THERE are at least two kinds of intelligence in football. The one that is most often remarked upon is the pensive, academic demeanour of an Arsène Wenger or a Jorge Valdano. Then there is another kind, the scrappy, boisterous, “can-do” street smarts of those whose language and attitude is often less than professorial. Luiz Felipe Scolari belongs in the second camp.
Like Sam Allardyce, he was a big, tough central defender who relied on brawn and guile rather than pace and technique to eke out a living at a number of relegation-threatened clubs, such as Caixas do Sul and CSA Maceió. His father, Benjamin, had been a gifted, elegant defender, but Scolari knew that he lacked his skills and would have to succeed by a different method. His was the football of survival, a game played in perpetual insecurity, conscious of his limits and charged with that most challenging and (particularly in Brazil) unpopular of tasks: stopping gifted strikers, often by any means necessary.
He carried that urgency and intensity, that ability to mask his weaknesses and emphasise his strengths, into his first coaching role at CSA Maceió. Around that time, he began working with Flávio Teixeira, whom everyone calls “Murtosa”. The pair would become inseparable, with Murtosa once described as “the other half of Scolari’s brain”. Indeed, it appears certain that, if he takes the England job, Murtosa, along with Darlan Schneider, the fitness coach, will join him.
Both are fiercely loyal to him and he to them. In fact, Scolari’s loyalty to his friends — and there are few whom he counts as part of the “inner circle”, a group that includes his wife, Olga, and sons Leonardo, 21 and Fabricio, 14 — has been a hallmark of his career.
Like him, they hail from the state of Rio Grande do Sul, in the southern part of Brazil, a land settled primarily by Italian and German immigrants (Scolari, who is proud of his ancestry, has relatives in both countries and, to this day, is a big fan of Italian music and food). His home town of Caixas has a distinctively Teutonic feel with a gothic cathedral, as well as plants and flowers native to Germany brought over by early immigrants. Perhaps it is not surprising, then, that he has said that his favourite holiday destination is Austria.
Apart from a brief spell in Kuwait, he did not leave his home state until 1996, at the age of 48. By this point he had cemented his status, having led Grêmio of Porto Alegre to the Brazilian title and the Copa Libertadores, yet many were surprised that he chose Japan’s Jubilo Iwata as his next destination, rather than one of the traditional big clubs in Rio de Janeiro or São Paulo. It has been suggested that Scolari felt somewhat hurt at being snubbed, though his combative personality probably had something to do with it.
Simply put, he was a divisive figure in Brazil’s often surprisingly conservative football establishment. His blunt speech, sometimes aggressive reactions and stubborn style won him few friends among certain members of the media, who saw him as the antithesis of the “beautiful game”. Scolari’s stint away from Brazil was brief, however, and he soon returned to gain his revenge. São Paulo’s Palmeiras took him on and he responded by winning the Copa Mercosur (South America’s Uefa Cup), the Brazilian Cup and, most importantly, the Copa Libertadores.
His success won him grudging respect, rather than universal admiration. Many felt that his Palmeiras side, like Grêmio before, was simply too physical. Scolari response was ill- advised, saying that if he encouraged his players to kick opponents, that was his business and nobody else’s. He has learnt to limit that type of outburst these days, but, back then, it was different.
His remarks on Augusto Pinochet, the former dictator of Chile, were equally unpopular in a left-leaning country such as Brazil, which had emerged from a military dictatorship only a few decades earlier. “[Pinochet’s] rule may have resulted in the torture and death of some people, but he did a lot of good things, like increasing the country’s literacy rate,” he told a São Paulo newspaper. “He shook the people up, he gave them focus and direction. There are moments in history when people either revolt and make things happen or anarchy takes hold.”
Anarchy had taken hold of the Brazil national team when he was called to replace Émerson Leão in June of 2001. The side was rife with in-fighting and losses to Paraguay, Chile and Ecuador, along with home draws against Peru and Uruguay meant that qualification to the 2002 World Cup was in serious jeopardy.
His appointment was immediately criticised by the purists, but that was nothing compared to what would happen next. In July, his first full month in charge, Brazil lost again, to Uruguay, and he drew the ire of the country’s large gay community when he told Cronica Hoy, the Mexican magazine, that if he discovered that one of his players was gay, he would “kick him off the team”.
Scolari denied being homophobic, but that did not stop numerous gay rights groups from staging vocal protests.
Still, he managed to right the ship, getting Brazil to the World Cup, albeit in an unconvincing way. For the first time, Brazil were not among the favourites for the world title, yet Scolari worked his magic. The day he met up with his players, he gave each a copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, a 2,500-year-old Chinese text on military strategy.
