Stillness and Speed: My Story (24 page)

This still leaves the question of how the role of technical leader works in practice and how, specifically, it worked with Dennis. Having failed to be accepted as a leader in Italy, he goes on
in England to lead Arsenal not just moment-by-moment on the pitch but from boring football to Total Football. What exactly was the mechanism? Arsene Wenger has the most intriguing and perceptive
explanation: ‘It took Dennis a while to adapt. Because he was questioned a lot in the first year. But after that, he slowly became more and more important in the team. Was it linked with
confidence? Was it linked with the fact that I arrived? Was it linked with the fact that there are more technical players around him? And some are improving technically because of his influence? It
is . . . certainly a little bit of all of that. It’s very difficult to give a percentage to that. But the biggest thing was that everybody acknowledged his quality.

‘Of course, I am a lover of the way the Dutch see football. They have a positive philosophy and they build the game from the back. The Dutch also have a philosophy that they put the
‘brain players’ through the middle, the technically gifted players, the thoughtful, clever ones. They put them through the middle of the pitch, in the heart of the team. And there is
nobody better than Dennis as the symbol of this Dutch philosophy, because it is based on technical quality, imagination, the brain. When you’re a manager, you can only develop that game if
the player is respected in the team. That means the team accepts to play the game that suits the player. They do this if they feel they have an interest to do it. And the big strength of Dennis is
that he was hugely respected by the other players of the team.

‘I find similarities when I speak with my former players about Dennis, and when I speak with the former players of the French national team about Zidane. Without judging who was the better
one, I find similarities between the respect and the admiration of their partners in the team. Once you have that, it’s easy because when they say something, people listen. They understand
that it is in their interest. Because a team has a kind of subconscious intelligence. And the game flows naturally through the strong points of the team. That means the game goes from Tony Adams to
Patrick Vieira, from Patrick Vieira to Dennis Bergkamp, from Dennis Bergkamp to Thierry Henry. The team understands that it’s in their interest to do that. It can sometimes become detrimental
if one player is so strong that the team always goes through him, because the variety of your game can suffer. But it was not the case with us, because Dennis had such intelligence. What is quite
remarkable, he was more . . . He was a guy with a strong personality. Sometimes they say when a person enters the room that people look at him. To go in there, to give that impression, that person
has to think: “I am the most important person.” It is a subconscious way. I would say Dennis is the exact opposite. The
exact
opposite. But he still has a kind of aristocratic
elegance in the way he walks, in the way he behaves. And he provokes attention through a kind of attitude and class, natural class, and elegance.’

Gary Lewin recalls how this worked in practice. ‘When Dennis came into the club, he was fully aware of what was going on around him. Some things he liked, some things he probably
didn’t like. People around him could see what he was like. He would always talk before and during a game: “Try doing it like this . . .” He would educate players in that way. But
he wouldn’t be in your face, he wouldn’t be shouting at you, and he wouldn’t do it in front of other people. He was more of a quiet-word person. Some people would say
“introverted”, but I don’t think he was introverted. I think he knew exactly what he was doing.’

Dennis himself reflects: ‘What is a leader? It’s an interesting question. Cruyff used to stand with his foot on the ball gesticulating and point wildly to everyone, telling them
where to go. He was a leader. But in my day I never had time to stand still with the ball. I would have been hacked down immediately! By the nineties, there weren’t any leaders like him. In
my day everyone coached each other. That’s what I did. I was constantly coaching and I led players, too. I never hid, I always demanded the ball. I always tried to play a prominent role, to
be the best. I was never satisfied, I always wanted to try even harder. As a trainer I’m like that, too. If one of our strikers misses a chance, I start thinking about it. What can I do to
make sure he scores next time? I want to be such a good trainer that I can teach a striker to avoid missing
any
chances. I want to be good at what I do, and I want to be important, but
I’m not after fame. That’s why I have no ambition to be a manager.’

OK. There are all sorts of leaders – so what kind are you?

‘You mentioned how Patrick Vieira was a totally different leader to Tony Adams, but they were both leaders. Patrick, of course, had a completely different style. Maybe you didn’t
really see on the pitch, but he led the team and all the people in the club. It’s fantastic, and it’s different. And, yes, you can be a technical leader as well, and I like to be that
more, you know, leading by example. It’s similar with coaches. You’ve got coaches who are loud and really out there shouting so people will say: “Look at him, he’s a real
coach!” Whereas Wenger is more a teacher, and he’s teaching the right stuff. I never like people who are out there for show, the guys who shout all the time. At the lower level of the
game, you see a lot of coaches and captains as well – ‘leaders’ – who are just out there for the armband and the show. To me a leader is someone who affects people, who
makes changes, who makes other players or people better. It’s the opposite of someone doing it for the cameras.’

Tony Adams is obviously camera-friendly, yet he also leads in the sense you mean, doesn’t he?

‘Oh yes, yes. You look at him and think he’s the
prototype
leader, you know, with all the shouting and the clenched fists. But he’s not doing that for the cameras. If
you didn’t know him, you might think he was, but he’s like that in the dressing room, too. A real leader. Bergomi was similar, actually. Tony was rougher, I’d say, but within the
team Bergomi was also very strong and he approached the game, the players and the coach in a way that was similar to Tony. He did it in an Italian way, of course, but almost military-like:
“I’m the captain!” I kind of liked him, because he had this awareness and intensity. I thought he was a good guy. He had a presence. Tony’s got presence as well. Actually, a
lot of players have got presence.

‘Patrick, of course, had a completely different style. You didn’t really see on the pitch what he was doing, but, wow, within the team he really affected people and got them going.
He lifts them and therefore he lifts the club and the team just by having little talks with people. Did Frank Rijkaard wear the armband? Hardly ever. But behind the scenes he was always talking to
people, giving advice. There were no cameras around but he was one of the great leaders. For Ajax in 1995, Danny Blind was the captain but people still keep telling me how important Frank Rijkaard
was. For myself, it’s not really about being a leader or not being a leader. But players, ex-players and other people talk about me like they talk about Frank. He was well respected within
the dressing room. He made a difference. OK, people looked up to me in a certain way and looked to copy me in certain ways. They were confident with me and knew I was an honest guy. I’m
looking for that, but I guess that’s a sort of leadership. Bob Wilson probably has that right. One of the other things as well: if you are a leader it comes by itself. I still believe that.
So Bagnoli and Ferri are right. You can’t just say “This guy is now the leader.” If you give someone time, it just happens. It drifts to the surface. It becomes apparent. It
reveals itself somehow.’

16

‘I
USED TO LOVE
,
STILL
love, and always will love to see a Dutch team play,’ says
Thierry Henry. ‘In the history of the game we all know that it’s not always the case that you win like that. But for me that’s how you should play football: the Dutch
way.’

Isn’t it strange that Dennis’s Holland side never won a tournament?

‘Yes and I’m actually sad about that. In 1998 we [the French team] were scared of the Dutch. When Brazil won the semi-final on penalties we celebrated. I’ll always remember
that.’

Because Holland were better than Brazil?

‘By a distance! That Brazil team wasn’t bad. But the Dutch for me were definitely the best team of the tournament. Who knows what would have happened in the final? But at that moment
we were very relieved. Trust me. More than relieved. I was young but I remember the older guys talking. They really didn’t want to play against Holland because however you try to play against
them, they’re strong, they’re fast, they’re technically great, they have a lovely way of playing. Everybody wanted to avoid that Dutch team. Always do, to be honest. And then they
did the same thing in 2000. Again we didn’t want to play them and, again we were on the other side of the draw, waiting. That Dutch team with Dennis didn’t win anything – crazy!
Too crazy for me.’

Why do you think it didn’t?

‘I don’t have a single clue, but as a fan of the game it’s upsetting. Having said that, if they had won something, then we wouldn’t. So it’s better like this
[
laughs
]. But it’s weird to see a great team like that not getting the reward you would like them to have.’

A
FTER THE
M
R
H
YDE
version of Dutch player power had wrecked their attempt to win Euro ’96,
Holland’s national coach Guus Hiddink decided to get tough. Get tough, that is, in a very Dutch way: he drew up a code of ethics. He then asked all the players to sign a pledge to respect
each other, members of staff, supporters and even journalists. Everyone signed except Edgar Davids, whose exile continued for a while. In place of strife, qualification for the next World Cup
proceeded smoothly and Holland began to play some classically clever, fluid attacking football. Dennis, with seven goals in six matches as shadow striker, was at the heart of most of it. Meanwhile,
a stroke of luck meant his decision never to fly again would not damage the best years of his international career. The only qualification games he had to miss were in Turkey (Holland lost without
him) and San Marino. The two next major tournaments would be on his doorstep in France and Holland/Belgium. After that, he planned to retire. Meanwhile, Arsenal had accepted that Dennis would never
travel by plane – though they had docked his salary accordingly. Dennis: ‘They did the maths: “If he doesn’t fly then he can’t play a certain number of games and so
such and such a sum will be deducted.” But I didn’t care. What mattered was that I no longer had to worry about it. I gradually got more and more into my stride. I felt like I was
unstoppable there. I felt amazing.’

By the time the 1998 World Cup rolled around, the mood was so positive that Hiddink and Davids became friends again. Holland thus headed to France with one of their greatest-ever squads: united,
confident, mature and selfless . . . and with Dennis Bergkamp at the height of his footballing powers. The bulk of the team was made up of former or present Ajax men, including seven regulars
who’d won the Champions League in 1995, and PSV men like Jaap Stam, Philip Cocu and Arthur Numan, who added steel and guile. Wim Jonk, Dennis’s friend from Ajax and Inter, now at PSV,
recalls: ‘Everyone in the team enjoyed what Dennis showed in training. We were all good players, but he had such exceptional class that he was at another level. The other players found that
beautiful. They really appreciated him. And he challenged you. Actually, we all challenged each other. That team was the best I ever played in.’

Dennis himself had only just recovered from the injury which caused him to miss the end of Arsenal’s exhausting Double-winning season. So Hiddink left him on the bench for most of
Holland’s first match, a 0-0 draw with the defensive Belgians. The only thing most people remember about the game is Patrick Kluivert getting himself sent off for petulantly elbowing a
defender in the chest. In the second match, however, the Dutch sparked gloriously to life and clobbered South Korea 5-1. The irresistible Dutch performance drew comparisons with those of the
seventies team of Cruyff and Krol. Dennis, the 10 in a number 8 shirt, shredded the Korean defence with his elegant passing and movement, scored the third goal and even, at one point, dribbled past
three defenders. In the final group match Holland surged to an early 2-0 lead against Mexico then relaxed (an old failing) and, with Dennis off the field, gave up an injury-time equaliser.

Instead of the chaos of 1996 the team had established a flexible, creative unity no autocratic coach could have imposed. Hiddink explains: ‘The group was no longer as selfish as it was in
1996. The lads were unified and their enthusiasm was infectious. It was more like I had to rein them in than urge them on; sometimes I couldn’t get them off the training pitch. The group was
so full of energy, it was just a physical presence. There were no bosses in the group, but there was a kind of natural hierarchy. Frank and Ronald de Boer, Seedorf, Cocu, Jonk and Bergkamp
automatically assumed leadership. They didn’t spare each other and they dragged the rest along with them. They even wanted to play a five-a-side live game the day before a match. As manager,
you would never agree to that if your team isn’t functioning well. You’d be far too concerned that someone might get injured. But at the World Cup the group was so tight and the players
were able to tolerate so much from each other, that I was happy for them to play those live games.’

The players were so angry with themselves for their slip against Mexico that they gave their own pep talks before meeting Yugoslavia in the next round. The tense and tricky tie was decided by a
spectacular late Edgar Davids goal. But the game was almost a catastrophe for Dennis. In the first half he played well and scored. In the second he should have been sent off for that crazy foul on
Sinisa Mihajlovic, an opponent he knew from Italy, bundling him over near the corner flag, then treading on the side of his chest. Dennis: ‘I really don’t know why I did that. I
haven’t the faintest idea. I didn’t like him, but that was no reason to do something like that to him. I was startled by my own behaviour . . . what I did was incredibly foolish, a
moment of insanity.’ Remarkably, Spanish ref José Maria Garcia Aranda turned a blind eye, thereby setting Dennis up for one of the defining matches of his career.