Journeyman (13 page)

I had very little to do with the new manager initially. I dislocated my shoulder three weeks before GP joined and so, after my surgery, I spent all my time with the physio. I watched all the home games and heard some of the stories from the lads but was not really fazed by what was going on. I was intelligent enough to realise I was probably not going to be his cup of tea as a player, but I knew I had the rest of this season and the next one on my contract so just spent my time concentrating on getting fully fit and not relapsing.

Rachel, the Shrewsbury physio, made me her project and was determined to ensure my shoulder would not dislocate again. I spent the next five months working with either her or the physios at Lilleshall and also used the time to do loads of fitness, which helped drop some weight and improve my body fat percentage.

I also bought my first house. Emma and I moved from our rented accommodation in Telford to a lovely little two-bedroom house in Shrewsbury, just outside the town centre. One of the main motivations for me moving
clubs was to buy my own house so it was great when this actually came to fruition – although it was tricky doing the decorating with one arm.

By February 2005 I was ready to join in with the first-team squad again. Since I had been out for so long I was eased back into training gradually. As is always the case, the first week or two with the lads was a struggle. I was miles off the pace and my timing was all over the place. My touch is my biggest asset but, for a while, the ball was bouncing off me like it would a brick wall.

By the start of April my comeback was going OK, aside from a setback in March when I got a small tear in my hamstring (this can often happen after a long time injured). As a team, however, we were still struggling, and the manager made a decision that seemed very brave at the time.

Our main goalkeeper was Scott Howie – a decent enough lower-league keeper who was, like the majority of keepers at that level, a very good shot-stopper. Our reserve keeper, however, was a seventeen-year-old called Joe Hart. It was obvious from training that Joe was going to be a brilliant keeper and I can honestly say I am not surprised in the slightest that he has gone on to have the success he has had. However, it still seemed very risky to put such an inexperienced keeper into a vital game…

The risk paid off. We were playing Oxford United at home and went on to win 3–0. For that decision I must give GP a lot of credit.

Now, if you are an Arsenal fan then the next couple of paragraphs may make you feel sick.

Joe kept his place in the team and, as they say, the rest is history. But a few games into his career I saw a familiar face in the crowd: Steve Rowley – the man who initially signed me for Arsenal and was now their chief scout – was at a Shrewsbury game.

It did not take a genius to work out who he was watching. The game was not sold out (as was the norm), so I wandered over and sat with him. Steve obviously asked my opinion on Joe and I gave him a glowing reference.
Steve said Arsenal had earmarked him as one of the best three young keepers in Europe. I could not stress any clearer how good Joe was and how much potential, in my opinion, he had.

I told Joe about this and kept Steve updated when Chris Woods, the Everton goalkeeping coach at the time, came and worked with him at our training ground. When it became evident that Joe would be joining Manchester City, it turned out it was because apparently the powers that be at Arsenal decided Joe was not agile enough.

Whoops!

I was now regularly playing in the reserves as the season moved to its climax. Bearing in mind I had another year on my contract, I was not particularly fussed about missing out on so much playing time because I was more concerned about being fit and raring to go for my second season. However, I managed to force my way into the first-team squad and make a couple of cameo appearances during the last two games of the season away to Swansea City and at home to already promoted Scunthorpe United.

The Swansea game especially sticks in my mind for two reasons.

Firstly Mick Wadsworth was in charge of the team as GP was away on scouting duty. This was Swansea’s last ever game at its Vetch Field ground and, with about twenty minutes to go, Mick told me I was going on. I wasn’t ready, though, as I didn’t have my shin pads on. He gave me a right earful and told me how unprofessional it was not to be ready. To be fair, he had a point, and from that day onwards, whenever I was on the bench, I would always be ready to go on at a moment’s notice, wearing full kit.

During my brief spell on the pitch that day I also became another one of Swansea striker Lee Trundle’s victims. During that season he was show-boater extraordinaire and regularly embarrassed many League Two players. It was strange as, during the early part of my career, I had played against Trundle many times in the Conference and thought he was pretty
ineffective. Then suddenly he turned into a top player at our level and above by adding productivity and goals to the flashes of skill he used to show. Anyway, just after coming on, I sensed an opportunity to do what many League Two players had wanted to do all season: give him a friendly but fair dig. He was wide on our right, facing the crowd with the ball. I went flying in, but he impudently flicked it through my legs and ran round the other side to take the ball (and the cheers from the fans).

Apparently it was a tradition at Swansea’s last home game of the season for the home fans to slowly approach the pitch until it looked like a Sunday League game – with them all on the touchline – before turning the approach into a full-on pitch invasion as the final whistle sounded. With this being the last ever game at the ground, the tradition was magnified.

The tunnel was located in a corner of the ground by the goal we were defending. I was playing right wing so was probably the player furthest away from it. Bearing in mind how lively the south Wales residents can be, and that I was arguably the slowest player in the Football League, this was not looking good!

Thankfully my trepidation was shared by the referee. He gave us a signal just before he was going to blow his whistle and, by the time he did, I was standing next to Trevor Challis – our left back – and made it back to the safety of our dressing room.

On this occasion we lost 1–0 so the locals were in a jovial mood as we had not ruined the leaving party.

Despite also making a brief cameo appearance in our last game at home to Scunthorpe United, the season had been an absolute disaster for both me and the club. We eventually finished the season in twenty-first place on forty-nine points and I personally made only twelve starts and two sub appearances, and scored only three goals.

It was not just me who thought the season was a disaster. GP obviously concurred because he released every player who was out of contract bar one
(Stuart Whitehead). I was under no illusion I wouldn’t have suffered the same fate had I not had my second year looming.

Even though I hardly kicked a ball under the new management it was looking pretty obvious I would not fit into their plans, but I was confident in my ability and set out to try to prove them wrong.

I did receive a tentative enquiry over the summer from Richard O’Kelly, who was still at Bournemouth, regarding my availability. At that time, however, Bournemouth were going through one of their many crises and the club appeared very unstable, with regular reports of players not getting paid on time. That, and the fact I was settled in Shropshire, meant things never went any further than one brief chat. In hindsight, I feel not delving a bit further was another mistake.

I have been back at school a week since the Easter holidays and currently feel really low, bordering on depressed. I didn’t want to go back after the holidays and I don’t want to go in every day, full stop. I am getting into the building later and later and leaving as early as possible. It is a real struggle just to get out of bed in the morning.

I am now, in the main, teaching football, business and PE, but still not enjoying it and not feeling like it’s getting any better. If anything, teaching PE is harder than teaching in the classroom. At least in the confines of a room I can keep the kids relatively under control and in their seats; out on the field they just run free. We are in the summer term and playing sports like cricket and athletics – both of which I only have a passing interest in and little knowledge of, other than the basics.

I cannot even moan at the school any more: they have given me pretty much everything I asked for. But I still hate it. I have spent the week being disrespected and mugged off by moody teenagers.

I asked one student to do something and finished off by calling him ‘mate’. He turned round and said, ‘I ain’t your mate.’ So I asked him to do it again and this time called him ‘dickhead’. He looked at me and muttered, ‘I’ll get you sacked for that.’ I simply responded with, ‘Let’s hope so. That will do us all a favour.’

The more I seem to treat the kids with respect, the less respect they seem to give me. The angry teachers who roam around the school, screaming and shouting at kids, get their respect, yet the teachers like me, who try to treat the kids like young adults, just get disrespected in return.

We have something called DEAR at the school, which stands for ‘Drop Everything And Read’. For twenty minutes once a day, the students stop what they’re doing and pick up a book. I think it is a great concept but it can be challenging to implement sometimes, especially in PE.

Once I had a very lively class of Year 7s who refused to be quiet as a DEAR session already doubled to forty minutes. Midway through the struggle one of the female PE teachers had to come into the changing room and she screamed at the kids. They shut up instantly but, as soon as she went out of the room, they started talking again. I asked them why they would be quiet for her? They said I had to shout at them as they were scared of her but not of me. I did not know whether to laugh or cry; in actual fact I just thought it was sad. I was sad for them and myself.

A couple of days later that same teacher who helped me came over and, as she could see in my eyes how much I was struggling, asked if there was anything she could do? I did not know where to start and felt like crying. I appreciated her concern but felt pathetic that I could not get a group of twelve-year-olds to be quiet.

The only time I feel comfortable is when working with the sixth-form
players in the football academy. They are more mature and I can talk to them on an equal level – no surprise, as this is what I have been trained in. I do love coaching – it just needs to be on a subject I know.

To compound my misery, I can’t even release my frustrations on the football pitch. I am still playing for Thurrock but we are struggling big time. Due to the terrible weather throughout winter and spring, I have just come off the back of nine games in nineteen days. My body is screaming for a rest but I need to keep going.

I have been playing really averagely too. I am working hard and doing my best but I feel like a shadow of the player I was even a couple of years ago. The fact I no longer train every day means I have lost all my sharpness. Mark Stimson, our manager, is great and shows me a lot of respect, but he must expect more from me. I definitely expect more from myself.

I’m really not sure whether to play next season, but the way things are going at the moment it might be out of my hands anyway. I am worried, though, as I can’t seem to find another job. I have applied for many – and even been recommended for some – but I still can’t get an interview. However, I do think being unemployed would be better than my current reality; I refuse to let the fear of having no wage allow me to waste my life doing something I hate.

I put the fact I feel so low down to my job and nothing else. I want to leave right now but the upbringing and principles my parents instilled in me will not allow me to let anyone down. I am definitely leaving at the end of my contract. The only way I will stay is if I can just coach the football academy, even on a part time basis – but nothing else.

What I will do alongside that, however, I don’t know. I feel lost.

O
VER THE SUMMER
break I continued my shoulder recovery and worked really hard on my fitness. It was always going to be a real struggle to cement my place in the team but I wanted to give myself the best possible opportunity.

On our last day of training the previous season we had completed a set of fitness tests and knew we would be doing the same tests on our first day back. We did, and I flew through them. I have never had any pace but have always been near the front in any type of endurance activity. Gary’s recruitment strategy, in the main, had been to bring in young, hungry players who had been released from higher-ranked clubs. This made it even more satisfying to beat the majority of them in testing.

Pre-season, in general, went well. The most important thing is to be in the team for the first game of the season and that only happens if you do well in the weeks leading up to it. I remember performing well against a strong
Stoke City team in our first friendly and scoring against Telford United in the Shropshire Senior Cup.

It became evident there was not much chance of getting a game in my favoured central midfield role but it looked as though I had nailed a position on the left wing. Not ideal for me but better than sitting on the bench. The style of football was direct and our job was to win the ball back, give it back to the opposition nearer their goal and repeat this cycle until we won a set piece or found a position to deliver the ball into the box.

In the first game of the season, we played Rochdale at home and I had secured a place in the starting line-up. I began on the right of midfield and, during the course of the game, also played down the left, off the striker and directly up front. Rochdale, however, led from the front by Grant Holt and Rickie Lambert, beat us 1–0 via a winner from the former. Both players went on to play in the Premier League and Lambert even went with England to the 2014 World Cup in Brazil.

Apart from missing a great chance to equalise in the second half, I was happy with my performance. Although they do not always correlate, I was awarded ‘Man of the Match’ – and rightly so, in my opinion.

One of the new initiatives GP had implemented was a lengthy debrief after every game at the start of the next training session. The management would go through the match DVD beforehand and then critique our performance. This was quite clever on their behalf as it gave them an opportunity to watch any incident numerous times and made it pretty futile for us to argue against what they said – although I did try to on more than one occasion.

Gary must have sensed my air of contentment as he went for me straight away. He first told me in front of everyone that there was no way I was ‘Man of the Match’. I told him that, believe it or not, I did not select the award, even though I felt it was correct.

He then went on to blame me for Rochdale’s goal. Remember, I’d not had the fortune of watching the game again on DVD but, off the top of my
head, I couldn’t think of a reason why it was my fault. When he explained his logic I knew it definitely wasn’t my fault. We’d had a corner and it was my job to cover any deliveries that got flicked on or were over-hit to the back post – GP was unhappy I’d not done my job and the ball had gone out for a goal kick as Rochdale eventually went on to score from it. Now, I may have been in the wrong for not going round the back for the corner, but I thought it was ridiculous to blame me for a goal that had started from their goalkeeper.

I thought a manager’s job was to support and build his players’ self-esteem, not to knock it down. It got my back up and I just ignored everything else he said.

As part of these debriefs we were all given a copy of the match DVD with a form that had twenty questions for us to fill in – a sort of self-assessment. At the end of it was a box to write your own personal comments about your performance. According to GP, players could put anything in that box and it would not be held against them as it was a private document for his eyes only.

However, this was not necessarily the case.

We were all expected to watch the DVD and fill in the form before the next game. We were due to play Boston United away on the Wednesday. When I arrived for training on Tuesday, Mick Wadsworth, again in front of the group, came for me. He said, ‘Have you watched the DVD yet?’ I told him I had not had time and I would watch it that night. The manager chipped in and said, ‘Make sure you do.’ I said I would, but Mick would not let it go.

‘Too busy were you? Didn’t have time?’ he accused, which wound me up as he was trying to embarrass me, so I replied: ‘Sorry, Mick, I was too busy drinking my bottles of “Man of the Match” champagne from Saturday!’

Have that.

I knew it was a good retort as the reaction from the lads was a combination
of laughter and sharp intakes of breath. It was a bit close to the bone but he’d started it and I’d shut him up. He gave me plenty back during the training session, however, especially when I gave the ball away.

The next day we played Boston away and drew 1–1. I started up front, scored, got criticised for not scoring a 35-yard chip, was blamed for their equaliser and eventually substituted. That pretty much encapsulates my time playing under GP. I suppose I should take it as a compliment that he expected me to score such a lob but, in reality, it was just another opportunity to dig me out. Again, I was not overly fussed as I was pretty happy with my performance, although he did have a point about me ball-watching for the equaliser.

As much as the manager was trying to undermine me, it was not working. Even though I had not played that many games for the club I was quite popular with the supporters. It seemed to me GP was trying to turn people against me.

We lost the next game away at Bury, but I kept my place for a hard-fought draw at home against Northampton and then scooped ‘Man of the Match’ again – less justifiably this time, really – in a League Cup victory at home against the higher-ranked Brighton & Hove Albion.

My prize was a crate of those small Stella Artois bottles you used to get on a booze cruise to Calais. After the presentation, I cracked them open in the dressing room with the lads. It was like something you’d see in a dressing room from the 1970s, all that was missing was the huge communal bath. I’m not sure that went down too well with the management and I can understand why, looking back. In the debrief that followed it was again made clear to me that I was not ‘Man of the Match’ in Mr Peters’s opinion.

Everything seemed to be going well until we played Wycombe Wanderers at home in the next game. They were one of the best teams in the League and, even though we managed to escape with a draw, we got absolutely battered.

At half-time, GP went for me: ‘Smithy, I want to fucking punch you!’
I had been below par but was giving it everything; his reasoning behind this outburst was that I had the audacity to track back, clear the ball for the umpteenth time in 25°C heat, but then not immediately sprint up the pitch after it.

He went on: ‘You’ve got five minutes to liven up or you’re off.’ He should’ve just taken me off then and there, but he wanted to humiliate me a bit more. Within three minutes of the second half, the substitutes board went up. I didn’t even look at it as I began trudging over to the dug-out.

That game was over a bank holiday so we were in for training on the Sunday before heading straight down to London to prepare for a game against Leyton Orient on Monday. Up until this point I had started in every game, but on Sunday I got the dreaded knock on the door of my hotel room. I was being dropped.

GP told me he thought I had been poor in the last game, which was fair enough, so he was leaving me out of the next one. I appreciated him coming to tell me but what he did next was another example of the way he was trying to chip away at me. After our chat, we all had a pretty light training session before GP got everyone together and said that two or three players were being rested. He then went out of his way to say that I’d been dropped, not rested. Thanks for that.

We went and won the game 1–0. We only kept a clean sheet because of our future England goalkeeper.

GP and Mick were having a discussion in the technical area regarding a substitution. GP looked back to the bench and said nothing. He didn’t need to because his mannerisms said it all. If he’d been a cartoon character, a little thought cloud would’ve appeared above his head reading: ‘Shit, I can’t put any of them on – they are all useless!’ I clocked it and thought it was hilarious and ridiculously disrespectful at the same time.

As those two games had come so quickly we’d not had time to do our ‘homework’ and fill out any self-assessment forms. I saw this as an
opportunity to vent some frustration, putting in the ‘any other comments’ section the following: ‘I am the scapegoat for this team, whenever anything goes wrong I get the blame or get replaced.’

Maybe not the greatest career move but GP did say you could write what you wanted and it would not be held against you.

Initially it was not as I started the next game against Oxford, which we won 2–0. I played central midfield and was solid rather than spectacular, but I was replaced midway through the second half, ruining the experience for me.

GP took me into his office on the Monday morning and simply told me my performance was really average. Now, I was aware of this but I really couldn’t see the point in him reiterating it. He didn’t go into any specifics about my performance, how I could improve or what he wanted me to do in the future – he just said my performance was average. That left me even more upset and frustrated than I had been after the game.

This started a strange spell where I was in and out of the team. For some reason GP felt I could only play in home games, so I would spend one game in the team followed by another on the bench. Torquay away I was sub; Notts County at home I started. GP wanted to do his customary substitution midway through the second half but, not only was I working hard, I was turning it on too, so he had to wait ’til the last ten minutes before taking me off. He even attempted to give me a ‘well done’ hug as I came off, like he did with his favourites, but it was awkward at best.

I was back on the wing for a midweek home game against Sheffield United in the League Cup and made it through to the seventy-second minute. After that I didn’t start a game for a month. I had played OK when I’d been in the team – not brilliant, but as well as others who were playing regularly. When you bear in mind it was clear to everyone, not just me, that GP and I did not get on, then my performances were more than acceptable. Anyone who has played professional football will tell you that it is very hard to
play with freedom and express yourself when you do not have your manager or coach’s confidence.

My next start was during a home draw against Stockport County. I cannot remember a great deal about the game but I did play the whole ninety minutes. Even though I hadn’t played for a month, I was ‘rested’ for the next game. It was the end of October by that point and my next start was two weeks later at home to Chester, which we won 3–1. Again I completed the full game. Moreover, in the second half I tucked in from my position on the left wing. A long ball had been hoisted into the air, which I took down with one touch, and then, with my second touch, I put our striker Kelvin Langmead clean through. It was a great bit of play, even if I do say so myself. But what was my manager’s reaction? He turned to his bench and said: ‘Flash cunt.’

What chance have you got as a player when your manager says that about you after some good play? I dread to think what he used to say when I made a mistake.

In our next game we were playing Braintree Town in the FA Cup. That week, GP and I had the sort of conversation that punctuated my time at the club. He told me in this particular lecture that I would never play central midfield for his team and that I was too slow to play on the wing. I told him that, with regard to playing on the wing, we could’ve saved a lot of time and effort with me telling him that at the start of the season. I’d always been one of the slowest players at all the clubs I played for and there was no great chance of that changing. We agreed to disagree on my qualities (or lack thereof) as a central midfield player, however.

So, after such a discussion you can imagine my amazement when I started against Braintree Town in central midfield! I believe there was a more sinister side to it all, though: as I mentioned earlier, I was respected by the supporters and I think this was part of GP’s plan to undermine me.

Did it work? Well, it didn’t break me, but it didn’t help my mental state
either. In the long term it did toughen me up, but I was losing the will to prove GP wrong. At that stage I just wanted to move on and play for someone who appreciated the talents I knew I had.

We won the cup game 4–1 but my performance, while not great by any stretch of the imagination, was acceptable, particularly considering the mind games I was embroiled in with the manager.

We were away for the next game so I was obviously dropped. I then managed another first in my career: I was dropped without playing. We were due to play Mansfield at home and I had been selected to play. Tragically, during the pre-match warm-up, the Mansfield goalkeeping coach collapsed and died on the pitch so the game was cancelled, and, since our next game was away to Rochdale, I was technically dropped without even kicking the ball.

That game at Rochdale produced an interesting incident in the dressing room afterwards. We had been 3–1 up at half-time but eventually lost 4–3 after that pair of Grant Holt and Rickie Lambert scored two goals apiece. No one in our camp was happy, as you can imagine. In fact, striker Colin McMenamin was foaming at the mouth and going mental, blaming Gavin Cowan for not clearing the ball for Rochdale’s winning goal. Gavin let it slide initially, but Colin wouldn’t let it go and continued to scream at him. Gavin finally reacted and all hell broke loose. I was in the corner, brave as ever, watching and wondering what everyone was getting so wound-up about. GP came flying in, well and truly nailing his colours to Colin’s mast by pinning Gavin up against the wall and giving his opinion of the situation.