Cesar Luis Menotti dies

 Cesar Luis Menotti - former Argentina manager dies

Shortly after his Argentine national side had lifted the 1978 World Cup for the first time, Cesar Luis Menotti must have retreated into the kind of private world that must have haunted Sir Alf Ramsey when Ramsey just sat on the bench at the old Wembley Stadium, repressed and emotionless while always acutely aware that something joyous had taken place. He would never admit it of course but deep within his psyche there must have been some hidden vault of happiness and barely controlled joy that nobody could take away from him.

Yesterday Cesar Luis Menotti died at the age of 84 and the whole of Argentina will deeply mourn the death of a man who looked so tormented with guilt and major misgivings that none of us could adequately explain why. The man with a face that betrayed so many obvious emotions died peacefully yesterday and the memories he'd left behind would never be erased properly. To say that Menotti looked a troubled man with the weight of the world on his shoulders would be a gross understatement. He'd just won the World Cup with his Argentina and rejoicing should have been his trademark emotion but the look of grave concern always seemed to leave us with the impression that he wanted something more.

It hardly seems like 46 years ago but the fact remains Menotti was the centre of attention on that unforgettable July day when Argentina forgot about its military junta, the warlike mutterings of Peron and a country riven with the struggles and threats of a nation totally ill at ease with itself. But then a man named Menotti took out his packet of cigarettes and spent the whole of that 1978 World Cup incessantly chain smoking, body hunched forward in his managerial dug out surrounded by blue and white tendrils of smoke that almost reduced him to some ghostly figure who was there but never clearly visible.

But it was one day at the beginning of July 1978 when the man who looked such a tortured soul and so consumed by his own demanding standards, suddenly abandoned himself to the wild celebrations that would ensue right across Argentina and let down his mask of despondency. Now the self critical and self effacing  Menotti could join in with the rest of his country uninhibitedly. Suddenly Menotti's world had been transformed and all of the exuberant confetti and ticker tape rained down from the huge terraces of a capital city in Buenos Aires still incensed with the bitter disappointment of losing the first ever World Cup Final in 1930 against their fellow South American rivals Uruguay.

Menotti must have felt a slight inferiority complex when facing his Brazilian counterpart, the inspirational Mario Zagalo, the man who gave Brazilian football its essence, soul, vital identity and those vivid flashes of improvisation that have now been hard wired into Brazil. He must have recalled the days of Tele Santana from even further back in time. For Menotti though this must have represented the ultimate challenge since Argentina had always flattered to deceive. Now Argentina had the Latin temperament but were now volatile and petulant into the bargain as well.

Soon Argentina would discover their inner Bossa Nova, their innovative Tango and the Latino. Menotti would introduce us to two of the most charming midfield players the world had ever seen. Osvaldo Ardilles and Ricky Villa were fundamental components in an Argentinian side who flourished beautifully with all the flamboyance and panache that the Brazilians once thought they must have had a monopoly on. Ardilles and Villa would shortly leave their hometown for North London's Spurs. Menotti could hardly believe it but this was happening in front of him. These were heady times for Argentina.

In the 1978 World Cup, Argentina met a Netherlands side who were rightly trumpeted as the next best thing since sliced bread. The Dutch were a fascinating fusion of stylish and intuitive football but without Johan Cruyff, an unparalleled genius who could make a ball sing and talk, manipulating it for all it was worth with the distinctive drag back and step over. But Ruud Krol was in Argentina, all balance and sophisticated technique, Robby Rensenbrink, domineering and controlling throughout the midfield and Johan Neeskens always available for the ball and just making the Dutch tick smoothly with of course Johnny Rep dictating the tempo of the game with delicate touches and a refined skill.

Argentina though had other things up their sleeve, perhaps calling their bluff of the Dutch. They had Leopoldo Luque and Mario Kempes up front and although the Dutch closed down all of Argentina's attacking options for a while the home nation were destined to please their own supporters in Buenos Aires most theatrical environment. Menotti, for his part, kept a low profile throughout the tournament, rarely showing anything that could be construed as surprising. 

Everything that Menotti had presented to the World Cup thus far had almost been expected. There were the glowering features, the misery guts appearance, the morose and lugubrious face that never really hinted at anything. If Menotti had felt anything by now it could hardly be seen. Maybe he was being deliberately understated and humble or just refusing to engage with every tackle, pass and shot that Argentina were producing before him.

Then the final whistle went and Argentina exploded with delirious delight while the Dutch slumped to the ground as if they had just lost their proud inheritance. Was this not the day when Total Football would come to fruition? This was their legacy to the world but this was just a recurring nightmare for the Netherlands since four years earlier West Germany had beaten them in the 1974 World Cup Final in West Germany.

Yesterday though Argentina had lost its most iconic leader, their chairman of the board, the motivational guru par excellence. Cesar Luis Menotti was just there at the right time and place for a country that could have torn itself apart and left to rot and decay. Menotti was the intelligent tactician, the quiet and pensive one, the cold, calculating strategist, the detached analyst who could never express his innermost feelings in case the opposition just happened to be listening into his discreet conversations with his players. But then his immaculate captain Daniel Passarella lifted the World Cup for his Argentina and Menotti must have allowed himself a brief moment of self congratulation. Argentinian football will deeply miss him.