Marseille. Bilbao. They
sing his name. Not for trophies.
For his character.
Marseille. Bilbao. They
sing his name. Not for trophies.
For his character.
André Villas-Boas back on the touch line for a major European game? This must be a special edition of Le Classique.
His red beard is spotting grey, but his pre-match demeanor was that of a man who’s taken plenty of time off to live a dream.
He was all handshakes and smiles, shining in his Marseille track suit like he just left the spa.
The shine faded quick.
His high-line the down fall. It wasn’t the ridiculous high-line of his Chelsea days, but without a calculated press, Di Maria and Veratti were able to pick out Mbappe and Icardi by request.
4-0 at halftime. The match was over. With the loss Marseille now sit 7th. It’s not a disaster. There’s plenty of season left. But the question is out. Is Andre Villas Boas a good coach?
I’m rooting for him. I always back the nerd, laptop coaches who’ve never played professional football but somehow scrap their way to the top of their professions – See Sarri, Nagelsmann,
8 years on, his Porto team is a cloudy memory. The stint in China boosted his bank account, but not his professional reputation.
If Villas-Boas doesn’t sort out Marseille soon, the Dakar Rally will be the only competitive sport on his calendar.
Zeman, the wise ol’ elephant:
Guardiola, the gesticulating maestro:
Bielsa, the bottle rocket:
First French football hero? You guessed it. Fabien Barthez.
Goalkeeper was the first position I was attracted to. It’s natural when you grow up playing basketball and you can’t do five keepie-uppies.
Goalkeepers seemed so heroic, living knights of the round table. Diving hands first into danger to save the entire team. They even wore superhero costumes, kits unlike anyone else on the field. Draped in jerseys colored in Broccoli green, Sunflower yellow, even 80s pop star pink was an option.
Keepers though, were demi-gods. Peter Schmeichel, Ollie Kahn (did anyone call him Ollie to his face?), with their sculpted shoulders and grizzly bear paws were BC Olympians. Out of reach of us eighty-six-pound mortals.
Then there was Fabian Barthez.
He scraped in at six feet. And closer resembled a grocer, filling the bins with vine fresh tomatoes early Saturday morning, rather than a top-level goalkeeper.
But Barthez, with his Copa Mundials and number 16 shirt won the Champions League with Marseille. Lifted the World and European cup with France. He even won the league with Manchester United.
Zidane treasures him. When asked which player from the 98′ team he’d add to the current French side, he replied “Barthez”.
I don’t remember any spectacular saves Barthez made. I can’t recall a press conference where he charmed anyone. I’ve never saw him lift a trophy.
None of these things made Barthez my hero. He was my hero because I could see a little of myself in him.
Sniff…Whimper…Sniff…Bielsa’s out at Lille.
Bielsa, a man of impeccable personal integrity, flew to Chile to visit Luis Bonini a former assistant suffering with cancer. Strange, Lille’s official position was that Bielsa was “suspended”. I haven’t heard that one before. Is that the football version of “creative differences”?
The break up was inevitable, but this time Bielsa seemed set for success.
He showed up.
He got his requested transfers.
It wasn’t enough.
Are we sure it was the Lille match? Or was he logging into his Steam account?
I’ll take Julien’s word.
P.S. Where to next for Bielsa? My only Christmas wish, the US mens national team.
Marcelo Bielsa is the greatest loser in football history—if one defines winning only by trophy hauls. For a man who has inspired an entire generation of coaches, his 3 Argentinian titles and Olympic gold over a 25 year career make for a short resume. Despite his lonely trophy cabinet, Bielsa is still lauded by his peers and football romantics the globe over.
As both legend and myth, Bielsa has become the Henry Thoreau of football—out in his own tactical wilderness built from his fundamental ideals, refusing to compromise.
His teams, wooed by his philosophy, are a pleasure to behold. In sync, they’re intelligent football machines programmed with a combination of ruthless man-marking and cut-throat attacking patterns. They are easy to admire but taxing on the participants.
His disciples, affectionately named “Bielsaites,” have won more than he ever will. By taking Bielsa’s philosophy of high pressing and vertical attacks and tweaking the code, they edit the syntax with a hint of pragmatism. Pep’s Barcelona and Sampaoli’s Chile are the all conquering versions of tactical formulas Bielsa developed years ago.
However, one quickly learns with Bielsa. He never lets ‘em down gently. At the first sign of treason, he’s bashing skulls with management, walking out, and leaving withered teams in his wake.
It happened at Bilbao, it’s happened again at Marseille.
I’d become desperate for Bielsa to sculpt Marseille into champions. Would this Marseille team be Bielsa’s first European side not to sputter out?
After leading PSG most of the year, the season ended with a wretched 4th place finish. No Champions League. No runners up medal. Nada.
Bielsa’s inevitable resignation left me pondering – What if this was his last stand? What competitions missed out on a bespectacled football-obsessive trawling the sidelines? Which team could use a clear playing identity and knowledge that there’s 36 ways to communicate with a pass?
At first the list sprawled across my kitchen table: a mix between football manager, bucket list, plea for help, and Victorian love letter. In the end I whittled it down to three…three football institutions that could use a sprinkle of Bielsa after he abandons Lille.
World Cup be damned, the Champions League is now football’s most prestigious stage. Top coaches and players thrive in the competition. Crave it. The anthem, the flood lights, the chance to make history: it’s the country club for football’s elite.
A Bielsa team has yet to grace the tournament. And still, somehow this is where Bielsa belongs—amongst the greats.
Admittedly Bielsa’s brand of rapid vertical passing isn’t ideal for the measured approach most sides deploy, but that’s exactly why Bielsa needs to compete here: to challenge the assumed, to agitate the natural order.
Watching a Bielsa team at full gallop on a star-twinkled Tuesday night would be an experience to savor, to replay in your mind’s 8 millimeter reel. And if his team went beyond the group stages, well…
Bielsa needs to win a trophy. Any trophy. Well, not any trophy. The Emirates Cup doesn’t count. Nor does anything that has “ToTo” in it. He needs a domestic cup. And what better cup to win than Britain’s premier knock-out tourney?
The team he leads there is irrelevant, but Leeds United or Nottingham Forest would be fine choices. Two fan bases lusting for past glories, each two legged affair en route to the final would be high-line opera.
The final itself—a celebration of English pomp—would have Bielsa looking like a nerd at lunch, frantically trying to spot a chair where he’d be left alone.
And if they won it? Scenes.
Winning the F.A. cup would challenge Bielsa’s allergic reaction to smiling. Can you imagine Bielsa, hair frazzled, champagne bubbles dripping off his chops, cheerleader-tossed in the air by his adoring players?
Yeah me neither.
Too fantastic a notion? The stuff of screenplays? Sure. But when Bruce Arena’s time is up this is the hire you make – got it Sunil? Offers you can’t refuse slammed on the negotiating table.
A perfect match, the current US pool is brimming with fragmented potential: a motley crew of eager midfielders, naive defenders and sitter-missing strikers. They’re a collection of players willing to bust lungs for 90 minutes—the type of dedication Bielsa demands, but, are missing a collective aim.
Jurgen’s promises of a unified American playing identity never surfaced, while crafting a clear team structure is Bielsa’s purview. For all his neuroses, Bielsa took Chile, a team swollen with talent but haunted by ghosts of tournaments past, and drafted up a blueprint that each successor since has continued, improved upon and won trophies with.
U.S. Soccer and the powers that be, make it happen.
Where will Bielsa turn up after Lille? His journey has been as unpredictable as the man himself. He may in fact never coach in the Champions League, win the F.A. Cup or coach the United States Men’s National Team. But wherever he settles, you can be sure—regardless of destination or results—his legend will continue to grow.
Bilesa’s return flamed out, but Marseille rebounded with Rudy Garcia. Garcia is no “El Loco” in style or manner, but he’s won Ligue 1 against all odds, with Lille. Garcia took over a side that was 12th in the table. Since then Marseille has lost only two, climbing to 6th. Gomis has ten goals in nine. And Saki, Rolando, Hubocan and Fanni have developed into a formidable back four.
Missing out on John Obi Mikel to China is a blow but, if Frank McCourt ponies up the Euros for a Dimitri Payet return some of the skepticism around his investment in the club may dim.
Could Marseille finish top four? Not this year. But a Europa league place would restore dignity to a wayward season and awaken hope in the Velodrome faithful.
Dante’s gotten love. Balotelli the headlines. But it’s Seri, the Ivorian Ant-Man who’s Nice’s indispensable player. Leading Ligue 1 in assists the man’s range of passing and mobility are the keys that ignite Nice’s engine. If he stays healthy and Nice win it, he should be Ligue 1’s player of the season-and off to a bigger club. How Nice copes with Seri’s absence during the African Cup of Nations will determine if the Ligue 1 championship finds a home on the French coast.
Monaco. Home of world class Grand Prix, no income tax and attacking football. Attacking football? Yes. Attacking football. Sure, in the past Leonardo Jardim’s Monaco have been accused of parking buses and inducing yawns. However, this year’s edition has 49 goals scored. Top for all of Europe’s major leagues.
Falcao’s 11 goals have been a welcome resurgence and Guido Carrillo’s 7 has already surpassed his total from the previous season. Jardim’s new tactical approach has ensured Ligue 1 is well within reach. Manchester City await in the round of 16 and a semi-final place in the Coupe de la Ligue keeps the treble in play. Will Jardim alter Monaco’s approach to appease the trophy gods? Or will banging Gs’ remain?