Catch A Falling Star (6 page)

So off we headed back into
Manchester
to a place called Times Furnishing – a big store where you could have whatever you wanted on credit. So now we had some debts plus a mortgage of course and after a while, like a lot of young married couples, we realised we were up to our eyes in debt.

Eventually I went to see Joe Mercer who helped me out. I paid him £10 a week every week until all the debts had been paid off. It really helped because it was becoming a huge burden on my mind. He said: “All I want you to do is concentrate on your game.” It took me two years to discharge my debts. A hard lesson learnt.

After I’d cleared my debts I went on to sign a new contract and I’m sure Joe gave me a signing-on bonus just so I could pay him back quicker! I could have kissed him that day, because of what Joe had done for me, it allowed me to pay back every last penny. I re-iterate the whole time was a good lesson, a good learning curve for me.

Of course Joe didn’t arrive at City until 1965 so forgive me for leaping ahead a bit, but this was an illustration of the kind of club City became, with genial Joe a father figure to me.

3. A City
In
Ruins

I wonder what you have to do to earn a
testimonial?
Between 1961 and 1971 I scored more goals for
Manchester
City
than any other player in the club’s most glorious period. And though this was to be a decade of considerable achievement for both City and myself – goals, winners’ medals and further additions to my family – I wonder after all that effort why the club haven’t officially recognised my efforts.

As most of you will know, in the early part of this decade, City were going nowhere fast and as the Les
McDowall
era became the George
Poyser
era there seemed little to suggest that the good times were round the corner.

The 1962-63
season
summed up City to a tee. There were some amazing
scorelines
. The opening day of the season we played Wolves at
Molineux
and got trounced 8-1. That was when cocky teenager Mike Doyle had a pop at Bert
Trautmann
and got a clip round the ear for his pains. West Ham at home was another diabolical one, ending in a 6-1 defeat. Yet we still managed to beat Manchester United 3-2 away on September 15.

This was my derby debut and no one gave us a chance. I suppose the writing was on the wall for us to get a result in this game and we raced into a shock 2-0 lead. Denis Law, back from
Torino
and making his derby debut for United, scored twice to make it 2-2 but we nicked a last-minute winner to send our fans home happy.

Yet by the penultimate game of the season we were struggling, a 1-1 draw with United at

I never played with Denis Law at all when he was at City but I would have liked to have done. Just think, if Johnny Aston and Jimmy Murphy had knocked on my door a week earlier I might have done for United – then again, probably not, as that would have involved having to say “Yes” to the dreaded red empire.

Later on I thoroughly enjoyed my derby matches, usually because I was on the winning side so often. However, early on I found it difficult to enjoy those games because of the tension involved. The 1-1 draw proved to be our last derby for a while.

With City two full points from safety with one game to play and a much inferior goal difference, we were heading for the drop. There were a lot of jokes and comments flying about and as a young player it wasn’t comfortable to have to put up with that at all.

When relegation happens it’s not very nice. As City fans, we’ve all become used to that sinking feeling over the years. At the time it was tough to take, yet I didn’t feel particularly responsible for it because I was still a young lad and it was up to the older pros, together with the board and the manager, to shoulder the blame for our demise.

Les
McDowall
was an idol to me when I first came though because he gave me that chance. However, later on I realised he had limitations as a manager and George
Poyser
was even worse.
Poyser
only got the job because it was promised to him by Les! He let that Cup-winning team grow old together and soon the situation was irretrievable.

Of course, in those days I started on the right wing and later I was moved over to the left. This helped my game a lot because by the time you get to your second season, managers know about you and whereas in the first season I would go on galloping runs, the second season I knew I would have less time on the ball because their full-backs would be wise to me. However switching to the left gave me more time as an unknown quantity.

On one occasion we played at
Bolton
and their back two were both well-established veterans.
A couple of solid and reliable full-backs in the shape of Banks and
Hartle
.
After the first twenty minutes I felt I was more than holding my own against Roy
Hartle
. We were having a good battle and I was on top.

Then
Waggy
shouted over: “Hey
Youngy
, get over to this side, this bloke’s an animal!” So I trooped across and played on the left. Five minutes before half time
Waggy
shouted over again: “Hey
Youngy
– this one’s even worse!!!” and I went back across to the right.

After the game Roy
Hartle
came over to me and shook my hand saying: “Well done young man. You’re good you are!”
Which meant a lot coming from a good pro like
Roy
.

Despite our eventual relegation we had some real characters at the club and some half-decent players too. Alex Harley was in the
Wyn
Davies mould. Big and strong, he had come from
Scotland
with a lad called Matt Gray. He really thought he was the bee’s knees though. He thought he was the greatest player ever to have walked God’s earth and in the end it was his undoing. One year he was quite prolific, scoring about thirty goals. We’d line up with me on the right,
Waggy
on the left and
Waggy
used to set them up for Harley on a plate.

But Harley could be a pain in the arse. He used to turn around to Cliff Sear, a full Welsh international, and sarcastically try to coach him how to play the game. “Here Cliff, I’ll show you how to trap a ball properly,” he’d say. While we’d all be training, he’d be in the centre circle, juggling the ball and messing about. He was sold onto
Birmingham
and I think he only lasted about four months down there. I don’t think anybody could get on with him.

Life in the second division was more relaxed. For example we used to walk around the pitch before the game. When we played at
Portsmouth
one Saturday, I stopped for five minutes to talk to a blonde, as you do! Later on we had a free kick at that end of the pitch. I loitered with intent at the side of the Pompey wall as Matt Gray took the free kick. At the moment the ball was delivered I turned round to look for the blonde when the ball hit me right on the back of the head and it flew past the ‘keeper into the back of the net! I was knocked out cold and knew very little about the goal but the Saturday Pink that night read: “Young scores 18-yard power-header!”

So with me a seventeen-year-old on the right wing and
Waggy
, who was just eighteen, on the left we had the energy and legs to really go at teams in that league.

At this stage we brought in a ‘keeper from
Stockport
County
called Alan
Ogley
, who used to wear contact lenses. One typically muddy day he came out for a cross, there was a clash of heads as he went up to claim the ball and one of his lenses flew out. There were ten players on their hands and
knees looking for this contact lens and the game was
stopped for about five minutes. In the end Alan hopped off the field and popped his spare one in. Looking back, it’s hilarious but it was anything but at the time.

I played with some really good players at the start of my career: Ken Barnes, Peter
Dobing
, George Hannah, Johnny
Crossan
, Jimmy Murray, Derek
Kevan
and Bert
Trautmann
to name but a few. They were all class players in my eyes – Ken Barnes was the best player at wing-half never to have been capped, he was such an elegant passer of the ball. Another fine player was a boy called David
Shawcross
who was only nineteen years old when injury robbed us all of a true talent. He broke his leg and never recovered from that.

I never saw
Swifty
but Bert
Trautmann
for me was the best goalkeeper ever. Not only that but he gave me a pair of his boots for my first game with City, which naturally, I treasured for years.

Some of you may remember Derek
Kevan
, an excellent striker in his own right. I played one of my best jokes ever on him. We were getting changed in
Chelsea
’s dressing room and when he went to the toilet I took his false teeth out of his pocket and kept them. When we finished the game he went absolutely mad. He went all over the place looking for them, emptying bins, the big kit basket, but he couldn’t find them. On the journey home, we were on the train about to have our meal when I got the waiter to bring him some soup. Floating in the soup were Derek’s false teeth. We were in stitches! But he was so relieved he bought everyone a drink!

There were laughs and I scored some goals, I was learning my trade. We had some good kids in the shape of Mike Doyle, Alan Oakes and Glyn
Pardoe
knocking on the door. However we were struggling in the second division and as a club we were in turmoil.

In 1965 things changed though with the arrival of Joe Mercer, a true gentleman and a legend as City manager.

I had met Joe two years before at a
Lilleshall
training camp and he had singled me out with an award which had me bursting with pride – ‘Player of the Week’. What impressed me so much about Joe was that he was a thinker. He would explain things to you as you walked round the pitch together, then two weeks later, his words would come true. Such wisdom and good man-management skills took him all the way to Lancaster Gate where he was one of the most popular
England
managers ever! His secret was that he treated people like adults, with respect. As a result we all respected him. Usually when a new manager arrives on the scene you fear for your place. However Joe made a point of talking to me soon after his arrival and he recalled how well I’d done at
Lilleshall
. That gave me confidence and renewed my enthusiasm. I was ready to play the game the ‘

Not long after Joe was confirmed as manager, a man called Malcolm Allison walked through the door. We knew little really about this playboy coach. Funnily enough though, we did play down at
Plymouth
earlier that year where he was sat in the stand with a big hat on, smoking a big fat cigar. That was my first glimpse of him.

Let me take you back to that first meeting with Big Mal. The game was at Home Park, one of those footballing outposts nobody ever wanted to play at because of all the travelling involved. The first time I spotted him was after
Plymouth
had been awarded a penalty. It was not so much the goal that delighted him but the way they scored it. I had never seen a penalty despatched and celebrated in this particular way before.