There are left-field tactical tweaks, and then there’s this. Long before Football Manager players were debating gegenpressing lines and retraining full-backs as inverted playmakers, an England manager was turning to an altogether more unconventional source for inspiration.
In the late 1990s, Glenn Hoddle – visionary midfielder, bold tactician, and occasional magnet for headlines – sought support not from sports scientists or analytics gurus, but from Eileen Drewery, an East End faith healer who described herself as “God’s instrument.” While the rest of the football world raised eyebrows, Hoddle believed she offered something modern coaching couldn’t: clarity, calm, and the ability to heal minds and bodies through prayer and touch.
For Hoddle, Drewery’s influence went far deeper than dressing-room folklore. Their connection stretched back to his playing days, when a persistent hamstring problem eased up right after she had, in her words, been “working on it from a distance.” He was convinced. So convinced, in fact, that he brought her into every club he managed – Swindon, Chelsea, and eventually England – where players could lie back on a healing couch while Drewery placed her hands on them in silence. To Hoddle, this wasn’t quackery but a crucial edge: the kind of small, mystical percentage boost you might wish you could buy in FM’s medical centre.
Results Despite the Raised Eyebrows
For all the scepticism and tabloid mockery, Hoddle was adamant that bringing Drewery into the England setup wasn’t a gimmick – it was part of a broader, modern approach to player care. To him, her presence alongside masseuses, physios, and doctors wasn’t unorthodox at all; it was professional.
In many ways, Hoddle’s turn to a clairvoyant fitted neatly into the cultural moment. The 1990s were awash with spiritualists and psychics. Figures like Russell Grant, Jonathan Cainer and Sally Morgan became household names with their horoscope columns, psychic hotlines, and late-night TV mediumship.
Indeed, for National Lottery players, Mystic Meg’s primetime appearances became a staple of teatime viewing. She was one of the most famous faces for many years on the small screen. Indeed, not many psychics can say they’ve had bingo games named after them. A popular title alongside other TV-bingo crossovers like Britain’s Got Talent and Deal or No Deal, Mystic Meg Bingo is indicative of the legacy she established. Together, these figures with clairvoyant talents normalised the idea of seeking mystical guidance.
So perhaps, Hoddle’s choice was unusual only within the sport itself. From his perspective, leaving Drewery out of his thinking would have been failing in his duty to give England every advantage. If anything, he suggested the public should admire the thoroughness: the mainstream medical team, the alternative healer, every small edge accounted for.
And Hoddle never wavered on the why. He’d seen Drewery work before – on his own injuries, on players like Darren Anderton, who he believed wouldn’t have made France ’98 without her. So when the jokes rolled in, from Ray Parlour’s infamous “short back and sides” quip to pundits sneering at his open-mindedness, Hoddle simply shrugged. England, he argued, was too quick to ridicule anything outside the norm.
Exploring Every Route to Success
For Hoddle, success meant leaving no stone unturned. Whether it was faith healing or a team-wide dental check, he believed in exploring every possible edge. “I would have been letting the country down if I had not used that option to get players fit,” he said. To him, it wasn’t mysticism; it was early marginal gains in action.
