How Carlos fell in love with 'Azer-what'

Ah, but his son Andre isn't. Carlos revealed this most splendidly weird of footballing love affairs, one which entails regular day-long trans-global commutes from Rio to Baku via Frankfurt, could perhaps one day even end with his 17-year-old lad playing for the Azerbaijan national team.

The adventure all started when the phone rang as Carlos was lounging poolside at home in the Rio sunshine last January. "My friend, a FIFA agent, had a message from an agency representing Azerbaijan saying they wanted to talk to me. I just said 'Eh? Azer-what?'"

He was then consultant to the national football federation and president of a sports foundation in Rio. As ever, though, curiosity got the better of the nomad who'd previously coached in Nigeria, Oman and Egypt as well as in Brazil. "I told my wife, 'I'Il go and visit. At least I'll be able to say I've seen one more country'.''

He arrived at 4am on a freezing Baku morning to be greeted by hundreds of well- wishers. Their warmth astonished him as did the city's beauty and the homework of their FA vice- president who seemed to know every detail about him, including his weakness for caviar. They sent him home with a jar and, befitting a nation boomingon oil profits, a handsome contract offer.

He had only one request. If he was to come to Baku, reckoned this dad of four and grandad of another four, he'd want regular visits home to Rio - armed with caviar, naturally - to see wife and family.

So it is that, with the blessing of the Azerbaijan FA, he'll spend three weeks in Azerbaijan before a week's break in Brazil. From next month, his wife - "a beautiful amateur actress with green eyes," he cooed - will join him permanently in Baku too as Carlos ponders renewing his rolling one-year contract in October. Of course, another humiliation tonight like Saturday's could see him pushed before he jumped but how do you sack the best football salesman the country ever had? "Now, everybody knows the name Azerbaijan; before, nobody did," he said matterof-fact, while suggesting Saturday's shocking blip couldn't conceal the team's improvement under his stewardship.

Carlos's son from his first marriage once played for Brazil too but perhaps Andre, the teenage son from his second marriage who came with him to Baku and currently plays as an attacking midfielder for a local club, Neftchi, could end up representing the Azeris. "Why not?" shrugged Carlos. "In Brazil, it's sometimes very difficult for youngsters to get into clubs. He sees playing in Azerbaijan is a big chance for him."

Carlos's own ambitions have dimmed. He sees an England side featuring Frank Lampard, the player he considers "the world's best midfielder", or a gifted Brazil crew piloted by namesake Carlos Alberto Parreira and concedes he'll never now get a chance of handling such riches.

In 1986, he recalled wistfully, millions believed he'd be the man to coach Brazil in the World Cup after his triumphs with club sides, Flamengo and Fluminense. "It was my time," he reflected. "My plan was to have Pele and Gerson alongside me back in the Azteca again." Only Tele Santana got the job instead.

Carlos was shattered but never sulked. Just like now. He's happy to indulge our nostalgic streak - we left him yesterday reminiscing with his old New York Cosmos pal Dennis Tueart about their Third Avenue high life in the seventies with champers and pool parties - but he'd always rather look forward.

So on Sunday, he told the Azerbaijan FA president his rebuilding of a new youthful side must start in Newcastle because "football is not about what you did yesterday but what you think you can do tomorrow." Yet leading a miraculous side is one thing and conjuring a footballing miracle quite another.

For once, a man who's touched greatness would settle for mere respectability.