Part 2 : Why The Xabi Alonso Era Ended Before It Truly Began

Vinícius is not just another starter. He is the club’s emotional engine, one of its most protected assets, and the embodiment of its future. Substituting him in a Clásico at home was not simply a tactical adjustment; it was a symbolic act. Xabi Alonso treated it as a football decision. The institution treated it as a political one and it didn’t help that Vinicius was actually playing so well.

What followed was not open conflict, but something more corrosive. There was no immediate public reframing that shielded the player. No narrative that emphasized trust, centrality, or continuity. The moment lingered, and at Madrid, lingering moments become reference points. Vinicius eventually apologized for his reaction after the substitution, but he didn’t mention his coach in the apology.

Under Ancelotti, Vinícius had been corrected gently and defended fiercely. Alonso was more logical than emotional. In another context, that clarity might have been refreshing. At Madrid, it unsettled the balance.

From that point on, reports of resistance began to surface. Not rebellion, but disengagement. Complaints about workload. Unease over rigid roles. A sense that the coach was imposing structure rather than cultivating buy-in. The dressing room did not turn against Alonso overnight, but the emotional alignment never fully recovered.

As a Madrid fan, it wasn’t surprising. When a coach loses emotional leverage, effort does not disappear wholesale. It becomes selective. And selective effort is impossible to confront without triggering open conflict. Alonso never reached that stage, but he was negotiating authority from behind.

He believed consistency would establish control. Madrid’s dressing room operates on hierarchy and emotional affirmation. The two systems never reconciled.

It would be easy to frame Xabi Alonso as a victim of structure, culture, and circumstance alone but that that would also be incomplete.

Alonso could not possibly have misunderstood Real Madrid. He had lived it. He had shared a dressing room with Cristiano Ronaldo, Sergio Ramos, and Iker Casillas. He had seen José Mourinho collide with player power, Carlo Ancelotti defuse it, and Zinedine Zidane transcend it. He knew exactly where he was walking.

What he misjudged was his margin for error.

Alonso arrived believing that clarity, professionalism, and coherence would win trust quickly. That ideas, once understood, would be embraced. That standards, once set, would become self-enforcing. At Bayer Leverkusen, this belief was rewarded. At Real Madrid, it was stress-tested immediately.
The Madrid job can often be a poisoned gift. Alonso accepted it believing preparation could neutralize the poison. He learned, painfully, that preparation is only one part of survival. The other is politics.

His footballing philosophy was not too rigid, but it was too exposed. He attempted to accelerate trust rather than accumulate it. He treated credibility and authority as interchangeable. At Madrid, they are not. Credibility comes from ideas. Authority comes from hierarchy, symbolism, and emotional alignment.

Big matches revealed this learning curve. Losses to Manchester City, Liverpool, and Barcelona were not tactical humiliations. Madrid were rarely outplayed for long stretches, at least against Manchester City. But they were always unstable. Control slipped quickly. Adjustments sometimes arrived late. Alonso was still learning how to manage chaos at the highest level, where margins are psychological as much as tactical.

As a supporter, I felt that tension acutely. I wanted Madrid to become a “coached” team, one that controlled matches through structure rather than moments. But Madrid has always been a club that tolerates disorder as long as belief remains intact and as long as you WIN. Alonso tried to replace belief with process. That transition demanded more time and protection than he was given, and more patience than the environment allows.

In the end, Alonso’s mistake was not arrogance. It was idealism. He believed ideas could move faster than power. At Real Madrid, power always sets the pace.

Outside Madrid however, the verdict is very different.

Elite clubs view Alonso’s stint not as failure, but as compression. A difficult education delivered at maximum speed. The injury lists, the recruitment gaps, and the cultural friction are understood as mitigating factors, not excuses.

Liverpool see him as a natural successor should their current cycle eventually falter, afterall, they wanted him before he went to Madrid. Manchester City could view him as a philosophical continuation of Guardiola’s positional play. Others see a coach who now understands not just systems, but power.

From the market’s perspective, Alonso might not exactly be leaving stronger, but he’s hardly leaving weaker as well. He has seen what happens when ideas collide with institutions that resist change.

The appointment of Álvaro Arbeloa is revealing. A club man. A cultural translator. Someone who understands Madrid’s internal rhythms instinctively. The choice signals a pivot toward harmony and familiarity.

That does not make Alonso wrong. It confirms that the club was not ready to fully commit to his approach.

Alonso resigned not because his ideas failed, but because they could not breathe. The environment demanded adaptation faster than he could negotiate authority. The club chose stability over friction.
As a Madrid fan, I do not see his departure as an embarrassment. I see it as a misalignment. A modern coach arriving at a club still negotiating its own modernization.

He is of course still recognized as a club legend, one who left without drama, without bitterness, and without public accusation. As a man who tried to bring clarity to a place that thrives on controlled chaos.