Gunning for Greatness: My Life: With an introduction by Jose Mourinho Page 9

  I liked the way Hecking talked. These weren’t half-hearted promises, but concrete statements. All the same, for a long time I was leaning towards Stuttgart just because of Baştürk. I felt it would do me good to know I had a back-up in him. That he’d give me a feeling of home, when I was so far away from my family.

  Armin Veh fought for me publicly, too, by letting everyone know his high opinion of me: ‘He’s one of the biggest talents in Germany and so far advanced for his age. But I mustn’t praise Özil too much or other clubs will start showing an interest in him.’ Martin Kind, the boss of 96, also confirmed publicly that Hannover were trying to sign me. ‘Yes, we’re interested. We’ve been talking about it.’

  It felt good to read and hear these words. Slowly I started to regain some confidence. As there was clearly some interest in me I didn’t have to fret about my career. There would be some solution. The longer the discussions continued in January, the less frustrated I felt. The more I found myself slipping back into the role of a professional.

  While I prepared myself mentally for a move to Stuttgart, Werder Bremen came knocking out of the blue. At the time they were a top club in German football.

  In 2004 Bremen had won the double, that’s to say both the Bundesliga and the German Cup. This was many years before the Brazilian striker Ailton hit the jungle in the German version of I’m a Celebrity. With 28 goals he was the leading goal-scorer above Bayern’s Roy Makaay. Bremen was a team that, in the three-and-a-half years that followed their double success, would also go on to beat opponents like Ajax and Chelsea, while in the Champions League they even took Barcelona to the brink of defeat in September 2006, thwarted only by an eighty-ninth-minute equaliser from Lionel Messi.

  Werder played exciting football with a clear plan. Week in, week out, the club showcased fun football, their only flaw being that they were sometimes a bit naïve in defence. But they played a direct, purposeful and elegant game, and at great speed too. Watching Werder was sheer pleasure.

  Whenever the then manager Klaus Allofs was interviewed, it went without saying that he’d be asked if Werder Bremen wanted to be champions. And it went without saying that his answer was, ‘Yes, we’re aiming for the title.’ If a Bremen player said, ‘We can compete on equal terms with Chelsea and Barcelona,’ nobody was surprised and it wasn’t regarded as arrogance. It simply reflected their realistic aspirations.

  When Werder’s playmaker, Johan Micoud, went to Bordeaux after almost four years at the club, the Bremen team didn’t fall apart. Instead they signed the 21-year-old Brazilian Diego Ribas da Cunha from FC Porto. His career had stalled at Porto; he’d had a falling out with coach Co Adriaanse and was banished to the stands. His career in the national side suffered too. After his debut for Brazil under Carlos Alberto Parreira, Diego played until the Copa América in 2004, but then wasn’t considered for any World Cup qualifiers, nor for the Confed-Cup and then not for the 2006 World Cup itself in Germany.

  But no sooner did he arrive at Werder than things started to go well again. Thanks to the support he got from Thomas Schaaf and managing director Klaus Allofs he also managed to regain his place in the Brazilian side. All these things were obviously important criteria for me. If Thomas Schaaf could bring Diego back to form after his problems at Porto and turn him back into an international player, why shouldn’t he be able to do the same with me?

  When I later sat down with Thomas Schaaf he explained his idea of football. We met at the Jürgenshof, one of Bremen’s most traditional pubs – as Klaus Allofs, who was also there, told me. The half-timbered building was only 15 minutes away from Bremen’s stadium. We had our discussion in a private room – I think it was called the ‘Friesenstube’. Full of excitement, I spent the whole time clutching my glass without taking a sip.

  This meeting was very different from the discussions I’d had with Norbert Elgert. Back when I was making my move from Rot-Weiss Essen to Schalke, there was no time pressure; I was still a youth player. But now the clock was ticking and we had to come to an agreement that would give some direction to the future of my career. Besides, I was sitting here with a championship-winning manager and director. Between them, Allofs and Schaaf in their playing and management careers had won eight European titles, four Bundesliga titles, eight German Cups and one European Cup-Winners’ Cup. An impressive collection. So I listened to the two men in awe and admiration.

  I already knew, of course, that Bremen played the long ball and combination passes. I’d seen it a dozen times on television. But now my potential new manager explained the Schaaf principle in a few clear sentences: ‘I want the team to be pro-active. We don’t react to the opposition. They react to us. We set the tempo. I want us to play with fast and tight combinations, yet remain focused on getting the results.’

  ‘Tim Borowski has progressed so far with us,’ Schaaf continued, ‘that Munich’s going to buy him off us this summer. Miro Klose, too, took great strides here in Bremen. We helped him become the leading goal-scorer in the Bundesliga and German Footballer of the Year. So we know exactly how to nurture young players.’

  We also discussed my problems at Schalke and my image in the wake of the smear campaign against me. ‘I’m not interested in what’s in the papers,’ Schaaf said, before giving me his unequivocal assurance: ‘If you come here to make trouble, we’ll have problems. If you come here to play football, we’ll have a lot of fun together.’

  His expression was serious and purposeful. After a brief pause, he continued, ‘I like exceptional players. I like people with distinctive, special personalities. If you send eleven carbon copies onto the pitch you’re never going to have any success. I expect something specific from each of my players.’ Then he explained, ‘I value Per Mertesacker’s calmness and lucidity. I love Torsten Frings’s wild determination. From Naldo I want the power of his tackles. And I want your lightness of touch, your nimble foot, your dream passes.’

  At the end Klaus Allofs reinforced what he and Schaaf had already said: ‘You’ve got a great future ahead of you. Let us help you develop this. We want you to progress with us. We’ll give you all the help, and especially all the time, you need for this.’

  After the conversation with Allofs and Schaaf I was very keen on Werder. All the same I rang Sebastian Boenisch. My former teammate had already been with Bremen for six months. Although he’d missed lots of games since October because of a knee problem, he raved about Werder. Just like Baştürk in Stuttgart, he became an important advocate for the club.

  It didn’t take long for me to realise what I wanted – to go to Bremen! I wanted to join Thomas Schaaf and finally leave the Schalke episode behind.

  On 30 January Schalke 04, still officially my employers, were playing Wolfsburg in the German Cup. Until a few seconds before the final whistle we were leading thanks to a goal from Lövenkrands. But in the last play of the game Wolfsburg equalised. From a Marcelinho corner Karimov scored to make it 1–1. There were no more goals in extra time so it went to penalties. Everyone scored except for Mladen Krstajić. Schalke were out.

  Just before 11 p.m., when the team were on their way back, Andreas Müller’s mobile rang. It was Klaus Allofs, telling him that he wanted to sign me for Bremen. Obviously I don’t know the exact content of the conversation between the two club bosses. All I know is that my name appeared on the transfer list the following day. Alphabetically I was in-between Sanibal Orahovac, a centre-forward from Karlsruher SC, and Ðorde Pantić, a goalkeeper from TuS Koblenz.

  That same day I signed my release from Schalke. There were no goodbyes. No presents. No flowers. No thanks. Nothing! In a short text message I let both Altıntop twins know that I’d signed for Bremen and was now gone. That was it. After 43 appearances, one goal and five assists. I’d worn the blue-and-white jersey for 37 hours.

  In all honesty I wasn’t sad that they didn’t give me a send-off. It wouldn’t have been appropriate given the situation. And at the time I had only a handful of friends in the team. So why sho
uld anyone have made a big fuss about my departure? It would have looked hypocritical and rather strange.

  In spite of the difficult ending, my time at Schalke was a useful lesson in life. It taught me that a career doesn’t always depend on ability alone. That power struggles and political intrigues can sometimes be decisive. And so you need people within the club to support and look after you.

  If I were to meet Andreas Müller or Mirko Slomka today I’d shake the hand of both of them. I’d be friendly and can even imagine chatting about superficial, harmless things. But not about personal matters or in-depth topics, as I don’t trust them any more.

  I’ve never been a rebel or a hustler. I’ve never courted scandal or been greedy. I never went behind anyone’s back at Schalke. I was a 19-year-old boy fulfilling his dream of a great footballing career. In retrospect I’ve often wondered whether I ought to have reacted differently, whether there might have been any way of preventing this dreadful conflict. Perhaps we should have been clearer in impressing on Müller and Slomka that the whole thing had been about my sporting prospects, nothing more. Perhaps we ought to have sought another conversation, in spite of what Müller said in the dressing room. But would they have granted us one? I don’t know. At any rate, it was unfair for them to have thrown a spanner in the works.

  At the time Andreas Müller was already 45 years old and had a great deal of experience. He’d been a professional himself for almost two decades. I wish he could now understand that he almost destroyed me. That you can’t treat a young player like that. He and Slomka were responsible for me. But instead of shielding me they allowed me to be thrown to the media sharks.

  7

  Mesut at home alone

  You can’t buy good friends

  On my first day of training in Bremen it was freezing cold. At no point in the day did the thermometer climb above four degrees. In truth I hate the cold. I’m the sort of guy who’s drawn towards the heat. Who needs heat. And sun. Who hunches his shoulders when it rains and would rather crawl indoors. But not on that day, 2 February 2008. On that day everything was fantastic in spite of the cold.

  As I was getting changed for training in the Bremen dressing room I relished every moment. I looked at my new colleagues, and enjoyed all the familiar sights and sounds that had been denied me for a month. The ripping of bandaging that some had around their bruised joints for stabilisation. The clacking of the boots on the hard floor. When I saw the balls, cones and bibs I really felt warm all over.

  While Thomas Schaaf briefly introduced me to my new teammates before going on to explain what he was expecting from us in training, I could feel my legs tingling. I didn’t want to talk. Or stand still. Or listen. I wanted to kick, run, tackle, pass and score goals. To finally feel like a normal footballer again.

  We got going. The ground was still heavy from the rain over the past few days. Even as we were warming up I realised that this was going to be an arduous session. But I didn’t care. It was so liberating to feel the grass beneath my feet again. I felt like a foal that had been locked in a small, dark stable for weeks and suddenly set free again. I raced after every ball. I even went for passes I knew I had no chance of reaching. I expect I spent the entire session grinning like a young boy who’s found and plundered the secret place his parents hide the sweets. Finally I had a fixed, defined daily schedule that I could stick to again. Finally some rhythm had returned to my life.

  My desire to play was boundless. My energy, on the other hand, was limited. After a month of minimal training and spending most of the time just hanging around worrying about my future, my stamina was a bit of a disaster. I felt liberated, but worn out. In my head it was carnival time, but my legs were on strike. Nonetheless I ran as hard as I could.

  After the first training session I went back to the hotel. Werder had organised a room for me until I found somewhere to live. They put me up in the Park Hotel, one of the best in Bremen. It was in the middle of the Bürgerpark. During the football World Cup of 2006 the Swedish squad stayed here. In the lobby hung an autographed photo of the actor Bud Spencer, who was once a guest here. Absolutely everything you could want was on hand. Except what I really needed – my family.

  Because of the rotten headlines that were still very much in people’s minds I had no desire to wander through Bremen or sit in the hotel restaurant and suffer looks from other people. So I dialled room service and had food brought to me. Every day I would order a club sandwich – it reminded me a little of my beloved curry ketchup toast from my childhood – then I’d phone my parents, my siblings and my friends from Gelsenkirchen.

  I blossomed in training, while in the hotel I went stir-crazy. Even today I’m not a fan of hotels. Of course, we footballers have the privilege of being able to stay in the most upmarket places in the world and for that I’m very grateful. But every season I get increasingly tired of hotel life. I don’t have any sense of freedom in a hotel. Life there is terribly boring. For me it has meant long periods of just watching films and series.

  When I was younger I devoured one film after the other. Later I switched to watching TV series, as the tension builds more slowly and lasts longer. Or I watched American sitcoms such as Two and a Half Men. Now I understand that you can use your time more wisely and so I learn languages. For example, now I work on my English in the hours before a match, in order to speak it more accurately and fluently. But in the past, during my time at Bremen, I would spend almost all my free time looking at my laptop.

  The only other entertainment I had was looking around apartments. In the first few weeks I might spend up to three hours viewing apartments and houses, just for something to do. With each property I’d pick out something I didn’t like so I could see more the following day. Until I finally found somewhere. After nine-and-a-half months in a hotel I rented a lovely maisonette apartment, where access to the bedroom was via a spiral staircase.

  One of the first nights I was there I suddenly heard strange noises. As children, my brother and I had always slept with the door closed. The knowledge that he was lying only a few metres away gave me a sense of security. But now I was all alone and, hearing the stairs creak, I held my breath and listened in the darkness. Nothing. But no sooner had I taken another breath than I heard the next sound. Someone’s there, I thought, pulling the duvet over my head. But what good’s that? I thought. What on earth was I to do now? My mobile was downstairs, where I’d plugged it in to charge. I certainly didn’t want to turn on the light; the burglars would immediately know I was here.

  Something had fallen over. Or at least that’s what it sounded like. The noise was now slightly more distant again. I decided to creep into the bathroom, which was also upstairs, right beside my bedroom, and barricaded myself in there. I turned the key very carefully. Then I searched the room for something I could use against the intruders if it came to it. I armed myself with a mop I found in a cupboard.

  I stood behind the door, clutching the red handle. Because I didn’t have a radio alarm in the bathroom, nor was I wearing a watch – as I said, I’d only just moved in – I didn’t know how much time had passed. My breathing was awfully loud; surely they could hear me? It was just a question of time before they’d find me. For some reason I was convinced that at least two people were sneaking through my apartment. I really didn’t stand a chance. Two against one. Unscrupulous intruders against me. A 19-year-old against experienced burglars. With a mop as a weapon? I felt that my only chance was to take them by surprise.

  So I took a deep breath, said a short prayer, then threw open the door, switched the light on and charged through my apartment, screaming. I rushed down the stairs, leapt into the sitting room, tore open the kitchen door and searched every room. Aaaaaaagh!!!! Nothing! The front door was locked. No smashed or open window. Where were they hiding?

  Still holding my mop at the ready, I did another patrol of the house. But I didn’t discover anybody on my second round either. Because nobody was there. What had scared me were
a few branches being blown by the wind outside against the outside wall and gutter. My mind had been playing tricks on me.

  Over the next few days and weeks I spent a lot of time on the motorway. Even though I liked the mentality of the people of Bremen and their kind, open manner – not like the gruff inhabitants of the Ruhr area – I escaped as often as I could. However much I enjoyed all the friendly greetings, I couldn’t warm to the city at first. I missed my family too much – my parents, siblings and friends.

  Most of my teammates at Bremen were in firm relationships. Many were already married with children. Whenever I was with them I felt like the odd one out, a fish out of water. I couldn’t join in conversations about changing nappies, day care or first teeth. Although they took me with them and were happy to admit me into their community, I felt out of my depth. On the pitch I was happy, but away from it I found things tough early on.

  After training I’d get into my car and head straight for Gelsenkirchen. Along the Osterdeich to Arsten and from there onto the A1 motorway. Past Osnabrück and Münster to home. A total of 248 kilometres, which would take between two and three hours, depending on traffic.

  With every kilometre further from Bremen I felt better. At home my parents joked that I might as well give up my flat in Bremen, seeing as I was driving to Gelsenkirchen every day. I didn’t find the driving a strain. Nor did I mind getting less sleep because I had to drive back early the next morning to make it to training on time. The key thing was that I was with my friends and could enjoy a few hours in my familiar surroundings.