For one man on Tuesday night it didn't matter in the slightest that San Siro was hit by a near-monsoon for Tottenham's match with Milan. Everything is going so well for Harry Redknapp right now that he must feel like he could walk on water.

Managers are helped in their jobs by a few things that aren't for sale in any transfer window: resources, timing and luck to name but three. Redknapp ticked a couple of those boxes when he replaced Juande Ramos because he took over a big club with a talented squad that was punching well below its weight. But let's not kid ourselves that luck has played any part in what Redknapp has achieved at Spurs.

So what makes a good manager? I've played for great managers, and I've also played for one or two where I would happily have faked my own death if it meant not working with them a minute longer. The best managers gain the absolute trust of their players, they put you on your toes whenever they set foot in the room, and have a playing philosophy that is greeted with enthusiasm and carried on to the pitch with spirit and belief. Above all, though, a manager must have the respect of everybody at the football club.

Simple qualities are priceless. Players want a manager to be consistent and honest. Nobody wants to sit on the sidelines watching, but an explanation as to why you are not in the team, especially if you have only just been dropped, can go a long way to quelling discontent. Players will respect the manager for pulling them aside even if they don't agree with the decision. Man-management skills like this send out signals to the players; they keep everybody united and, as a result, extract the absolute best from a squad.

When the opposite happens, unrest festers and stories start to surface about how the manager has "lost the dressing room". This does actually happen, perhaps not as regularly as some would have us believe, but there are certainly occasions when players collectively lose respect for a manager. I've experienced it. At one club I played for, it was because of a shared belief that our tactics were flawed, that this was making us look like poor players and, in turn, lose matches.

Players are subjected to disciplinary procedures, but there is no written warning or fine system for managers. Instead players stop trying in training and in matches and lose heart. A friend of mine recently told me his team lacked any clear direction or ambition and, as a result, problems came about which had not been addressed. He said things got so bad that a group of players even began to raise the possibility that it could be a deliberate ploy by the manager to get himself sacked. After all, where else can you get a multimillion-pound pay-off for failure? It's a very dangerous idea but he certainly got me thinking about whom it could apply to.

Managers don't have to be loved. I know a few players who despise their boss but remain extremely successful under them. Similarly, I know one or two managers who put up with a lot of nonsense from some of their players because they are extremely important to the team. It's about mutual respect. Not mutual affection.

Some players want to be managers. But some managers still want to be players. I remember at one club being fined for going out to a pub with a couple of friends while injured. Notwithstanding the fact that this was a Tuesday evening, and therefore not in conflict with the rule that you must not be on licensed premises 48 hours before a game, the argument from my manager was that any alcohol would hamper my rehab. He fined me two weeks' wages.

I didn't argue, but as I left his room he turned from manager to player and, with a big, fat, stupid grin on his face, asked: 'By the way, did you get hold of anything?' He was referring to whether or not I escorted a young lady home, despite the fact that he knew I had a long-term girlfriend, and, as it turns out, was more disappointed that I had no story to tell than with what he was fining me for in the first place. That day we both lost respect for each other but for very different reasons.

I was young back then, but as you get older, and become a more senior member of the squad, things start to change. A manager may ask your opinion from time to time and, since assuming this position, I've found it a challenge to tell the manager what I really think and not just what I think.

The first time this happened I had been playing for the manager in question for a long time. He had always been a man who had all the answers and knew what was best, a man who I looked up to as a god of the game from the way he handled the players, the fans and the media. But now he was asking me the questions and it didn't feel right.

Part of the legend became humanised after that and I believed it would never come back. I felt it was a misjudgment by him to seek help from me, and it showed him up as a man who, at the time, was troubled. It turned out that, unlike Redknapp, he was not the Messiah. He was just a very good football manager.

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