shaken off the high of the trouble-free signing of the contract. When they got to his room, Robert was lying on the bed, exactly as he had been before. The earlier dialogue repeated itself.
I can’t stay here.
But you signed a contract an hour ago.
This isn’t working.
For a moment Jörg could empathise. After his season at Mönchengladbach he had had a clear image of Robert Enke in his head – an extraordinarily unstressed, philosophical, sensible young man. Suddenly, as he looked at Robert, he saw himself, at home at the age of sixteen, when his parents, both teachers, asked him if he wanted to go to the United States as an exchange student for a year. A vague feeling of fear and loneliness had risen up in him. ‘America? Oh God, that’s far away.’ And Jörg had immediately turned down his parents’ offer. He thought he could understand Robert’s fear. ‘He was only twenty-one, a boy going into the unknown, and overwhelmed by foreignness in a foreign country.’
But that insight didn’t help him out of this jam.
Why didn’t he sleep on it for a night? It might just be nerves – understandable, of course.
Robert shook his head violently. He had to get out of here, he was going to leave. There were red patches on his cheeks.
Jörg rang Flippi. After all, he was just an agency employee, he couldn’t make big decisions without consulting his boss. Flippi had an unambiguous piece of advice: ‘Give him a slap.’
Jörg understood: he would have to sort out the situation all by himself.
The invitation to Robert Enke’s presentation the next morning at the Stadium of Light had already been sent to the media.
Teresa sat on the bed with Robert, and Jörg sat down in a grey armchair. There was a bunch of white roses on the desk.
‘What if we say Teresa isn’t well and we have to leave at short notice?’
Teresa said she would play along.
Jörg looked at Robert.
Robert waited for them to do something.
‘Then I’ll sort it out,’ said Jörg. But he would have to tell Benfica’s coach the truth, at least. Robert owed his contract to Jupp Heynckes, and for that reason alone they should be honest with him. Whatever happened next.
Jörg stepped out into the street. He found difficult conversations easier when he was moving. He marched along Rua Castilho. The traffic roared as he told the office of the Benfica president that they would have to postpone the presentation, the goalkeeper’s wife wasn’t well, they’d be flying back on the first plane tomorrow – yes, sadly. What a relief that decency requires secretaries not to ask tricky questions.
Jörg turned round and walked back down Rua Castilho, past Sotheby’s and the Ritz, which he didn’t even notice. The walk took him slightly uphill, which was good, as the greater his physical effort the less he noticed his nervous tension.
Heynckes answered the telephone in a friendly voice.
Jörg wanted to get everything off his chest as quickly as possible and rattled away without giving the coach a chance to interrupt him. Robert was ill, afraid of being abroad all of a sudden, a young guy; in short, they had to leave straight away, no other possibility; everything else they would sort out later but to be honest Robert’s switch to Benfica was doubtful.
‘Mr Neblung, you are incredibly arrogant.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that too. But it’s the only way.’
He hung up and stopped walking.
‘Given the customs of professional football, Heynckes must of course have thought that we’d suddenly found a better offer for Robert and wanted to use excuses to get him out of the Benfica contract. So I could understand the coach assuming the worst at that moment. Agents are partly there to take the blows and spare the player. So it was quite right for me to have to take insults from Heynckes.’
They stayed in the hotel that evening. Jörg changed the booking for the return flights to the following day. Robert went to bed early.
The next morning
I can’t stay here.
But you signed a contract an hour ago.
This isn’t working.
For a moment Jörg could empathise. After his season at Mönchengladbach he had had a clear image of Robert Enke in his head – an extraordinarily unstressed, philosophical, sensible young man. Suddenly, as he looked at Robert, he saw himself, at home at the age of sixteen, when his parents, both teachers, asked him if he wanted to go to the United States as an exchange student for a year. A vague feeling of fear and loneliness had risen up in him. ‘America? Oh God, that’s far away.’ And Jörg had immediately turned down his parents’ offer. He thought he could understand Robert’s fear. ‘He was only twenty-one, a boy going into the unknown, and overwhelmed by foreignness in a foreign country.’
But that insight didn’t help him out of this jam.
Why didn’t he sleep on it for a night? It might just be nerves – understandable, of course.
Robert shook his head violently. He had to get out of here, he was going to leave. There were red patches on his cheeks.
Jörg rang Flippi. After all, he was just an agency employee, he couldn’t make big decisions without consulting his boss. Flippi had an unambiguous piece of advice: ‘Give him a slap.’
Jörg understood: he would have to sort out the situation all by himself.
The invitation to Robert Enke’s presentation the next morning at the Stadium of Light had already been sent to the media.
Teresa sat on the bed with Robert, and Jörg sat down in a grey armchair. There was a bunch of white roses on the desk.
‘What if we say Teresa isn’t well and we have to leave at short notice?’
Teresa said she would play along.
Jörg looked at Robert.
Robert waited for them to do something.
‘Then I’ll sort it out,’ said Jörg. But he would have to tell Benfica’s coach the truth, at least. Robert owed his contract to Jupp Heynckes, and for that reason alone they should be honest with him. Whatever happened next.
Jörg stepped out into the street. He found difficult conversations easier when he was moving. He marched along Rua Castilho. The traffic roared as he told the office of the Benfica president that they would have to postpone the presentation, the goalkeeper’s wife wasn’t well, they’d be flying back on the first plane tomorrow – yes, sadly. What a relief that decency requires secretaries not to ask tricky questions.
Jörg turned round and walked back down Rua Castilho, past Sotheby’s and the Ritz, which he didn’t even notice. The walk took him slightly uphill, which was good, as the greater his physical effort the less he noticed his nervous tension.
Heynckes answered the telephone in a friendly voice.
Jörg wanted to get everything off his chest as quickly as possible and rattled away without giving the coach a chance to interrupt him. Robert was ill, afraid of being abroad all of a sudden, a young guy; in short, they had to leave straight away, no other possibility; everything else they would sort out later but to be honest Robert’s switch to Benfica was doubtful.
‘Mr Neblung, you are incredibly arrogant.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that too. But it’s the only way.’
He hung up and stopped walking.
‘Given the customs of professional football, Heynckes must of course have thought that we’d suddenly found a better offer for Robert and wanted to use excuses to get him out of the Benfica contract. So I could understand the coach assuming the worst at that moment. Agents are partly there to take the blows and spare the player. So it was quite right for me to have to take insults from Heynckes.’
They stayed in the hotel that evening. Jörg changed the booking for the return flights to the following day. Robert went to bed early.
The next morning
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