Football’s False Prophets: The Cult of ‘Project’ Managers and the Death of Accountability
They speak in riddles. They paint pictures with words, visions of a future only they can see. Every defeat is a “lesson,” every setback “part of the process.” Their team flounders, yet they smile in press conferences, assuring everyone that progress is being made. “Trust the process,” they whisper, as if football is now a faith, a belief system that requires blind devotion.
This is the age of the “project” manager—football’s modern-day prophets, armed not with trophies but with PowerPoint presentations, tactical blueprints, and grandiloquent speeches about “philosophy.” Winning today? Irrelevant. What matters is “building something.”
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But here’s the paradox: The managers of old— Sir Alex Ferguson, Fabio Capello, Arrigo Sacchi, Carlo Ancelotti —never needed to sell a vision. Their teams were the vision. They didn’t beg for time; they took the present and reshaped it into their image. So, when did football trade ruthless ambition for patience? When did results become negotiable?
Maybe the biggest trick modern managers ever pulled was convincing us that time, not trophies, is the true currency of success.
The Death of Urgency: How Football Became a Waiting Game
There was a time when football was a results business. If you didn’t win, you were gone. No five-year plans, no culture-building speeches. A manager walked in, made his mark, and either delivered or disappeared.
Then something changed. Clubs—especially those with deep pockets—became obsessed with long-termism. They wanted to build “dynasties,” not just teams. Investors wanted stability, fans were sold dreams of dominance, and suddenly, patience became a virtue.
This shift was magnified by the rise of Pep Guardiola and Jürgen Klopp—two managers who were afforded time and transformed their clubs into footballing juggernauts. Their success, however, was misunderstood. People saw the patience given to them and assumed that time alone breeds greatness. What they missed was that these men were winners before they were builders. Their ideas worked instantly, but their longevity only made them stronger.
Now, every manager wants the same luxury. But football doesn’t work that way. Guardiola and Klopp didn’t need excuses; they shaped winning teams while evolving their projects. The difference? They never asked for patience—they earned it.
The Power of Narratives: How ‘Projects’ Became a Marketing Tool
A football manager today is more than just a tactician. He is a brand. His ability to manipulate language, to frame his failures as mere stepping stones, is as important as his ability to organize a backline.
Take Mikel Arteta, for example. When Arteta arrived in 2019, Arsenal were drowning. The post-Wenger era had spiraled into confusion under Unai Emery, and Arteta—just 37 years old, armed with Pep Guardiola’s footballing gospel—was appointed not just as a manager, but as a saviour.
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His early days were intoxicating. He spoke of “non-negotiables,” of culture shifts, of a long-term plan to return Arsenal to the pinnacle of football. It was not about winning now; it was about rebuilding. And yet, as Arsenal trudged through two consecutive 8th-place finishes, something remarkable happened: Arteta remained untouched.
Other managers — some of whom had won titles elsewhere—would have been fired. But Arteta had built a fortress of excuses: “He needs more time.” “This squad isn’t good enough.” “He’s changing the culture.” Each failure was repackaged as a necessary struggle — a stepping stone to something greater.
How the ‘Project’ Became a Shield
Let’s be clear: Arsenal did improve under Arteta. But was it ever as groundbreaking as advertised? By 2022-23, Arsenal were playing dynamic football, leading the Premier League title race deep into the season. Yet, when the moment of truth arrived, they collapsed. Lost to Manchester City, crumbled under pressure, finished second.
No trophy. No parade. Just more promises. Arteta’s response? More rhetoric. More talk of “learning experiences.”
Imagine telling Alex Ferguson that finishing second is a learning curve. He would have laughed you out of the room. Yet, Arsenal’s hierarchy—so entrenched in the “project”—doubled down. More signings, more trust, more time. The idea was simple: Next season would be the one.
Except it wasn’t.
By 2023-24, Arsenal were better, but again, not winners. City triumphed once more, and Arteta’s project, despite its beauty, remained aesthetic without substance. At what point does patience become an excuse? If a manager needs five, six, seven years to win, is it still a “project,” or just delayed failure?
Compare this to Thomas Tuchel at Chelsea. No “project,” no five-year plan. He arrived, imposed structure, and within months, Chelsea were European champions. Yet, despite his success, he wasn’t granted the patience afforded to “visionaries” like Arteta.
The lesson? The word “project” is a shield. If a club believes in your rhetoric, you get time. If they don’t, you get the sack—results be damned. So, what makes Arteta different? His ability to sell the project.
His words are calculated, his vision cinematic. Arsenal’s ownership — and, crucially, their fans — have bought into his philosophy not because of what he has won, but because of what he promises to win. This is how football has changed. It is no longer just about delivering. It is about making people believe you will deliver someday. And if you can make them believe long enough, you can extend your time indefinitely.
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Football has always been a game of thinkers. The best managers—Arrigo Sacchi, Johan Cruyff, Marcelo Bielsa—changed the sport through ideas. But their genius was visible. It was tangible. They didn’t ask you to wait years to see results. Their revolutions happened in real-time.
Contrast this with modern “project” managers who traffic in conceptual success. Their teams don’t need to win now; they just need to “show progress.” They are salesmen first, tacticians second—convincing boardrooms and fans alike that the future is bright, even when the present is bleak.
But how do we measure progress? If a manager finishes 5th for three straight seasons but speaks eloquently about his philosophy, is that progress? Or is it just stagnation disguised as evolution?
Football history is littered with managers who transformed clubs without the crutch of a long-term project: Jose Mourinho at Porto (2002-2004): No five-year plan, no “trust the process” speeches. Just instant domination. Diego Simeone at Atlético Madrid (2011-present): Built a dynasty by instilling his philosophy from day one, winning La Liga within three years. Luis Enrique at Barcelona (2014-2017): No time to “build”—delivered a treble in his first season.
The difference? These managers didn’t market themselves as revolutionaries. They simply won.
Why Fans Keep Falling for the Illusion
If football fans have learned one thing in the modern era, it’s that hope sells. A manager who wins but lacks charisma will always be less adored than one who speaks of grand ideas, even if those ideas never materialize.
Mauricio Pochettino at Spurs is a perfect example. He was lauded as an architect of something bigger, a man building for the future. Yet, despite his tactical brilliance, Spurs won nothing. His reward? Eternal admiration.
Meanwhile, Antonio Conte, a man who guarantees trophies but refuses to sugarcoat the process, is often viewed as too abrasive, too impatient. He doesn’t sell hope—he sells victory. And in football’s new culture of patience, that makes him an anomaly.
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Fans don’t just want success anymore—they want a story. And “project” managers give them that.
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So where does this leave football? Are we destined for an era where managers are judged more by their ability to market themselves than their ability to win?
Maybe. But history has a way of correcting itself. The illusion of the “project” can only last so long before reality catches up. Clubs will always crave dominance, and eventually, results will reclaim their place above rhetoric.
The next great manager will not be the one who begs for patience, but the one who forces football to believe in him—not through words, but through victories.
Because in the end, football is not a novel. It is not a sermon. It is not a five-year business plan. It is a game. And in this game, winning is the only truth that matters.
By: Tobi Peter / @keepIT_tactical
Featured Image: @GabFoligno / Catherine Ivill / Getty Images