Condemned as a traitor by some and praised for his steel by others, Jorge Jesus dared to challenge Cristiano Ronaldo, who now accuses the Portugal boss of breaking his word. The showdown doesn’t surprise former left‑back Damien Tixier. The French defender, who played for Lens, Le Havre and Nantes, spent the 2005‑06 season under Jesus at Leiria in the Portuguese top flight. He still recalls the coach’s volcanic temperament and “monstrous” tactics.
What’s your first memory of Jorge Jesus?
I’d faced him a few times before he arrived at Leiria, and the buzz was always positive. Everyone said he was a top‑class coach with a massive ego. It proved true fast. When he took over, he replaced a manager fired after just one month. His first speech was blunt: “I’m the boss here. I’m the best coach in Portugal. You’ll hear my name at Benfica, Sporting or Porto soon.”
He didn’t inherit any stars, but the squad had recognizable Portuguese talent and undisputed starters. He even asked me my name when he first met me, reminding everyone he was in charge and status didn’t matter. He wanted to knock our egos a bit and forge unity.
How did the first weeks feel?
At first it was chaotic. He overhauled many club routines, yet his tactical brilliance shone through. He spent whole sessions drilling precise points, always present on the training ground, explaining every nuance.
He could halt an exercise mid‑run and bark, “Stop, that’s nonsense, do it this way.” Defensive corners were sacred to him. I saw tactics in his early Portugal matches that mirrored what we practiced in 2005—set‑piece precision, high press, off‑side traps, all rehearsed down to the minute before each game.
Does he rely heavily on video analysis?
Absolutely. He scrutinises every detail, spending hours studying a player’s style before breaking it down with video clips to show exactly how to control them. In France, coaches often stuck to repetitive drills; Jesus demanded precision and structure.
What’s his approach in the dressing‑room?
He’s close‑knit with the squad, training everyone personally. My own temperament makes me value coaches who speak plainly. At Lens, Francis Gillot never gave honest feedback, even after a loss. Jesus, however, was brutally straightforward with everyone.
Is his temperament truly volcanic?
Yes, because he’s genuine. I once faced Sporting, up against Nani on the left flank. Jesus stood beside me, shouted encouragement after I won the aerial duel, and kept the energy high. In training and matches he lives fully, sprinting left and right.
Some find him exhausting. He’d argue with players and demand such tactical intensity that fatigue set in. That’s likely why he rarely stayed long at clubs; the grind is tough for any group. It also may have kept him from landing at Europe’s elite sides. He’s a polarising figure.
Leiria finished the 2005‑06 campaign in seventh place, close to European spots after flirting with relegation the season before…
We enjoyed a brilliant season, even beating Benfica 3‑1 at home, largely thanks to Jesus. He repeated daily, “We fear no one—Benfica, Porto or Sporting. They’re just men like us.” Those legendary talks made us want to go to war for him. Several teammates later signed for top Portuguese clubs; I moved to Lens. Before leaving for Belenenses, he treated the whole squad to dinner—a small gesture that said a lot about his character. For my money, he’s the toughest mentor I’ve ever known, alongside Artur Jorge at Coimbra.
What do you think of the psychodrama surrounding Cristiano Ronaldo’s clash with Jesus, accusing him of betrayal?
It isn’t shocking. The Portuguese FA knew the risk when they hired such a fiery personality. He isn’t arrogant, but he’s close. Ronaldo’s ego is massive, and at 41 he should consider giving youngsters a chance rather than fearing bench time. At 72, I doubt Jesus will ever abandon his convictions. Will Portugal finally find a coach who can tame both ego and ambition?