Franklin Rijkaard

Milan, 1990: Marco van Basten was the artist, Ruud Gullit the icon, and Frank Rijkaard was the reason both of them could play. He was the third Dutchman, the one who did the parts of football that do not photograph well, and he did them with a physical authority and a technical ease that made him arguably the most complete midfielder of his era. He also scored the winning goal in a European Cup final, which tells you how little the description "defensive midfielder" ever covered him. Born in Amsterdam in 1962 to a Surinamese father, Rijkaard came through the Ajax academy and debuted at seventeen under Leo Beenhakker. He was the ultimate tactical equalizer, functioning seamlessly as an elite centre-back and as a dominant defensive midfielder, combining a formidable frame with the touch of an attacking playmaker. His tackling range was exceptional, his aerial dominance almost total, and his capacity to break opposition pressing lines — with vertical passing or with powerful surges through the central axis — was the single most valuable thing about him. He won three Eredivisie titles and the 1987 Cup Winners' Cup with Ajax before a rupture with Johan Cruyff ended his first spell abruptly; he moved to Sporting CP and then Real Zaragoza before joining Milan in 1988. There, in Arrigo Sacchi's side, he won two Serie A titles and back-to-back European Cups in 1989 and 1990, scoring the only goal of the 1990 final against Benfica. He returned to Ajax in 1993 and won the 1995 Champions League at thirty-two, retiring immediately afterwards. For the Netherlands he won 73 caps and the 1988 European Championship. His nonchalance had a cost. Rijkaard's relaxed style could tip into genuine languor, producing careless giveaways under light pressure and phases of tactical inattention, and his intensity dropped noticeably in matches that lacked stakes — he was a player who needed the occasion to be worth something. He was not quick over distance, and against sides that attacked into space behind a high midfield line he could be bypassed. His goal output was modest for a player of his technical range, since he rarely arrived in the box outside set pieces. Emotionally he was a complex, highly reserved figure whose relaxed demeanour concealed a sharp temper when provoked. He usually projected cool authority and unruffled elegance, spoke quietly, and led through positional example rather than instruction, and teammates at three clubs described a man who was respected universally and known by very few. The exceptions were sudden and severe. In 1987, at twenty-five, he fell out with Cruyff — his manager and the figure he had grown up idolising — over selection and tactics, walked out of Ajax mid-season, and spent a year in exile abroad rather than back down, a rupture that took years to repair. Three years later came the confrontation with Rudi Völler in the 1990 World Cup, in which both men were sent off within minutes and Rijkaard spat at his opponent twice, an act he apologised for repeatedly and publicly for the rest of his life. Neither episode fitted the man his colleagues knew, which is precisely what made them notable: the volatility sat far beneath the surface and surfaced only under sustained provocation or a challenge to his own judgement. Away from football he was private, cultured, quietly political about race in Dutch society, and free of controversy in a long subsequent management career that included a Champions League with Barcelona. Serene, indispensable and occasionally combustible, Rijkaard was the balance in three of the greatest teams ever assembled and rarely received the credit for being it.