Arsene Wenger: The Frenchman of Dar as-sina'ah

The investors began baying for the Wenger’s blood, whipping up a rebellion for the Frenchman to be ousted for having out-dated himself and the club

As years passed, Dar as-sina’ah’s competitors began to surge ahead, their approach of buying ready-made machines paying off. Dar as-sina’ah, on the other hand, was being left behind – the now-antiquated model of purchasing “blank-slate” machines and configuring them was simply not producing the successes that it used to. In just a couple of years, Dar as-sina’ah’s approach had been bettered.

Yet the Frenchman clung to his beliefs as a drowning man clings to a lifebuoy. Buying ready-made machines just wasn’t right, no matter what. It wasn’t a question of profits or winning awards any more. It was a question of principles; a man had to have principles. The investors of Dar as-sina’ah, on the other hand, saw things very differently.

Profits were dipping and they were agitated; they implored him to buy the bigger and better machines that were out there on the market – a quick fix that would surely propel them back among the big boys, and bring the money in again.

Still, the Frenchman steadfastly refused, stubbornly insisting on his own methods of development. He’d insisted many-a-time that the problem was not, and had never been, about money. The Chairman too was sure to make that very clear, lest he be accused of drawing the purse strings too tightly.

The fact was that money was available if the Frenchman wanted to buy a pre-programmed machine – and therein lay the caveat: if the Frenchman wanted to buy. But he never did.

Every time he was asked if he was going to buy a new model on the market, the answer would be a terse “no”. Further questioning was pointless. It simply led to a debate – insofar as a tirade could be (mis)construed as a debate – on escalating market values and plunging morals of the modern day. The Frenchman remained convinced that his philosophy of building his own machines would prevail and Dar as-sina’ah would eventually again ascend to the pinnacle of the industry.

Years went by, and it gradually became apparent to all but the most myopic of Dar as-sina’ah investors that something was very wrong, fundamentally, with the company. They began to lose confidence in the Frenchman and Dar as-sina’ah itself.

Initially, those who had questioned the Frenchman had been shouted down. “Respect his track record!” they were told. Slowly though, the people who formerly defended the Frenchman grew increasingly disillusioned and joined the sceptics. Very soon, nearly all of the company’s investors were clamouring for the Frenchman to leave, convinced that his unilateral control of company affairs – once the key to the company’s success – was dragging them down.

It had been a slow but steady slide for Dar as-sina’ah. Once upon a time regarded as one of the world’s best companies, they were now spoken of as just a mid-range company, a back-up, a company one only joined as a second choice or a last resort. It was one of the tragic narratives of the century – the atrophy of a company due to one man’s unwillingness to change.

The door opened with a soft click. The Frenchman sighed inwardly. He’d been bracing himself for this moment – one that he knew, in the quiet moments of introspection he permitted himself occasionally, was long overdue. The Chairman walked in solemnly and sunk into the chair across the Frenchman. Both knew what was about to happen – the Frenchman had already cleared his desk. Still, the dance of professional courtesy had to be performed, for it was only proper.

“Good morning, Mr Chairman.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” rumbled the Chairman. “Look, it’s not that we don’t appreciate the work you’ve done for us. We do, we really do. But nine years of consecutive losses is just too much. Other companies are ahead of us, and we have our investors to answer to.”

The ensuing silence was broken by a squeak, as the Chairman shifted in his seat. “The Board didn’t take this decision lightly, you know. But we think your strategy isn’t really working any more. We considered this long and hard. And we think it’s best we go our separate ways,” he tried to mumble reassuringly.

The Frenchman cringed slightly. He’d replayed this moment multiple times in his head, but hearing the Chairman utter those words made it real. The words, evenly as they were delivered, carried a sharp sting – the sting of rejection. Whoever had said the pen was mightier than the sword had been spot on. Managing a brave face, he simply replied: “I understand.”

“Listen, you could always resign. Instead of us having to let you go. Maybe it won’t look so bad that way,” the Chairman went on, his voice trailing off.

The Frenchman simply nodded – it was getting harder and harder to find the right words. He rose and made for the exit; the Chairman remained where he was. Just as the Frenchman was about to shut the door behind him, the Chairman murmured, “Thanks for everything, Arsène.”

Without so much as looking back, the Frenchman whispered, to himself as much as the Chairman: “Pas de problème, Monsieur. Au revoir.”

His time in England was well and truly over.

This article was first published on Back Page Football (www.backpagefootball.com) under the same title as a commentary piece on 28 July 2013.