to change things. Although Gianfranco had not yet put pen to paper, he had given his word, and for him that was as good as a signature. About a month later, Cellino was a studio guest on ‘Domenica Sportiva’, a Sunday sports programme on RAI (the Italian state television), and I was speaking on a link from my country home in the Sienese hills of Tuscany. It was then that I learned all about the backstage activity that had accompanied Zola’s signing. Cellino admitted that, having got wind of the extraordinary events happening at Stamford Bridge, he feared he could be in danger of losing Zola even before he had landed him. For Cellino and for all Sardinia, this meant much more than simply acquiring a great player. Zola was a national symbol, a returning hero. He summoned Gianfranco to the club and proceeded to have all mobile phones and fax machines switched off. Once he had secured the player’s signature, he admitted to the ‘manoeuvres’ and offered his apologies. Zola simply smiled, put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a fax he had just received from Chelsea, making him an offer hard to refuse. But, torn as he was between two great loves, he had already given his word. So yet again he had shown fantastic character, although it meant I was losing an exceptional person (quite apart from losing a footballer whose worth everyone knows). I probably never told him as much directly, but I was always genuinely proud to travel the world as Chelsea manager with a standard-bearer like Gianfranco. On the pitch, he enchanted and he scored sublime goals, but he was also our ambassador, our calling card, and an example on and off the field.

A few days layer, on 8 July, I was called into the office. I was to meet Mr Abramovich for the first time and I did not know what to expect. We met in the boardroom at Stamford Bridge. I went up alone in the lift but I was perfectly relaxed, even on this day that was going to change my life, although who could say in what direction? The Chelsea boardroom has no windows, but there is a certain light that emanates from the history in the pictures of the stadium that hang on the wall, showing how the place has evolved over the years. And we who wear the Chelsea jersey, in whatever capacity, are the ones who must keep the story going. It was precisely for this that we were meeting in that room.

Those present were Mr Abramovich with three close associates, me, and Trevor Birch. Instinctively, I spoke up first because I felt I had to make a clear statement concerning my own situation. I said that I had been around long enough in the world of football to realize that a change of ownership might mean a change in approach, or different objectives, and the direct consequence can be the decision to replace the coach. I would not have been upset; in fact I must admit I had already mentioned on the phone to a friend holidaying in Miami that, although I hoped otherwise, I sensed that my time as manager of Chelsea might even be over already.

‘Tell me straight away,’ I insisted, ‘or else you risk wasting your time and money, and I could be wasting time as well.’ Calmly and with the greatest sincerity, I had presented him with an opening, a perfect assist, to end my contract painlessly. No answer. Instead, he began to ask for my opinions on the team, and I saw immediately that he was fully informed as to how we were placed. For my part, I pointed out that even in our financial circumstances, we had already come a long way without buying players. What we had was an optimum basis for a team, but it needed strengthening. With the conversation now moving along more freely, he told me that he had seen the Champions League match between Manchester United and Real Madrid, and while watching it he had got to like the game of football so much that he had decided to buy a team. He admitted he had chosen Chelsea not because he was a supporter (at least not at the time, though he has since become a genuine fan, well beyond any level his business interests might warrant), but because when considering the list of clubs he could have purchased, ours presented the most favourable package. First and foremost, there was our history and the attraction of Champions League competition. I must confess, at this moment I suddenly thought about that goal of Gronkjaer’s, a gratifying snapshot passing through my mind.

‘What do you think this team needs to be able to step up a level?’ he asked, perhaps simply to confirm what he was already thinking.

‘Well,’ I answered, ‘considering that this is Chelsea and we have to contest the Premiership, the Champions League and two national Cup competitions, and try to win them all, I need two players to cover every position. If ambitions are going to be raised, we can’t have a repeat of all the troubles we endured last year, when we started off brilliantly but then, what with injuries and bans, our prospects changed so drastically.’

I spoke on impulse, saying what I thought would be best for the club. He then looked at me, and stressed that he wanted to turn Chelsea into one of the top clubs in Europe – like Juventus, Real Madrid or AC Milan – adding also that he fully agreed with me on the need to have two top-class players for every position. At this point it was inevitable I would ask the question again.

‘Tell me now,’ I repeated, inviting a statement on the coaching position, ‘or you risk wasting your time and money, and I could be wasting my time too.’ I was happy where I was and I wanted to finish the job, but in these situations, things needed to be made clear.

‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘I want you to go on managing the team.’

For me, that simple declaration was enough. As of that moment it was possible to start working for the future. I told him I wanted young players who would show promise as future championship-winning material and who could also be mixed in with experienced players, because I wanted a Chelsea that would be capable of winning things right away, but also equipped to stay at the top level over time. The names I mentioned immediately afterwards also gave clear notice of another aspect I considered fundamental. Above all, I wanted players from the home nations capable of giving a heart, soul and spirit to the squad that would be essentially English in nature. I believed strongly in this. The backbone of a team should reflect the characteristics of the championship it plays in. Equally clear, and demonstrated by the arrival of Hernan Crespo, Adrian Mutu and Claude Makelele, was the importance of including star players from abroad – vital for making the step up in quality – but there should always be a strong local contingent, not least because the fans can identify with them more easily. After all, Manchester United and Alex Ferguson did this very same thing in the 1990s, though with a slight difference. What they did well was to bring up star performers through their own development structure – home-grown talent like Beckham, Scholes, Gary Neville, Giggs and Brown – and bring in players such as Kanchelskis, Stam, and, most recently, Van Nistelrooy from abroad to create a winning formula.

From that day onwards throughout the entire duration of the transfer window, I was in daily contact with Mr Abramovich by telephone, directly or through his associates, and the results were there for all to see. I have to say that we landed almost all the players we dreamed of signing. When making plans with an owner like this, everything is certainly much easier. It was a real novelty for me when considering all the chairmen I had worked under previously in Italy and Spain. While no less passionate, it must be said that none of these had shown the same readiness to back up my technical wishes with actions. Let’s just say that in the past, the players taken from me and sold always outnumbered the players who were bought for me.

Having made our plans for the future at that first meeting and before the buying programme we discussed was so satisfactorily under way, I invited our new owner down to the training ground (a facility not exactly up to the standard befitting a club with a name like Chelsea) so that he could see it at first hand and get to know the group of players who were already preparing for the new season. I was very pleased when he took up the invitation immediately. When we arrived at Harlington, just a short distance from Heathrow Airport, I called the squad together on the pitch and presented all the players and members of my staff to Mr Abramovich, one by one. Beyond the exchange of a handshake and the usual pleasantries, I do not recall any of the players or staff saying or doing anything in particular – apart from Roberto Sassi, that is. Roberto is the little man you see taking the players through their warm-up routine on the pitch before every match, the one who prepares them meticulously every day in training. He has been with me since I was manager at Fiorentina, and in my book he is an outstanding professional, a great worker and a keen student of all the new fitness methods, whatever their origin. He became famous twenty years ago in Italy as the first to see the importance and exploit the possibilities of the computer in our work. At all events, Roberto is not only a friend, and for me an irreplaceable colleague, but also an incredible personality when you get to know him. Just consider the way he introduced himself on that day in July to Mr Abramovich.

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m the second-best fitness coach in the world. The first is dead.’

His standing joke, of course, but remarkable that he came out with it in the presence of such an important new owner. And he has never told me who No 1 might be!

The first of the new players to sign contracts were the two goalkeepers Marco Ambrosio and Jurgen Macho, who had been bought with the limited finances available to the ‘old’ Chelsea, but were still quality players. They put pen to paper on 2 July, which coincidentally was not only the same day that John Terry signed a four-year extension to his contract, to my great delight, but also the day that Ken Bates and Roman Abramovich formally completed the sale of the club and the share transaction with a handshake in the centre-circle of Stamford Bridge football pitch. Recorded for posterity by the photographers, that day changed the history of our club. And a few days later, the face of the squad also began to change, taking on the look I had in mind. The first actual deal under the new regime was made official on 10 July with the acquisition of full-back Glen Johnson. He and Wayne Bridge were two players I wanted desperately, because every time we had played West Ham and Southampton they had really impressed me. Both had given Jesper Gronkjaer a very difficult time and this had attracted my attention. A second point not to be forgotten is that both signings filled another requirement of primary importance to me: they were young and English. In short, they were the ideal first two pieces of the jigsaw that I, or rather we, had in mind.

Transfer negotiations took their course, and as the press threw out a new name every day on the front pages and the fans began to dream, we got on with our preseason training, which we had decided to start on 2 July with the opening Champions League fixture less than six weeks away. The first few days were spent doing nothing more than exercising muscles in readiness for a more strenuous workout later. Right from the start of my coaching career, I have always combined fitness with work with the ball because I feel certain that the players will be more interested and more involved, and so they train better. This is an important stage of the season because you are storing up physical energy and laying the foundations for what is to come. This is all the more important in the Premiership, where the competitive side of things is absolutely fundamental. Many of my colleagues in Italy still keep faith with the ideology of exercise only at first, for a few days. My response is that you can do it all with a smile, simply by adding the ball. The programme for that first week, unlike the usual routine during the season, was based on two sessions with a break for lunch and a couple of hours’ rest at the nearby Holiday Inn. Pre-season is a time that I particularly enjoy. Everyone is meeting up again after the summer, working together, talking about their holidays (perhaps telling one another about their successes with the fair sex – though not when I’m around!) and dreaming about what ambitions might be achieved in the year ahead. This year was a little bit different for Chelsea, with fresh topics being generated daily by the new direction the club was taking.

Unfortunately, it often happens that even before the first pre-season friendly someone in the squad will pick up an injury. On this occasion, the ill fortune suffered by our keeper Macho really was cruel. Not even a week had gone by since the Austrian had started training with us when, during the morning session, he was hurt while making a clearance. We realized immediately that the injury was serious, even before an MRI scan confirmed he had ruptured cruciate ligaments and torn a cartilage in his right knee. That evening I went home very upset because although no-one was to blame, it was a severe blow for the youngster, who would now also have to face an operation and thereafter a long period of rehabilitation. I had not lost a regular first-team player, because my first-choice goalkeeper was Carlo Cudicini, but in these cases it is distressing quite simply from a human point of view.

Having received the official news of Johnson’s signing on 10 July, we set off the day after for Roccaporena in Umbria for the second part of our training camp. During my time with Cagliari and Fiorentina, I had regularly held training sessions there. The place was quiet and consequently restful, and not too hot, so that useful work could be done. No less important, the food was good, and this the lads appreciated. Here the group could really come together, in a place where individuals are a long way from London and therefore able to make friends more easily. The first time I went to Roccaporena it was practically a picnic site and nothing else. There was just one hotel with no television and only two telephone lines. Now things were very different. A local charity, the Opera Pia di Santa Rita (Roccaporena is very near the Sanctuary of St Rita of Cascia) had built and opened a new hotel with all modern conveniences. The food taken by the players was drawn up by the medical staff so as to ensure that whatever the players ate would be easily digestible and at the same time give them the nourishment they needed. For over a year now I had been Zone dieting, this involves sticking to a balanced intake of carbohydrates, proteins and fats, eating less but more often, which meant a few sacrifices. Fortunately the results have been good as I managed to lose 10kg or so, but when I was with the team I never ate anything different to them. It seemed to me only right and proper, since we were a team.

There was plenty of sweat and toil at Roccaporena, as this was the second week of training and the workloads were increased, but there were a lot of laughs too. The new arrivals had to go through their ‘initiation ceremony’, standing up on a chair and singing to the entire assembly during dinner. The proceedings were organized by John Terry and Frank Lampard, usually we would start throwing paper napkins, and finally everyone would clap. Traditionally, one of our massage team, Billy, would also stand up on a chair and entertain everyone, not by singing but by doing a bit of stand-up comedy. I must admit I didn’t understand a word of it (it was only afterwards I found out I was not the only one) but I laughed fit to burst just the same at the way he told the jokes and the way he himself was laughing at the end. This was a wonderful bonding experience, which kept morale high and brought the squad together.

Obviously I do not get as physically tired as my players during the training camp, and so it generally happens that when they flop into bed exhausted (at least, I hope they do) I have a bit of time to myself. The usual phone call home, the usual scribbles in my notebook, jotting down plans and formations, and a chat with my staff, perhaps to find out how work is going with a specific player or more generally with the squad as a whole. All this and more, because after dinner, in the cool evening air, thoughts turn inevitably to what the coming season will, or at least might, hold in store. But this year had been different. There had been no time to think because, fortunately for us and thanks to the efforts of the club, the reality had materialized simultaneously with the dreams. I was in touch continuously with London, both in my mind and on the phone, as there was something important happening every day.

We had still not played our first friendly, a fixture against Lazio in Rome set for 18 July, when a second great piece of news arrived from Stamford Bridge. The Cameroon midfielder Geremi had been signed from Real Madrid for £7 million. I must say that I had had my eye on him for some years. In fact he could almost be considered a fixation of mine. I have always liked players who are tactically flexible, individuals with character who never give up and know how to defend. From what I had seen, before having him at my disposal on a daily basis, Geremi combined all of these qualities. It had been a blow to me when John Toshack, then the Real Madrid coach, plucked him from the Turkish club Glencler-birligi, and I freely admit I had already asked Chelsea to sign him the year before. Now that the resources were finally available to acquire him, he was one of the names I had put on my list. He signed for Chelsea on 16 July, straight after Johnson and on the same day that Eidur Gudjohnsen also renewed for three more seasons. This was a pleasing coincidence for me, as it served to underscore what I had always thought and said. The squad that had taken us into the Champions League needed to be improved if it was going to aim for yet higher things, but not discarded.

Just a few hours later, before sitting down to lunch the next day, I received another important telephone call. I was told that the Blackburn winger Damien Duff had flown to London to begin serious talks with Chelsea and to undergo a medical. In reality the deal was not looking quite so much of a certainty the next day, as we prepared to play our first game of the season. Understandably, Duff had wanted a little time to consider his future carefully. The papers put out the news that Manchester United were stepping up their interest in him, and all we could do was wait for him to make up his mind, confident that we had offered him an attractive deal and the prospect of an equally exciting adventure at the highest level. Damien is a player with many qualities. Tenacious, fast, always ready to shoot, a good crosser of the ball. He was the classic footballer, with something extra. When up against Blackburn Rovers in the past, my main problem had always been to keep him in check, and I had greatly admired him during the World Cup in Japan and Korea – in this instance without the anguish of being on the opposing side – when for me he was the one who shone for the Republic of Ireland team. Damien is highly inventive, and in addition, although he prefers to play on the left, he has the great capacity of being effective in more than one position. From the opposite wing, for instance, he can cut in and shoot dangerously at goal left-footed, curling the ball much in the same way as Chris Waddle used to do back in the 1980s. And this was not all. Soon after having him in the side, I found that by playing him in the hole just behind the forwards, where he had never been used before, he could deliver assists of pinpoint accuracy to the strikers – just like the best playmakers in the NBA.

There’s also a little secret I can reveal about Damien Duff. He is my mother Renata’s favourite footballer. She is forever telling me so on the phone, and if this were not enough, she also said so when interviewed on Sky Italia. She described him as Chelsea’s Nedved, and given that Juventus’s Czech international won the European Footballer of the Year award this season, it seemed an auspicious comparison. It meant I’d have to think twice before I substituted him, otherwise she would have something to say! But even my mother, just like Duff and all my other players, must understand not only that every decision taken is strictly in the interest of the team – this goes without saying – but also that in such an important season we cannot afford to wear anyone down physically, because at the crucial moment, everyone must be at their best. They need to be ready both physically and mentally.

This was one of my concerns when we were drawing up our prestigious and well-stocked player roster. Everyone wants to play and always to have a great game. This is nice, and this is how it should be, but I am there simply to take the decisions that can help Chelsea lift as many trophies as possible. Sometimes the choices are not easy to make, but if there is one thing I have always done it is to shoulder my responsibilities, and I knew I would do the same this time around, except that every decision would attract more commotion.

Waking up on the morning of 18 July, I thought straight away it was probably no accident that the most important season of my career would be starting with a match, albeit a friendly, in my native Rome. It was neither an advantage nor a disadvantage, simply a question of fate. Thinking about it, all the big events in my life have had their beginnings within sight of the Dome of St Peter’s. I was born in Rome, began my schooling there, and naturally my life in football began there too. I saw my first football match at the Stadio Olimpico, as a Roma supporter, and it was in that same stadium that I made my debut in Serie A, wearing the red and gold jersey. Now another important adventure was beginning for me, again in Rome, this time at the Stadio Flaminio, which is smaller than the Olimpico and decidedly seedier. It is attractive and has its own little history, but there is practically no football played there nowadays and it could do with rather more attention, although it has had something of a new lease of life in recent years since Italy began playing Six Nations rugby. The Flaminio also happens to be the sports ground nearest my current home in Rome, a nice apartment in the heart of the Parioli district, just a short walk away.

That game against Lazio was our first of the season, but precisely for this reason I was interested in just about everything bar the result. In any case this was not the real Chelsea, considering that of the new signings for the team we were building, only Johnson was playing and even he had only trained with us for two days. Nonetheless, the friendly in Rome confirmed to me that the eyes of the world were on our club, since as a result of the very fact that so much had been said about us, the stadium was full. Everyone had come to see puffed-up and ambitious Chelsea. We played as well as we could at that particular moment – in other words, not very well – and it was no surprise that we lost 2-0. Not that Lazio had outplayed us or shown themselves to be a stronger side, but they were at full strength and further ahead with their preparation, a factor which at this stage of the season makes all the difference in the world. We were still heavy-legged, whereas they were almost in top form and unquestionably brighter. Mr Abramovich was also in Rome to see the game, and I remember telling him not to be too concerned about what he had seen.

‘Not to worry, Mr Chairman, I’m sure we’ll come up against this side again in the Champions League, and then it will be a totally different story.’

I was ultimately proved right, though I would certainly not consider myself clairvoyant because of this. It was something I said, not in trying to justify the defeat, but because I genuinely felt it. I never like to lose, but in all honesty, even though it had happened in my home town and in our first match, I was neither disappointed nor annoyed. Certainly I was not worried, as I am old enough to be part of a generation that considered preseason friendlies as a way of easing into competition, with no weight attached to the results. These attitudes have changed rather in recent years, with television involved. Now there is pressure to win everything, instantly, and it is no accident that early games are contested between teams qualified for the Champions League, rather than amateur sides. I knew this was only a first semi-competitive outing, and played without most of the team we would be putting together.

The next day it was back to London for a short break before taking part in a fairly important tournament in Malaysia. The Asia Cup was organized directly by the Football Association, with entry determined by final placings in the 2002/03 Premier League table. Four teams were involved: the Malaysian national side, ourselves, Newcastle and Birmingham.

We had problems with the trip back, as there was a strike on at Heathrow and so some time was lost before a flight could be found to take the party to Gatwick. Nothing too serious of course, but because we had only two days’ rest I did feel a bit sorry for the players who were going home – I would be flying out straight from Rome – although I have to admit my mind was on other things, and above all on the transfer market. Duff had still not signed and the rumours linking him to Old Trafford continued to make the headlines, but I knew about the commitment and determination of our new owner, and when I happened to notice a girl leafing through one such paper at the airport, I had to smile.

Taking off at noon on Monday 21 July, we honestly did not know that this particular day would be potentially one of the most important in the club’s history. If not the most important, then certainly the most expensive. As we slipped across the skies on our way to Malaysia, two more players signed contracts with us: Wayne Bridge in the morning, and Damien Duff in the afternoon. A total cost of £24 million to the club, and a great double present for me and all the fans.

The flight lasted twelve hours and when we arrived in Kuala Lumpur at 7 am local time, aside from the good news, we were all a bit weary. Time for Professor Sassi to take charge of things. Tiredness and the need to get the body moving have to be balanced against the temptation to give in to jet lag and flake out on a bed. The lads did some stretching and a few exercises in the hotel, so that we at least avoided going straight out into the heat. I had taken my family along, certainly not with any intention of belittling the tournament, but because I felt that visiting the Far East would be a nice experience for them. Ultimately, no-one was disappointed because it was a genuinely constructive trip, from all points of view. The members of the squad began to get to know each other better, it was in Malaysia that the work done previously began to be put into practice, and while we were getting on with our job, my wife Rosanna and my daughter Claudia also enjoyed themselves, as I expected. I too was satisfied with the outcome, for all of the technical reasons mentioned, though in all honesty I never like going to such far-off places during the pre-season period. I worry about the effect of long hours in flight on the players’ legs and, especially in this particular case, the impact of a climate where the heat makes proper recovery impossible. I was afraid we might start off badly and that it could then have taken us more than a month to get back into optimum condition. We could not avoid the heat, as in any case it was sweaty even standing still, but on the other hand Sassi as usual had done his homework very carefully and we organized ourselves accordingly. We did a lot of stretching, and when training on the pitch we worked a great deal on ball possession.

It was also a pleasant experience from a social perspective, because all the teams stayed in the same hotel and this was a nice way for players and staff to meet, spend time and eat together; in other words, a chance even for opponents to enjoy each other’s company.

After a delay of twenty-four hours, Duff and Bridge also joined the party, accompanied by club doctor Neale Fraser who had completed their medicals. The jigsaw was not finished yet, but it was beginning to take shape.

That Wednesday there was also a highly enjoyable official reception with a banquet at the British High Commission, given in honour of the three teams, who naturally were present. The next day was a match day, but before the early training session (8.30 am was the only time of day to beat the climate), we received the news that we had been drawn in Geneva to face the winners of the clash between Maccabi Tel Aviv and Zilina in our qualifying round of the Champions League competition. Decidedly not the kind of tie one would have asked from a benevolent Hand of Fortune, but we did not pay too much attention. In the evening we were due to play, and we did so in front of 20,000 enthusiastic spectators.

As the highest placed of the three Premier League teams at the end of the last season, our first match in the tournament was against the Malaysian national team, and on paper it should have been easy. Looking at the scoreline afterwards, there had in effect been a difference between the sides, although we had to sweat to make the final – in the true sense of the word! The heat was stifling and the opposition, being used to it, were extremely quick on their feet. We went ahead through Forssell after 35 minutes and they equalized four minutes later. Then in the second half we stretched away with goals by Hasselbaink, Gudjohnsen and Johnson. In addition to the goals and the win, I made a record in my notebook of two assists by Duff.

The next day was Saturday and I left the players free to do as they pleased, not as reward for a victory that might have been taken for granted and which clearly had no great significance, but because recharging the batteries is always very important. As for me, I took the opportunity to dedicate some time to Rosanna and Claudia. I don’t want to sound precious and in any case I am simply not the type, but obviously they are the most important part of my life and to have them there made me very happy. And their presence perhaps forced me to take a break mentally, as I needed to, otherwise I know I would have spent my time on more plans, deals and ideas for next season. Taking the mind off the job at that moment would be good for me as well. We went to see the Butterfly Park and the Bird Park, which were beautiful and relaxing. Then when the time came for lunch we sought out a typical Malaysian restaurant. In London, which is a wonderful city from this point of view and with so much to offer, Rosanna and I try out every kind of cuisine possible and imaginable (Claudia lives mostly in Rome where she is studying Political Sciences at university). So what better occasion to enjoy a good meal than this? Fortunately we did the rounds of the market after eating, because on one of the stalls we saw something – my daughter and I didn’t have the courage to ask what animal it might be – that looked rather like a chopped up rat.

A little shopping next, and for my daughter this is very rare, but to round off the day we went to try a Thai massage. The best place, they told us, was in a hotel situated on the other side of a lake from our own. Getting out of the boat, we also walked across a golf course, which at sunset was a truly enchanting spectacle even for me, although (don’t hold it against me) I never play the game at all. Once they had shown us into the special rooms we were curious to see how it was all done, and with what kind of ceremony, who we might meet … European managers? Local politicians? Then the doors opened wide and who did we find? Of course! Some of my very own players, including the inseparable Bridge and Johnson who, quite rightly I must say, had had the same idea as us. It was both an experience and a way to relax.

On Sunday, with news arriving from London that the negotiations with Manchester United to bring Seba Veron to Stamford Bridge that had started a while back were still deadlocked, we took the field for the final. This time there were nearly 42,000 spectators on the terraces, and what is more, we had Newcastle as our opponents. In this match we definitely played well, even if the score remained 0 – 0 after 90 minutes. And there was a good performance from Alexis Nicolas, who had a start in this game. The young Cypriot midfielder regularly captains our reserve side trained by Mick McGiven, a man of great importance to our club. To decide the destination of the trophy we had to go to penalties, and at 3 – 2 we really thought we had it won, because next up was Jimmy, and he had never missed from the spot for us. But their keeper Given surpassed himself by diverting the ball onto the post, and after Bellamy then scored it was down to sudden death. John Terry (JT) put away his kick and at that point it was the turn of Jermaine Jenas. He tried to chip the keeper, but incredibly sent the ball right over the bar. Instinctively I looked at Bobby Robson, realizing in the same instant that we had won our first trophy. He was furious, and still fuming in the dressing room, so I believe. Terry was captain and it was he who lifted the Cup, which I trusted would not be the last of the season. It was also my first trophy with Chelsea, and, hoping it would be the first of a big collection, back in the dressing room I picked up JT’s jersey, which had the Asia Cup emblem blazoned on the arm (like the Premiership emblem on our regular jerseys). I got John to autograph it subsequently at Stamford Bridge. And so we left Malaysia decidedly wealthier in practical experience and memories, and with one indelible image – our fitness coach, Roberto Sassi, naked on the table in the middle of the dressing room (a good thing he’s small …) dancing with the Cup tight in his grasp. One thing I could be sure of: I already had the makings of my squad.