Gunning for Greatness: My Life: With an introduction by Jose Mourinho Page 14

  When referee Helmut Fleischer finally blew his whistle after four minutes of stoppage time, I didn’t know what to do at first. On both sides of me I just saw blurs of teammates in green and white shirts, dancing, leaping, throwing themselves into each other’s arms. Group hugs everywhere. I was briefly overwhelmed because I didn’t know who to embrace first. Should I leap at Tim? Or run over to Thomas Schaaf? Or simply skip down the pitch? As these thoughts spun in my mind, Torsten Frings came racing over and threw himself at me. He put me in a headlock, shouted something and I just shouted something with him. Then I ran to Diego and nudged him ecstatically around the pitch. I was on autopilot. My arms were twirling in the air. My legs were doing as they pleased. Sometimes they ran, sometimes they jumped. And I just went along with it.

  You can’t put these feelings of happiness into words. You run to the left, you run to the right. From everywhere, camera flashes flare in the night. You don’t know where to look. The spectators in the stands are taking pictures. You fall into each other’s arms, but you can’t be sure which teammates you’ve already congratulated and which you haven’t.

  When the golden confetti from the cannons fell on us that night, I loved feeling it in my hair and sticking to my skin. Today I wanted it, unlike in Istanbul. This time I’d deserved it. I enjoyed the dinner in the Hotel Maritim’s banqueting suite too. This time there weren’t any problems with my taste buds.

  As we ate and celebrated, Diego and I must have discussed the goal at least ten times. ‘You saw it so brilliantly,’ I told him. And he replied, ‘The Leverkusen boys were marking the whole time. But at that moment they gave me a little room for manoeuvre.’

  I told Diego that I’d miss him. And I thanked him for everything he’d taught me in the two years we’d been together at Bremen. Then Klaus Allofs gave him a corner flag, which Diego had celebrated and danced around so often in the Weser stadium. ‘Best of luck at Juventus. Maybe you’ll win a cup there too,’ he said, laughing. And Diego replied, ‘Thanks for three wonderful years!’

  After that evening the media suddenly hailed me as the ‘new king’, or at least that’s what Bild wrote. Our manager Klaus Allofs praised me: ‘In Istanbul the burden on him was still too great. It was his first major final. This time, beside Diego, it was much better. We know what a talent we have in Mesut.’ And Wolfgang Overath, one of the 1974 World Cup-winning squad, said in Welt am Sonntag of the situation at Bremen:

  In Özil, however, they’ve found a young player who’s quickly managed to make it right to the top. Within a very short time he’s become an incredibly important player in this side. He has a huge talent and now has the opportunity to play a similar role to Diego’s. Don’t forget that when Diego came to Bremen from Porto in 2006, barely anybody knew who he was. It was only with Werder that he developed into an outstanding player. Özil can do the same.

  11

  My move to Real

  Knowing when to think of yourself

  After a summer full of discussion about whether I was good enough to be a leading player and ready to fill Diego’s boots, the first post-Diego season began with a 3–2 defeat against Eintracht Frankfurt. At home in front of our own fans – hardly the ideal start to a new era. I scored a penalty from a foul, but that didn’t alter the result.

  In the second game against Bayern Munich I scored again, this time in open play, but after Mario Gómez scored the match ended in a draw. This point against the record-holders did us good. For from then on we had an incredible run, not losing a single game between 15 August and 11 December. We were undefeated fourteen times in the league, as well as notching up four victories and one draw in the Europa League. We were unstoppable in the cup too.

  Our goalie, Tim Wiese, even went 619 minutes and 39 seconds without letting in a goal. We had all decided to play a tighter defensive game than in the previous season. Although we’d scored 64 goals, putting us third behind Wolfsburg and Bayern, the inexplicable 50 goals we’d conceded had ruined much of our good play. Which is why we kept telling ourselves, ‘We’re going to defend our goal with whatever it takes.’

  We were better organised and played with more discipline. Taking fewer risks, we were more effective for it. Our focus was on points rather than any prizes for beauty. All the same we did manage the occasional dream game. On 21 November 2009 we thrashed Freiburg 6–0. I set up four of the goals and scored one myself. ‘If I weren’t the opposition manager,’ Robin Dutt admitted afterwards, ‘I’d have applauded.’

  There was effusive praise from the media. Tagesspiegel described me as ‘probably the most talented of Schaaf’s magical apprentices’. The Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung insisted that, thanks to me, ‘Bremen’s former midfield star, Diego, was now forgotten.’ And Sport Bild ranked me amongst the 18 top players in the league.

  In the summer Klaus Allofs had lured Marko Marin to Bremen from Gladbach. He, Aaron Hunt and I worked pretty well together – or at least that’s what the press kept saying. With a nod to Krasimir Balakov, Fredi Bobic and Giovane Élber, the ‘magic triangle’ who’d played breathtaking combination football at VfB Stuttgart in the 1990s, we were hailed as the ‘new magic triangle’. Kicker even once got us all around a table to do an interview together, in which Marin explained our teamwork: ‘All three of us are young, almost the same age. We’re all good footballers. This makes teamwork easier. Playing with Mesut and Aaron, it’s not hard to shine. It’s really difficult for our opponents to adapt to our game. We keep changing position. Sometimes Mesut comes through the middle, sometimes down the left, then I change sides.’ Aaron Hunt added that in the end each of us knows ‘what the others are planning. Our moves are in harmony. That’s all. We have total freedom, we’re allowed to change places and we do so.’

  Interviews like this are great fun. And of course you feel flattered when someone comes up with a new superlative for you in the paper. It’s good for the soul. It gives you confidence. All the same, I care little for all the hype written about me. The real, original magic triangle didn’t mean much to me as I was only seven or eight years old when Balakov, Bobic and Élber were at their peak.

  Besides, you don’t play football just to read inventive descriptions of yourself in the paper the following day. Especially when you’re aware just how quickly a magic triangle can lose its magic. Whether I’m called ‘The Wizard of Oz’ or ‘the Diva with the Lumpen Foot’, I mustn’t let it affect me.

  I did, however, take note when Diego sang my praises from Italy: ‘Since I left he’s had to take on more responsibility. Which he’s done impressively. Mesut’s now the most important player at Bremen. And he’s going to get even better – in my opinion he’s going to become a truly great player. Besides his class he’s got the intelligence necessary to deal with all the hype too.’

  I was also pleased that Klaus Allofs didn’t let himself get caught up in the media hysteria either. Whenever journalists intercepted him after victories, asking him to rave about our performance, he said – or at least this is what I once heard in the mixed zone – ‘Write what you like. I’m not going to comment.’ Thomas Schaaf was equally defensive; the most he would say was, ‘Mesut played brilliantly for us last season as well. It’s not a surprise for us. Mesut learned a lot in Diego’s shadow. And because the master’s no longer here, we can see Mesut in a better light.’

  Behind the scenes he remained level-headed and quite critical. He didn’t like my heading. He also thought that I didn’t have the right sense of when I should dribble and when it would be better to play the ball. ‘That comes with experience,’ he said in training, when he’d keep stopping the play if he thought I’d made another wrong decision. ‘You’re still lacking the experience.’

  After the roll we’d been on in the first half of the season, from the middle of December things came to a halt. Schalke, Hamburg, Frankfurt, Bayern and Gladbach all beat us, sending Bremen to sixth place in the table. At probably any other club in the world, panic would have broken out, with talk
of sacking the manager or other such measures. At Bremen things just went on as normal. And because we lost only one of the next 14 games, against Dortmund, we ended up a respectable third in the Bundesliga.

  We also reached the German Cup final in Berlin again, where our opponents were Bayern Munich.

  Thomas Schaaf had come up with some special tactics for the evening. This was his ninth final in Berlin, four times as a player and five as manager. ‘Every approach, every formation has its own risks,’ he admitted. But because he’d been right so often we of course trusted his idea.

  He left Marko Marin on the bench, opting instead for the more defensive Tim Borowski. I was moved up beside Claudio Pizarro as the second striker.

  But I didn’t get along at all well up front. I need to be able to work the ball ahead of me, organise the play for the attack. Fathom where there are spaces and play into gaps. Up front I couldn’t express myself properly and, more importantly, couldn’t set it up for Claudio. In truth, this tactic took both of us completely out of the game. At half-time Schaaf put an end to the experiment.

  After eight minutes we had a threefold chance, but neither Pizarro, Torsten Frings nor Aaron Hunt could convert it. After that Bayern was really the only team in the game and they gave us a total lesson in football. Arjen Robben gave them the lead from the penalty spot after a handball by Per Mertesacker. Ivica Olić made it 2–0. Then Franck Ribéry and Bastian Schweinsteiger both scored. In the meantime Torsten Frings had been sent off after a second foul.

  In 1972 Kaiserslauten had lost 5–0 in the Cup final against Schalke. Now, almost 40 years later, we were given an equally traumatic thumping. My performance that evening was poor. There’s no use trying to whitewash it, even if it was partly down to the unusual position I played in.

  Afterwards Thomas Schaaf thought that my weak performance was also down to the fact that since November 2009 my future at Bremen had been the subject of public discussion. ‘As a player you’ve got to come to terms with the fact that you’re being confronted with it all the time.’

  A transfer had always been a distinct possibility. As 2009 came to a close the British media claimed that Arsène Wenger had earmarked me as a reinforcement if Cesc Fàbregas moved from Arsenal to Barcelona.

  I did in fact have my first contact with Wenger at the time. We spoke on the phone. He called me and it was a good conversation. Wenger has a very nice way of talking to people. His voice is calm and he chooses his words carefully. He was also incredibly well informed about how I was doing at Bremen.

  ‘You’ve developed really well,’ he said. ‘But now it’s time for you to take the next step. In London I can help you reach that stage.’

  He asked me if I’d ever been to the city; I told him no. Wenger speaks fluent German, which made our conversation easier. After 20 minutes he said goodbye. ‘It was lovely to talk to you. Let’s stay in contact and see what the future brings.’

  I’ve no idea how the press got wind of the fact that Arsenal were interested in me. But it really angered me, because after the row over my move from Schalke we’d resolved to be very cautious about future discussions with any clubs that were interested in me.

  At the time it wasn’t at all certain that I would be leaving Bremen. All my father, my agent and I had agreed was that we wouldn’t sign any renewal to my contract with Bremen until we’d seen how the season and perhaps the ensuing World Cup panned out. After all, the contract I had with Werder ran until 2011. Why should we extend this now and rule out other career options for me?

  As a footballer your career has a time limit. Your best years constitute a much shorter period than in other careers. Whereas normal workers have 20, 30 or 40 years to develop, we professional footballers have to realise our maximum potential in a time frame of 15 years at most.

  We can’t have wild stabs at things, experimenting as we please. A wrong change of clubs, an ill-considered signature can break your career. Likewise if you’re too hesitant about taking the next step. Real Madrid and Barcelona don’t come knocking a hundred times, making you new offers year in, year out. At some point they’ve got a gap in the squad and they choose you to fill it. If you fail to make use of the opportunity the door can stay closed for the next few years because some other top-flight player will take this free place.

  I felt completely happy at Bremen and enjoyed playing there. But I also realised that I was slowly outgrowing the club. That my development might come to an end if I kept playing there for another two, three or four years. That’s why we didn’t immediately renew the contract in spite of Bremen’s offer. It had nothing to do with ingratitude. It was just business.

  On the pitch you have to think as a team, but when it comes to sorting out contracts and planning your career, it’s just about you. As long as you’re helping a team win titles and you’re an important piece of the manager’s puzzle, the club will do anything for you. But once the club management gets the feeling that there are better players out there, those lovely club bosses become hard-nosed decision-makers. Then the clubs weed you out, despite your contract – and they’re no longer interested in what you did in the past.

  Bastian Schweinsteiger was forced to learn this lesson last summer. After the 2014 World Cup his ex-manager at Bayern, Louis van Gaal, really wanted him. But when José Mourinho took over at Manchester United a year later, he had a different view of the game – that didn’t include Schweinsteiger.

  We just wanted to keep all options open. No more and no less. A perfectly legitimate approach, I think. But I wasn’t pleased when, in December, Sport Bild printed a story about the threat of players being sold off in the Bundesliga and gave me a 70 per cent chance of ‘quitting’. I was particularly annoyed at the choice of words. You quit a club when you’re unhappy. When you want to get away. When you have insurmountable differences. As had been the case with me at Schalke. There it would have been justified to talk of quitting. I just wanted to get away from Slomka and Müller. But not at Bremen. Why should anyone quit a club where they are so challenged and supported? Where they’ve made such great strides in their career? Where they’ve sensed such great trust from morning till night? There was the likelihood of a move, but in no way was it a done deal. There had been preliminary, non-binding talks. Deliberations that had nothing to do with ideas of fleeing the club. From then on, of course, Klaus Allofs too faced increasing questions about the rumours and my possible move. ‘We’re convinced that Mesut will continue his career at Werder,’ he kept affirming publicly.

  In his highly impressive autobiography, I Am Zlatan Ibrahimović, the Swedish superstar comments on transfers, ‘There’s one game on the pitch. And another on the transfer market. I like them both and I’ve got all manner of tricks up my sleeve. I know when to keep quiet and I know when I have to fight.’

  I want to play football and win titles. That’s my job. That’s what I’m concentrating on. For all the rest I’ve got an agent I coordinate with.

  When I was publicly taken to pieces by Schalke, we tried to counteract the bad publicity. We even invited a journalist, Florian Scholz, the long-time chief reporter of Sport Bild, into our home to show him where I came from. And that my family and I were far from living it up. That we weren’t money-grabbers, out of touch or swimming in cash. It was a desperate attempt thought up by my agent and my father to combat the image of my being greedy.

  Otherwise I want to have as little as possible to do with games on the transfer market. In truth you can do more harm than good. To be honest, what is the right way of dealing with transfer rumours? If you walk past reporters without a word and fail to answer their speculative questions, the papers the next day will say that a denial sounds like anything but.

  On the other hand you can’t always tell the truth because negotiations always take place in strict confidence and under a cloak of secrecy. What would Arsène Wenger have thought, for example, if I had blithely told everyone in Bremen about his phone call? He would probably have regarded it as a
breach of confidence and never contacted me again.

  Or perhaps I should lie? Would that be better?

  It’s always easy to sneer when you’re an outsider. But not when you’re in the thick of things. Every day you have to justify yourself to the countless journalists who stick to you. We professional footballers are expected to give them information. But why should we? Where is it written down that we have to provide answers? When journalists switch from one newspaper to another, I bet they don’t tell their colleagues until the negotiations are over. It’s probably like that in every business and with every change of job. Just not with footballers.

  When Franck Ribéry was courted by Real Madrid the papers said I’d be a logical replacement for FC Bayern if the Frenchman moved to Spain. The transfer rumours continued, and became really heated during and after the 2010 World Cup in South Africa.

  We arrived at the competition as the second youngest German squad since 1934, with five players in their first tournament: Manuel Neuer, Holger Badstuber, Sami Khedira, Thomas Müller and me. Michael Ballack, who ought to have been captaining the squad, was ruled out with an injury following a foul by Kevin-Prince Boateng. This was much to my disappointment, because Ballack had always been my great advocate. As I learned, he’d often spoken highly of me to Jogi Löw and his training team. To lose such an experienced player for the World Cup, and one so well disposed towards me, was a real shock. Although in retrospect it might have been a blessing in disguise for both the team and me because it meant we couldn’t hide our young players behind anyone or pass the buck. We had to prove our courage. All of a sudden it wasn’t just the German media and fans watching us, but the whole world.