“Champions are Super Class Mad”: Syed Nayeemuddin and the Golden Era of the Durand Cup

From immaculate defending on muddy maidans to strict military discipline on the touchlines, India’s only Arjuna and Dronacharya awardee looks back at a lifetime of footballing devotion.

“Only one cup of tea keeps me moving,” says Syed Nayeemuddin, a quiet intensity still burning in his eyes. Now in his 80s, the man who once struck fear into the hearts of opposition forwards and lazy trainees alike takes a measured sip. “You should remember, the sky is the limit.”

Then, the stoic exterior breaks into a knowing smile, revealing the fiery obsession that built a legendary career. “Champions are Super Class mad,” he declares, “and I am one of them.”

To understand Syed Nayeemuddin is to trace the very evolution of modern Indian football. He remains a singular monolith in the country’s sporting history: the only individual to ever be honoured with both the Arjuna Award (1970) for his prowess on the pitch, and the Dronacharya Award (1990) for his masterstrokes as a tactician.

But whether he was captaining the Indian national team to an Asian Games bronze in 1970, or pacing the touchlines of Kolkata’s Salt Lake Stadium in an immaculately tailored suit, his life was defined by an uncompromising pursuit of perfection. And nowhere was that perfection more deeply respected than in the capital city, under the floodlights of the Durand Cup.

The Art of the Clean Shirt

Growing up in Hyderabad, Nayeemuddin’s ethos was shaped early on by a chance encounter on his way to the Musheerabad school. He met the legendary Syed Abdul Rahim, the architect of Indian football’s golden age, who happened to be a teacher at his school. That foundation of respect and rigor never left him.

When Nayeemuddin transitioned to the muddy, chaotic pitches of the Calcutta Maidan, he brought an elegance that defied the era’s brutal physicality. While defenders were expected to be bruising enforcers, Nayeemuddin viewed defending as a high art form.

“Committing a foul was like a sin on the ground,” he recalls with immense pride. “They used to respect me. The first thing is defense, starting right from the six-yard box. You know, I was named Footballer of the Year just before 1970 without committing any fouls on the rainy grounds in Calcutta. Your shirt was not dirty! Nobody knows about these things today. Shyamsundar Ghosh from The Statesman and reporters from The Telegraph documented it.”

He formed a terrifyingly effective, yet graceful defensive legacy, always quick to acknowledge the greats who stood beside him. “Arun Da [Arun Ghosh] was the greatest defender,” he nods respectfully.

The Delhi Romance and Military Discipline

While Kolkata was the undeniable hub of Indian football—”Everyone from India wanted to play in Calcutta those days,” he notes, the Durand Cup in Delhi held a sacred place in the hearts of the players. As Asia’s oldest tournament, originally born from British military regiments, its aura was unmatched.

“It was our dream to play in the Durand Cup,” Nayeemuddin says, his voice laced with nostalgia. “It was the greatest honour at Delhi. It is one of the best tournaments in the world, very well organized. We used to wait all year to play it. Every second mattered. We never had any guards back then; the fans just loved the game.”

The military origins of the Durand Cup perfectly aligned with Nayeemuddin’s personal philosophy. To prepare for the Delhi heat and the intense competition, his teams would undergo grueling two to three-month preparatory camps.

“Military discipline is paramount,” he explains. “The more you work, you will be better. We didn’t practice for just one hour; we used to practice twice a day. The more you rub gold, the more it will shine. Going to the ground is very important. Discipline and dedication mean you should not look at the clock while training. You have to enjoy it. To get better means being at the ground for seven hours without tiring even one bit.”

He drew inspiration from his peers, particularly the legendary goalkeeper Peter Thangaraj. “Peter Thangaraj was ex-military. He used to wake up at 4:00 AM, prepare tea, and leave for the ground. He himself used to practice twice a day. That was the dedication.”

“Get ready, go to the ground. Come back, change, and go to the ground. Committing a foul was like a sin. Champions are Super Class mad, and I am one of them.”

The Mother Club and the Treble

When his playing days concluded, Nayeemuddin seamlessly transitioned into one of the most successful and feared coaches in Indian football history. He considers East Bengal his “mother club,” a bond cemented by legendary officials like Jyotish Guha (Jyotish Da), whom Nayeemuddin reveres as his Gurudev.

“Because of him, I could get to Calcutta and play,” he reflects warmly. “The main feeling back then was that the officials provided full financial help and support. Jyotish, Jagadish, Manna, Dhiren, Irfan—we were considered a family. Even on Eid and Puja, Jyotish Da used to give bonuses to every player.”

This family-like atmosphere, combined with Nayeemuddin’s terrifying fitness regimes, forged an unstoppable dynasty. He led East Bengal to Durand Cup glory in 1990, 1991, and 1995. The 1990 season remains iconic, marking his first year as coach and culminating in a historic Treble for East Bengal.

He managed a golden generation of pure, homegrown talent. “We had great footballers. Sushanta Sinha, Ashok Chatterjee, Bikash Panji, Krishanu Dey, Manoranjan Bhattacharjee… We were not depending on foreign footballers back then. There were no foreigners. It was all about raw Indian talent on display.”

Nayeemuddin’s paternal care for his players matched his strictness on the pitch. He famously made a young, fiery Bhaichung Bhutia sit in his personal room to ensure he stayed disciplined. He also went out of his way to nourish his squad. “I used to get Irani Badam (almonds) for my players. It was mighty expensive in those days, but they needed it.”

Conversely, he had zero tolerance for poor administrative standards. He famously clashed with club management over basic player hygiene, recalling one club where the players were forced to use a water tank dating back to 1900. “The water was full of germs. Pure water is a basic necessity,” he scoffs, a testament to how fiercely he protected his boys.

A Forgotten Legend’s Final Message

Despite being a two-time President Awardee, Nayeemuddin sometimes feels the sting of a modern footballing ecosystem that easily forgets its pioneers. He mentions, with a tinge of quiet heartbreak, that when Lionel Messi came to Kolkata for an international friendly in 2011, he—India’s only Arjuna and Dronacharya winner—did not even receive an invitation.

“It was the greatest moment for me to win those awards,” he says, choosing gratitude over bitterness. “Thanks to my coaches and players for helping me win the Dronacharya and Arjuna.”

As he looks at the modern iteration of the Durand Cup and the current generation of Indian footballers, the ultimate taskmaster has one final, timeless piece of advice for the young defenders trying to make their mark.

“Follow your coaches,” he instructs, the commanding tone returning to his voice. “Discipline is the foremost thing. Learn how to give accurate passes from 60 to 80 yards. The young crop of players must learn the revered stories of our old generation.”

He pauses, taking one last sip of his tea, before delivering a parting thought that captures the wild, untamable spirit of his era.

“Sher ka bachcha sher hi hota hai na?” (The cub of a lion is, after all, a lion).