If only the fame that his football career gave him were taken into account, Zuhaitz Gurrutxaga (43) would be one of the few members of the Real Sociedad squad of the 2002-2003 season who could go out for pintxos in the Old Town of San Sebastián and go practically unnoticed. That team led by a devastating attacking duo, formed by the Turkish Nihat and the Serbian Kova?evi?, and in which a very young Xabi Alonso was beginning to stand out, was one game away from winning the third League in the club’s history. On the penultimate matchday they visited Celta de Vigo with one point ahead of Real Madrid in the standings. If he won, he could become champion or be one step away from singing the alirón before his fans the following week. La Real lost 3-2, Madrid beat Atlético de Madrid 0-4 and lifted the title on the last date. Of the thousands of Gipuzkoans who were in Balaídos that day, the only one who felt relieved when the referee blew the final whistle was Zuhaitz Gurrutxaga.
In Runner-up, (K.O. Books) ‘Gurru’, who was 22 years old at the time, explains how he reached a mental state that turned every footballer’s dream into a nightmare: achieving success with his soul team. The previous summer, before the start of preseason, something clicked in his head. He was never the same again. An anxiety attack produced a state of panic that prevented him from sleeping. Then came a prolonged period of deep sadness, constant anguish and, finally, in the middle of Real’s triumphant season, fears, obsessions and the diagnosis: OCD, obsessive-compulsive disorder. He didn’t tell almost anyone, his career was cut short and he began to hate football. The pressure of being one of the greatest promises of the Txuri-Urdin quarry, international in youth categories in the group of Iker Casillas and Xavi Hernández, almost ruined his life.
20 years later, things have changed a lot and for the better. ‘Gurru’ is recognized in the taverns of Donosti, although his popularity does not come from football but from his artistic career: he formed a music band, won the affection of the Basque audience as a television presenter and for a few years has been explaining his life experience through humorous monologues that he himself writes and performs. “Laughing at my madness has saved my life,” says Zuhaitz. The treatment of mental health problems in professional football and in elite sports in general has also greatly improved, as demonstrated by the very recent case of basketball player Ricky Rubio. Coinciding with the presentation of his book in Barcelona, ??Gurrutxaga chats casually about his experiences with La Vanguardia.
How is your health? How has your disorder evolved in recent years?
I am much better. The illness is not as disabling as it was when I started suffering from OCD 20 years ago, which is the time the book focuses on. But this is something chronic, which is lurking around and which can re-emerge in tense moments. Luckily, I now have the tools to identify and confront it. You have to be attentive.
The fact that the disorder is latent but does not manifest itself, do you think it has to do with the fact that you no longer suffer the pressure that you had in your time as a First Division footballer?
The problem is that I have gotten into another world in which there is also a lot of pressure. Now I get on stage in theaters that, luckily, are full. And of course, there are moments of tension. When you face an audience that has paid a ticket, you are exposed and you have to comply. But nothing compares to the pressure you suffer as a footballer. I say this with all due respect to the actors. But it is not the same to go out before 40,000 people in a stadium than before 400 in a theater.
Does it also influence that you perhaps have more confidence in your abilities on stage than on the grass of a First Division stadium?
Yes of course. But the fundamental thing is that it is a different, more controlled context. In football there are many things that you cannot control, while in theater almost everything is controlled: you have a rehearsed text, which you know works. Look, in recent weeks I have stepped onto the Anoeta lawn again to present the book. I imagined playing the ball again in front of a full field and it scared me just as before. So it’s not a question of maturity either. It is the factor of not being able to control things that affected me and affects me the most.
You explain in the book that during your time at Real you had compulsions such as leaving your flip-flops in an exactly symmetrical position or washing your hands up to 20 consecutive times. How is it possible that no one noticed your condition in the locker room or in the club?
I hid it very well. First because I was ashamed. I didn’t know what was happening to me, I thought I had gone crazy. And therefore he tried to hide it. With obsessive-compulsive disorder, very irrational obsessions and compulsions are created that could not be controlled. It’s not that no one at the club noticed me, or that anyone knew and hid it. I hid it. And once I went to therapy, I didn’t tell the club either. I was afraid of his reaction, that he could harm me. I only explained it to a couple or three of my colleagues, who became my allies.
Do you regret not having made it public?
At that time there was no talk of mental health. I would say to anyone who goes through this now, maybe not to go to the club, but to seek help as soon as possible, even if it is privately.
Humor is present in your book from the first paragraph. Your memoirs remind me of other recent books by comedians such as Ángel Martín or Ignatius Farray, in which they also speak openly about their mental health problems and explain that they took refuge in humor to confront their ‘madness’. You feel identified?
In the book I say that now that I’m a comedian I’m much less funny than when I was a footballer. Nowadays I understand comedy as a craft. Before he was cooler when it came to making jokes, freer. Now I work more on technique, and I censor myself. Humor has served me a lot throughout my life because of what Ignatius says: when we think we are crazy, in my case with OCD, the obsessions you have are very absurd. You know it, but you can’t control it. In these circumstances, humor helps you distance yourself. Making a joke about some compulsion of mine is the easiest way to realize that what I’m doing is absurd.
Humor also helped you hide your disorder…
Clear. And I wish I hadn’t hidden it for so long. When he did a compulsion in the locker room he didn’t want anyone to notice. But sometimes it was inevitable. If you’re washing your hands for 20 minutes in front of your colleagues, it’s obviously weird. In those cases I would make a joke to show that what I was doing was a joke. Although for me it was very serious.
And now it helps you make a living…
Well yes. When I started getting on stage to tell about my most painful football experiences, things that at the time made me suffer a lot, I finally made peace with football. Because I came to hate football. Only when I ridiculed myself in front of the public, when I laughed at myself, at my failures and my mistakes, did I forgive myself and football.
Andre Agassi writes the same thing in the first paragraphs of his memoirs (Open, 2009): “I hated tennis,” he says. Many other elite athletes have confessed their mental health problems: Simone Biles, Michael Phelps, Andrés Iniesta, Naomi Osaka, Ricky Rubio…
All of them people with much less talent than me, obviously… (laughs)
Did you hear Ricky’s speech in his presentation as a Barça basketball player? How do you rate what he said, and how he said it?
(Sighs) Jo… Just look at the names you mentioned. I played 3 or 4 years in First Division. Nobody knows me. And yet, the feedback I am receiving from the book is impressive, the messages of gratitude from people who are having a hard time, including former soccer players and active soccer players in Primera, not only from Spain. I’ll tell you an anecdote that serves to illustrate how helpful what Ricky did the other day can be. At the presentation in Barcelona, ??a very young girl approached me so I could sign the book. She told me in a very low voice: “I have been diagnosed with OCD for 4 years and my parents have never been able to understand what was happening to me. And thanks to this book they finally understand it. Thank you so much”. Well, imagine how many people someone of Ricky’s media level can help. What he has done will help many people who are alone in his house without explaining to anyone that they are going through damn hell.
Ricky began his appearance by thanking the media for respecting his privacy. To what extent is our role important in finally breaking social taboos on mental illness?
Man, it’s very appreciated. From the way he spoke, I guess many journalists knew what he was going through and didn’t publish it. Ricky has earned this respect because of his way of being and the example he sets, although everyone deserves it. Other times the press doesn’t help as much… From my personal experience, when I sometimes read and hear some things I think: “Oh, be careful, you’re talking about 20-year-old people. They are children who may not be prepared to withstand that level of pressure…” Sometimes we forget – both the press and the viewer – that elite athletes are not plastic characters.
The case of Bojan Krkic comes to mind…
And recently that of Camarasa, a kid from Oviedo, who stopped due to mental health problems, and also had the support of the club. You have to understand not everyone is mentally prepared for a competition like professional football. In my case, in my last six or seven years of my career, in Second B and Third, I felt valid and enjoyed it. That made me think that he probably had the technical and physical qualities to play in the First Division. But he had no mental qualities. I was too sensitive for such a hostile world (Bojan confessed something very similar in an interview in La Vanguardia). Those who remain at that level for 15-20 years, and I’m not telling you anymore in teams like Barça or Madrid, playing with that pressure every three days… I don’t know what they have, but I imagine that it is a tremendous emotional intelligence, whether innate or worked.
Which breaks the stereotype that is often held of the footballer…
When I hear that footballers are short, that they always say the same thing…It makes me laugh. Hey, it’s not like my butcher is talking to me about Schopenhauer, nor is it like people are reciting Kant on the street. I am sure that very few people can withstand the pressure of competing at the elite level. It is an incomparable pressure. The only nerves my friends in the gang, who were 18 or 19 years old, had was about having money to party on Saturday. Mine was to look good in front of 30,000 people. He was not prepared for professional football. And like me, many others who have fallen by the wayside. And now on top of that you have to know how to speak in front of the public, as if the footballer had to be a poet…
Let them tell Xavi Hernández…
Just look at the one that’s falling. If the footballer, who has 10 teammates next to him, already has pressure, imagine the coach at that level… They put a microphone on him every three days and people go looking to tickle him. It is an impossible situation.
Do you think that will change one day?
There are things that have already changed a lot. 10, 15 years ago, mental health was not talked about. Now yes. A lot of progress has also been made in the stadiums. I’m going to Anoeta. And some insults that were previously normal are now no longer heard. Do you remember what they sang to the goalkeepers when they kicked the goal? Eeeeeeh… c..on! What was sung to Míchel, to Guti… Right now, if someone insults a footballer like that, the entire stadium points it out. At least in Anoeta. So, yes, steps are being taken, even if they are small.
In the last chapter of the book you explain the reason for the title. What does it mean to you to be a runner-up?
For me, as a comedian, it is a privileged place in the world. It is a wonderful place. He is someone who does well, who people pay attention to, but then he reaches a final and loses: a winner and a loser at the same time. I am a runner-up because my life has gone well, I have fulfilled my dreams. Although something has always happened afterwards. In fact, even when I am champion, something that rarely happens, I immediately try to find my place. And I’ll give you an example: a few weeks ago they gave me the book of the year award from Panenka magazine for Runner-up. I received it and thought: “It’s good to be a champion, but as a comedian it’s no use to me.” The next day I went to the airport to return to Bilbao and the flight was cancelled. The solution they gave me was a tortilla sandwich and a bus ticket for a seven-hour trip. I got on the bus, with the tortilla sandwich in one hand and the Panenka trophy in the other and I said to myself: “Now yes. “Life puts me in my place.”
