Bobby Robson: More Than A Manager

Italia ’90 will always go down as my favourite World Cup. The irony is I never watched it live. I was just five years old at the time, too young to cry foul on mum’s TV choices. However, when my brother and me began to show an interest in football, our dad went out and bought us the highlights. The competition had it all. Platt’s turn and volley, Robson’s jig, Lineker from twelve, Gazza’s tears, Waddle’s blaze. I think part of the appeal was we watched this during Graham Taylor's era (England’s worst period, which saw us crash out of Euro ’92 and fail to qualify for USA ’94.) As a huge Watford and Taylor fan, there were mitigating circumstances- namely Carlton Palmer. Palmer in your national team indicates a talent pool more paddling than Olympic.

For me and my brother Italia ’90 was truly special. Instead of ‘Do I not like that,’ it was ‘I do like this.’ In many ways the tournament was redolent of this year’s. In both we didn’t beat quality opposition, progressing through the tournament with an obdurate defence and a clinical number nine. Despite having quality players, the team was the thing; both led by men who'd survived national failure. (Southgate missed a penalty in Euro ’96 and Robson failed to win a game in Euro ‘88.) Both men, both teams, achieved success through shaking hands with pressure, thereby avoiding its throttle.

I’ve been thinking again about 90’s football because I’ve been going through the Quickly Kevin, will he score? back catalogue. The podcast presented by Josh Widdicombe and friends Michael Marden and Chris Scull interview ex-players, managers and fans about their memories of 90’s football. Recently, Stuart Pearce was on to chronicle his experiences of the decade. Listening to the episode, it was evident that he held England manager Bobby Robson in high esteem, speaking fondly of the camaraderie within the camp, attributing it to the gaffer’s enthusiasm for the game. I’ve always held Sir Bobby Robson in regard; he had a twinkle in the eye that belied his age. He struck me as a manager that knew how to combine the tactics board with jumpers-for-goalpost zeal. As a teenager, I remember feeling devastated when Newcastle sacked him. He was England's dancing smile: how could he be treated this way?

Today I watched Gabriel Clarke and Torquil Jones’ film Bobby Robson: More Than A Manager. The feature documents his life from humble beginnings to football’s high table. Born into a Durham mining community, Robson's father was a miner. Each week he and his dad would go to watch Newcastle come rain or shine. They would be at those gates at 12pm – three hours before kick-off- to elongate the ninety-minutes into an escapist's day. Bobby was a gifted footballer with teams in the north-east making eyes. However, only Fulham asked him out, causing him to up sticks and move south. He was a good player, capped twenty times for England, but unfortunate injuries meant he never achieved greatness.

This was to come in management. 

Ipswich Town gave him the opportunity to make a difference. At the time they were languishing at the heel of football; by the time he left they were heading it, winning the prestigious UEFA Cup. Soon England came calling. The ’86 World Cup was infamous for the Hand of God, the 90’s for the Foot of Wadd. He was desperately unlucky in both cases. What the documentary reveals though is how resolute Robson was. Sloth-cum-manager Iain Dowie would define it as ‘bouncebackability;’ a pretentious twat like me, Kiplingesque: (‘If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two imposters just the same … Yours is the earth and everything that’s in it.’) Whether he succeeded or failed, he woke up the next day ready to face a new challenge.

The documentary shows these challenges in non-chronological form, keeping lots of plates spinning, returning to them at regular intervals. This start-stop structure makes for an engrossing watch as it means you don’t know what’s coming next. Adopting a linear approach to storytelling, particularly in biography, can feel tired, especially for fans familiar with the subject. The ebb and flow of Robson’s timeline is altogether more interesting and suits a man who revolutionised the game.

Typically, a lot of documentaries I watch on football have been screened on ITV4, featuring top draw contributors. With More Than A Manager though, the talking heads on show are another level, a who's who of football. There’s ex-players Lineker, Gascoigne and Guardiola; a former colleague in the face of Jose Mourinho; and importantly his wife and son. Most affecting for me was Gazza’s testimony. I hope I’m not being unfair in saying that Paul Gascoigne seemed to get from Robson what his own son missed: a father. With Bobby away so much, his son concedes that he never got to talk football with his dad, something he would have loved to do. In contrast, Gazza seems little boy lost without Robson. He describes how he felt ‘safe’ under Bobby; with Lineker confirming they had a special connection. Towards the end of the film, Gazza wells up. The tears aren’t Italia 90, ones of personal disappointment, rather those of a pained orphan.

I guess that’s why the film is called ‘More than a Manager.’ A manager is in the results business: win at all costs. For Robson the scoreline wasn’t enough. Just as important were the men that got the scoreline. Were they humble in victory? Motivated in defeat? Were they a privilege to work for? Or impoverished in worth? He didn’t just create players. He created men. Loyal in life; loyal in death. In one telling moment, Robson says ‘If you are a fantastic painter, you are never rich until you are dead. And I think it’s the same with managers. You’re never appreciated until you’re gone.’ Bobby Robson: More than a Manager is that appreciation. Gone, but not forgotten, the film is the deserved eulogy to a great man.

Bobby Robson: More than a Manager is on Netflix.