Simoes leads the Reggae Boyz to the big dance in his own style
Jamaica coach Rene Simoes is at the helm of a team that promises to make headlines in France – if not always for the right reasons.
March 1997. A taxi rounds the curves of dusty downtown Kingston. Dangling around the rear-view mirror is a small transistor radio, which is tinnily playing a reggae song with the chorus over a pounding bass: ''Jamaica gonna go to France, Jamaica gonna go to France, Dem beat on other team, and shatter all their dreams, Jamaica gonna go to France.''
Jamaica opens its Hexagonal campaign against the United States. The stadium is packed hours before kickoff, the air is thick with ganga smoke that wafts over the field and giant boom-boxes blast an assortment of live MCs and old reggae classics to the crowd.
Great crowd, great atmosphere, shame about the team. The Reggae Boyz' are all hype and grind out a 0-0 tie on the cabbage-patch that serves as the National Stadium. Bible-thumping coach Rene Simoes and his endless supply of quotations quickly wear out their welcome on a hot, muggy Sunday afternoon. Jamaica looks like collapsing under the weight of the nation's expectations.
One year later, and the toaster is right. The Reggae Boyz are on the road to France, making a short pit-stop in Miami for the Gold Cup as part of a twentysomething game World Cup prep.
Things have changed on and off the field. Following disappointing results in the early going of the Hexagonal, the Boyz headed to Bolivia, where the team collapsed, laughing during a 6-0 loss in the thin air of La Paz. Scrimmages against Mexican club teams were similarly unsuccessful, one game resulting in a bench-clearing brawl. Clearly something had to be done.
So, Simoes took a leaf out of the U.S. book – ironically Steve Sampson was among the objectors – and looked overseas. The result was the arrival of the Beatles – Paul Hall, Fitzroy Simpson, Deon Burton and Robbie Earle. The Fab Four, all of whom were based with pro teams in England, were augmented by Chelsea defender Frank Sinclair, Derby's Daryl Powell and Wimbledon's Marcus Gayle and elicited the name change: the UB40 Contingent, after the British reggae band, which in turn culled its name from the country's Unemployment Benefit forms.
''Before I came, we were playing the old British style,'' said Simoes. ''But now we have players who are playing the new British style – a passing game and they are disciplined.
''But I have had to be careful. Creating a team is like making a soup – you need just the right ingredients. For every British player I call in, it means one player goes to the bench, another sits in the stands and another is off the team. It's a delicate balance.''
This balance is maintained by Simoes, the former limo driver, who talked Jamaican Football Federation head Captain Horace Burrell into a job when the Jamaicans looked to Brazil to revamp their ailing national team program. Burrell was impressed by Simoes resume, which included coaching the Brazil U-20s at the 1989 World Youth Championship and a string of clubs.
However, players such as Onandi Lowe and Kingston favorite Walter Boyd have bounced in and out of the team since Simoes took over. Lowe, a towering central defender cum center forward, was kicked off the team twice, first for refusing to roll his socks up in practice and later for walking off the field after being instructed to play in defense against Mexico. In the Gold Cup, he meekly played in the heart of defense.
''This is progress,'' said Simoes.
Lowe and Boyd back in
Boyd has been less fortunate. Dropped for criticizing Simoes on a radio show, he earned a trial with England's West Bromwich Albion, where he launched another tirade against Simoes, accusing him of ''playing God'' with players' lives. Right sentiments, wrong forum. Boyd found himself out of work after the trial didn't pan out and out of favor at home.
Boyd made a late stab at contrition, issuing a public apology to Simoes and undertaking counseling sessions from team chaplain Al Miller in a successful bid to make the final 22.
Apologies are one thing that Simoes likes to have publicly aired, as are his religious beliefs. From the ''Jesus Saves'' imprint on the back of his polo-shirts to his Biblical allusions (a 0-0 tie with Brazil predictably prompted a short sermon about David and Goliath) and of course his syndicated columns, which are littered with chapter and verse from the Good Book.
''I am here on a higher mission,'' he said, pointing skyward. ''It's not just about soccer, it's about unity, it's about bringing people together for a greater purpose.''
''We get reams of the stuff from 'The Professor,' and I have to sift through it,'' said Tym Glaser, associate editor of The Gleaner. ''Let's just say it needs some heavy editing.''
While Simoes is only to happy to gain ink for God, he was less than delighted when the Jamaican press – whom he habitually rails against by telephone at what he perceives as negative publicity – published his monthly salary at $20,000.
A stickler for detail, Simoes told the press that his salary was actually $25,000 a month and that his conscience would not permit him to remain with the team after the World Cup.
Most observers believe the Reggae Boyz' stay in France will be a short one, but don't tell Simoes' players.
''We're going there to win this thing,'' said midfielder Peter Cargill. ''If you don't think you can win it, you shouldn't bother going.''
(by Soccer America senior editor Duncan Irving)