Gheorghe Hagi: ‘I Took a Lot of Risks Because of the Passion I Have for Football’

 Gheorghe Hagi is lifted up by his Viitorul Constanta players after they won the Romanian league title in May. Photograph: Vlad Chirea/EPA
Gheorghe Hagi is lifted up by his Viitorul Constanta players after they won the Romanian league title in May. Photograph: Vlad Chirea/EPA
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Gheorghe Hagi: ‘I Took a Lot of Risks Because of the Passion I Have for Football’

 Gheorghe Hagi is lifted up by his Viitorul Constanta players after they won the Romanian league title in May. Photograph: Vlad Chirea/EPA
Gheorghe Hagi is lifted up by his Viitorul Constanta players after they won the Romanian league title in May. Photograph: Vlad Chirea/EPA

Gheorghe Hagi has been talking for almost an hour when, not for the first time, he shoots a glance at the adjacent training pitch. Viitorul Constanta’s Under-17 and Under-19 squads are going through their paces under the late-afternoon sun and on several occasions there has been the sense that Hagi, watching from the corner of his eye, is having to restrain himself from darting across to correct certain imperfections. “Look at this,” he says, waving an arm out into the heat. “This is not about money; that’s the last thing for me. This is about work – work and dedication.”

Nobody leaves this smart facility, five kilometres from the beaches of Mamaia and their swarms of Black Sea holidaymakers, without that outlook being seared upon them but the fruits of Hagi’s work are about to go on show to the wider world. Viitorul’s senior team will play their first Champions League fixture on Wednesday when the Cypriot side Apoel visit for a third qualifying round first leg; they earned that right through winning Romania’s Liga I last season despite having one of its smallest budgets, a remarkable feat that outstripped every projection Hagi had made for his club when he founded it in 2009. At that point the professional squad was intended merely as a finishing school for the academy before it. The aim was to give something back to the sport that made him; to help young Romanian players become great, just as he had been. If their path has been accelerated beyond all imagining it is the result of a constant, clear vision that has left Viitorul’s more storied rivals trailing.

“We didn’t plan what happened but we made it and it’s fantastic,” says Hagi, whose team had finished fifth the previous season, losing 5-0 to Gent in last year’s Europa League qualifiers. “Winning the league wasn’t our objective; it came as a surprise, because we simply wanted to stay up. But we aren’t an accident. We started with nothing and you have to know how to build success. Everything you see here has come as a consequence of things being done the right way through hard, good work.”

Hagi’s way is a deliberate fusion of the influences that, in the late 1980s and the 1990s, helped harness one of the most exhilarating creative talents in the world. In his two years apiece at Real Madrid and Barcelona he was closer to cult figure than consistent success but what he learned under Johan Cruyff at the latter – “Simple is best, that’s what Cruyff always said” – stuck for good. By the time he was ready to start Viitorul, which translates as “Future”, Hagi had a blueprint for player production written down on paper and the finishing touches came from a visit to five leading Dutch academies.

“I had to see how their system worked,” he says. “They are a small country but they produce the most players, so they are the example. I took the organisation of the Dutch, and I want to play like the Spanish. You have to have personality, take control of the ball and try to be the best.”

That had been Hagi’s frustration for so many years: the fact that Romania were no longer among the best. It had been bubbling away since well before his playing career ended; in fact, it had come to the surface back in 1998, four years after a mesmerising national team had reached the World Cup quarter-finals, when he warned a decadent and reckless football federation that “Romanian football will be dead in 10 years’ time”. By the time he started Viitorul, few could argue with that prediction. The domestic game was bereft, corrupt and helpless in the hands of incompetents and opportunists; institutions such as Steaua Bucharest were giants in name only while Hagi himself had struggled in a succession of short-lived managerial roles with the national side, Steaua, Politehnica Timisoara, Bursaspor and another of his old clubs, Galatasaray. It hurt. With €10m of his own money, Hagi decided to take it all on himself.

“I took a lot of risks but I did it because of the immense passion I have for football,” Hagi says. “If my academy has become an example for others then that’s a very good thing. I had a great career as a player and I’m very happy with what I achieved but this is the second part. My mission now is to help others achieve their dreams, in football and in life.”

It would have been easier to sit on his wealth into old age but Hagi is, at 52, a remarkable vision: a force of nature; a workaholic who can name every player at Viitorul from under-seven level upwards. He owns the club, oversees the “technical concept” that is preached at all levels and has managed the senior team since 2014. He is ubiquitous; you have the impression that this, even more than any of the left-foot flourishes for which he is best known, could be his life’s defining work.

“Romania must invest in youth,” he says. “It’s the only way we can create a new generation of players, like the one I was part of, that can challenge everybody. Maybe we can nurture an even better one. That’s the goal I have.” Hagi talks extensively about his frustration at the lack of state backing for sport in Romania, and a walk around the crumbling, weed-strewn stands of Constanta’s Farul Stadium – home of Farul Constanta, historically the city’s biggest club, where Hagi first made his name – speaks equally well of how far the country’s football has been allowed to fall. Uefa has been complicit too, he believes, with the Champions League’s current format doing eastern Europe’s traditional powers a disservice.

“The champions of important countries like Romania, Serbia, Croatia and Poland should go straight to the group stage,” he says. “If I had the power to change it, I’d do it immediately. Not going directly to the group stage separated us from the west; in order to invest internally you have to see a certain perspective outside, and that perspective is the Champions League. It doesn’t make sense for a country that has won the competition, like Romania [through Steaua in 1986], not to have a team there every year.”

Hagi will try to do it the hard way with the bulk of a side that, at an average age of 23.7, were the continent’s youngest champions last season. He has promoted seven academy players this summer and added some experienced heads for Europe; there will always be flux and sales are necessary both to improve his players’ prospects and keep Viitorul running, with the winger Florinel Coman and defender Romario Benzar, courted by Benfica and Lazio respectively, tipped to move on after the Apoel qualifier.

“My idea is that an academy has to produce one first-team player per year, no matter what club we are talking about,” he says. “Madrid, Barça, Chelsea, any big club you want. In my team, two or three come each year and this time it was seven; that’s at our level but if you’re working with the best academies I think it’s impossible not to produce one player for the first team. It’s a must.”

It could be read as a shot at certain Premier League clubs but Hagi does not intend it that way. He visited one organisation with an uncertain pathway to senior football, Manchester City, last year on the invitation of his friend Pep Guardiola, and found their academy “incredible, very beautiful, with fantastic infrastructure”. Hagi is only half-joking when he says: “I hope to challenge Pep one day”; he does not say where but he is a confirmed anglophile and believes England are a few tweaks away from a new era of success.

“You have the youngest, most beautiful national team,” he says. “That’s my opinion. You won so many games at every level this summer, and if the senior team works on two or three details you can compete for winning a World Cup or European Championship again.

“I think you play too much. The players are exhausted when they reach final tournaments. The level of the league is very high and they play a lot, so they aren’t fresh enough. England starts well, then falls. You have very high quality but the players aren’t fresh enough mentally and then physically.”

Hagi twice came close to playing in the Premier League and the identities of his suitors – Ossie Ardiles’s Tottenham in 1994 and the Kevin Keegan-led Newcastle of two years later – are little surprise. In the end he chose Cruyff instead of Ardiles, and Galatasaray were able to beat Keegan to a deal with Barcelona. “I wanted very much to play in England,” he says. “I know people like and appreciate me there; it would have been extraordinary for me, a great pleasure. I’ll just let my son do it. Where I haven’t been to play, I’ll let him go.”

The son in question is Ianis Hagi, an 18-year-old playmaker who joined Fiorentina from Viitorul last year and has played twice in Serie A. Hagi is reluctant to call his boy a chip off the old block – “He has two feet and I have only one but I’m sure he’s mine” – but the signs are good and others who have worked with Ianis describe a serious, dedicated young man for whom the name has never seemed an encumbrance. “He is very talented, an amazing kid,” Hagi says. “He has amazing quality and personality; now it’s a question of ambition. He was captain of my first team when he was just 16 and a half, so he is a leader and he can be a very important player for Romania’s future.”

Central to Hagi’s entire project is the unswerving belief that Romania is sitting on a goldmine. He is not alone in that; Arsène Wenger is among those who, in recent years, has expressed the view that its football potential is ranked in Europe’s top two or three. “Why would he say that?” asks Hagi rhetorically. “Because Romania won the European Cup. We are Latins, we are creative and we need more organisation – but in terms of talent we are first, that’s what I think. It’s not a surprise that people would say this, because Cruyff thought it too. We miss a few things but the talent is there.”

Hagi would like to see those who took Romania to such heights two decades ago given the space to mould the national set-up in their own image and it would certainly be interesting to see what happened if one of his vintage ran against Razvan Burleanu, the football federation president, at its elections in March. He says it would be a “long, hard road ... but maybe someone can walk it” and does not hide the fact that he has unfinished business in international football himself. “I feel complete; I’m ready for the highest level,” he says. The impression is that, while Viitorul’s academy remains a lifelong commitment, his coaching ambitions remain grander.

Success against Apoel would push his case harder. There are always bumps in the road in Romania and one was negotiated the day before this interview, when the court of arbitration for sport rejected a claim from the Steaua owner, Gigi Becali, to whose daughters Hagi is godfather, that the league title’s resolution through head-to-head records during its play-off stage had been illegitimate. Hagi will not comment on Becali, who had merely wasted everyone’s time, but there had been some tension when the decision was announced as Viitorul flew back from a friendly with Marseille and only when one of the squad, 35,000 feet in the air, found a pocket of phone signal midway through the journey were nerves settled.

“From what I’ve seen in our preparations, I think we are ready to fight for qualification to the next round,” Hagi says. The energy and confidence are unremitting and it is difficult, when you see what he has created amid swathes of featureless agricultural land, not to be swept along. Within seconds of the conversation finishing, he can contain himself no more and has bounded over to the under-17s’ half of the pitch to address a flaw in shooting technique. “We have to be there for them when they need us,” he had said of Viitorul’s youth earlier; Hagi has never shied from showing others the path to follow and next week will be back at the level that feels naturally his.

The Guardian Sport



Jesús Navas: ‘I’m Stopping because I Have To. I’m Happy with What I’ve Achieved’

Jesús Navas celebrates with the trophy in Berlin after Spain beat England to win Euro 2024. Photograph: Matt McNulty/Uefa/Getty Images via The Guardian Sport
Jesús Navas celebrates with the trophy in Berlin after Spain beat England to win Euro 2024. Photograph: Matt McNulty/Uefa/Getty Images via The Guardian Sport
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Jesús Navas: ‘I’m Stopping because I Have To. I’m Happy with What I’ve Achieved’

Jesús Navas celebrates with the trophy in Berlin after Spain beat England to win Euro 2024. Photograph: Matt McNulty/Uefa/Getty Images via The Guardian Sport
Jesús Navas celebrates with the trophy in Berlin after Spain beat England to win Euro 2024. Photograph: Matt McNulty/Uefa/Getty Images via The Guardian Sport

A little after 9am in Montequinto, Seville, and Jesús Navas walks past the Jesús Navas Stadium and up the little slope in the sunshine, gym to the left, training pitch to the right. The first to arrive and he’s moving OK this morning, which isn’t something he can say every day, but still he comes. Soon, too soon, he won’t. “It’s my life,” he says, “what I’ve always done, who I am.” The stand bearing his name wasn’t here when he first turned up, a quarter of a century ago. Most of this wasn’t; the trophies at the Estadio Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán, three miles north, certainly weren’t. Everything changes, except him. “I’m the same as the first day,” he says.

That day, Navas was 15, a small, skinny, shy boy from Los Palacios, 15 minutes south. It was 2000 and he has been coming almost every morning since, apart from four seasons in Manchester which he enjoyed more even than you might imagine. He is still small, slight: 5ft 7in and 67kg. Still quiet, too: warm company, but not a man with any desire for the spotlight, any delusions of grandeur. Only he is the grandest footballer of all here at Sevilla Fútbol Club.

Navas is the Spanish national team’s most-decorated player and there is a reason his name is written large where he used to train and the B team play, however strange it feels to him passing each morning: because it is written all over Sevilla’s history too. The most significant player in their 119 years, symbol of their academy and their success, their entire model. Navas played a record 393 games for Sevilla – my Sevilla, he calls them every time – left because they needed him to, came back and played 311 more. He has just one left.
On Sunday at the Santiago Bernabéu, Navas will play his 982nd professional game; aged 39, it will be his last. There has been something comfortingly familiar about him, always there, but he will depart for the last time and on Monday morning he won’t be back at Montequino. “It’s hard,” he says sitting in the players’ area, which hadn’t been built back then either. “It’s difficult for me. I still can’t imagine it. My whole life has been spent doing what I most love. And now ...” There is a pause, a look. “But in the end, it’s a question of health.”

Over four years, Navas has suffered. He has an arthritic hip which hurts when he plays, when he trains and when he walks, which some days he can’t. He continued in silence, playing longer than anyone imagined and than he should have done, but can resist no more. “I’ve put up with the pain for four years and this season has been even harder, madness,” he says. “These last six months have been very, very hard. After games it’s difficult to walk. It’s purely physical: I’m stopping because I have to. I’m happy with what I’ve achieved.”

What he has achieved is everything, nostalgia and melancholy in the memories, gratitude in the long goodbye, announced last summer and concluding this weekend. Navas says his best battles were with Roberto Carlos and it’s not that the Brazilian has long since departed; it’s that his successor, Marcelo, has been and gone too. He says the footballer he most enjoyed playing with, his best friend, is Fredi Kanouté, and Kanouté retired 11 years ago.

Asked for a moment from the many he has made, he chooses someone else’s goal, which is like him: with the clock showing 100.07 in the semi-final of the 2006 Uefa Cup against Schalke, his cross reached Antonio Puerta, who scored the winner, changing their history and their future. Puerta, whose shirt number Navas wears, collapsed on the Pizjuán pitch in August 2007, dying three days later.

When Navas made his Sevilla debut against Espanyol two days after his 19th birthday in November 2003, they had not won a trophy for 55 years; he has won eight of them. By the time he left for Manchester City in 2013, he had already played more games than anyone in the club’s history, had scored in a Copa del Rey final and lifted two Uefa Cups, the competition around which Sevilla’s entire identity became built. And still he wasn’t finished.

He returned from Manchester with a new position at full-back – “ideal”, he calls it – a Premier League title and two League Cups. He had scored in the 2014 final and in the shootout two years later. He returned with a fondness that’s clear too, continuing when the tape stops. Yet for Navas more than anyone, there was nowhere like home. “The Pizjuán,” he says. Apart from the Pizjuán? “I, er ... I wouldn’t know what to say.”

So he came back and carried on doing what he always had; different position, same Navas. He lifted two more Uefa Cups, his crosses creating goals in the 2020 and 2023 Europa League finals. Captain in Cologne and Budapest, when he lifted the trophy for the last time it was 17 years since the first.

Fourteen passed between his first and last with Spain. He won the Euros in 2012 and 2024, and the World Cup in 2010, the greatest moment in the country’s history beginning at his feet. It is one he admits watching every two or three days but couldn’t imagine even then. “All I was thinking was getting to the other end as fast as I could.” That’s it? “That’s it.” He smiles. “It’s what the manager asked,” he says; it is what he does too. Three opponents trail behind, defenders appear either side like a sequence from Captain Tsubasa, cartoonish and comic, and he just keeps running. “And then ... well, it’s the greatest thing that can happen to a kid who loves football.”

The boy who had anxiety attacks, who literally couldn’t leave home, went round the world and won it all. That he even set off was something; that he went to Manchester seemed impossible, it might as well have been Mars; that he was there in South Africa had taken care and conviction, support and strength. Navas had missed the Under-20 World Cup in 2005, had to abandon his first pre-season with Sevilla, coming and going to Huelva from home while the rest stayed in the hotel, and his full international debut was delayed until November 2009, when he had fought his way through and the conditions had been created for him to feel able to join them.

I’m proud of the trophies but the nicest thing is to take their love with me
“That first big leap came so fast,” he says. “I arrived at Sevilla at 15 and in two years I was playing in primera. For a simple kid from a small town, it was a drastic change. We’re people. On the pitch, everything was OK. But I assimilated it all bit by bit. And I have been able to enjoy football: it has given me life.”

There’s a toughness in the timidity. You’re a hard man. Navas’s response is swift, definitive: “Yes.” “It’s mental. Physical, too,” he says. “To put up with all this pain. After games it is hard to walk but here I am.

“Manchester was wonderful. Going wasn’t such a hard decision [as it seems]. Sevilla were in [financial] difficulty, that appeared, and I didn’t doubt. I wanted the challenge, to be able to say: ‘I can. I’m strong.’ What I suffered back then tested me. I wanted to grow in every way. There was a human side, a tremendous growth. The Premier League is incredible: the speed is unique and I wanted to experience that. Also, the lifestyle didn’t change really: I train, I go home. It was harder for my wife; our son had just been born and she came back every so often. But football was all I was looking for and it was incredible.”
Navas returned from City in 2017 after four seasons, 183 games, and, aged 32, supposedly nearing the end. Pep Guardiola later admitted he had let him go too soon but he understands the decision and so did everyone else. He had a season left, maybe two. It has been eight. Two more Uefa Cups. A return to the Spain squad five years later, the only man from that generation playing with this new one. “That’s the way I live; every day I want more. I never settle for anything.”

There’s that edge again: there is something in Navas’s career, his style, that speaks above all of insistence, relentlessness. Quiet he may be, but he is a competitor. “A [then] 38-year-old who trains like an 18-year-old,” Spain’s captain, Álvaro Morata, said in 2023. Navas says: “When I was in Manchester I went four, five years without being called up. Every Friday the squad was named I would be watching, waiting, hanging on the announcement. That was really, really hard. But I always held on to that hope. You keep going, keep hoping. And in the end, I was there.”
Right to the end, another winner’s medal round his neck, nothing left to give. He deputised for Dani Carvajal against Georgia, playing 85 minutes with his ankle swollen out of shape. “I’m strong in that sense. With my hip, a knock wasn’t going to force me off,” he says. “And what made us win was looking out for each other.” He faced Kylian Mbappé in the semi-final at 38, no pressure. “Well, I’ve been in football a long time and played lots of good players,” he says. And then on the eve of the final he finally revealed what he had been going through, admitting this was the end with Spain. There was no announcement, no noise, it just slipped out.

He hurt, yet held on. Six more months. Why? “Because it’s my life. I wanted to be here with my Sevilla during this transition, help the younger players. And making people happy is the most important thing.”

Last Saturday he played his last game at the Sánchez Pizjuán. “The moment I hope would never arrive has arrived,” he told his teammates before the game. As it ended, he sat on the substitutes’ bench alongside Manu Bueno, a portrait of the passage of time: the 20-year-old academy product who hadn’t been born when Navas made his Sevilla debut and trained and played at the Estadio Jesús Navas with the B team scored the only goal, the pair departing together immediately after. Navas embraced everyone, knelt and kissed the turf, sobbing as the stadium stood as one. When he lifted his shirt, he folded it so the name couldn’t be seen, only the number: Puerta’s 16.
Yet the name chanted was Navas’s, a man who belongs to everyone, universally admired in part because he never tried to be anything other than himself. “It’s hard to understand so much love,” Navas says. “People thank you for everything you’ve done, the way you are: the values my family showed me and I try to show my kids. Am I an unusual footballer? Could be. That might be why there’s affection. Because I’m normal. Because despite the pain I’m here giving everything. Because I haven’t changed. That’s what I hold on to. I’m proud of the trophies but the nicest thing is to take their love with me. Every ground I go to, there’s been applause; that’s incredible.” A teammate tells me: “You will not find a single person in football who has a bad word to say about him, still less anyone that has ever argued with him.”

One more left: the Bernabéu on Sunday. And then what? Coach? “No. People say: ‘You will because what you love is football,’ but I don’t see it. There is something I would like to do, something there in my mind,” Navas says. “I always followed Miguel Indurain. I love watching Pogacar and Vingegaard. It was always about football for me as a kid, but in the summer it would be the Tour de France. I’d like to cycle, and do it properly. It will be something I try, for sure. I can’t go out there just to pass the time, no. I’m not like that. I compete, give everything. Cycling is hard and I like that. I’ve been competing all my life and I have that ‘itch’.”

It’s almost time. Navas’s teammates start arriving, the last of hundreds he has had, all of them marked by him. Outside the sun is shining, once more into the fray. “Football is everything, my life. It’s what I’ve always done, every day,” he says. “I’ll have to look for something else, keep doing sport. And the bike is non-impact, it doesn’t hurt my hip. But today, I train. To the end. That’s what brought me this far.”

 

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