First there was Abel. Then they decided they didn't like him that much after all. Just as they once decided they didn't really like Javier any more. Or Pepe. Or Carlos. Or César, Gregorio and Luis, Marcos, Fernando and the other Carlos. Next came Michael but he decided that actually, on second thoughts, he didn't like them that much. Then there was Milinko but they couldn't help feeling they could do better. Besides, he was too easy. There was Miroslav, Roberto, Luis and Luciano. Luciano was the one. But he was already with somebody else, and he wasn't going to leave it all behind. Not for them. No way. So they turned to Santi. At least they did while they waited for Quique. But Santi wasn't right either. Luckily, Quique is. Mind you, they've said that before.
Confused? Not nearly as confused as Atlético Madrid are – an emotional wreck, a miserable, deluded mess. The football club that sits alongside a brewery but couldn't organise a couple of swift halves in it, let alone a proper piss up. The slapstick comedy club whose routine gets more side-splittingly surreal by the day, culminating this week in a performance so inspired it closed with a standing ovation for someone else's team and with a bunch of ultras – not for the first time – taking over training. Well, why not? Everyone else has had a go.
Under president and owner Jesús Gil, Atlético went through 37 coaches in 16 years. Ron Atkinson lasted 94 days and joked that he'd done enough to earn a testimonial. The late Gil's successor Enrique Cerezo went through eight coaches in seven years. Since they last won anything in 1996, during which time Gil's son Miguel-Ángel Gil Marín has been the chief executive, they have had 17 coaches. And yet even that had nothing on this. This was madness – even if they do say so themselves. This was Gregory hopping from Dorothy to Carol to Margo to Susan in a single summer evening. 44 coaches in 19 years? Pah! Nine coaches in 24 hours, and without even dumping the first one properly? And still getting it wrong? Now you're talking! Now you're talking about what Atlético did this week, to be precise.
Abel Resino knew that he was going to get the sack the minute his side lost 4-0 to Chelsea in the Champions League last week. Everyone else knew that he was going to get the sack the minute president Enrique Cerezo said he wasn't. "Resino hasn't killed anyone and I have no doubt he'll continue for the rest of the season. It would be madness to change now," Cerezo said. Rather, as Cerezo said, "I don't know how many times I have to tell you; I am absolutely sure that Javier Aguirre will be our coach for the rest of the season," four days before sacking the Mexican. Rather, as Cerezo said, César Ferrando and Carlos Bianchi and Pepe Murcia would be staying on just before sacking them. What everyone didn't know was that Atlético would make such a mess of it.
It all started on Thursday morning when Atlético began telling journalists that Resino was out and the new coach was Michael Laudrup. Not that they'd told Resino, who wasn't answering the phone. Or got a definitive response from the Dane. And that's when the fun started. Laudrup lifted the lid, peered into the Calderón, thought "bugger that", and announced he wouldn't be joining. Not on a six-month deal offering no security and no stability. It was 8pm on Thursday evening.
Atlético asked youth-team coach Milinko Pantic if he'd like the job. He said yes; they carried on looking. They discussed bringing back Luis Aragonés but decided the Calderón had quite enough tomfoolery already; they tried contacting Roberto Mancini but soon gave up; they spoke to Miroslav Djukic. And then they remembered that they had that Italian girl in the press office, so they got her to call Luciano Spalletti. Meanwhile, they called the papers and leaked Spalletti's name. He said he'd love to but he needed Atlético to pay off Zenit St Petersburg. €3m. Atlético resumed conversations with the former Valencia and Getafe coach Quique Sánchez Flores.
On Friday morning, Cerezo drove into the Calderón, car honking, exhaust back-firing, doors falling off as he turned off the M30 and through the metal doorway under the north stand. There was less than an hour to go before Resino took training and Atlético had a breakthrough, finally persuading Quique to take over. Resino was briefly wheeled out and immediately packed off, while Sánchez Flores was brought in. Only he couldn't take over until Sunday, so Santi Denia had to be the boss – for one night only. The night that, finally shot of the coach that dragged them down, would begin their recovery.
Bottom of their Champions League group, Atlético had picked up a measly draw – although that was against Cypriot giants Apoel – and sat a solitary point off the La Liga relegation zone, having conceded 17, their worst record in 56 years. It was their worst start since 1999. And in 1999 they went down. Now, though, they would clamber clear. Things, they said, would change. Victory over Mallorca would set them on their way. And that was a certainty: Gregorio Manzano's side were enjoying an impressive start but their fifth place was false: all four wins had come at home against Xérez, Tenerife, Valladolid and Getafe, they'd not won away and their top scorer was injured. Better still, after 26 minutes they'd conceded a penalty and were down to 10 men. After 52 minutes they'd conceded two penalties and were down to nine.
Jelly headed referee César Muñiz Fernández had done all he could to rescue the rojiblancos. Trouble is, the rojiblancos did all they could not to be rescued. It wasn't just that Mallorca equalised in the 91st minute, making it 1-1 and cancelling out Diego Forlán's second penalty after he had missed the first, it was that they deserved it. It was that they had spent 40 minutes with nine men and still found a way through; that they had spent 40 minutes with nine men and outplayed them. It was, declared Atlético legend Paulo Futre, "as bad as it gets." "This isn't logical," complained Denia.
Only, it sort of is. They should have known better. Changing coach probably will change Atlético's results in the short term – they have the players to be far higher up and Sánchez Flores should be able to tighten up their defence – but it will not address the real problems, from the €300m debt to a desperately imbalanced squad, from the rank incompetence of the club's two majority shareholders, and the childish feud that destroys them, to the presence of a failing sporting director, from the lack of a coherent plan to a poisonous atmosphere in which disillusioned fans attack their own, and players are increasingly bitter – one turning to team-mates and announcing: "It's us against 55,000, lads." As if to prove the point, Sánchez Flores's first session with his new club on Sunday morning was interrupted by the club's Frente Atlético ultras group.
For 24 surreal hours, Cerezo and Gil Marín sought a solution in a new coach, working their way blindly through nine of them; nine different men with different profiles. And still they blew it in the most ridiculous, embarrassing way possible. For 13 often bizarre years they have worked their way through even more of them. And still they haven't won a thing. Resino, Javier Aguirre, Pepe Murcia, Carlos Bianchi, César Ferrando and Manzano have all arrived as saviours and departed as the accused in the last five years alone. Were they really all wrong? It's time Cerezo and Gil looked elsewhere for the culprits. The mirror would be a good place to start.
