Gazza: My Story (7 page)

In the 1983–4 season, I did well in our youth team. We beat Hull, Leeds and Southampton in the Youth Cup and got into the fifth round, where we were unlucky
to be beaten 2–1 by Everton. Then, at the end of the season, the first team were promoted to the First Division. Things were really going great, for the club and for me.

But then, out of the blue, Kevin Keegan announced his retirement. We were still reeling from that when a second blow came. Arthur Cox resigned. None of us could believe or understand that. I think it was something to do with the board not offering him a long-term contract, and that he resigned as a matter of pride.

In June 1984, just after I’d turned seventeen, we found we had a new manager – Jack Charlton. I liked the idea of having a Geordie in charge of the Toon. But he obviously didn’t like the idea of me, from what he’d been told or from what he’d seen of me. He hadn’t been there long when he called me into his office. He didn’t ask me to sit down, so I just stood there, waiting to find out what he had to say. He reached out and patted my stomach, as if I were a woman expecting a bairn.

‘I hear you’re a cheeky chappie,’ he said.

I just mumbled.

‘And I also hear there’s a bit of skill underneath all that fat. Well, you’ve got two weeks to get it all off. If you don’t, you’re out of the youth team and out of the club.’

I left the room in tears and ran home, feeling really
scared. To be fair to Jack, he did try to help me as well as frightening me. When I went to the Oven Door Tea Room near the training ground, where I used to go every day after training and stuff my face with cakes, I discovered they’d had orders not to serve me. I had to eat lots of salads, not hamburgers and chips. I managed to do it, though not without a struggle. I also did lots of running wearing a plastic bin-liner under my clothes, to get me sweating, and I got my weight down. Jackie Milburn, one of Newcastle’s greatest-ever players and Jack Charlton’s uncle, came to the ground to have a look at me, and he thought I was really good. That was nice. He even told Bobby Robson, the England manager, I was one to look out for.

The next season, 1984–5, Jack made me captain of the youth team and we set off on a really good run in the Youth Cup, doing even better than we had the previous season. We thumped Everton 6–0 and beat Leeds and Manchester City. What was especially great was that we were getting big crowds at home for all our youth matches. We hammered Coventry 3–0 in the fifth round and in the semi-final we trounced Birmingham City 7–2 on aggregate, earning a place in the final, where we were due to meet Watford, then managed by Graham Taylor.

I’d also been playing quite often in the reserves, which was tough, as they tend to be full of old pros on the way down who know all the tricks, including how to flatten any cheeky seventeen-year-olds who think they are smart. Towards the end of that season, in March 1985, I was given my first chance to travel with the first team – for their game at Ipswich – which I suspect I enjoyed more than they enjoyed having me with them.

Chris Waddle had been injured and was on the subs’ bench, replaced by Neil McDonald. Jack Charlton, who was never very good with names, thought Neil’s first name was Gary. In the dressing room before the match, Jack instructed that Gary was to play wide on the right. I thought he’d said Gazza, so I rushed off to get the number 7 shirt. The gaffer asked what the hell I was doing. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I was talking to Gary, not to you.’

So I sat on the bench that day, in my ordinary clothes, as I was just travelling with the team, next to Chris Waddle. I kept offering him emergency rations, such as Mars bars and Twixes, which I wasn’t even supposed to be eating myself. I insisted that he waved back at the crowd when they shouted his name, which he didn’t want to do as he was concentrating on the game, knowing he might have to go on. I always find it
hard to sit still and watch a game when I’m not playing.

Then, a few weeks later, on 8 April, I was named as a substitute, number 12, for what was usually Newcastle’s biggest game of the season: Sunderland. As a member of the first-team squad, I was expected to turn up in a suit. You didn’t get it free, or provided by sponsors. It was meant to be your own best suit. I went out and bought one at Top Man. I think I made it last a year before I got another one.

I didn’t come on that day, but I was again named as a sub for the visit of QPR to St James’ on 13 April. I couldn’t believe it when big George Reilly came off after scoring the only goal of the match and Jack told me to get stripped off. I was greeted with a huge cheer when I came on for my debut. Many of the 21,000 there that day had seen me playing for the youth team, and the local papers had been going on about the need to try out new young talent, such as me.

I do like to talk to people on the pitch, always have done, even to members of the opposition. I found myself standing beside Robbie James of QPR, a very experienced Welsh international. I had been saying something like, ‘Isn’t this great, man? The atmosphere is unbelievable!’ Then I got the ball, and he immediately tackled
me. His elbow hit me in my throat, sending me flying practically out of the ground.

I was so excited that I can’t remember much else about the game, except that we won 1–0. It all seemed to be over far too quickly, almost as soon as I’d come on. But I was thrilled that I did manage to get the ball into the net, even if the goal was disallowed.

Almost straight afterwards came the Youth Cup final. We were expected to hammer Watford but they held us to a goalless draw at St James’ Park. However, in the replay at Vicarage Road, we beat them 4–1 in front of a crowd of 8,500, many of whom had come down from Newcastle. I scored twice and so did Joe Allon, who went on to play well for Hartlepool among others before injury cut short his career. It just shows that you can’t tell what will happen in football.

As captain, I received the trophy, holding it high in the air, imagining I was at Wembley, winning the World Cup. For many in the team that day, it was the only thing they ever won. For me, it’s still one of the most satisfying-ever games – being captain, winning the match, earning the cup. I was full of such hope for the future.

On the coach back to Newcastle, we were allowed fish and chips, still wrapped in newspaper, as a special
treat. And before we got off the bus, Jack Charlton told me he was going to offer me a two-year contract as a full professional. I was going to be eighteen in just a week or so, so I’d been on tenterhooks about whether or not I’d be signed. I never asked him about the details. I had no agent or adviser to discuss it with or negotiate the best terms. I just said yes. At once.

My wages went up from £25 as an apprentice to £120 a week as a pro. I was thrilled. I would also earn another £120 a game in appearance money, which seemed even better. In my contract, Newcastle insisted on a further two-year option on me. I should never have signed the contract with that clause in it. Needless to say, I didn’t fully understand it. But having said that, if I were eighteen again now and being offered that contract, I would probably do exactly the same. I’d have signed anything they stuck in front of me.

Big Jack was brilliant to me. He took me fishing with him one day. I’d just bought some new gear which had cost me £120. I’d had to take out a loan to get it. But he took one look at it and threw it in the river, saying it was rubbish. He then told me what sort of gear I really should have for proper fishing.

I’d always enjoyed a spot of fishing, since I was about
seven, in ponds and that. I caught my first fish, a perch, when I was ten or so. Once I got to eighteen, and could afford it, I took up trout fishing. At the time I much preferred fishing to golf as a form of relaxation. I found it more lively. With golf, you take one shot and then spend the rest of your time walking to find your ball.

I got another run-out in the first team before the end of the season, coming on as a sub in our last home game, against Spurs. I thought I did quite well. I discovered later that a Spurs fan called Irving Scholar, who happened to be sitting in the stand that day, also thought I had done quite well.

I began the 1985–6 season with great hopes that I would get into the first team on a regular basis. I was so full of confidence that I got engaged to Gail. Then various developments suddenly changed things at the club. First Chris Waddle left for Spurs. It wasn’t that he was a particular mate of mine at the time, as I was still hanging around with players I’d been in the youth team with, like Ian Bogie and Paul Stephenson, both of whom had been offered pro forms along with me. Chris, meanwhile, was an established star. But he had always been good for advice when I had problems or wanted help, and I did miss him. He was also a brilliant player, of course. I felt it was
a bad sign that Newcastle had let him go.

Then Big Jack resigned. I’d been sitting beside him on the bench for one game, for which I was a sub, and had listened to the crowd starting to chant, ‘Charlton out.’ I could hear him saying, ‘I don’t need all this.’ Not long afterwards, he jacked it in.

Big Jack was never one to take criticism or stay anywhere he wasn’t wanted. If he wasn’t wanted, that was fine by him, he would just be off. He wished me all the best when he left. I was sorry he never managed England rather than Ireland. I feel he would have done a good job, but I could see that the establishment would never take to him.

Willie McFaul took over as manager. I’d known him since I first joined the club as a schoolboy, and he’d served the club in almost every capacity, apart from tea lady. I always got the impression he liked me, so that was reassuring, at least.

I was picked for the first game of the season, away to Southampton. It felt a bit odd, pulling on Waddle’s number 11 shirt. It seemed strange to me that I was preferred to David McCreery, who had been a good friend to me. When I came off, ten minutes before the end, David gave me a big hug as he replaced me.

Peter Shilton was in goal for Southampton. I tried to dribble through the whole of their defence a few times, on my own, thinking, this is the life, this is football. I’ll just get through this lot and then I’ll tap it past Shilts. I could hear Glenn Roeder behind me, shouting ‘Fucking calm down, Gazza!’ I was like that in all my early games, trying to do too much. I relied on people like David McCreery to do all the boring work of tracking back.

After we got a draw in that match, I played in the next four. We won three and drew one of those, moving into fourth place in the league. Then we went to Old Trafford to meet Manchester United, managed by Ron Atkinson. There were 51,000 in the crowd, the biggest I’d ever played in front of. I didn’t quite freeze, but I have to admit I didn’t play to the best of my ability. We were battered 3–0 and I fully expected Man United to win the title that season.

I was bitterly disappointed to find myself on the bench for the next match, with Spurs: I’d been looking forward to playing against Waddle. But I was young and still hadn’t played many first-team games. Willie brought me on when we were 5–1 down. Our fans had been chanting for me. Because we were so far behind, I was able to play with no pressure and sprayed the ball around.

I got my first goal for Newcastle against Oxford, in our 3–0 victory over them at home. I stayed in the team for most of the season and was twice made North-Eastern Young Player of the Month. When I was injured against Man City and was out for three weeks, I was worried sick that someone would get my place and keep it.

I managed to get fit in time to play Liverpool at Anfield. I’d always admired them, especially Kenny Dalglish. As I ran out on to the pitch and saw the sign proclaiming ‘This is Anfield’, I thought I’d like to be part of them one day. They had an excellent team, much better than Newcastle’s. And the club seemed to be forward-looking, unlike Newcastle in those days.

On the field, I said to Dalglish, ‘Hiya, Kenny, all right?’ – and of course he didn’t know who the fuck I was. He was standing by a post at the time, waiting for a corner to come over, concentrating hard, so he wasn’t too pleased with me rabbiting on. We got a draw that day, which was good, considering that Liverpool went on to win the league.

Although I was playing regularly, I was still struggling to keep my weight down. Perhaps I’d grown over-confident, having established myself in the first team, or so I thought. In any event, I’d lapsed into my old bad eating habits. The gaffer threatened to fine me for
every pound I was overweight, so I went on the bin-liners again, trying to sweat it all off. I found not eating at all for a few days was the best way to lose it, and I managed to shed half a stone.

Against Man United at home, Remi Moses was marking me, following me everywhere. To annoy him, I said to him, ‘Man U don’t need you,’ because that was all he was doing, nothing else useful. But not all my chat in that match was designed to needle the opposition. They got a penalty, which Bryan Robson took. I was so thrilled to be playing on the same pitch as a world-class player that after he scored from that penalty and was walking back, I said to him: ‘Great penalty, Bryan.’ If the Newcastle fans had heard that, they would have lynched me, particularly as we lost 4–2.

In a game against Everton, I took the ball into the corner flag and shielded it for about ten minutes while Peter Reid tried to kick me up in the air. He’ll deny it was ten minutes, of course, but it was a very long time, and he was getting mad with me, a young kid doing this to him. Thanks to all the weight training, my upper body was strong enough to keep him off.

I had no fear of anyone, even people like Terry Fenwick, who could be pretty hard, and clever with it.
He marked me when we played Spurs, but I still scored. Of the hard men, Mick Harford was probably the toughest I ever played against. We had one very tough player of our own at Newcastle called Billy Whitehurst. He was a really physical tackler. In training one day I beat him by putting the ball through his legs and he grabbed me and said, ‘Whoa, son – do that again and I’ll break your fucking jaw.’

I didn’t actually mean to do it again – I wasn’t that stupid – but a ball came to me very quickly and bounced off me and through Billy’s legs. Billy hit me which made John Bailey laugh and I said to him, ‘You’re a has-been, John.’