Richard Fleming: Louis van Gaal, Billy Bremner and the art of telling journalists to f*** off!

It was embarrassing to Manchester United, a great club, as their manager Louis Van Gaal offered a spiky post-match interview to the BBC after his side’s 1-0 loss to Chelsea last weekend.

Questions from the interviewer were met with faux shock, a raise of the eyebrows, or even a question in return. It was credit to the reporter, who remained unflustered and politely put further questions to the manager of one of the biggest clubs in the world, as was his right.

Now, it’s Van Gaal’s right to speak as he pleases, but the manner in which he dealt with relatively soft questions did him or his employers little good at all. I would even go so far as to suggest that his approach was not only rude, but arrogant and unprofessional.

To be fair, the Dutchman has a reputation of being a difficult character to deal with, seemingly elevating himself above the media and the role that they play.

I’ve met such individuals in sport. There have been players, coaches and managers who pour scorn on the views of those ‘who haven’t played the game’. In other words, if you’ve not played pro, then you have no right to question me on my position.

Maybe, but I suppose the same could be said for the 60,000 fans inside the stadium every week, though I doubt too many players or managers would try that trick with the paying public. The media, though, are fair game, or so some think. It’s a form of protection, an attempt to belittle and intimidate reporters, or dismiss legitimate questions.

Let’s be honest. It’s all a bit of a game.

The media are there as the link between clubs and fans. They are there to ask the questions fans are unable to. There’s kid-ology, psychology and a bit of cat ‘n’ mouse on occasions when trying to extract comment from players and coaches.

Some are easier to deal with than others, and most recognize that without the media, then their particular sport would cease to be relevant on the scale it once was. And, of course, in the case of Mr. Van Gaal, without TV money in England, the Premier League would be a third-rate competition, played out in rundown, outdated arenas. There would also be a lot less millionaires in the game.

Very early on in my career I experienced a manager who struggled to deal with the media. He was old school, but this was the late 80s/early 90s.

Billy Bremner was a hard player in the great Leeds United side of the 1970s. He also represented Scotland at international level, featuring at the 1974 World Cup in West Germany.

When our paths crossed, Bremner was manager of Doncaster Rovers, who were then in the fourth tier of English soccer. They lost at perennial strugglers Aldershot, and yet the bosses from Doncaster’s local BBC radio station had informed me that ‘he’s good with us, and you’ll have no problems getting him to speak after the game’.

How wrong they were.

The press box at Aldershot was on the opposite side of the ground to the changing rooms. I wandered around to invite Mr. Bremner to walk back with me to the press box, for a live telephone interview on BBC Radio Humberside.

Inside the club’s offices, I took a left down a narrow corridor, toward the visitors’ locker room. On approaching, I could make out one raised, angry voice spewing a foul-mouthed tirade. It was Billy Bremner tearing a strip off his players.

I waited. Do I knock? Not yet.

The match officials’ room was nearby. They smiled as I walked back past their open door, wondering how to handle the situation.

“Good luck, young man,” the referee said.

The clock was ticking. The radio station wanted the manager of their local team on the radio for a live interview. And so I walk up to the changing room door and knock gently. Still ‘effin’ and jeffin’ being blurted out by Bremner.

I knocked a little louder. The voice fell silent. As I was about to give up and walk away, not wanting to knock any louder, the door swung open and Billy Bremner stood before me, the veins on his neck clearly visible.

“Hello Mr. Bremner,” I stammered.

“Yes!” he bellowed in his strong, Scottish accent.

“I was wondering …”

“Yes!” he said, not allowing me to finish the sentence.

“Whether you are able to give a live radio interview on BBC Radio Humberside in a few moments.”

“Me?”

“Yes please.”

“F*** off!”

And with that he went to slam the door. Not one to give up, I quickly said: “Well, can we get one of your players.”

The door rattled on the hinges as it closed, Bremner returning to his players for more of the same, offering no more than a growl in my direction to the final request.

‘Was that a yes?’ I wondered.

To my surprise, about a minute later, the door opened and a player emerged.

“Hi,” he said. “I’ve been told to come out and speak with you.”

Relieved, I guided the player back around to the press box, safe in the knowledge that I could at least provide the BBC with someone. As we settled into position, I contacted the radio station and informed them that I couldn’t get Billy Bremner, but I did have a player with me. They were delighted. My shared delight was short-lived, however, as the player leant toward me and said:

“You do know I didn’t play today. I’ve been out with a hamstring injury for the past two weeks.”

Bremner had the last laugh!

Times have changed, though. There are more professional protocols in place. I’d ‘ambushed’ Bremner as he went through his post-match critique. I caught him off guard.

Van Gaal knows of his responsibilities, and he is well-versed in the role of the media. They are there as reporters not supporters.

Most of those in sport understand the rules of engagement, yet you still get those that refuse to play the game … and Louis Van Gaal is one of them.

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