Pep Guardiola: Another Way of Winning: The Biography (31 page)

PG: In that second final my team knew each other more. We had spent
a few years together and I think that we played the game being more aware of our
style and United’s strengths and weaknesses.

Sir Alex: I don’t regret anything we did at Wembley because they were the better side. The first two goals were entirely avoidable and maybe with a bit of luck we could
have won the game, but when the other team’s that bit better than you, then there’s not much you can do about it. You accept it.

PG: The United players said it, ‘What they have done to us today, that has never happened before.’ They understood it, they congratulated us on it, they recognised
it – something that doesn’t usually happen in football. Those ‘wars’ against our domestic rivals are perhaps more difficult to understand for a foreign audience but I also
think it is a cultural thing. English football culture is different, they’ve been playing longer than us, there is a respect towards not only the coaches but also the players that we
don’t have here.

Sir Alex: People have asked if Pep and I spoke after the final, and the truth is we didn’t. It’s very difficult after a final – one team is celebrating and
the other is mourning, trying to come to terms with the defeat. And then you have to deal with the media and attend press conferences, so there’s not an area or time when you can have a glass
of wine or talk to each other because of that divide – one is winning and the other one is losing. Sometimes you have to accept it, move to one side and acknowledge that somebody else has
been better.

After the hugs and the celebrations, the dancing and the fireworks; away from the noise, in a quiet moment in the Wembley dressing room, Pep took Estiarte to one side, looked
into his eyes and said, ‘Manel, I will never forgive myself. I have failed.’

Manel was stunned. He would never forget how, in the immediate aftermath of such an incredible achievement, when the most natural thing in the world would have been simply to
relish that moment, to bathe in its glory, Pep Guardiola was still capable of feeling that he had let everybody down. Pep explained to Manel that he felt he could have done things better. And Manel
told him that, yes, it could have been a bit different, maybe; but they had won. That was what mattered. But not for Pep: his quest for perfection, for improvement, meant that as everyone around
him could abandon themselves to feelings of absolute joy, he could never be truly satisfied with himself.

The former player becomes a manager

As the leader of a group of professional footballers, Pep Guardiola had to reconcile two natural impulses: on the one hand he had to learn to restrain his instinct to act and
celebrate as a player; on the other, he had to learn, as a recently retired footballer, to make the biggest number of right decisions – become a manager, basically, learn the trade. Those
were the challenges. On many occasions he felt jealous of his players cocooned in a little world centred on the needs of one person, and he realised very early on that his job consisted of looking
after these small bubbles of isolation, caressing the egos of his pupils and constantly directing their intentions and efforts to the benefit of the group.

Announcing his retirement on the radio didn’t completely shut down the part of him that was still a footballer. Guardiola had only hung up his boots seven months before Barcelona
contracted him to be the coach of the B team, but when he walked into the Mini Estadi to face the Barcelona youngsters he knew a part of him had to be put firmly in the past: he was not going to
work as a former player but as a new coach. And he had to construct a barrier that separated both worlds.

After the fulfilling experience in the B team, the first team was another kettle of fish. One player experienced Guardiola’s transition from player to manager up close: his move from a
small world to a complex network of worlds. Xavi Hernández had been his teammate in the late nineties and he easily envisaged Pep’s transition into his new role, but was very aware
that an ability to read a match is just one of the assets a manager requires. Xavi and Pep conversed at length during the Rijkaard regime about the team’s shortfalls and
the difficulties of dealing with players who had forgotten how to behave professionally. The midfielder also told him he would make a great manager – in fact, he wanted Pep and
his values and his ideas returned to the Barcelona team.

After those talks Xavi was convinced that a dose of Guardiola’s medicine was what the group needed. And Pep himself knew that it wasn’t Xavi (or Iniesta, or Valdés, or Puyol)
whom he had to convince from the moment he entered the dressing room, but those who didn’t know too much about him. He was convinced that he could.

In order to win them over, Pep had to act without looking as if he was learning on the job: he had clear ideas of what to do and trusted his instinct and his experience as a player would help
him along the way, but there were going to be unexpected turns and new lessons to be learnt. In the dressing room, though, where the player is testing the manager continuously, it was essential
that he looked, at all times, as if he knew exactly what he was doing right from day one.

The decision to get rid of Ronaldinho and Deco won Pep instant authority, but it was in the day to day where he could really leave his mark. And for that, the first meeting, the first chat, was
crucial. He asked Xavi Hernández to come to the office very early on and although the tone was similar to previous conversations the two had had in the past, there was something that had
inevitably changed: a touch of humility in the voice of Xavi, the subtle bow of his head. Pep was the boss now.

The midfielder had just come back from winning the European Championship with Spain and there were stories in the papers about his possible transfer. It had been a difficult period in his career
and he was quickly falling out of love with football: not only because of the lack of titles in the previous two seasons, but the disappointment of seeing talented players go to waste, the lack of
synergy at the club, the number of years spent in an institution with huge demands. A dangerous cocktail.

Xavi needed to hear what Pep’s plans were; he had no intention of leaving but if he had to, he would look at the possibility of testing himself in the Premier League. Manchester United
were sniffing around.

The conversation between player and coach took place in the first days of training together.

Xavi: I won’t beat around the bush, Pep, I have one question for you: do you count on me?

Pep: I don’t see this team without you in it. I just don’t see this working without you.

With that, Pep Guardiola had reignited Xavi’s spark.

But the work to recover the midfielder mentally didn’t end there. In the rare instances of a defeat or a bad performance, Xavi would carry his negative feelings to the training ground the
next day. After the sessions, while performing stretches, Pep would often sit next to him, chatting about general stuff, about the weather, plans for that evening: the kind of idle talk that passes
between colleagues. Guardiola would then suddenly switch into the role of manager in gesture and tone: he would switch the conversation to the next game; about what he wanted from the player; about
what he had been doing right, about what could be improved. Xavi’s wounds left by the defeat would heal and the mood would change – there was another target.

As we say in Spain, with the arrival of Guardiola the sky opened for Xavi and the sun shone through. The midfielder regained his sense of security and self-esteem and was about to embark on the
four most enjoyable years of his whole career. The manager would insist throughout that period that he was nothing without the players, that it was they who made him good. But the footballers
identified him as a leader and were thankful that he was showing them the way.

There were still many others, a whole squad, to win over.

In the first speech he gave to the whole team in St Andrews, Guardiola put forward the master plan. But he demanded mostly one thing: the players would have to run a lot, work, and train hard
– every team, he believes, plays as they train. He was referring to the culture of effort, of sacrifice, and it surprised many. That was Pep; the football romantic was asking Barcelona never
to stop running!

He wanted to implement a system that was an advanced version of what they had been playing, with football starting with the goalkeeper, a sort of outfield sweeper who would have to get used to
touching the ball more with his feet than with his hands. Even
though everybody realised the style could improve the side, the risk was immense.

‘That is, by the way,’ insisted Pep, ‘non-negotiable.’

Goalkeeper Víctor Valdés demanded to talk to him straight away. If the new system didn’t work, he was going to be the first one to be blamed. It would leave him exposed and
in the firing line both on and off the pitch and he needed to be convinced: was it such a good idea to move the defensive line right up to the midfield line and ask the centre backs to start the
moves? Football without a safety net? Are we sure this is the way forward? Valdés, outwardly shy but with a trademark inner blend of cheekiness and directness that has made him popular in
the team, felt brave enough to see Pep a few days after the St Andrews speech:

Víctor Valdés: Can I talk to you, boss?

Pep Guardiola: My door is always open ...

Valdés: I need to ask one thing: all that you are talking about is fine, but only if the centre backs want the ball ...

Pep: I will make sure they want the ball.

That was it. End of conversation.

Valdés had zero tactical knowledge before Pep arrived. For the keeper the following four years would be like working his way through a degree in tactics.

In those first few days in Scotland, Guardiola asked Carles Puyol, the captain, to join him in his hotel room in St Andrews. The manager showed him a video: ‘I want you to do this.’
In it, different centre backs received the ball from the goalkeeper in a wide position outside the box; they connected with the full backs and positioned themselves to receive the ball again. It
was stuff that defenders have nightmares about because a simple mistake can mean conceding a goal. Puyol started his career as a right winger, but was converted into right back because his skill
was limited. Once, he even came close to being loaned out to Malaga when Louis Van Gaal was the Barcelona manager, but an injury to Winston Bogarde kept him at the club. Now, at thirty, he was
asked to add a new string to his bow.

Pep told Puyol: ‘If you don’t do what I need you to do, you are not going to play in my team.’

Pep’s warning was probably not necessary but it was another indication of where his priorities lay.

Puyol accepted the challenge. So did Iniesta.

‘When I found out Pep was going to be the manager,’ says Andrés Iniesta, ‘I was excited. He was my hero. I knew something big was going to take place.’

The benefits of Pep having been a top-flight player could be seen straight away. Training in front of the old Masía, near the Camp Nou, with journalists and fans watching, cameras picking
up on little arguments or discussions, was far from ideal. So Guardiola, who had advised on the latest designs to the new facilities at Sant Joan Despí, a few kilometres away, pushed for the
first team to move there as soon as possible. The training ground then became a fortress where they could practise, relax, eat, rest and recover in seclusion, away from the gaze of probing eyes.
The footballers, surrounded by professionals dedicated to looking after them, appreciated these layers of protection and the many other necessary details that only a former professional could have
forseen.

Allowing them to stay at home until just hours before a home game or travelling away on a match day, thus avoiding the almost sacred hotel stay and abrupt removal from family life, was another
welcome decision. Pep thought there was no need to think about football every minute of the day and players, dining with their families the night before a match, could even begin to forget that
there was a game the next day. Guardiola felt that switching them on only a few hours before kick-off was more than enough.

Little by little the press was distanced, too, with individual player interviews being reduced or banned entirely for long periods. Anything to keep the group sheltered. Not necessarily
isolated, but cosy, strong in its unity. He wanted to mother them, nurture them, but not control them. Once, he himself had been denied such protection and it had left an indelible scar after the
lone battle to clear his name of doping allegations.

He knew Deco and Ronaldinho had lived in disorder, and that had spread among the squad. From the moment of his arrival at the club, Pep sought to monitor his players’ nutrition,
timetables, preparation.
Most of his team were footballers of slight physique so they needed careful attention. All kinds of attention. If need be, he would even change
identities, switch roles, on a regular basis, from manager to friend, brother, mother ...

In fact, Pep’s emotional investment in his players sets him apart from most managers. While José Mourinho or Sir Alex Ferguson would get to know players’ relatives or partners
to find out more about their pupils; where the Portuguese manager would invite his most influential footballers and their families for private meals with plenty of wine mainly to
‘casually’ discover if a child had been ill or if the wife was unhappy with a new house, Guardiola established a more blurred line between the personal and the professional.

Pep knew he could not treat an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old in the same way as the superstars and he would chat to those younger players one to one in his office whenever he felt he needed to.
With the star players, when necessary he’d take them for a meal. Thierry Henry was one of the first he decided to take aside.