Antonio Conte and the ‘passion’ problem

Chelsea’s 3–1 victory over Arsenal in February was a watershed moment in the Blues’ season. In the space of ninety minutes, Conte’s side managed to all-but coronate themselves as they ended the title challenge of their only serious rivals, sticking the pin into Arsenal’s balloon to start their annual post-Christmas deflation a little earlier than usual.

There was also a sense of closure at the Bridge, of things coming full circle, as it was during the reverse fixture — a chastening 3–0 loss to Arsenal at the Emirates — that their manager was prompted into making the tactical change that ignited their season.

With Chelsea being torn apart by Arsenal’s then-rampant forward line, Conte had a major reshuffle and switched to the 3–4–3 system that they’d utilise in the 13-match winning streak that effectively won them the title. The irony is, as many have noted, that last year Arsène Wenger was responsible for winning a Premier League title — just not for Arsenal. With a victory by a similar scoreline in the home game, it felt like this iteration of Conte’s Chelsea had already laid an early season ghost to rest.

For the Blues, there was plenty of reason to be cheerful, as that win afforded them some breathing room for the rest of the season. However, after the game, some fan-captured footage emerged that showed that their manager was far from relaxed, despite his team’s superiority throughout:

It was striking to see and the media reaction to the incident was equally surprising. The Independent said that it “illustrated his passion”, while Joe.co.uk went with a photo caption calling Conte a “true perfectionist” and suggested that his “maniacal gesticulations, theatrical overreactions and exuberant celebrations have made watching the Italian almost as compulsive as his team’s table-topping performances.”

Clearly there is more than a little admiration for Conte’s approach from the journos. That framing is intriguing, but it’s easy to see why so many find the Italian’s touchline behaviour so endearing.

Fans have become increasingly detached from football. The design of modern stadia and the enormous disparities of societal wealth mean that there has never been a greater distance, both literally and figuratively, between supporters and players.

Clubs themselves have done little to rectify this, becoming nakedly profit-driven enterprises; by chasing a relentless procession of sponsorship opportunities and suckling at the teat of broadcasting companies, clubs can no longer lay claim to being the integral members of their local community they once were.

Reducing players and staff to the status of ‘assets’ means that people have become objects to be traded or exchanged in order to squeeze the most value out of them. Once they’ve served their purpose, or cease to be valuable, they’re discarded. In turn, this has created a culture of short-termism and impermanence around the game, making it difficult for fans to develop a sense of attachment to anyone playing for, or associated with, their club.

By pursuing these transparently profit-driven aims, clubs have, perhaps irrevocably, caused a shift in the matchday experience and in terrace demographics — going to a game of football is now prohibitively expensive for the majority of working class supporters, as their teams seek to cater to day-tripping tourists or middle class fans with disposable income.

The influence of the tabloids, and their insatiable desire to find a reason to hang footballers out to dry, has led to footballers being media-trained within an inch of their lives in order to avoid saying something that’ll get them in trouble. Every pre- and post-match interview is an exercise in using as many words as you can to say as little as possible; they’ve become a patchwork quilt of vapid, dispassionate clichés haphazardly stitched together. There’s absolutely no sense of the individual spouting these lukewarm platitudes as this, the primary interaction between players and fans, has had the edges entirely sanded off.

All of which has led to football becoming an evermore glossy and sanitised experience: the robotic interviews devoid of any personality, the overtly anodyne corporate trappings of new grounds, and the transience of staff has left the majority of fans disheartened and disillusioned with their teams.

So when we do see someone expressing themselves, showing that they care — or even acting like, you know, an actual human being — we tend to latch onto it.

It’s not hard to understand why some managers act like this, either. The lifespan of a football manager in any one job is extremely short, as the financial implications of failure (or even a lack of success) mean that patience from chairmen is in very short supply. Inevitably, this creates a huge amount of pressure for those in the dugout, so when things are going well, or going poorly, displaying your emotions is a natural, and potentially healthy, way of managing that pressure. Mugging for the camera and for the terraces is also an easy way to get the fans onside and the most simple form of image management imaginable — it’s partially why Klopp has proven to be so popular on Merseyside.

The combination of these factors, though, has led us to overvalue demonstrative passion. An emotionally repressed national identity probably has something to do with this — as many of us are incapable of properly managing our emotions or expressing them in a healthy way, we cling onto anyone who makes a tangible display of their interior mental state.

Running around like a madman, flailing your arms like a broken windmill, and screaming and shouting until your tonsils are red and bloody aren’t the only way to be passionate though. Those who adopt a more placid, tranquil posture on the touchline aren’t necessarily less passionate than those who are overt; they may just choose to channel themselves into their preparation, their work on the training ground, or their relationships with their players.

Management isn’t a job you get into unless you have a burning desire for the game — it’s far too stressful and insecure and draining if you’re not enamoured with what you do. All of this should be painfully obvious — and yet, if a manager isn’t tearing (what’s left of) their hair out or terrifying the fourth official with their apoplexy, they have their commitment called into question, or are instead accused of not caring.

And the prevalence of, and adulation received by, the individuals who do express themselves in this manner has created a fan culture where performative passion is overvalued and overrated. Again, it’s understandable — as fans become more detached from their increasingly faceless, corporatised clubs, they become more desperate to see that someone cares about their club as much as they do.

This seems misplaced, though, as in football it’s those with who can keep a cool head who often prevail. Amidst the maelstrom of a game, results are decided by strikers who can keep their composure when they’re one on one with a goalkeeper, by playmakers who have the patience to hold onto the ball until the opportune moment for the perfect pass, and by managers who maintain clarity of thought, who have courage in their convictions and who make the right changes at the right time.

This sort of attitude - where if you’re not wearing your heart on your sleeve then you’re accused of not having a heart at all - is endemic in English football and manifests itself in the reaction to those on the pitch, too.

On any given Saturday afternoon, you’ll see and hear players being applauded for taking aimless potshots from absurd positions that sail way over the crossbar. It’s part of this desire for tangibility, for actions that are obvious and concrete, even if they’re not necessarily actually useful.

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The way that Antonio Conte’s sideline antics have been greeted is perfectly in line with this and, given the thoroughly limp 12 months Chelsea experienced prior to his arrival, it makes sense that he has managed to charm so many.

That said, I can’t help wondering how differently Conte’s actions would be perceived if Chelsea were in a bad run of form.

(This isn’t meant to be some deliberately contrarian take designed to detract from the well-deserved plaudits that have been raining down on the Chelsea manager in end of season reviews: Conte has been undeniably brilliant as a manager and his malfunctioning-robot-style touchline demeanour genuinely is entertaining. Instead, this is simply an observation of how that behaviour is interpreted and coloured by the success of his team, and how the same actions could easily be spun in the opposite direction should Chelsea’s fortunes change.)

In fact, we needn’t simply wonder, as we can turn to the way similar sorts of conduct by different managers was received last season:

When his side conceded a late equaliser against West Brom, Slaven Bilić reacted by throwing a microphone on the ground and was sent to the stands by Michael Oliver, which was evidence of him being “tipped…over the edge” according to Sky Sports.

It was a similar story when Paul Pogba was booked for diving against West Ham, as José Mourinho booted a water bottle in his technical area, was sent to the stands and later served a touchline ban for his troubles. United were in a bit of a slump at the time and José’s overreaction was painted as a desperate man unravelling at the seams.

The Mail suggested that Arsène Wenger should face a lengthy ban “after he inexplicably went berserk and shoved fourth official Anthony Taylor” at the end of his side’s game against Burnley and The Telegraph called the Arsenal manager’s behaviour “disgraceful”. Both of those articles were written by former referees so their view is to be expected, and obviously physical altercations with officials aren’t acceptable under any circumstances…

But is what Arsène did that far removed from what Conte was doing? Is the only difference that he did it with a member of his own staff, someone with whom he has a prior professional working relationship with? Does that make it fine? Does that make it a display of unfettered passion rather than unhinged frustration?

Looking back at the way another Chelsea manager interacted with a member of his staff, and the wide censure he earned for his actions, provides an interesting point of contrast to the reception Antonio Conte received:

José was rightly raked over the coals for his threatening and abusive language and behaviour towards Eva Carneiro, who was simply doing her job. Leaving the gendered implications to one side, was that incident that far removed from what we saw at Stamford Bridge during the Arsenal game? There was no suggestion from Angelo Alessio that he felt his manager’s behaviour was abusive, but is there a fundamental distinction between aggressively lambasting your club doctor and manhandling your assistant coach, furiously grabbing him and frogmarching him down the touchline? If so, what’s the difference?

Is it simply that Chelsea were winning? Bilić, Wenger and Mourinho have all had their expressions of touchline emotion used as evidence of them starting to buckle under pressure when results were going against them, while Conte has been perceived in a largely positive light and heralded for his ‘passion’ because things are going his way.

Perhaps the best analogue for Conte’s behaviour is Walter Mazzarri. After Miguel Britos was unfairly sent off against West Brom, Watford’s then-manager lost his temper with his goalkeeping coach (who was simply telling him to leave the fourth official alone) and then proceeded to kick the dugout in a fit of frustration. Like Chelsea, Watford were winning at the time, but the two incidents were presented in starkly different lights.

After initially noting the Italian’s passion, The Telegraph said that “Mazzarri cut an angry figure on the touchline” and described his “rage”, while Sky Sports editorialised their video of the argument as “Mazzarri’s touchline fury”. Essentially, there was very little difference between what Conte and Mazzarri did, but due to the success of one and the struggles of the other, their behaviour was portrayed in contrasting manners.

Winning insulates you from criticism to a certain degree and Conte’s behaviour has been tolerated and praised because he’s been enjoying a successful run of form. Context is everything, though, and when that context changes, he might find the public’s perception of him changes too. There’s a fine line between being a mad, impassioned genius and raving lunatic.

We’ve already seen a few fractures caused by the intensity of Conte’s personality — the collapse of his relationship with Diego Costa (“thanks for the seasono”); his annoyance at the club’s failure to secure his transfer targets quickly — but a recently signed new contract, alongside the arrivals of Antonio Rüdiger, Tiemoué Bakayoko and Álvaro Morata, will have surely assuaged him.

It’ll be interesting to see how he’s viewed if he continues in a similar vein when Chelsea start struggling and inevitably go through a bad patch. His “passion” could soon turn to “anger”.