Post by Scott on Jun 2, 2006 12:55:47 GMT
From The Guardian:
It was not the money, the tabloid invasion, nor even the language barrier. Luiz Felipe Scolari, the best football manager England never had, turned the job down because of his moustache.
"It's what in the south we call the fio de bigode [fibre of the moustache]," said Ben-Hur Marchiori, a close friend for more than 20 years. "He's a super-ethical guy . . . how could he be two things [Portugal and England manager] at the same time? If he gives his word to one person, it doesn't matter if he's turning up another even bigger opportunity. He's a man of his word."
Scolari had looked like the perfect man for the England job: a straight-talking, no-nonsense, trophy-winning Brazilian with a soft spot for Enya CDs. Then the deal disintegrated. "I am not the coach and I will not be [the coach]," he declared.
"This is how he is," says Jorge Luiz Roth, the historian of Caxias do Sul, a team based 137km from state capital Porto Alegre and the club where Scolari began his playing career in 1973. "He thinks: 'I'm right. I'm certain of it. Full stop.'"
Instead when the World Cup kicks off tomorrow week, Scolari will be focused on taking Portugal to their first cup victory in only their fourth-ever tournament.
The former Brazil manager, who took charge of the Portugal team in 2003, was born into football. Raised on a small ranch in Passo Fundo, a town in the rolling hilltops in the interior of Rio Grande do Sul state, he grew up watching his father Benjamin play football and went on to play in the same position as a sweeper.
He is best known for his simplicity and his work ethic. When in Brazil he lives in an unpretentious, eight-storey apartment block in Canoas with a different branch of his family on each floor. His brother-in-law runs an inconspicuous, one-storey office on his behalf down the road, flanked by video and shoe repair shops, and his favourite meal is said to be pasta served with rocket leaves. Ask anyone in Brazil's south to describe Felipão and the likelihood is they will respond with two words - gente boa - he's a good bloke.
"You know that film Ghost? He's the kind of guy who'll see that film three times and cry in all three. You can't imagine the kindness of this man whilst he's on the pitch. But he's a fantastic guy," says Marchiori, who plays on the left wing for the veteran Gremio team of which Felipão is also part.
This, friends believe, may be part of the reason why he snubbed England. After waking up to find half of Fleet Street camped outside his home and the other half on its way to search out skeletons in the south of Brazil, Scolari pulled the plug.
"He's a tough guy when it comes to defending his players. If the press is pursuing one of his athletes, getting on their case, he'll hit back with all his might. He's always been a coach with a strong attitude towards this kind of thing . . . one that faces up to the press," says Roth.
Finding 20 journalists on the doorstep of his family home, he believes, was almost certainly the last straw. Friends, however, erupt in laughter at the suggestion that Big Phil might have had something to hide from the British press.
A deeply religious father of two, they insist the Brazilian has only ever been involved with one woman - his wife Olga whom he wooed from behind the steering wheel of his white VW Beetle in the small town of Canoas, a suburb of Porto Alegre.
In the macho cowboy state of Rio Grande do Sul that makes him a definite outsider and is perhaps part of the reason that the Portugal coach is affectionately known as "gringo" in these parts. Despite his kindness he is a man not to be crossed. In Canoas, an industrial suburb, he was awarded honorary membership of the civil police, one of only two outsiders ever to receive the decoration, earning the nickname delegado or sergeant.
Members of staff at Caxias do Sul remember a master tactician who shunned boozing sessions with his team-mates to concentrate on his teaching and training commitments. In a cramped changing room inside the 30,000-capacity Caxias Stadium, Roth points to his archive of Scolari photograph dating back 30 years. In each one the stern glare, pale skin and straggly moustaches mark him out from his team-mates. As he flicks through the pages he comes across the original copy of his first contract, dated August 14 1973.
"He was always in the dream team nominated by the local paper. But it wasn't because of his skill, it was about his vitality, his vigour, his strength and leadership and the respect the other players had for him," says Roth.
For more than 20 years in management Scolari has also garnered a reputation for either sorting out wild-card players or axing them. For proof one needs look no further than Jurandir de Andrade, who played alongside him during the 1970s.
At the time Andrade was a promising winger with a deadly left foot and a deep devotion to Brazilian beer. Bent on dragging his team-mate from the brink of alcoholism, Scolari invited him to share a pokey, two-bedroom flat. Three years later he had put an end to the winger's late-night boozing sessions and knocked kilos off his weight.
"Did it work?" jokes a chubby Andrade, now a 54-year-old football coach who helps run a Felipão-backed project in Porto Alegre, which attempts to draw children away from a life of crime.
"Sure it did. We were vice-champion that year in the state championship and runners-up in the Copa do Brasil the year after." That, he says, tipping Portugal to win the World Cup, was just the beginning for Scolari.
"He was born to win," says Osmar Lima, a 57-year-old midfielder who played alongside Scolari at Caxias do Sul during the 1970s. "He's charismatic, the son of a bitch."
With the youth team filing off the pitch into the early evening haze of mosquitoes, Andrade picks up a pen and scribbles a message he wants delivered to his friend before the World Cup starts: "Felipão, you made me a Portugal fan. I am rooting for you even though I'm Brazilian."
He pauses, looks up and then gazes back down at the page, deep in concentration. "You are the man," he writes. "The best coach in the whole world."
It was not the money, the tabloid invasion, nor even the language barrier. Luiz Felipe Scolari, the best football manager England never had, turned the job down because of his moustache.
"It's what in the south we call the fio de bigode [fibre of the moustache]," said Ben-Hur Marchiori, a close friend for more than 20 years. "He's a super-ethical guy . . . how could he be two things [Portugal and England manager] at the same time? If he gives his word to one person, it doesn't matter if he's turning up another even bigger opportunity. He's a man of his word."
Scolari had looked like the perfect man for the England job: a straight-talking, no-nonsense, trophy-winning Brazilian with a soft spot for Enya CDs. Then the deal disintegrated. "I am not the coach and I will not be [the coach]," he declared.
"This is how he is," says Jorge Luiz Roth, the historian of Caxias do Sul, a team based 137km from state capital Porto Alegre and the club where Scolari began his playing career in 1973. "He thinks: 'I'm right. I'm certain of it. Full stop.'"
Instead when the World Cup kicks off tomorrow week, Scolari will be focused on taking Portugal to their first cup victory in only their fourth-ever tournament.
The former Brazil manager, who took charge of the Portugal team in 2003, was born into football. Raised on a small ranch in Passo Fundo, a town in the rolling hilltops in the interior of Rio Grande do Sul state, he grew up watching his father Benjamin play football and went on to play in the same position as a sweeper.
He is best known for his simplicity and his work ethic. When in Brazil he lives in an unpretentious, eight-storey apartment block in Canoas with a different branch of his family on each floor. His brother-in-law runs an inconspicuous, one-storey office on his behalf down the road, flanked by video and shoe repair shops, and his favourite meal is said to be pasta served with rocket leaves. Ask anyone in Brazil's south to describe Felipão and the likelihood is they will respond with two words - gente boa - he's a good bloke.
"You know that film Ghost? He's the kind of guy who'll see that film three times and cry in all three. You can't imagine the kindness of this man whilst he's on the pitch. But he's a fantastic guy," says Marchiori, who plays on the left wing for the veteran Gremio team of which Felipão is also part.
This, friends believe, may be part of the reason why he snubbed England. After waking up to find half of Fleet Street camped outside his home and the other half on its way to search out skeletons in the south of Brazil, Scolari pulled the plug.
"He's a tough guy when it comes to defending his players. If the press is pursuing one of his athletes, getting on their case, he'll hit back with all his might. He's always been a coach with a strong attitude towards this kind of thing . . . one that faces up to the press," says Roth.
Finding 20 journalists on the doorstep of his family home, he believes, was almost certainly the last straw. Friends, however, erupt in laughter at the suggestion that Big Phil might have had something to hide from the British press.
A deeply religious father of two, they insist the Brazilian has only ever been involved with one woman - his wife Olga whom he wooed from behind the steering wheel of his white VW Beetle in the small town of Canoas, a suburb of Porto Alegre.
In the macho cowboy state of Rio Grande do Sul that makes him a definite outsider and is perhaps part of the reason that the Portugal coach is affectionately known as "gringo" in these parts. Despite his kindness he is a man not to be crossed. In Canoas, an industrial suburb, he was awarded honorary membership of the civil police, one of only two outsiders ever to receive the decoration, earning the nickname delegado or sergeant.
Members of staff at Caxias do Sul remember a master tactician who shunned boozing sessions with his team-mates to concentrate on his teaching and training commitments. In a cramped changing room inside the 30,000-capacity Caxias Stadium, Roth points to his archive of Scolari photograph dating back 30 years. In each one the stern glare, pale skin and straggly moustaches mark him out from his team-mates. As he flicks through the pages he comes across the original copy of his first contract, dated August 14 1973.
"He was always in the dream team nominated by the local paper. But it wasn't because of his skill, it was about his vitality, his vigour, his strength and leadership and the respect the other players had for him," says Roth.
For more than 20 years in management Scolari has also garnered a reputation for either sorting out wild-card players or axing them. For proof one needs look no further than Jurandir de Andrade, who played alongside him during the 1970s.
At the time Andrade was a promising winger with a deadly left foot and a deep devotion to Brazilian beer. Bent on dragging his team-mate from the brink of alcoholism, Scolari invited him to share a pokey, two-bedroom flat. Three years later he had put an end to the winger's late-night boozing sessions and knocked kilos off his weight.
"Did it work?" jokes a chubby Andrade, now a 54-year-old football coach who helps run a Felipão-backed project in Porto Alegre, which attempts to draw children away from a life of crime.
"Sure it did. We were vice-champion that year in the state championship and runners-up in the Copa do Brasil the year after." That, he says, tipping Portugal to win the World Cup, was just the beginning for Scolari.
"He was born to win," says Osmar Lima, a 57-year-old midfielder who played alongside Scolari at Caxias do Sul during the 1970s. "He's charismatic, the son of a bitch."
With the youth team filing off the pitch into the early evening haze of mosquitoes, Andrade picks up a pen and scribbles a message he wants delivered to his friend before the World Cup starts: "Felipão, you made me a Portugal fan. I am rooting for you even though I'm Brazilian."
He pauses, looks up and then gazes back down at the page, deep in concentration. "You are the man," he writes. "The best coach in the whole world."
