Catch A Falling Star (18 page)

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Authors: Neil Young,Dante Friend

BOOK: Catch A Falling Star
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I suppose part of the purpose of this book is to show people that not all footballers are ‘disco-mad’. They have feelings as well, they are human beings like everyone else. Sometimes people forget that, especially in the modern age when everyone thinks footballers are loaded.

Footballers are human too, we have bad times as well as good – it’s not all about the glory of scoring in a Cup final or lifting a trophy in front of adoring fans. In fact that’s just the tip of a very large iceberg. Underneath there are a million and one things that have made that footballer into a star and when any of them goes missing it can fall apart all too easily…

8. Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

People often think back to the worst day of their lives, well, I have had three such devastating days. The first was losing my mother. I was at her bedside in Macclesfield General when she died and I will come back to that devastating event a little later because it has a bearing on the way I feel about things now. The second such day was when I lost my brother Chris but the third was the day I left

Maine Road
.

Now the death of a loved one is always likely to be traumatic and to lose Chris at a criminally young age had a devastating effect on me. But I was still a striker at the club I had supported from boyhood – City were family to me. So the devastating feeling of dejection and rejection felt when the club let me go contributed to my steady decline over the next decade.

I say that City rejected me but I suppose it was Malcolm Allison. I had worked at

Maine Road
for my entire adult life, earning a good wage and giving what I considered a pretty good service for that wage. And though everybody in football knows that sooner or later his career must come to an end, it was still a huge wrench after fourteen magnificent years of association with the club to be discarded in such a manner.

I had arrived at

Maine Road
a bright-eyed teenager and now I was leaving a heartbroken 28-year-old man.

So why did City get rid of me? I believe Malcolm wanted Rodney Marsh in and Dave Connor and I were the players to make way. 
Wyn
Davies had started to nudge in front of me in the pecking order but I was only twenty-eight and I was still very fit, certainly a lot fitter than my illustrious successor as his antics at training proved.

But I don’t blame Marshy for anything at all. Sure, the club should not have bought him, or if they had they shouldn’t have played him because he didn’t fit into a successful team pattern. He wanted to hold on to the ball before releasing it and we were a team that liked to pass and move quickly and play the game in the opposition’s third of the field. All 
City’s
 quick approach play broke down when he started playing. That’s not his
fault,
it’s the way he plays the game. It’s just unfortunate that Malcolm couldn’t see that that wasn’t the way the rest of the team played the game.

Now, let me say on the record that I have nothing against Rodney particularly but Malcolm wanted him at any cost and I was the cost. We should have won the league title that year but we all know what happened next.

Away from the matter of the team on the pitch there was also turmoil at the club because Malcolm was aiming to take a bigger role at the club and the board seemed split as to which direction the club should take.

Naturally the takeover shenanigans involving Peter Swales made both back page and front page headlines yet it didn’t affect us much in the dressing room. Once that door was shut we were oblivious to the outside world. Before the refurbishment at

Maine Road
the manager’s office was on the left as you went up the stairs, the directors’ room and trophy room to the right but the dressing rooms were at pitch level. It may be just down the stairs but that field is a million miles away from the boardroom.

I felt that that pitch was my pitch and when I walked through that main entrance door for the last time it nearly shattered me. I cried my eyes out all the way home and I couldn’t stop.

Don’t forget for eleven years I was a first team professional there and I would have a routine every day. I’d be at the ground by
every morning for training. On a match day I had a familiar routine and this was about to come to an end.

I was very superstitious and I’d drive the same way to the ground each time: onto the A34 up to the Gateway pub, down into
Fallowfield
, down

Wilbraham Road
into
Hart Road
and park at the
Platt Lane
end of the stadium. Later on, when I was playing at
Deepdale
for
Preston
, I’d find myself halfway to
Maine Road
before realising I should be heading up the M6!

Another reason the whole thing was so hard to reconcile in my mind was that City weren’t any old club, they were my club and Malcolm Allison was the man who had given me so much confidence. It was hard to believe that my association with the sky blue shirt was about to end.
All those great times, all those magic moments.

*

I speak about Malcolm in this book as if he is still a dear friend but I suppose I’m a bit of a romantic, I tend to dwell on the good times. He was my
mentor,
he helped transform me from a good to a very good player, from a player eager to learn to a top flight professional worth twenty goals a season.

The truth of the matter is I haven’t really spoken to Malcolm since the day I left

Maine Road
. I’ve made polite conversion with him, we’ve had photographs taken together and he was even the guest speaker at a dinner organised by the City supporters in my honour at
Sacha’s
Hotel some years ago. So either he’s not picked up on my feelings or simply doesn’t realise how hurt I have been over all this but among the small talk you normally get at get-togethers like that, the issue was never discussed.

Moreover, I have not had a go about him in public because there’s no point, especially with him being in such poor health these days – what would it achieve? But back in 1972 Malcolm was the one who urged me to move on from

Maine Road
. “Go to
Preston
”, he said, “they’re a good club and if you go, I’ll make sure you get your game.”

Malcolm has never apologised for not giving me ‘the game’ and I don’t suppose he ever will. He’s written books since but no mention of it has ever been made. Yet I think that when a player has given ten years of himself to a club he deserves a game. He should be granted his night so that the fans can show their appreciation for the player. That way, the player can perhaps start a little business for himself and begin a new chapter in his life.

In the 60s and 70s at City we were on quite good money compared to the man in the street. We were on maybe double what the working public was on, which sounds a lot but it is not that much when you consider the length of your career and how well equipped you are for the ‘real world’ when your footballing days are over. Perhaps the modern players with a healthy wage packet and plenty of opportunity for punditry after retirement can plan things a little better. So like I say, I was from a different era and a testimonial at that time could have made a real difference to my life.

I gave my all for
Manchester
City
– body, heart and soul. Malcolm always wanted me to play and I often had to have painkilling injections to get me through a game. I don’t think this does a player any favours later in life. You can never tell for sure what sort of damage you are inflicting on yourself. I played in quite a few games when I had no feeling in my left ankle at all. You’ve only got to take one look at Tommy Smith to see what happens when you ignore the pain messages sent to your brain. And although I haven’t suffered as much as Tommy, I have experienced leg problems since and I wonder what damage was done and whether my subsequent problems stemmed from my career.

Yet many players put up with this in Malcolm’s time for the ‘good of the club’. Like them I was there to win – Malcolm couldn’t stand
failure,
it was win at all costs. He thought it was his team even though it was Joe’s which is why he wanted Joe’s job so much. Joe was the manager, Malcolm was the coach and we all know what happened once Malcolm finally got the manager’s job – he nearly bankrupted the club. In my opinion he should have remained as coach – a job in which he excelled. He was possibly the best in the world at confidence building and coaching but managing wasn’t his
forté
.

Peter Gardner, the City reporter, used to say: “When
Youngy
plays, City play.” I was leading scorer for two years in a row in 67-68 and 68-69. The following year Franny beat me by one goal – I scored seventeen, he scored eighteen. Otherwise I would have been leading
goalscorer
three times on the trot. I did a lot for the club and I’m proud of my record.

Nevertheless, if you look in books about City you’ll notice there’s not so much in there about me. I used to feel put out but now I just get on with things. I’ve learnt to accept that I’ll always be the bridesmaid, never the bride. Confidence was the key to my career. Every player thrives on praise and I was no different. Yes, I used to love reading what the papers said on a Sunday when I’d had a good game. So for three or four years I was a reporter’s delight with my left foot going strong.

Also it was a great honour for me when great names from football such as Matt Busby, Peter Doherty, Joe Mercer and Don
Revie
put me in City’s greatest-ever team. For such influential people to include me in City’s best XI really meant something to me.

So for a long period I was a top player at my club which made me so proud and maybe a little big-headed too but I ask you, who wouldn’t be in that position? I had trained very hard and played as well as I could for my club so I felt I really deserved the praise.

There is a saying: “You only ever get out what you put in.” Well, that’s very true in my case and I’m sure it is for players the world over. I wonder how hard the players at City work now and if they stay behind and practise like I did after a morning session. Many a time I would stay and have shots against big Joe Corrigan which helped both of us and we both felt the benefits of extra practice years down the line.

All this was at an end and even though there was no bigger Blue at the club than me, I was being shown the door. True, my goal ratio did dry up the year before but as I said in the last chapter there were personal reasons for that.

Funnily enough I could have gone to
America
at around the same time as Dennis
Tueart
. Phil 
Woosnam
, who’d been at Aston Villa for ten or twelve years, had moved out there and contacted
me
 regarding the possibility of going to
Fort Lauderdale
. At the time though my children were settled in school and I didn’t want to move anybody, nor did I fancy all the travelling it would have entailed in a country the size of
America
. As it was I made the short journey up the road to 
Preston
. When I signed for North End I wasn’t fully fit. In fact it was six or seven weeks before I kicked a ball in anger.

The
Preston
papers soon ran the headline: “
Preston
signs a crock!” They were on the phone to City wanting a refund. I nearly went back. Malcolm stood his ground: “He’s almost fit and when he is, you’ll see the player he can be.”  Just think if I’d have gone back and played for a couple more years, I would have definitely got my game. Or, if I had refused the move in the first place and stood my ground. Okay, Malcolm might have had me training with the kids but eventually someone would have had to step in and sort it out. At the end of the day, I went because they wanted me to go. I thought I was doing the club a favour, helping them out financially.

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