A tortured quest for perfection…
BBC Sport’s football correspondent in South America knows what makes Leeds controversial ‘Spygate’ boss Marcelo Bielsa tick
THE first time I encountered Marcelo Bielsa was 20 years ago when he was coach of Argentina.
His side had just lost 3-0 to Colombia in a Copa America game, he had seen his centre-forward miss three penalties, and he had been sent off. It had been an eventful game.
In the press conference afterwards he sat staring into space, never making eye contact with anyone. The first question was about the refereeing.
“One doesn’t have the custom of commenting on the match-day officials,” he replied. “But in respect of my expulsion the referee was absolutely correct because I protested in an all-mannered form.”
Clearly this was not the average coach. Bielsa has not the slightest problem in holding his hand up and admitting his mistakes – at times, he appears to positively enjoy it.
But the accusations in the wake of the Derby ‘Spygate’ row went deeper. They attacked his professional pride on two fronts – first, being accused of cheating; second, that he would need to resort to underhand practices in order to win football matches.
Some in Argentina thought Bielsa might resign when Leeds issued a statement declaring they reminded their coach of the club’s “integrity and honesty”. Certainly, social media was awash with such rumours when the press conference was suddenly announced. Instead, he took the opportunity to explain his actions and place them in the context of his working methods. So those present on Wednesday SO WHAT’S THE FUSS? Bielsa is under spotlight were given a masterclass in the Bielsa school of match preparation.
The thoroughness of his approach borders on lunacy – endless hours of obsessive study, every detail analysed, with the last-minute attempt to spy on a training session nothing more than the thinnest layer of icing on a meticulously baked cake.
Indeed, Derby may regret kicking up a fuss on the subject after having their tactics surgically dissected for an audience that will clearly include future opponents.
The quantity of research and the depth of knowledge bear out a point Bielsa made about sending his spy – that rather than a match-winning manoeuvre, it is the product of a coach’s anxiety, the desperation to ensure he has covered every possible base.
The drive to feel as prepared as possible would surely be all the greater bearing in mind that, a few months ago, Bielsa would barely have been aware of the existence of some of the clubs he is now facing.
There has always been something of the tortured adolescent in his quest for perfection. “While you are sleeping,” he once told one of his players in Argentina, “I am thinking of ways for the team to win.” Sending a spy, then, may have little effect on the outcome of the game. But is it cheating? Presumably Bielsa will cease the practice now that it has caused such a storm. He is now aware that it contravenes the spirit of the laws as they are interpreted in England.
But he can point to the fact that at no place does it contravene the letter of the law, and that he comes from a culture in which such ploys are commonplace.
A little over a year ago, Gremio of Brazil appeared to be caught using a drone to spy on the training session of Argentina’s Lanus, their opponents in the final of the Copa Libertadores, South America’s equivalent of the Champions League.
The alleged spy was caught and taken to the local police station, where he denied any connection with Gremio. But an investigation by ESPN Brazil showed he had been supplying such services for the club for some months.
Gremio hardly denied it. “The world belongs to those who are sharp,” said coach Renato Portaluppi, pointing out this was common practice in the game. The supposedly aggrieved club shrugged it off, Lanus president Nicolas Russo refusing to kick up a fuss. All was fair, it seems, in love, war and the Copa Libertadores. But not, perhaps, in the Championship.