Page 152 - Pep Guardiola: Another Way of Winning: The Biography
P. 152

But days, even hours, after conceding his exhaustion and inability to continue, Pep’s expression
  changed.  The  sense  of  relief  that  he  had  felt  during  his  public  farewell  was  replaced  by one  of
  sorrow.
     There  was  speculation  about  the  reasons  behind  his  mood  swing,  and  whether  or  not  it  was  a

  consequence  of  the  press  conference  send-off  that  had  been  such  an  inappropriate  ending  for  his
  illustrious career: after all, the club was announcing that the best coach in their history was leaving
  and they decided that it should coincide with the announcement of his replacement, Tito Vilanova.
  Was  his  melancholy  due  to  the  fact  that  his  assistant  and  friend  Tito  was  staying,  a  decision  that
  surprised everybody? Was it because the boss and his replacement were still awkwardly sharing the
  same space? Or perhaps it was more to do with the strange atmosphere created in the dressing room
  from the moment of his announcement, as everybody, team and staff alike, felt they could have done

  more to convince him to stay?
     Whatever  the  consequences,  Pep  was  emotionally  drained  and,  in  exposing  his  fragility,  he
  revealed the scars with which the intense pressure of football at that level had aged him so much.
  Perhaps it is true that four years of managing Barcelona takes the same toll as managing a quarter of a
  decade, at say, Manchester United. Pep was telling us: I am not Superman; I am vulnerable, flawed.
  Pep  Guardiola:  the  archetypal  anti-hero,  a  man  capable  of  achieving  greatness  and  performing

  wonderful deeds, despite his own weaknesses and fears, aware of his power and responsibility but
  who would have been happier if he hadn’t spread himself so thinly in his unwanted multiple role as
  club figurehead, philosopher and manager, and who, despite everything, fought against being used as
  an example. More of a Spiderman, then.
     After all, no Superman would have burst into tears in front of the world’s TV cameras as he did
  after the team won their sixth title in a year, the World Club Championship, against Estudiantes. Or
  admitted straight afterwards, in his first words post-game, that ‘the future looks bleak. To improve on

  this  is  impossible.’  He  had  asked  Tito,  still  on  the  pitch, ‘What  else  are  we  going  to  do  now?’,
  because, having to face the same challenges, Pep could only foresee the problems ahead and didn’t
  think he was strong enough to overcome them all over again. From the pinnacle of the game, the only
  way was down.
     Yet, astonishingly, Pep did continue and did improve the team. Once again, he had proved capable
  of  overcoming  the  odds,  transforming  and  leading  a  group  of  men  into  performing  heroics  on  the

  football  field,  while  at  the  time  shaping  and  staying  true  to  his  own  values  and  philosophy.  He
  achieved the seemingly impossible, superhuman feats, but it took its toll: he may appear superhuman,
  but cut him and he bleeds like the rest of us – and, because of that, what he achieved was all the more
  impressive not despite of but because of those human qualities.
     That is part of Pep’s magic. The public is fascinated by such a seductive mixture: on the one hand
  fragile, even physically, and, on the other, strong in leadership and the sheer force of his personality.
  And his team is precisely that, too: extremely convincing in the way they play, with obvious cultural

  characteristics;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  lacking  physical  stature,  weak, smaller  than  the  average
  footballer – it’s that dichotomy that makes Spiderman Pep and his team so appealing.
     He  earned  his  authority  not  just  through  the  team’s  play  and  their  trophies,  but  through  his
  behaviour  in  the  good  and  the  bad  times,  in  his  achievements  and  his  self-confessed  errors.  The
  cynics said that his exemplary composure and behaviour were merely a front and that we would only
  know the real Pep in defeat. The media loves football because it’s usually black and white, about

  winners and losers. Good and bad. And the Madrid press wanted to believe that Pep was bad, that his
  public  persona  masked  something  altogether  different.  That  tribalism  came  to  the  fore  when
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