#2Sides: My Autobiography (11 page)

Ostensibly the idea for the video clips meeting was to understand what had gone wrong for City’s goals. In one instance Moyes said: ‘You could have done better here, you could have been tighter on Aguero …’ And I said: ‘OK, but Aguero is one of the quickest in the league and in the build-up there wasn’t enough pressure on their midfield.’ My point was that, if they’ve got players good enough to put the ball anywhere they want, going ultra-tight on Aguero was asking for trouble. The ball would just be played behind me and Aguero would be clean through. It would be better to hope the ball will be played to Aguero’s feet. That way I can at least get tight behind him and stop him turning. But Moyes wouldn’t answer the point. He kept saying: ‘Yeah, but you should have been tighter.’

We held our hands up. ‘Yes, OK,’ I said ‘there were points in the game where we could have defended better,’ but we were trying to say it wasn’t just a problem with the defence. Vida and I were getting opened up because the shape wasn’t right; the whole team wasn’t defending correctly. For their first goal, I’d headed the ball out but it had come back at us too easily; no one had put pressure on Matija Nastasić, Samir Nasri or Aleksanda Kolarov earlier in the move. I was trying to say that the best way to defend is to stop attacks at source or, failing that, to get into a good solid shape. We used to be so strong at that. But we weren’t on the same page at all.

At one point I said: ‘Look, if you want me to go tight, I’ll go tight. That’s the easiest thing for me to do as a defender. If that’s
what you want me to do, I’ll do that. Just tell me!’ And he was like: ‘Yes, but I also want you to …’ It was so confusing! Maybe he had a good point, but he never got it across. Me and Vida came out of there and looked at each other. ‘I don’t know what the fuck he just asked us to do,’ I said to my teammate.

We just wanted clear and concise information, but everything was mixed. Some days it was ‘Yeah, let’s play wingers.’ Did we think he believed it? No. Did we think he believed that he wanted us to pass the ball out from the back? No.

He’d tell me to come out with the ball – but kick it diagonal if there’s nothing on. To my way of thinking, if there’s nothing on, that probably means there’s a problem in the team. Are we set up right? Is the movement good enough? Yes, of course there are times you have to belt the ball away. But if you’re trying to create a pattern of play that shouldn’t be your first thought. So I’m coming out with the ball and have no one to pass to. What am I supposed to do? Kick it long? Produce an unbelievable bit of magic as a centre-half? Sometimes I’d be about to pass the ball and think does he actually want me to pass the ball here? I doubted everything.
Was that what he wanted?
I’d pass the ball and think
was that OK?
I’d take up position on the pitch and worry about it. Eventually in some games we’d just switch to autopilot and play the way we know from the old times.

Of course, there were aspects of his approach that impressed me. One of Moyes’s first statements when he arrived was that he was going to focus on getting us to work harder, physically. ‘I’m going to get you fitter,’ he told the squad, ‘I’m going to get you running harder.’ He definitely stepped up the volume and intensity of training. He was enthusiastic; his work ethic was great. You could see how much he wanted to be a success at United. We had some
good training sessions, and he was always present. Where Fergie usually left the training to people like Brian Kidd, Carlos Queiroz or Rene Meulensteen, Moyes was much more hands-on.

But another thing he told us very early went on to cause a lot of trouble. He said his method was to announce the team on the Friday or the Saturday before the game – and refuse to talk about it. If we weren’t happy about being left out, then tough. He wasn’t going to put an arm round your shoulder and he wouldn’t be giving explanations. He said: ‘If you’ve got something to say, come and see me Monday.’ In other words, long after the game. That was a huge break away from Fergie’s way of doing things.

Again, I thought: ‘I’m sure that worked fine at Everton but things are different here.’ At Everton you’ve only probably got 13 players in the squad who believe they should be playing every week, based on their ability. Most of the others in the squad are either young players or players happy to be on the bench. That’s no disrespect to Everton; it was like that at West Ham when I was a kid. That’s how it works at clubs just below the very top. But at Manchester United you’ve got 22 to 25 internationals who have won titles and cups and they all believe they should start. Common sense should tell you you’ve got to treat that workforce differently. Everton play 40 or 50 games a season, and only a few of those are high-intensity games against top teams. United play more like 60 games a season and a lot of those are big, must-win games. So a part of the art of being Manchester United manager is to rotate your squad and keep everyone happy.

Fergie was brilliant at that. He managed to keep the whole squad feeling involved. Take Chicharito [Javier Hernández]: he’s a terrific player and his goal scoring record guarantees 15 to 20 goals a season. But Ferguson didn’t actually start him in too many games; he preferred to use him as an impact player who’d win or rescue games at places like Stoke or Aston Villa. Javier did that a
lot and he was happy for three years. All of a sudden, Moyes starts treating him differently and Chicarito’s confidence goes. You could see the way he carried himself changed.

You have to respect and appreciate the fact that players have egos, and attacking players are the ones with the bigger egos. You need to give players the arm around the shoulder. Players live to play and we feel disappointed and hurt if we’re not picked. Fergie would say: ‘I’m not picking you this week because I’m saving you for next week.’ The psychology was so clever: ‘I’ll give you a rest and give someone else a little chance, because I have to rotate the squad. But don’t you worry. You get yourself ready, son. You get yourself ready for next week.’ You forget about the game he’s dropped you for and focus on next week.

Fergie was human about it; he was clever. He’d say: ‘This is difficult for me, I don’t enjoy doing this.’ Sometimes you’d think: nah, that’s bollocks I don’t care what you’re saying. One time he dropped me for a Liverpool game because we had Chelsea coming up. I was like: ‘Not playing at Liverpool? But that’s one of the biggest games of the season!’ And he goes: ‘I can’t risk it because we have a Champions League game coming up.’ At first, I was just angry. Then I thought: ‘Yeah, but he still respects me as a footballer; he still believes I can play at one of the top teams, so he can’t not like me anymore.’ Then I’d be alright about it.

Most of the problems with Moyes seemed to come together for the match that effectively ended our season: the second leg of our Champions League quarter-final with Bayern Munich. In the previous round against Olympiacos we’d pulled off a great escape. In the first leg we were awful and lost 2–0, but in the return game at Old Trafford we turned it around and won 3–0.

By the time we went to Munich we had no chance of finishing in
the top four of the Premier League and this was the last competition we could win. In the first game we’d drawn 1–1 and on the balance of chances really should have won. For almost the first time in the season our tactics were clear: Bayern were reigning champions and were still considered the best team in Europe so we played compact and looked to counter. For once Moyes gave us clear instructions: when I won the ball, I was going to look to play the ball behind their defenders. It was the first time I felt the whole team understood what the manager wanted. But even then he made a mistake playing Giggsy as a left-winger. Giggsy was 40 years old; how was he supposed to play left wing against a fullback bombing on all the time? He found it pretty taxing. But, as I say, things didn’t go too badly. A week later came the game that was our last chance to save the season, maybe even David Moyes’s job.

I was desperate to play, especially in that great stadium. And because I’d played well in the first game then didn’t play against Newcastle, when I travelled to Munich I knew I must be in the team. On the morning of the game everything seemed wrong. To practise our set pieces and stuff we went to a public park. It was bizarre! Local people started coming from all over to watch us, take photos and videos. It’s not how Manchester United do things! You don’t want to be giving away the secrets of your formation and how you’re going to play! I mean, why not just send Bayern an email or a DVD? It was amateurish.

But worse was to come. As we’re standing there in public on this bit of grass, the manager just taps me on the shoulder and says: ‘Rio, listen, I’m not going to play you. I feel we need a bit more pace in the back line.’

It killed me. Inside I wanted to scream and grab him. I’m a team player, so I just had to bite my tongue and stand there. But it was probably the worst single moment I ever had at United. I’d never
been dropped for a big a game like that, and to drop that on me in front of everybody when I can’t react. ‘Fucking hell; why didn’t you tell me before?’

Objectively I just thought he was dead wrong. Chris Smalling, who was going to play in my place, had been injured. The Bayern strikers, Thomas Müller and Mario Mandžukić, weren’t blisteringly quick; pace wasn’t their game; it didn’t make any sense. I’d rather he just said, ‘I think Chris Smalling is in better form than you are,’ or something like that. But it was just the way he told me. I didn’t even get a chance to say my piece. He might not want to hear it, but it just leaves you feeling frustrated. He must have known 24 hours beforehand that I wasn’t going to play. If he’d told me earlier I could have dealt with it better.

Several teammates told me later that my reaction was something they’d never seen from me before. I went into a daze and even took my anger and the debate about him onto the coach as we waited for him to finish doing set pieces with the first XI. I’d never shown my feelings like that in front of my teammates so openly before. My anger came out straight away with no filter. I knew my time at United was coming to an end and, where I had once had time to prove myself, I felt this was different.

Not being involved in the game, at least I had the chance to watch how it all went wrong. Sir Alex used to give simple, concise, clear instructions. Depending on the opponents, he’d say: ‘Tight early on,’ or ‘Blow them away early.’ The thing he always stressed was: CONCENTRATE! That was his favourite. But before the game Moyes said that, depending how Bayern played, we could use three different formations! He’d let the lads know which one when the game got underway. Danny Welbeck was going to play on the right … or it could be on the left … or behind. Shinji Kagawa was definitely going to play behind, or the left … all through the team.
The whole thing created uncertainty: how could Danny prepare if he had to think about doing four different jobs on the pitch? It even puts doubt in the mind of experienced players. Wayne Rooney would normally be sitting in the dressing room before a game thinking: ‘Right, I know that I’m centre-half, so I’ll make these kind of runs, and if he comes tight I’ll spin him.’ We all try to see the game in our minds before we play. Of course players have to be able to adapt but people were going onto the pitch not knowing what they were supposed to do.

In the event, the team played much the same way we started, defending and looking for a quick break. It almost worked: Patrice Evra scored a fantastic goal out of nothing and for a few minutes it looked like we could get through. Then Bayern scored three quick goals and it was all over. What was fascinating was watching Moyes in action. Or in
inaction
. Fergie’s approach was always the same: we’re going to beat everyone. I noticed the difference between the two benches – ours was animated and nervous with Moyes moaning about every decision; Pep Guardiola, on the other hand, was completely calm. One of the things a great manager does is create a mentality throughout the club. Like Diego Simeone at Atlético Madrid: he makes everyone feel involved. It’s not just the players who determine results; it’s the players who aren’t playing, and the backroom staff – from the kit man to the sports scientists. The staff have to be happy; it’s part of what keeps players going sometimes. As I understand it, Moyes actually did that at Everton. But he couldn’t do it at Manchester United. At Everton the objective wasn’t: ‘Let’s win every game and every trophy.’ It was: ‘Let’s not get beaten by Manchester United and the other top four teams.’ By the time he left us I don’t think a lot of the staff even really felt part of his team.

Well, as everyone knows, the Bayern game turned out to be one of his last games in charge. Eleven days later he took the team to Everton – I didn’t travel – and we got thumped 2–0. Two days later he was sacked. It wasn’t done in a dignified way: the club let rumours circulate for almost two days before putting him out of his misery. But, as you’d expect, David Moyes behaved with great dignity.

Us players were as much in the dark as the fans. The club never told us a thing. I only found out Moyes had gone when Anders Lindegaard texted us all to say ‘It’s official, guys. It’s official.’ I drove to the training ground at Carrington as normal; outside there were dozens of TV cameras. Inside, a players’ meeting had been called. Everyone knew why.

Moyes came in with Steve Round and Jimmy Lumsden and said they were all leaving. He didn’t sound happy with the way information had leaked out the day before, and we could understand that. We’ve all got our pride and our families, after all.

He made a good speech: ‘I’ve had a fantastic time here but unfortunately we’ve not had the results, and it’s a results driven game, so … um … I’ve been sacked. This is the best club in the world, make sure you try and stay here as long as you can. And all of us, I am sure, our paths will cross again in the future.’

He thanked us again, said goodbye and shook everyone’s hands, and that was it. Then Giggsy came in, and made a little speech saying he was manager till the end of the season. When he was finished, I had a question for him. I said: ‘What do we call you? Gaffer? Giggsy? What?’ And he laughed and said ‘Giggsy’ was fine. Then we went out and straight into the day’s training.