It was before a Manchester City press conference when a worried club official came into the room to warn everyone that — and it’s a story that feels relevant now — Sven-Goran Eriksson was as angry as he had ever seen.
Eriksson had taken the City job in 2007, the era in east Manchester before the money started to pour in, as his first appointment in football since ending his time as manager of England’s national team.
But the tabloid press had developed an obsession with his private life and there was a certain amount of intrigue that, throughout his 11 months in Manchester, he preferred to occupy the presidential suite of the Radisson hotel rather than taking the more conventional route of buying or renting a house.
A photographer had worked out he could point his lens directly into the hotel bar from the street below and a series of front-page photographs had been published showing Eriksson dancing with a younger woman who was not his partner. He appeared to be holding her tight. In the last photo, it seemed his hand had moved down her lower back. Who was this mystery brunette? Was Sven up to his old tricks again?
Well, it turned out to be his daughter and perhaps that says a lot about the scruples of some red-top newspapers that had made it their business to spy on his life.
Sven, we were warned, wanted to address it. He was on the warpath, apparently. And “we”, in this case, refers to the Manchester football writers, long accustomed to having our eyebrows singed by the ferocious tongue-lashings from Sir Alex Ferguson that became known as the ‘Hairdryer’ treatment.
What we had never witnessed was the Eriksson version. And, let’s face it, he had every right to be steaming mad. He didn’t look too angry, though, when he walked in. “Today,” he said, “not good.”
And, blimey, that was it. He was smiling, holding out his hand to welcome all of us, one by one. No shouting, no threats. It was typical Sven: killing everyone with kindness.
Why tell this story now? Well, perhaps it tells us a lot about how the man saw life and why the news of his death, aged 76, has brought so many tributes from people who spent time in his company and have their own stories about that lovely, calm manner.
Eriksson oversees England training (Gareth Copley – PA Images/PA Images via Getty Images)
Don’t be mistaken: he was never a pushover, as Ferguson himself could testify from that fractious phone call when Eriksson informed him that, yes, he did intend to take Wayne Rooney to the 2006 World Cup, completely against the wishes of United’s manager being in mind the player had been recovering from a broken metatarsal.
In future years, Eriksson would chuckle at the memory of Ferguson’s X-rated response and how, in the worst moments, the Swede had to hold his phone away from his ear. But Eriksson held his ground. He refused to be beaten down and, in the end, got his way.
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No manager with Eriksson’s record of achievement, including 18 trophies with clubs in Sweden, Portugal and Italy, could have worked in football for as long as he did without a steely edge. He just hid it better than others, perhaps.
His first managerial appointment came in 1977 with Degerfors of Sweden. The last was in 2019 with the Philippines national team. In between, he had five years in charge of England, one season with Manchester City, a year at Leicester City and seven months as Notts County’s director of football, leaving all these jobs in circumstances that would not ordinarily qualify someone as a national (overseas) treasure.
And yet, it has felt that way for some time, particularly since he opened up about his pancreatic cancer and accepted that he was not going to win his fight with this brutal, indiscriminate disease.
Eriksson’s response to the news went beyond the bubble of sport. It was a reminder that, as important as football is, he understood life’s priorities. He was always comfortable in his own skin but not everyone feels able to talk so publicly and radiate such optimism when they are staring death in the eye. Not everyone wants to advertise the fact they are in their last few months and weeks.
He never saw it that way, of course. He wanted to say goodbye. And, Sven being Sven, he wanted to say thank you, too. At a time when the internet, football and social media can be a fairly dreadful mix, he seemed intent on bringing something different into the homes of complete strangers. His messages had warmth and kindness at the heart of everything.
It was reciprocated, too.
If Eriksson had a bucket list, managing Liverpool was on it. He loved it when the club he supported as a boy invited him to manage Liverpool in a charity legends match against Ajax in March. It was, he said, “absolutely beautiful” to take his seat in the Anfield dugout.
These were just some of the moments recently when it has felt like a trick of the mind that, in another era, his presence in English football was seen as an affront by many people.
Eriksson fulfils his ambition of managing Liverpool at Anfield (Liverpool FC/Liverpool FC via Getty Images)
John Barnwell, of the League Managers Association, described it as “an insult” to his members when the Football Association confirmed in 2001 that it had invited a non-Englishman to fill the vacancy left by Kevin Keegan’s departure. Gordon Taylor, of the Professional Footballers’ Association, accused the FA of “betraying their heritage”. An infamous column in the Daily Mail frothed that English football had decided to “sell our birthright down the fjord to a nation of seven million skiers and hammer throwers who spend half their year living in darkness”.
The speed with which these opinions changed once England started winning under their new manager was quite something to behold. Not that the man in question ever seemed too fazed, anyway.
“Sweden had an English coach (George Raynor) in 1958 when they reached the World Cup final,” said Eriksson. “Why, then, shouldn’t a Swede take England? I read the book The Second Most Important Job In The Country, which is all about the England managers from 1949 through to Kevin Keegan. It showed that all of them were declared idiots at some time, even Sir Alf Ramsey (the 1966 World Cup-winning manager), so I knew what to expect.”
At times, he did not help himself, not least when, having attended a meeting with what he believed to be a wealthy businessman months before the 2006 World Cup, he was recorded admitting he would be willing to leave the England role to manage Aston Villa. The ‘Fake Sheikh’ turned out to be an undercover reporter from the News of the World.
It pained him that he could not deliver anything of real substance with the so-called ‘Golden Generation‘, featuring Michael Owen, David Beckham, Rio Ferdinand, John Terry, Frank Lampard, Steven Gerrard, Paul Scholes and various other A-listers from the time.
The ‘Golden Generation’ fell short under Eriksson’s stewardship (Claudio Villa/Getty Images)
Yes, the 5-1 victory in Germany in 2001 is up there with England’s finest results but Eriksson, behind the polite smile and owlish spectacles, burned with competitive desire. He desperately wanted more, especially when Hurricane Rooney appeared on the scene and started blowing opponents out of the way. It was Eriksson, you may recall, who compared him to Pele.
In the end, though, Eriksson never wanted to be defined purely as a football manager. He led a nomadic life, including roles in China, Thailand and Dubai and national team jobs with Mexico and Ivory Coast.
Even when the cancer took hold, he was determined to see more of the world, explore new places and expand his knowledge.
Eriksson takes the applause of fans at another of his former clubs, Lazio, in May (Marco Rosi – SS Lazio/Getty Images)
His home was in Sunne, Sweden, and it was there where he recorded the goodbye message that went out last week. “I had a good life. We are all scared of the day when we die, but life is about death as well,” he said.
To watch it back now is to be reminded of one of his truest gifts: his exceptional calm in the most difficult circumstances. His dignity, his positivity. You could be forgiven for thinking he has put it out too early. But he had it all planned. He is smiling, right at the end.
“I hope you will remember me as a positive guy trying to do everything he could do,” he said. “Don’t be sorry. Smile. Thank you for everything — coaches, players, crowds, it’s been fantastic. Take care of yourself and take care of your life. And live it.”
(Top photo: Clive Mason/Getty Images)
