To explore the coaching profession, to describe it with precision and accuracy, Prolongation called on Cécile Traverse (47), Jean-Marc Furlan’s companion for almost 20 years. For the past three weeks, she has been telling you about their « life of devotion to football ». After the daily routine of the week, the pre-match ritual, the meeting, place in the post-match. Take advantage of it: never has a football coach’s companion confided in this way.
“Jean-Marc is usually back home a full hour after the end of a game. As soon as he crosses the threshold of the door I know in what state he is. By the way he behaves with our dog Paô, the way he closes the door, his steps, the intonation of his voice, his body language, his face, his kiss, I know. At this moment, I assess the damage. This handful of seconds turns out to be rich in clues to the evening and the coming Sunday. Generally, we exchange little at this time. He goes straight to the shower, an important decompression stop for him. This is where he takes off the costume, both literally and figuratively. It evacuates, even exorcises, sometimes. Then he joins me in the living room.
Evenings of victory are fluid, light, because they are devoid of emotional heaviness. Jean-Marc can arrive shouting, all smiles, carried by adrenaline when he has just chained twenty-four hours of extreme tension. He acts like a fool, runs after Paô and drives him mad! He’s not just relieved, he’s happy. And I’m happy to see him so fulfilled, so carefree in those moments. The weekend opens on a horizon of gaiety and good humor. For a moment, we are on our little cloud. However, the euphoria subsides very quickly because we know that victories are fleeting, that football is impermanent and that the season is long. So we find our peace.
The evenings of defeat are heavy. They are a mixture of disappointment, anxiety, anger, uncertainty. Jean-Marc feels them excessively. He has such strong beliefs about how his team should play that a poor performance followed by a disappointing result can leave him frustrated. He often tells me that he works hard to improve this experience of the event, but most of the time it’s stronger than him. Often, when immersed in this state, he remains mute, his face closed. I tend to think he does this to keep me from worrying. He takes the time for distance, the time to find himself in a less intense emotion, in order to indulge in a calmer, toned down, reasoned way.
“I want to be ready for this moment, ready to devote all my attention to it, to watch it, to listen to it”
He then sits down for a bite to eat. He always tells me he’s not hungry. However, as I explained to you in my previous column, he has an empty stomach when he returns from the match. The emotion was such that he does not feel hungry. Anxiety “feeds” it. By dint of insisting, he ends up snacking, regains his appetite, eats and even allows himself a beer or a glass of red wine. Me, I don’t eat. I am sitting next to him. Almost suspended. I’m waiting to see how things go. As much, during the week, I ask questions, I am interested, I go to him. As much, after the match, it is different. I let him come. I don’t push him. I expect him to come to me, at his own pace.
In any case, sooner or later, the subject of the match comes to the table. I want to be ready for this moment, ready to devote all my attention to it, to watch it, to listen to it. I often tell him: Listen to my heart, calm down, breathe. Now is not the time to be in analysis. You will start by blowing, finishing eating, then sleeping. For the rest, we will see tomorrow. These words soothe him, refocus him on the here and now. Most of the time, we go to bed straight away. If he is really too tortured, exceptionally, I stop the music and turn on the “Comedy” TV channel, just to give him the opportunity to have a good laugh. I don’t have that talent! The H series is much more efficient. Humor is an excellent ally in managing one’s emotions.
Going to bed does not mean that we are “at the end of our troubles”. Jean-Marc weakens his body with each match. Literally. As proof, the night following the meeting is often synonymous with physical suffering for him. Nine times out of ten, He wakes up crippled with cramps. Her pain wakes me up, of course. We are used to it, it has become a bit of an almost unavoidable meeting. He stretches, sometimes walks. As for me, I rush to massage him, to help him pass the crisis. It’s unbearable, everything happens as if his body was catching up with him after this day of intense stress, adrenaline, where he eats and drinks little. I don’t see any other explanation since it never happens during the week. In my opinion, he should do the post-match scrubbing with his players!
« Sunday morning is a cradle of illusions that we have built and which does us good »
Sunday morning is the only time of the week when we hang out. We begin by reading, drinking tea. Breakfast is a bit different from other mornings. On the table, to please him and satisfy his sugar cravings, there are croissants and pain aux raisins. We do things at our own pace, quietly. Jean-Marc makes phone calls and hears from his relatives who live far away: his sister in the South-West, his best friend from Aigues-Mortes, his uncle from Noumea. He writes in his notebooks quotes that please him and soothe him. He finalizes the postcards he sends to his children and slips a few photos into the envelopes that he likes to print himself. He reads. Sunday morning is a pleasure, a sharing.
This morning is the only one where Jean-Marc unplugs and stays away from football. It’s a tacit agreement between us, regardless of the outcome of the day before. We need it to ensure our balance. But football is never far away. All it takes is one call to bring him back to the front of the stage…