can teach the players what they do wrong without knowing it is wrong.â
Perhaps it was no coincidence that the players shipped out within a year of Wengerâs arrival were those who found it most difficult to adapt. John Hartsonâs temperament was the polar opposite of the Zen-like managerâs (whilst his bulky physique suggested a liking for consuming something the manager would have disapproved of). The final straw for Wenger was probably Hartsonâs New Yearâs Day appearance as a substitute against Middlesbrough, in which he received two yellow cards for dissent and then foul and abusive language to leave his teammates a man short. On Valentineâs Day the striker was sold to West Ham, with no love lost.
Paul Merson on the other hand had been rejuvenated, the inherent discipline aiding his determination to rid himself of his drug, alcohol and gambling addictions. Summing up the psychological benefits he received, Merson memorably stated, âThe new manager has given us unbelievable belief.â The compliments, however, were not mutual. Perhaps Wenger felt Merson had his best years behind him. To the playerâs surprise and despite having performed well, he was told in the summer of 1997 that an offer of £5 million from Middlesbrough had been accepted and Merson reluctantly departed the club he had joined 13 years earlier. It was unfortunate, as in his new surroundings, he would eventually fall back into his old habits. However, his selection by Glenn Hoddle for Englandâs 1998 World Cup squad showed that his short time under Wenger had been personally rewarding.
To the outside world, it was surprising to perceive that Wengerâs decision-making had a ruthless edge, that he was a manager who, ultimately, would take whatever steps he was convinced were needed in the interests of his team. Although he would never talk in negative terms, sudden transfers and loans spoke volumes, often to the bewilderment of those who were brusquely deemed superfluous. Notable later examples of players who Wenger anticipated were starting on the downward slope would be Patrick Vieira and Thierry Henry â proof that there were no exceptions, whatever their status and past contribution.
More than a decade on, and the notion that footballers used to abuse their bodies as a matter of course seems absurd, such is the omnipotence of Arsène Wengerâs example. As one of many Scandinavians who adapted to the rigours of English football, Tottenham goalkeeper Erik Thorstvedt recalled the prevailing conditions pre-Wenger: âThe British player eats the wrong food, drinks too much and doesnât train properly yet has this tremendous will to win.â Whilst this quality was sufficient to paper over the cracks for many British managers it was never enough for Wenger. The right diet and exercise were only a means to an end, to provide the optimum conditions to enable technique to flourish. But when allied to what Wenger habitually referred to as âdesireâ [for victory] then, with hindsight, his success was inevitable.
Even if, technically, many Premier League teams still fall short of continental standards, behind the scenes the influx of specialists â including psychologists, dietitians, masseurs, osteopaths â at every top-flight club was as a direct result of them absorbing Wengerâs methods and beliefs. Of course, they were only adopted because they achieved results. Why should a footballer be any different from an Olympic athlete? Is he likely to perform to his potential if he enjoys a slap-up meal and a few pints the night before a big match? Merson later reflected, âNo matter how great a player Thierry Henry is, if he started doing what I was doing when I was playing for Arsenal [under Graham], he probably wouldnât score another goal. When we were doing it everyone else was doing it as well, so it levelled itself out, but you canât do it any more, not
Perhaps it was no coincidence that the players shipped out within a year of Wengerâs arrival were those who found it most difficult to adapt. John Hartsonâs temperament was the polar opposite of the Zen-like managerâs (whilst his bulky physique suggested a liking for consuming something the manager would have disapproved of). The final straw for Wenger was probably Hartsonâs New Yearâs Day appearance as a substitute against Middlesbrough, in which he received two yellow cards for dissent and then foul and abusive language to leave his teammates a man short. On Valentineâs Day the striker was sold to West Ham, with no love lost.
Paul Merson on the other hand had been rejuvenated, the inherent discipline aiding his determination to rid himself of his drug, alcohol and gambling addictions. Summing up the psychological benefits he received, Merson memorably stated, âThe new manager has given us unbelievable belief.â The compliments, however, were not mutual. Perhaps Wenger felt Merson had his best years behind him. To the playerâs surprise and despite having performed well, he was told in the summer of 1997 that an offer of £5 million from Middlesbrough had been accepted and Merson reluctantly departed the club he had joined 13 years earlier. It was unfortunate, as in his new surroundings, he would eventually fall back into his old habits. However, his selection by Glenn Hoddle for Englandâs 1998 World Cup squad showed that his short time under Wenger had been personally rewarding.
To the outside world, it was surprising to perceive that Wengerâs decision-making had a ruthless edge, that he was a manager who, ultimately, would take whatever steps he was convinced were needed in the interests of his team. Although he would never talk in negative terms, sudden transfers and loans spoke volumes, often to the bewilderment of those who were brusquely deemed superfluous. Notable later examples of players who Wenger anticipated were starting on the downward slope would be Patrick Vieira and Thierry Henry â proof that there were no exceptions, whatever their status and past contribution.
More than a decade on, and the notion that footballers used to abuse their bodies as a matter of course seems absurd, such is the omnipotence of Arsène Wengerâs example. As one of many Scandinavians who adapted to the rigours of English football, Tottenham goalkeeper Erik Thorstvedt recalled the prevailing conditions pre-Wenger: âThe British player eats the wrong food, drinks too much and doesnât train properly yet has this tremendous will to win.â Whilst this quality was sufficient to paper over the cracks for many British managers it was never enough for Wenger. The right diet and exercise were only a means to an end, to provide the optimum conditions to enable technique to flourish. But when allied to what Wenger habitually referred to as âdesireâ [for victory] then, with hindsight, his success was inevitable.
Even if, technically, many Premier League teams still fall short of continental standards, behind the scenes the influx of specialists â including psychologists, dietitians, masseurs, osteopaths â at every top-flight club was as a direct result of them absorbing Wengerâs methods and beliefs. Of course, they were only adopted because they achieved results. Why should a footballer be any different from an Olympic athlete? Is he likely to perform to his potential if he enjoys a slap-up meal and a few pints the night before a big match? Merson later reflected, âNo matter how great a player Thierry Henry is, if he started doing what I was doing when I was playing for Arsenal [under Graham], he probably wouldnât score another goal. When we were doing it everyone else was doing it as well, so it levelled itself out, but you canât do it any more, not
Similar Books
