Well, yes my family is quite sporty, and I’m part of the younger generation. My grandfather was an Olympian. Not a champion, but he won an Olympic bronze medal and also a silver in fencing. So from a young age, sport was already in my blood. I grew up in that kind of environment. My father, of course, was also a professional footballer. He played for the Belarus national team and was part of the Soviet Union’s youth team. You could say I was trained from a young age — already from the age of three or four. It’s not that I had no choice, but I loved it. I really liked it. No one forced me. Even now, when I compare it to the young generation, I see how different it is. No one ever pushed me — I just went to school with a football and played with it every free minute. If not football at school, I was always doing different sports. I even took up tennis at one point. I remember when my father moved to Germany to play football, we moved with him. I must’ve been five or six at the time. We lived on a large property with a lot of space. It had this big wall, and after school, I’d always grab a tennis racket and just hit balls against it. The owner of the house used to get angry and tell me to stop because I was destroying the wall. So yeah, that love for sport — and football in particular — definitely came from my family and from a young age. Eventually, I followed in my father’s footsteps. I played for the Belarus U-17 national team. But at that crucial age — around 16 — I hit a growth spurt, and with it came one injury after another. First, my Achilles tendon became inflamed. Then I had constant pain in my back muscles, then issues with my groin. And finally, during a training camp while playing for the Stuttgart Academy, I suffered a spinal injury. I had a herniated disc — at just 16 years old. I collapsed and couldn’t get up. I ended up spending two and a half to three years going around Europe to see different doctors and specialists. It was a long journey. Around that time — in 2005 — we had the European Championship. It was a huge deal because it was the first time our Belarusian age group qualified. No one after us managed to do it again. If you played well there, scouts would notice you and you’d likely sign a professional contract. But I was injured. I’d already spent a year and a half undergoing treatment. I ended up playing in that tournament with injections — I couldn’t turn properly, the pain was unbearable, and I just couldn’t perform at the level I knew I was capable of. After that, I spent another year or so in recovery.
Eventually, a doctor sat me down and said, “Alexey, look — with your spinal condition, it’s going to be very difficult to continue in professional sport. You’re still young, you have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t risk it — the consequences could be serious. You could end up disabled.” They wanted to operate, but my family was categorically against it. They said if the operation went wrong, I might end up in a wheelchair. So we were firmly against it. After all that — nearly three years of pain and over 3,000 injections in my back — I realized it was pointless to keep torturing myself. I had to finish school and go to university. I didn’t know what I’d become — I just wanted to stay involved in sport. Whether I’d be a coach or something else, I didn’t know. I enrolled in an online university and studied sports management. Around the same time, I was out on my bike one day, riding through the forest near where my parents live. There’s a football field nearby, just above the hill. When I rode past, I saw a team training — 12 or 13-year-olds. The head coach was my former coach from the regional national team.
I messaged him after the session and said, “Hey, I was cycling by today and saw your training.” We got talking. I had been the captain of his team — the best player he had — so we had a strong bond. He said, “Of course, come. If you want, you can start with me right away as an assistant.” So I did. I was 19 at the time, and I really enjoyed it — coaching kids, showing them things. They looked up to me — not quite like an idol, but as an example. And just five or six months later, I was given the position of head coach for the U-17s. I was still just 19 years old. It was a tough age group. The kids were from many different nationalities. Sometimes we only had six or seven players show up because many were skipping school or dealing with other issues. Their behavior was difficult — there were even situations that nearly turned violent. But somehow, I managed to unite them and bring back the joy of training and football.
Within a week, we had 20 players showing up regularly. Parents started calling me, saying, “Alexey, thank you so much. We’re amazed — our kids have transformed.” That’s when I realized I had a talent for this. I could connect with teenagers and inspire them. I began doing coaching licenses in Germany in parallel.
And from there, it all started to grow. After two years, I was invited back to the Stuttgart Academy where I had played as a footballer. Then came an invitation from the Red Bull Leipzig Academy. And the journey continued from there.

Well, first of all, when you start in a small club, you always had the goal of getting into a Bundesliga club. Of course, I wanted to train with the best partners, with the best kids—or adults. I understood that I was 20 years old then, maybe 21 when I got there. At that age, no one would take me straight into a high-level position with the older age groups, not because I wasn’t good enough, but because I was still very young myself. I submitted my application—fortunately, the management already knew me from my playing days. I explained that I had started training to become a coach and shared my early successes. They interviewed me, and I passed. They gave me a role as an assistant coach for the U-13 team. The head coach there was also a teacher by profession, and I came in, helped out during training sessions. After the very first training session, the kids started to remember me from when I used to play there. I showed them different exercises, played with them a bit, and built a connection. Within a week, the head coach—an older guy—came to me and said, "Alexey, let’s do it this way: I see that the kids are drawn to you. You’ll actually run the sessions, and I’ll just stand on the sideline during matches. It’s all yours." He trusted me completely.
That was such a special feeling. I took over the training entirely and realised for the first time that I might have a future as a coach. I really enjoyed it. That age group was incredibly talented. From that group, many went on to play at high levels. Our goalkeeper at the time wasn’t very tall, and the management wanted to release him from the academy. But I convinced them to keep him because he was truly gifted. And now? He’s the starting goalkeeper for Ajax Amsterdam.
It’s amazing to see stories like that unfold—to know you believed in someone when others didn’t. It was rewarding to work with talented kids. We went to big tournaments all over Europe: France, England, Belgium, Holland, Austria, Switzerland. We played against top clubs—literally everyone you can imagine. And when you play at that level, even in youth football, you realise it’s more than just love and passion. You need to inspire the kids, guide them, and develop them—individually and as a team. When you start seeing collective success, they believe in the process even more, and their growth accelerates. That’s what gave me joy. Two years later, the management moved to Red Bull Leipzig, and they invited me along. I applied again, this time to work full-time at the academy. At Stuttgart, coaching U-13s was just one of my three or four jobs. You don’t earn much coaching that age, so I had to juggle multiple roles. I was studying, working as the director’s assistant at a big sports school, and I even opened my own football school. My life was just 24 hours of work, work, work. I wanted to develop. I wanted to earn, grow, and achieve. I already knew I wouldn't be a football player anymore—but I still had that dream. Every time I watched a Champions League or Europa League match, I knew the path ahead would be long and hard. But I never let go of that dream. I knew I had to give everything for it. I was sure that one day, I would get there and achieve it. So I never gave up. I overcame all the challenges, kept moving forward, kept studying, kept learning from different coaches.
That’s how it was.

It’s a hard path. Well, like everywhere else, I guess. If you’re finishing university, it’s the same thing—you don’t get handed anything just because you studied. Even if you have a solid academic background, say as an economist, that doesn’t guarantee you’ll get accepted somewhere right away. You have to build a proper dossier—your qualifications, your achievements. You start reaching out, sending your CV, hoping someone will pay attention. Maybe someone will invite you for an interview. Then you have to show up, make an impression, convince them. You will get rejections—how you handle them is critical. Will you keep going to the next interview, keep pushing?
You need to overcome that entire qualification stage before someone gives you a real chance. And when they do give you that chance, everything is in your hands. How you use it matters. Personally, if someone gives me a shot, I take full responsibility—100%. To the employer, to the one who believed in me, and most of all, to myself. I know that competition is always high, that I wasn’t the only candidate considered. That’s why I have to take the opportunity seriously and give it everything. Of course, there are people who’ll go the old way—walk over others to get ahead. But in my field, when you’re working with children, you can’t afford to think like that. As a player, I experienced the damage that poor coaching can do. Unfortunately, even though I was in a top academy, many of us were ruined by specialists who didn’t understand how to train properly. The training loads were wrong—too intense, poorly timed. That’s why so many careers, including mine, didn’t progress as they could have. The physical burden just wasn’t suited to our age. That’s a mistake I’ve worked hard not to repeat in my coaching. I focus on the psychological approach, knowing what children need at each stage of development. The right training, the right repetitions, appropriate exercises, a balanced structure. Because to me, the worst thing is when a child loses the desire to come to training. If they come home, and their parent asks, "How was practice?" and the child just sits there, silent, no joy, maybe even in tears—that means something’s deeply wrong.
That’s what I always wanted to avoid. Maybe it helped that I had a younger brother and acted like a nanny to him when we were small. That gave me empathy, sympathy—it was just something I carried inside me naturally. So yes, if you’re given a chance—use it. Really use it.

Well, of course. Yes. Just like when I was a football player, I still have my role models—and now, as a coach, I do too. I read a lot, I analyse a lot. I watch countless matches. But now, as a coach, I look at football completely differently than I did when I was a player. Back then, I focused more on individual actions—on the skill sets of the players. Now, I see the game globally, from a tactical and structural point of view. I look at what interests me as a coach, and based on that, I gravitate toward those who reflect my vision of football. Development never stops. We can’t allow ourselves to remain static. What I learned or practiced 10 years ago—whether someone taught it to me or I figured it out on my own—that can’t be the limit of my methods today. I can’t say, “This is my style, I won’t change it, I’ll keep doing things the way I did 10 years ago.” That mindset doesn’t work. Football evolves. Innovations happen all the time—in tactics, training, psychology—and we have to adapt. You need to move with the times. So yes, I have many role models. And I continue to learn from them.

Well, damn, there were actually several moments like that. But one of the biggest, of course, was my first match in adult football—as a head coach. I remember it clearly. Naturally, there was some excitement. You wonder how it’s going to go, because there were high expectations. At that time, I was 29 years old, and I had just taken over as head coach of the first team at Dynamo Brest. I came there from Europe, from Germany. And you know how the press reacts—a young coach, coming in, a ex player and the son of a well-known ex footballer and an agent in Belarus. People were watching, judging, saying, “Let’s see what he can do, what’s so special about him.” So yes, I felt the pressure. But I also had confidence. I’d gone through a lot—worked in different systems, including at Red Bull—and I had built up real experience. I knew my methods worked. I believed in myself. Still, there was nervousness, of course. That first match—we won 6–1 away. The team hadn’t won in a long time before that. And right after, everyone started talking, saying we brought something new, something innovative. So maybe that was the turning point. But honestly, there were many special moments. When we became champions in the decisive match at Kairat—that was huge. With Aris too, some incredible matches. In fact, this might sound funny, but out of the more than 200 matches I’ve coached at the professional level, I remember about 95% of them—not always every detail of how the match was played, but I remember the starting lineup, who came on, what substitutions I made. Sometimes my coaching staff is shocked. If we’re trying to remember a certain moment from a game, I’ll say something like, “Don’t you remember that match in 2021 against this team? We did this and that.” They’re like, “How the hell do you remember that?” But for me, football is more than just work. It’s my passion. I live it.

The move itself, I think. You already know what awaits you: a new team, a new group of people, a new environment. There’s the need to settle your family, adapt to a new country, to new housing, a new culture. But for me, that presented fewer problems. We’ve moved often, and as a family, we’ve gotten used to it—it’s just part of my profession. As Carlo Ancelotti once said: every good coach lives with his suitcase packed. Unfortunately, that’s the reality. You have to always be prepared for the next move. What matters more to me is the first impression—especially when meeting a new team. I always say this when I’m hiring new staff, and I apply it to myself too. That first moment, when you walk into the room and the players are sitting there, waiting for the new head coach—it's crucial. That moment sets the tone. They look at you, and immediately form an opinion. Will this coach lead us? Will he earn our trust? Of course, I work closely with the players every day. They’re not my instruments—they're more like my kids. Yes, they’re adults, but footballers are really just big children in many ways. They want love, respect, to be heard, to be developed. And that’s how I treat them. The first impression with players is everything: how you carry yourself, how you present your plan, how you inspire them to believe in a common goal. That’s the key. Especially in places like Cyprus, where, unfortunately, it’s common for coaches to be dismissed after just 3–4 weeks. For me, that’s shocking. You can’t expect a coach to transform a team in such a short time—especially if the squad itself has problems, whether in quality or character. A head coach needs time. And more than anything, he needs the trust of the management. I remember a case at one of my previous clubs. We were hiring a psychologist, and several candidates came in. One of them, just visually, didn’t match the role. As he began speaking in front of the team, I could immediately see they weren’t connecting with him. There needs to be alignment—not just on paper, but in presence and delivery. Another time, a young coach came to intern with me. He asked, “Coach, why do you dress a certain way for matches?” I told him, it’s not about showing off or drawing attention to myself. It’s about creating a sense of occasion. For me, a match is like a holiday. The players feel that. If they see the coach taking it seriously—even down to the way he presents himself—they’ll feel the weight and importance of the moment. That same psychologist I mentioned earlier came dressed as if he didn’t care, and the team noticed. They came to me just days later and said, “Alexey Nikolaevich, we can’t work with this person.” So yes, first impressions matter. Energy, presence, trust—it all starts from the very first second. And in our profession, that initial connection can define everything.

Well, in total, first of all, of course, that we recruited those guys, especially from the point of view of not only quality, but also skill. This is once again just analysing, comparing these two championships with Kairat and here, I just understand that at that moment we really there were teams. Teams from the first to the last day. Respect, subordination to each other, to our common goal. That is, there was no envy, everyone was pursuing one goal, everyone supported each other, everyone fought for each other. Well, this is real, because football is a team sport and there is no need for egoists here. And the same thing was in Aris, that is, for me, that in addition to their football qualities, it was this mentality, the winner's mentality, that they fought to the end, we overcame difficulties together, it wasn’t like we won all the matches, there were losses, there were downturns, after these downturns we also came out together again, got up and got out of there. We trusted each other and knew that we had started a mission, and we would fulfill this mission. We will go through it together until the end. And there will even be downturns, there will be defeats, but we will go through it together and do it until the end. That is, this is the faith of the entire team. That was the key for me.

Every league has its own specifics, of course. When I signed with Aris, my very first match was an away game against APOEL. Unfortunately, it came just a few days after certain global events, and the atmosphere was immediately tense. It didn’t matter whether your last name was Belarusian or Russian—what you’d hear from the stands was deeply unpleasant. From that moment, I knew it was going to be a tough road. I still remember the referee from that game. I’m an emotional person by nature—especially when it comes to injustice, whether in life or in sport. I was raised to value loyalty, dedication, and mutual respect. I always stand by my friends and those close to me, and I try to treat everyone with respect. But if someone tries to deceive or hurt me, I can’t forgive that. It’s just in my blood. If someone crosses that line once, I believe they’ll do it again. During that game, when I expressed my frustration, the referee gave me a yellow card and said, “Welcome to Cyprus.” That was my greeting. I understood that I’d have to prove myself from scratch again just like in every new place I’ve been. And in the end, we did it. Through success, we earned respect. That’s how it goes, everywhere. What truly shocked me, though, were the chants during away matches. Horrible things were shouted. It wasn’t just unpleasant—it was disturbing. When you hear people screaming things about your family—your daughter, wife, mother, father—things I won’t even repeat—it shakes you to your core. And it wasn’t just adults. Children shouted those things. Even people with disabilities were making obscene gestures. And the next day, you’d see those same people lighting candles in church.
What frustrated me most wasn’t just the hate—it was the silence. No one stepped in to stop it. No media outlet said, “We need to do better. We need to move toward a more civil society, toward Europe.” Instead, people just said, “This is Cyprus. That’s how it is.” But why is it accepted? And more importantly—what are you doing to change it? We’re not living in the Dark Ages. I believe it’s our shared responsibility to take action. Of course there will be resistance. But I remember when I first arrived at Aris, a man working at the club—maybe an assistant to the president—asked me about my football philosophy. I told him, and he was like “It won’t be easy. Things are done differently here.” Now, that same man sends me messages saying, “Respect. I never thought it would work.”
When people don’t know something, they assume it can’t be done. But if you never try to change anything, then what’s the point?

Honestly, it’s quite strong. At first, I was surprised myself. My perception of Cypriot football was very different. When I was working at Kairat, the president asked me to start watching Aris matches. Back then, they were still playing at the old Tsirio Stadium. The lighting was so poor you could barely distinguish the players on a laptop screen. It didn’t leave a professional impression. But when I eventually arrived and saw everything live—how the team played, the level of competition—I was genuinely impressed. The results in European competitions confirmed it too. Once we began implementing our style, bringing more intensity and structure, we noticed that other clubs started adjusting. They began scouting differently, signing younger, more dynamic players. I’m convinced we had an influence on football here—not just through results, but by raising standards across the board.
Take this year, for example. Pafos became champions, and they absolutely deserved it. They had the best individual players by far. It was tough to compete, but we held our own. Our focus has always been on developing young talent and helping them take the next step—moving on to stronger leagues. Over the last few years, we’ve sold a number of players, and as a head coach, I’m proud of that. Not just because of the trophies we’ve won, but because we’re building something lasting—players still message me years later to say thank you. That’s what it’s really about.

Let’s start with talent—that’s the first step, like a qualification. If you want to get a job after university, you need the right degree. It’s the same in sports: without some natural talent or physical and mental affinity for the game, it’s very hard to progress. But talent alone isn’t enough. Motivation and mentality are crucial, especially on the tough days—when something hurts, when you’re tired, when you just don’t feel like doing anything. You still have to get up and put the work in, because somewhere out there, someone else is working. And this is a competitive world.
That’s the mindset you need not one that breaks you down, but one that drives you. And at the end of the day, if you can look in the mirror and honestly say, “I gave it my all—physically, mentally, technically,” then you’ll get your answer. The mirror never lies.

Nothing too unexpected, but I was pleasantly surprised by how much people here love football. Everywhere you go, people recognise you, respect you, and even offer you free things though I’m not comfortable with that. I don’t like others paying for me. But still, they’ll offer you coffee, food. That was a nice surprise. The love and respect for the game are clear, even in everyday interactions. However, what really shocked me was the behaviour of some fans at many stadiums. The unpleasant, insulting words those things caught me off guard.

After the match, we always go to our parking point, leave our cars there, and then everyone heads home from there.

Everything is pre-approved before the season. Each team registers three kits with the federation. Before each match, our staff coordinate with the referees and federation to avoid colour clashes—like if we have green socks, the opponents can’t wear green socks. The home team usually adjusts to the away team.

Yes, I’m very superstitious. For example, I always wear two watches—one on each wrist. Maybe it’s a quirk, but that’s me. Also, on the bus before a match, I recite six prayers. I’ve always done this not to ask for victory, but because I’m a deeply religious person. I also have a specific fragrance I wear only on match days. Other than that, I try to start the day with a run, clear my head, and stay physically fit, because players look at you differently if you’re overweight and yelling instructions versus being fit yourself. I try to set an example.

The day before a match, we always have a meeting after dinner with the sporting director and coaching staff. We go over scouting issues. Then with my assistants, we review the training week. The next day, we have an activation session—it could be a walk, a light game like table tennis. Then we might do set-piece theory. If the week was short, we sometimes review that on game day. Personally, I prepare a video cut from the training sessions—key moments related to our game plan: how we act with and without the ball, transitions, kickoff setups. I sometimes add music or quotes from famous people, depending on the opponent and situation. It’s always tailored never random.

Winning, of course. Especially when the team plays exactly how you envisioned it. When your plan works, and the players execute it well, it brings immense satisfaction. The adrenaline rush from that is incredible.

Carrying everyone along with you every day. In Cyprus, you can’t expect perfect players in every aspect—this isn’t England or Germany. The players will have flaws, and it’s our job to minimise them quickly. That requires constant effort. As head coach, I lead the staff, and even on off-days, I’ll call players to check on them, talk about their day, motivate them, build trust and respect. That’s probably the hardest part.

To get results, we need to unite. In preseason, for example, we spend 3–5 weeks living together 24/7—training, eating, bonding. That emotional connection is the foundation for future matches. I always tell the players: during games, you all wear the same jersey. You’re one team. You can only win, draw, or lose together. If you don’t respect each other, those feelings of dislike will affect results. My job is to unite them, give them a shared goal. But the captains—guys like Vana Alves, Aleksander Kokorin this is also their task in the locker room, because I don’t want to be with them in the locker room every day, wash with them there, joke with them there, yes, this is their space, but there they should also, as team leaders unite the team and, as it were, be, well, let's say, my right and left hand, help me and, well, then, as it were, accompany my path or my idea.

Yes, of course, family and sports are important, but honestly, even in my free time, it’s hard to find balance. When friends ask me, “Do you know this movie or have you read that book?” sometimes I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I haven’t seen or read it. It’s not that I don’t want to, I simply don’t have the time. I get so caught up in my passion for football, doing analyses, listening to podcasts, and learning more about the game. I’d much rather listen to that or analyse a match than scroll through social media or watch a movie. And when I do think about watching a movie, it feels like a waste of time to me. I know that sounds a bit extreme—maybe some would think it’s a bit obsessive—but for me, if I lie on the couch and watch a movie, I feel like I’m losing out on something important. Even though movies can offer insights and lessons for life, and you can definitely learn something from them, I always feel like I could be improving my coaching skills or knowledge during that time. It’s just hard for me to turn off, you know?

I’ve thought about it too. Right now, I don’t want to just stay in this profession forever, though I can’t say what the future holds. In ten years, I might still be in the same rhythm, but for now, I’m focused on being young, energetic, and achieving as much as I can. I’ll do everything I can to get the best results, of course, but I also want to try something new down the line. We only live once, and I think it would be really boring and monotonous to stay in one field my whole life, even if it brings a lot of satisfaction. For example, those European matches, traveling to different countries and cities, learning about new cultures—that’s amazing. But in reality, we don’t have much time to explore; the job takes up most of our focus. In my profession, especially the way I approach it, there’s hardly any free time. That said, I’m really interested in advertising and innovation. I enjoy coming up with ideas and building something, maybe even turning it into a brand or working on advertising projects. I think I could do something creative in that area if I had the opportunity. That’s what I’m hoping for, something outside of football.

We discuss potential candidates with the coaching staff, considering who we see fit. In the first two years, we wanted to have someone in the leadership group who represented the younger generation, who could also speak for our French-speaking players, and, of course, someone who had influence in the club. It's important to observe who stands out as a leader on the daily, who has the aura to guide and influence the team. Vana and Aleksander are definitely very influential, with strong personalities. But Vana, especially, stands out. He has a unique aura—always knowledgeable, always interesting to talk to, even in his free time. He’s not your typical football player. He knows exactly what he wants and has a great outlook on life. So, we usually select about 5 or 6 names or sometimes just 2 or 3. Then, we present the list to the team, and they vote on who they think should lead.

Well, yes, maybe something like, don’t pay attention to your surroundings, be calm, keep yourself in hand, concentrate on yourself and try to direct your energy exactly into those channels that they need to be in.

Well, after I announced I was leaving in the summer, we had our first match with Apollon. Many of the players hugged me and said, “Coach, we’ll die for you, this is for you.” It felt real, and of course, it was nice to hear and know they were sincere. Especially when I saw their reactions, their emotions, and their performance on the field. They gave everything they had, and they really wanted to prove it. I was pleased with that.

I have a 50/50 attitude towards VAR, especially when it comes to reviewing. For me, it’s the feeling when the referee runs to check the episode again, to see if there was an offside or a foul that might cancel the goal. The emotions are intense—the joy of scoring and then suddenly being brought down by the uncertainty. It’s like the surge of emotions and then the immediate drop. I understand how this can affect the team’s mindset. It’s easy to say, “Guys, keep going,” but depending on when you score or concede, it can change the atmosphere, the psychology of the moment. That said, I think VAR is necessary, especially in situations like we’ve seen in Cyprus, where technology wasn’t always used. It’s hard to deceive the system, though referees can still influence the game in other ways. Overall, I have a good attitude towards innovations and technologies. Without them, we wouldn’t be able to advance. If the technology exists, we should use it. It’s an additional tool for development and control over everything—psychology, physical qualities, coaching strategies. As a coach, it allows us to test and raise levels. In professional sports, every little percentage counts. If something exists to help us improve, we should take advantage of it. Personally, I have many ideas and dreams for how to develop and use these technologies. It’s just a matter of time.

For the next three years, my main goal is to stay healthy, along with my family, and continue growing both as a coach and as a person. I want to remain resilient in the face of setbacks, always bouncing back with the same energy, positivity, and belief. My focus will be on motivating the players, inspiring those around me, and charging them with energy to work towards our collective goals. However, I don’t want to define just one specific goal, because there are always different aspirations. Instead, I aim to be the best version of myself every single day.