by Mantas Aliukonis
When Brazilian coach Tjago Bomfim arrived in Kretinga, his days quickly settled into a recognisable routine. Each morning began in the same way. Vidas Burba, the director of FK Minija, would call him in with “Coach, arbata!” — arbata meaning tea in Lithuanian — inviting him for an informal daily conversation. Bomfim usually drank caramel-flavoured instant coffee instead, but the ritual itself became a fixed part of their working relationship – structured, repetitive, and marked by small negotiations between different ways of doing things.
Bomfim’s time in Kretinga unfolded within a city he describes as compact and walkable. His affection for his new Lithuanian home gradually developed from the daily routine of walking across the city, time spent around the stadium, and regular interaction with supporters who consistently followed the team. “No matter how far the game was,” he recalls, “our supporters were there. Kids, men, women—they would travel any distance to follow us.” Away matches, in this sense, rarely felt intimidating.
Before Lithuania, Bomfim had already built a coaching trajectory in the Baltics. After moving from Brazil to Latvia, he worked with the Latvian U-15 national team as an assistant coach and served as head coach of the Kurzeme regional team. His arrival in Kretinga in early 2023 followed directly from that experience. The club he joined, however, was coming off a difficult season, and continuity defined the squad more than energy or hunger.
One of his first priority tasks on taking office was to secure a physical coach. In January 2023, he met Simas, the candidate he wanted, to discuss the role. The conversation quickly moved beyond logistics as Minija’s recent results cast a heavy shadow and Simas expressed concern about stepping into an unstable environment. “And if I fail?” Simas asked. Bomfim’s answer was immediate: “Then we fail together.” The phrase would become characteristic of how he framed responsibility – collective and transparent.
That insistence surfaced again during Bomfim’s first meeting with the players. His self-introduction was blunt and uncompromising. “I’m a winner. I hate to lose,” he told them. “Second place is the strongest of all losers. The difference between the first and the rest is that champions prepare better.” As players approached to shake his hand, their gaze would drop, so Bomfim interrupted the ritual. “Look me in the eyes,” he said. “A man looks another man in the eyes.” From that moment on, eye contact during handshakes became a rule. For Bomfim, it was a simple way through which respect and mutual recognition were enacted in the squad.
The scale of the task became visible during the first training session. According to Bomfim, the team struggled to sustain even the simplest passing sequences. Possession was fragile and confidence was in short supply. Simas, watching alongside him, leaned over and asked quietly, “What are we doing here?” The following day, Bomfim met with Simas and goalkeeper coach Martynas in a local café. Rather than recalibrate expectations downward, he reiterated his belief that the team could compete near the top of the table. Martynas laughed. “Are you a dreamer?” he asked. Bomfim smiled. “It’s better that I turn out to be right,” he replied, “because we are together. If I fail, you fail with me.”
Progress, however, was slow and it took two training sessions before the team scored a goal from open play. The first, late in the second game, came from Takuia, a Japanese player. Bomfim remembers the moment less for its technical execution than for what it signalled. “It took us a lot of work to build a team and a culture to play,” he says. “That’s the coach’s job. It’s not to find problems, but to identify people’s potential.”
That framework was not always easily translated. Working with Burba meant engaging a leadership style shaped by different historical and organisational conditions. Bomfim describes Burba as emotionally direct and strongly disciplined, formed by Soviet-era norms of command and control. “The fear of losing can’t be bigger than the desire to win,” Bomfim explains, outlining the philosophy he shared with players and staff. “Not everyone believes in it, but I was sure of our capabilities.” Contracts, conditions, and expectations were made explicit and nothing was promised beyond what could be delivered. Bomfim accepted this logic without complaint. “What we agreed on, we agreed on,” he says. “If I accept it, I can’t complain.”
Time became the most persistent source of friction. Burba’s insistence on punctuality contrasted with Bomfim’s cross-border commute from Liepāja. Being marginally late – never for training, but occasionally for meetings outside football hours – provoked visible frustration. “He would get very upset,” Bomfim recalls. “Of course I was never late for training. I was usually early on the pitch.” For him, the tension reflected divergent professional experiences and expectations rather than personal conflict.
Despite these frictions, Bomfim describes his working relationship with Burba as formative. One concrete outcome was linguistic. Initially dependent on English and on translators, Bomfim began learning Lithuanian early on. “After half a year, I could already express myself in Lithuanian and understand it quite well,” he says. “He taught me a lot.”
On the pitch, Minija stabilised and gradually improved. The team finished the first half of the season in seventh place and concluded the championship in sixth, narrowly missing a higher finish. “One goal from third,” Bomfim notes, returning again to margins and preparation rather than outcomes alone.
By the third season, new dynamics entered the fray. The arrival of “Triple M” as a partner brought discussions about long-term development and professionalisation. Bomfim’s time in Kretinga, however, ended abruptly. After his second match of the season, he returned to Brazil due to serious health issues affecting both of his parents. “I came back to help with their treatment,” he says simply.
Looking back, Bomfim’s assessment of his time at Minija remains measured. Cultural differences, particularly around leadership and authority, were real and, at times, uncomfortable. “Positive versus oppressive leadership,” he summarises it. Yet he speaks of the city and its people with unambiguous appreciation. “Kretinga is beautiful, and the people are amazing,” he says. “Hopefully I will meet them again.” Still, three years proved a lifetime. “We can’t get along with everyone,” Bomfim reflects, “but in the end, what matters most is what we achieve together – the good memories, and the friends and fans we gather for life.”
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