gerbie

My football heroes (10), Franco Baresi

I wasn’t really aware of him until the Dutch stars moved to Milan. Obviously I knew his name. Knew he played for Milan and Italy, but as a young boy Spanish and English football are much more exciting than Italian football. Spanish teams attack, English teams fight, Italian teams defend. The world is simple at age 12, especially when the brilliant Brazilian team gets knocked out of the World Cup by Italy.

5 years later I am getting older, see more nuances and got to see the art of the game. Apart from that I moved from winger via central midfield to sweeper in those 5 years myself. This means that I was playing the same position as Baresi. There were more similarities: I wore the same shirt as him, as my club played in red and black since 90 years as well and I also liked to be the start of the attack, not just another defender who stopped the opposition.

When Gullit, Van Basten and Rijkaard started at Milan, the team suddenly got fashionable. This meant that every week Dutch television showed their matches in a time when foreign football was still exotic and European matches were still a highlight once every few Wednesdays. The Milan team played a great attacking game, something very un-Italian, the influence of the Dutch players was immediately visible. Yet however important the Dutch threesome were, the true leader of the team was their number six. The playmaker coming from his own defence. The character with his old face, yet such a young spirit.

Everything was right about him. His rushes from behind were great to watch and always a threat for the opposition. His defence was up to scratch. Italian efficiency, yet never the hateful violence like Vierchowod and Bergomi. He looked like a forty year old veteran, yet he was still in his twenties. He was the leader of the team, yet never aspired the media attention and stardom several of his team mates (Gullit, Donadoni, Evani) loved. His durability at Milan, in a time when 4 years at the same club could get you a memorial and 10 years meant you had the stands named after you.

I tried to play like Baresi at my level. By the time I entered the senior ranks several managers didn’t dare play me at sweeper though. Why play a 19 year old there, even if he should play there, if you can put a 30 year old veteran at that position. I was back up front or in midfield. At 21 I played several matches at sweeper again, played them well even. We beat some well paid amateurs from Germany in a friendly; we avoided relegation with me leading the defence. Yet it lasted until age 24 before I had a regular spot there. I played my best season. We barely missed promotion, I was the only one to play every single match that season and I felt at ease in a team that appreciated my style of play.

Summer 1996 I worked in Italy. I saw Milan play bad against Verona in their first league match of the season. It was the match everyone remembered for the goal Weah scored picking up the ball in his own box and crossing the whole field. I was happy to see my first ever Italian match, even happier that it had been such a memorable one, but sad my hero wasn’t on the pitch. I bought an illegal replica shirt outside the stadium for 20.000 lire. Up until then everyone at my club recognised me for wearing old T-shirts and ugly sweaters. I was surrounded with Feyenoord, Ajax and several English shirts twice every week. I didn’t do adoration. Yet I bought this Baresi shirt and wore it several times as well. He retired a year later and the club gave him a goodbye that will not easily be forgotten. The first football player to have his shirt retired, nobody at Milan will ever wear his number 6 anymore.

The only player I really admired and tried to emulate retired in 1997, after 18 years of top football for his club and his country. Many will remember him for the missed penalty kick against Brazil in the world cup final; I will remember him for being the greatest sweeper of my time.

My Football Heroes: Felix Magath (8)

Growing up near the German border in the days before cable television meant watching German Bundesliga every Saturday at 6 o’clock. This is how I learned to speak German. Football players from Germany are usually not the ones that do attract large crowds. For every Netzer and Beckenbauer there are dozens of Briegels, Matthaeuses and Kahns. And I was too young to enjoy those two. In his final playing days though, Beckenbauer ended up at Hamburg, where the local HSV was a major European force guided by Ernst Happel.

Playmaker of that team was an old fashioned number 10. Pass the ball to him and you’d know in advance that he’d do something good with it. Nowadays players like this hardly exist anymore, as their walking ratio was usually way below average. Yet they decided how the team played, they directed the game, they were the heart of the team as opposed the lungs like many midfield player in these days.

The number 10 of HSV was at his best in the early eighties. With Kaltz as wing defender who attacked as well, Beckenbauer as central defender, Stein in goal and Horst Hrubesh as a typical German centre forward who couldn’t play, but did score. Felix Magath was the brain of that team tough. His passes were magnificent, his ability to read the game unequalled in those days. In 1983 he scored the only goal in the European Cup Final in Athens, thus leading his team to a 1-0 victory over Juventus.



In the German team he was never as big as he was with HSV. Off course he managed to win a lot of caps, yet stars from other clubs didn’t accept him, like everyone up north seemed to do. In the World Cup final of 1986 he was on the pitch, when the German coach decided to change things around. When he saw the sign with number 10, he knew it was time to go. Afterwards in an interview he won me over for ever: “I saw the sign with number 10 so I looked at Maradona. When he didn’t move, I knew it had to me who had to leave the pitch.” Excuse me German friends, but you are not known for your sense of humour. Magath does have one though, which is even more admirable when you think of the moment: just after losing a world cup final.

Magath retired and became a football manager. Again he managed to become very good. He turned things around at every club he managed. This week he signed to become the next manager at Bayern Munchen. Every hero has the right to one mistake…

My football Heroes (6), Stanley Menzo

It was Cruijff who told him to go out and make mistakes. He had played a handful of games for Ajax before, sat on the bench for a while, was on loan at Haarlem and back on the bench. Then Cruijff took over at Ajax and decided that Menzo was his man in goal from then on. The big master needed a goalie that could play like a sweeper, apart from stopping the occasional ball with his hands. The rules changed, a pass back at the goalie couldn't be picked up anymore. A goalie needed to be a good football player as well. Ajax plays the game on the opposition's half, there is a big gap between defenders and the keeper.

Menzo made mistakes in his early days in goal, but Cruijff was satisfied with his new goalie. The whole country made fun of him, but he stayed in goal and became better. He was the first black keeper at top level. The Netherlands always have had their share of black players. Small and fast strikers like Roy and Vanenburg, strong and big athletes who could have excelled in any sport like Rijkaard and Gullit. But Menzo was the first goalie who made it. After his initial problems he soon turned out to be a star in goal. Next to that he did play as an extra sweeper and showed his skill. His team mates said that he could have been a pro as a player as well, second division at least.



If you're good and a regular at Ajax, you automatically end up in the national team. The thing is, with goalkeepers, a change doesn't happen very soon. So even though then national goalie Van Breukelen had a bad spell, he remained in goal. Menzo was the third goalie on big tournaments but didn't get a break until Van Breukelen retired from international play.

Menzo was not a big success in the national team. At Ajax he sometimes made huge mistakes, but the strikers usually made up for that. In the national team he was the insecure youngster from a few years ago again, even though he had already won a European cup. It was Advocaat who slashed him and brought Ed de Goey. Not as brilliant, but also not as accident prone. Soon afterwards he made some terrible mistakes at Ajax as well; especially Auxerre will be forever on his mind. The new coach Van Gaal decided a young tall goalkeeper was better than him and the career of Van der Sar started.

Menzo was transferred to PSV, rivals in the Netherlands, but on the look for an experienced international man in goal. Again he was confronted with Advocaat. Again the little bold coach put him on the bench. His career seemed filled with bad luck. Wherever he played, supporters considered it funny to throw banana's on the pitch. He lost a friend, the second goalie of Ajax, in the air crash disaster of Paramaribo. He decided to become a pilot. Face the facts. He left PSV for Belgium and became a star there, gaining a transfer to Bordeaux. At the end of his career he went back to Ajax, to become the experienced bencher. An injury stopped him from playing again at his favourite club. We would never again see the goalie with the bright coloured shirts. Wrong, he started at amateur level and gained the national Amateur championship with AGOVV. There he took over as a coach. From a young inexperienced boy under Cruijff, who ran towards any ball between the defence and the midfield circle, to a quiet and experienced pro who leads a team of semi-pro wannabes. Life can be strange sometimes.

Football heroes (4) - Rob de Wit

I remember the exact moment I predicted him a great future. We were on our way to the football training, just past the lemonade factory, a bit more to go, three of us on a bike. We were discussing the Dutch national team. Because of an injury they called Rob de Wit, left winger of the under 21 team who were still trying to qualify for some major tournament themselves. I remember my exact words: Should he come up as a substitute, the under-21 will never see him again.

Only a year before he was transferred from his hometown Utrecht to Ajax, where he had to become the next Jesper Olsen. His first season wasn't brilliant, but once in a while he showed that he had all skill to become a big star. At Ajax he was one of three young players from Utrecht, together with Van Basten and Vanenburg.

Rob de Wit did come up as a substitute that evening. Hungary away, they had already qualified for Mexico '86, the Dutch needed a win desperately, though in the first half did not create one single opportunity. A creative winger was urgently needed. De Wit came up, tried a few things and halfway in the second half made the goal that to me is still the best goal I have ever seen anybody make in an Orange shirt. Remember, I have seen Van Basten score against the Soviet Union in the euro '88 final. De Wit got the ball on the left wing, starts a dribble coming in from wide. With one great movement he crossed through the whole defence, in between two defenders, entering the box with the ball glued to his left foot. Alone before the goalie he threatens to shoot, fooling the goalie, waiting for the goalie to fall and then chips the ball over him into the net. 0-1 and the Dutch won the game.

They qualified for a play off against Belgium. Playing with ten men they lost 1-0 in Brussels and needed a win at home. Still our national coach, the famous Beenhakker, is too chicken to play De Wit from the start. At half time he comes up, has an assist and scores himself, the Dutch are 2-0 up. Single handedly he makes the Dutch team go to the World Cup in Mexico. Remember this is a team that already has Koeman, Rijkaard, Van 't Schip, Vanenburg, Gullit, Kieft and even Van Basten on it. They needed the brutal little winger from Utrecht to make it back to the world cup, where the real greats belong. Another coaching mistake gave the Belgians an away goal a few minutes before time. They qualify on the away goals rule and play their best tournament ever, 4th. The Dutch sit and watch at home.

Not Rob de Wit though. Summer 1986 during a game of tennis on his holiday in Spain he felt not well. He sits down and someone gets him a doctor. He had had a brain hemorrhage. Somehow he manages to remain optimistic. After recovering he wants to come back on the pitch. He gets as far as training with the group for a short while. Something goes wrong in the after treatment and he worsens again. Another year later he gets a farewell in the Meer, a full crowd is in tears as he staggers to the midfield circle.

In 1988 the Dutch win their biggest title. In the Euro 1988 tournament they beat the hosts in the semi final and then beat the Soviet union, 14 years after they lost their first final in the same stadium. They played without a left winger. They didn't have a real winger available. Started with Van 't Schip, a right winger on left, then played Koeman, a left midfield player out of position. Van Basten became a world star during that tournament, Rijkaard was the big star, Gullit was already a major hero. Rob de Wit should have been in that team.



A decade later he lives in a small apartment in Utrecht, owns a sandwich shop. He plays football once a week with a group of friends indoors. He can't walk properly, so he is the goalie. On the other side the goalie is one of the very few survivors of the Suriname air crash a few years before. If you hear him talk, you really need to concentrate to understand what he is saying, his face looks different, time has not helped him in anyway. His son is at an age now that he starts asking questions. Apparently he does have some video material. For me that one goal would be enough. Just sit in front of the television for a whole day play that goal, rewind it and replay it. Rewind and replay it. See the defence being stunned over and over again. See him chip the ball and run away, his look as amazed as most of us at home. Watch that one goal over and over. Dream of what could have been.

De Kuip Rotterdam, 1983. A small fragile left winger receives the ball in midfield and starts a dribble. Even then, wingers were getting rare, so the crowd sits up straight to see what will happen. Not in delighted anticipation, as the winger plays in blue, against their home team, Feyenoord. He chooses the path in between two players, of which one tries to tackle him. Him, not the ball, but he had anticipated this move and easily slides past that first tackle. A defender awaits him. Big, wide defender. Fearless. He'll show the little boy what real men do with boys. At least that's what he thinks. He is not fast enough, still tries to kick the cheeky little sod. He misses.

It is a rainy afternoon, the pitch resembles a recently ploughed field as much as a football field. The midfielder is still chasing the winger and decides that brutal force is necessary. Though he feels the hit, he manages to stand up, straight is not possible. The last defender thinks he can take advantage of the sudden imbalance of the striker, but is also too late. The red card rule for fouling someone with a clear path to the goal hadn't been introduced yet, so he becomes the fourth Feyenoord player to try to foul my hero. None of them had a chance of even reaching the ball, none of them manage to get him down either. Still, the last move made it complicated for him to get to the ball before Joop Hiele, Dutch national goalie is there. Hiele is nearing the ball at full pace, but surprisingly is beaten as well. Jesper Olsen is past him, a bit too far to the left, heading for the corner and makes the difficult turn. He scores for Ajax.

The game ends in 2-2, the goal will forever be in my memory. I was 13, sat in front of the television that night and wanted to be a winger, just like Olsen. Ajax had a talent for spotting young Danish players in those days, they all had skill, they all had the flair that Ajax players need and adapted soon to the Dutch life, speaking the language within a few months, soon even better than most local players who never learned to speak anything but the local Amsterdam dialect. A year later Olsen leads Ajax to one of the best victories over their arch rivals Feyenoord. A young Van Basten scored three times against the Rotterdam team, with Johan Cruyff, trying to take revenge on the Amsterdam club that didn't want him anymore. However, the leader of the team that beat Feyenoord 8-2 was Jesper Olsen.

Soon after he left for Manchester united, a childhood dream come true. He played there for a few seasons, though never left the impression he did in Amsterdam. Manchester had to be my favourite English team for a while. Until Olsen retired that was.



The world will always remember Olsen as the man who brought the downfall to the golden generation of Danish players on their first world championship participation, Mexico 1986. He passed back to their goalie, but hadn't seen Butragueno, who scored the first of his four goals en route to a 6-1 trashing in the eighth finals. My memory of that tournament is a different one. In the first two matches of the group stage, both Germany and Denmark had won, against Uruguay and some other team I can't remember. The last match was not important, as both of them had qualified for the knock out phase anyway. Still the Danes were in great shape and wanted the world to know. They got a penalty kick and Olsen, who I can't remember taking any penalties at Ajax nor Manchester, picked up the ball. The German goalie Harald "Toni" Schumacher was waiting for him. One of the best goalies in the world. Olsen sends him to the right corner and puts the ball terribly slow into the open left corner. In my mind the ball went so slow, it never even reached the net. Had Schumacher realised this he could have stood up from his corner and still stop the ball. He didn't obviously, Jesper knew this would happen. One of the best penalties I have seen in my life.