The week after the 0-4 defeat: what manager Baptista looked at before apologising to the fans
What the manager was looking at on a Sunday that began with an apology
When the final whistle blew, manager Eduardo Baptista's words began not with excuses for the result, but with an apology to the fans.
The score was 0-4.
In round 28 of Brazil's Serie B, Criciúma suffered a heavy defeat, conceding four goals to Atlético Goianiense.
Gustavo Coutinho scored twice in the first half, before Gustavo Maia added a third in the second half and Coutinho sealed it with a fourth.
Looking only at the numbers, it was a lopsided loss.
But something in what the manager said afterwards mattered more than the score.
The honesty of admitting “that wasn't us”
Following his apology to the fans, Baptista went on to say something along these lines.
That the team's attitude had been far from what they usually show.
That Atlético Goianiense pressed with high intensity, and that Criciúma had given them more space than necessary in the face of that pressure.
He also said that what he did at half-time was not a tactical adjustment, but a substitution meant to reset the players' mentality.
Not tactics, not technique, but a psychological reset.
The fact that the manager tried to address that point honestly shows what had really broken down in this match.
Putting this kind of honesty into words in the world of competition is not easy.
Looking for excuses might be the more natural human response.
Still, admitting that “this wasn't like us” is a statement that can only be made when you hold yourself to a certain standard of performance.
Having a standard
Having a sense of “what's normal for me” in your own play is, in fact, extremely difficult.
Even players who have competed since childhood sometimes get swallowed by fluctuations in form and lose sight of what “playing like themselves” even means.
When a manager can say “that wasn't like us,” it means there exists a shared standard of judgement within the team.
It goes one level deeper than agreed instructions on what to do or how to move — it is a shared image of what kind of collective this team is.
The players who felt that image crumble on the pitch — how were they trying to rebuild it during the match?
Or did they even have the room to try?
As the score kept slipping away, should they have changed their role, or kept believing and continuing as before?
Such a decision must have confronted someone, somewhere, within those 90 minutes.
From first place to something like 16th: the time in between
Baptista said one more striking thing.
That “just a few rounds ago, this group was in first place.”
This is neither self-justification nor consolation, but a confirmation of the fact that the same members are producing different results.
Looking only at the table, Criciúma has fallen to roughly 16th place in the second half of this stretch.
And yet, the players haven't changed.
What the team has built up has, at some point, stopped functioning.
So what changed?
Had opponents figured them out? Had fatigue built up? Had the thread of confidence slowly begun to unravel?
Situations like this are not rare in football.
In fact, the pullback that a team experiences after tasting first place can pose just as many questions to a team as the rise itself did.
What does it mean to trust the process?
When a team can't produce results, what does a manager lean on?
In many cases, it's expressed with the phrase “trust the process.”
But that phrase can, at times, be a convenient excuse, and at other times, a genuine declaration of intent.
What Baptista spoke of was a week of training and two remaining home matches.
In numerical terms, a possible six points.
What struck me was that he didn't say “make up for it,” but rather “regain confidence.”
It's also a question of order: which comes first, results or confidence?
Some believe winning brings confidence; others believe confidence brings winning.
When a team is struggling, which should a manager address first?
This is a question relevant to professionals, but also to anyone playing a match with teammates on any given ground.
Returning to the stadium
For the next two matches, Criciúma will play at home, at the Heriberto Hülse.
The match against Operário comes on Monday night, followed by a clash with Avaí.
What returning to home turf means for a team is something that can't be measured from the outside.
For some teams, the crowd's roar becomes a burden; for others, it becomes fuel.
The week after a 0-4 defeat, the manager who apologised to the fans will sit on the bench at that same stadium.
How will the players process that defeat before stepping onto the pitch on Monday?
Will they carry it with them, or will they switch gears and move on?
Or will they choose to move their bodies even while still carrying it?
That choice can't be put into words.
It simply appears quietly on the pitch the moment the kickoff whistle blows.
How is “our usual selves” built?
Even when the same players play in the same style, there are moments when they look like an entirely different team from one day to the next. The intensity of the press, the closing down of the ball, the range of defensive cover — all of these are supposedly decided in advance, yet how thoroughly they're carried out can vary enormously from match to match.
A team's “identity” lies one level deeper than its tactical agreements. It's the shared image of how the team should exist. When that breaks down, even movements that follow instructions can look as if something essential is missing.
Conversely, when that identity holds, players move not only according to agreed instructions but also by a sense of “this is our way of doing things.” The reason Baptista could say “that wasn't like us” is because he holds that image in mind.
Honesty is only possible where a standard exists
Saying “that wasn't like us” after a loss can sound humble in words. But in truth, it's not a statement born of humility — it's one that can only be made because the team holds itself to a standard. Without a standard, there's no way to distinguish “like us” from “not like us.”
Anyone involved in youth development may recognise something similar. When a player can say “I wasn't myself today,” that child has already begun to develop a sense of “what being themselves” means. The accumulation needed to put that into words isn't something gained in just a few rounds.
The same players are experiencing the fall from first place to something like 16th. Whether something faded, or they buckled under outside pressure, isn't a question with an immediate answer. But under a manager who keeps asking that question, the team will surely rediscover its true self one day.
- Change or trust — Cremonese and Nicola, caught between “dismissal” and “continuity”
- “Moving on isn't running away” — what Koutsoupias, Dagba, and Fontanarosa showed by choosing to move on their own terms
- What Mexico's hand-embroidered kit asks of us — lessons in the “investment of time” and the weight of representing a team, drawn from 165,000 hours of needlework
