Journeyman (32 page)

We confirmed our place in the Football League for the 2011/12 season with a 3–0 win. It seemed fitting that Tubbsy grabbed two goals as he had been arguably the gaffer's best signing that season. I had played against him the season before and, although he scored a lot of goals and was clearly a good player, I did not realise just how good until I played alongside him.

Matt had a bit of everything – the vast amount of goals scored during his last couple of seasons clearly illustrated his finishing prowess but he offered so much more than that. His work rate was phenomenal and made him our first line of defence. He also displayed clever movement, could bring people into play and was intelligent enough, when the occasion required it, to give the ball to others in a better position.

The only thing I felt may have held Tubbsy back from playing in the top two divisions was a lack of blistering pace, although he was more than quick enough for our level.

I managed a five minute cameo at the end of the Tamworth game, but it felt good to be on the pitch as we finally secured our reward for a season's work. I have always found, when you actually achieve what you set out to do, the buzz is never quite as good as you thought it would be. This was one of those times, mainly due to the fact we had effectively sealed our promotion a month earlier.

This did not stop the lads celebrating in style, however. As I mentioned previously we had a small group of lunatics in the squad, and goalkeeper Scott Shearer was very near the top of the list. The night before the game he decided we were going to have a naked coach on the way home if we clinched promotion. Most of us laughed the idea off but Scott was adamant.

We had stocked the coach up with alcohol and, before we got out of the Tamworth car park, Scott, along with four or five of his cohorts, were nude and acting like it was an everyday occurrence. Thankfully the seats were leather so any unwanted fluids could easily be wiped away. It is fair to say a few people on the M40 got a shock on the London-bound carriageway that evening!

The atmosphere on the coach was amazing; the music was blaring and the drink was flowing. I could have stayed on there all night. John Dempster was on the microphone at the front of the coach, in his own words, ‘spitting lyrics'. For a middle class white boy from Northamptonshire he was impressively adept at rapping.

As soon as we got back to Crawley we went out to continue the celebrations. I say that very definitely although I have little recollection of the evening itself.

After basking in our triumph for a couple of days, we were back preparing for a now meaningless game at home against Luton Town. However, the
word ‘meaningless' here only applied to any ramification it would have on the League table; the gaffer was intent on us breaking the longest unbeaten record in the Conference National and posting the most points collected. There was no way he was going to let us take our foot of the pedal.

I was, as promised on Saturday, back in the team and we drew 1–1. We took the lead but Luton gained the ascendancy and equalised before half-time. After two days' celebrating, the sort of preparation we would never have dreamt of normally, you would have thought Evo may have cut us some slack.

He had none of it though, entering the dressing room all guns blazing and I was first in line for his wrath: ‘You cannot fucking play for me!'

Are you taking the fucking piss?
I thought. After everything I had gone through this season, he was treating me like that?!

He repeated himself just in case I did not understand: ‘You cannot fucking play for me, you take too fucking long on the ball.'

I was just doing what I always did. If I had no pass available I held the ball until someone was available. I had never resorted to lumping the ball long and I had no intention of starting now. Yes, there would be times when I got caught in possession but it was not always my fault.

It was not often Steve's scattergun comments got to me but they did that night. I lasted until around sixty-five minutes before I was subbed, but I was frankly happy to get off the pitch. The situation just proved to me that, no matter what I did, he was never going to give me the respect I deserved.

We were presented with the League trophy and were meant to be celebrating but I was now in no mood for this. As we did a lap of honour Evo whispered in my ear: ‘You were shit tonight, but we would not have won the League without you.'

Nice words but they rang hollow after what he had said at half-time. On an evening that should have been an opportunity to reflect on a great achievement, I just went home and sulked.

It was now a case of seeing the season out. We remained unbeaten for the rest of the season by beating Southport, Rushden & Diamonds, Newport County and drawing with York City.

In the last week of the season the gaffer started discreetly offering new contracts to players. I say discreetly but, as usual, everyone was talking about it in the dressing room. It seemed quite ominous for me as I had no contact whatsoever.

I was eventually called for a meeting in which he said they would like to offer me a new deal but if it was perceived as ‘too rich' then they would leave it. I asked for £900 per week and a £5,000 signing-on fee, which I felt was pretty reasonable. I pitched the signing-on fee as a retrospective promotion bonus because I had not received anything extra for playing regularly in a team that had earned it.

The gaffer played it very cool and made it clear that, although he would like to keep me, he was not overly fussed. He showed me a sheet of paper that listed who he was retaining and who he was letting go. I was on the released list but he explained he'd had a change of heart. It could have been true or an elaborate bluff – he was capable of either.

Steve dismissed my terms and made a counter-offer of £800 a week – a full £12 a week increase on my current obscurely numbered wage.

He then added there would be an ‘across the board' appearance fee of £150 for every game any player started, while simply being named on the bench would earn you £75.

It was a clever offer – not amazing enough for me to bite his hand off but good enough to be considered. We were both aware of the economic situation at a large majority of football clubs, many were cutting their budgets back. I was viewed as a liability on the balance sheet as I was now thirty-two years old and had no resale value.

I felt I deserved a little bit more though because there were players at the club that had contributed less than me but were earning more money. I
asked for a £5,000 bonus to be put into the contract payable only if Crawley gained promotion from League Two, which he agreed to.

I told Steve I would have to think about it but he gave me the normal rubbish about how he needed to know my decision within forty-eight hours.

I took advice from a few managers and players and they pointed out that if I was regularly playing, or at least involved in the match day squad, there was every chance I would be earning an average of £900/£1,000 a week.

Where else was I likely to earn that sort of money and not have to move home yet again? I had not put my name out to any clubs but had received a phone call from Wayne Hatswell, who was on the coaching staff at Newport County. He enquired whether I would be interested in talking to them about a contract but it was not a move that interested me while I had a firm offer from Crawley.

I decided the sensible thing to do was to take Crawley's offer of another year. I knew the club would spend heavily during the summer to strengthen the squad but I was confident, if given a fair opportunity, I could compete for a place in the team.

In hindsight, it was one year too many, but more of that later.

Although we did not receive a monetary bonus for promotion the club did live up to the gaffer's regular boasts and we were to be taken on a special holiday. The destination had changed over the season from New York to Abu Dhabi to Dubai but we eventually settled for three nights in Las Vegas and four in Los Angeles.

It was a great trip that allowed us to unwind after a hard season and solidify the bonds we had created. The £10,000 bonus promised after the Manchester United game for beating Southport still had not transpired, though we were told it would be given as spending money.

Steve did treat us to an Italian meal in Santa Monica though, which was dominated by Willie Gibson and the gaffer bickering like an old married couple over what type of wine Willie was allowed to drink. Even on holiday, Evo was not ready to give up control!

He then told a very underwhelmed group of grown men that we were going to Universal Studios the next day, again financed by the big man. I am sure you can appreciate, after being out every night, going to a theme park was not at the top of the list of priorities for most of the lads.

What made it even funnier was that it transpired that, in actual fact, he had not spent any money on the theme park and they were actually free tickets from Virgin after a mix up with our flights from Vegas to LA.

You had to admire his front!

These funny episodes just added to what was a great trip and, along with a visit to Wembley for the FA Cup final, where we picked up our award for ‘Giant Killers of the Year' upon our return, was a fitting way to finish a brilliant season.

After a really tough start to the campaign I made thirty-six appearances, including twenty-eight starts, and contributed six goals. Considering I had not started a game until the end of September I felt proud of the way I had fought my way back into contention, captained the team on a few occasions and earned a new contract.

I did not think it had been my best season ever, but it was not far off, and it had given me great pleasure to prove a few people wrong. I knew I would not have been up for such a fight six or seven years ago. I was looking forward to playing in the Football League again immensely.

We are about to embark on a new school year. The relief that I no longer have to go back and teach a multitude of subjects is still palpable.

It is going to be a really busy year as I will have four job roles, although
I'm not sure if talking about, playing and coaching football counts as work? It never has for me.

One of my new jobs is for a company called SCL where I will be delivering a City & Guilds qualification in sport on a part-time basis. The difference between the working practices of the school and SCL is like night and day. I've already had four training days before I've even started and SCL have given me all the information for the classes I'm teaching. This was the sort of support and preparation I'd expected from the school.

On reflection, although the past year was tougher than I could ever have imagined, I learnt a lot and it clarified what I really want to do. I want to coach football full time and preferably at a professional club. If I can spend as much of my working life as possible on a football pitch then I will be a happy man.

B
EFORE THE 2011/12
season had even started I knew it was going to be a challenging one, but I had total confidence in my own ability. After all, if I didn’t believe in myself how was I going to convince anyone else?

The club had strengthened its squad over the summer considerably adding the likes of John Akinde, Tyrone Barnett, Scott Davies, Wes Thomas and Hope Akpan. David Hunt’s loan was turned into a permanent transfer too. There was also a change to the dynamic of the management team as Craig Brewster, the Scottish-born former striker of clubs such as Dundee United and Dunfermline Athletic, joined the coaching staff.

I liked Craig from the off. He clearly looked after himself and seemed keen to learn and better himself. This philosophy was not entirely in line with his colleagues but I thought he was a good appointment.

I felt the management set out their intentions for me from the very first
day back for pre-season training. I walked into the dressing room and saw my squad number had been changed from number seven to twelve.

Ordinarily I could not have cared less about what number I wore, but what did annoy me was my old number had been given to Willie Gibson, who had done very little since joining the club other than moan.

It was obvious what they were trying to do – it was an attempt to wind me up and put me in that psychological place I was in twelve months before. That was not what I needed – I wanted the management to show they valued and respected me after I had shown them how determined I was to be part of this team.

The club was moving forwards, proved by us returning to Portugal for a training camp. We stayed at the same place we prepared at for the Manchester United game.

It was great and I felt like a proper footballer. It was a brilliant exercise and allowed us all to spend time together without having to rush off to pick up the kids, go down the bookies or beat the traffic. That is all without mentioning the great weather and training facilities. There was no dog shit to dodge here!

We trained hard all week before we played a friendly against a Portuguese Premier League team called SC Olhanense. I played in the first half and we went 1–0 up thanks to my goal. That moment was the highlight of a poor display from me. I always struggled to be at my best in high temperatures and, on this day, it was 30°C and I felt very lethargic. We eventually lost the game 2–1.

Steve was not happy and set down a marker to the new players. As I mentioned earlier I was pretty sure these outbursts were pre-planned and the only really spontaneous thing about them was the recipient of his anger. Scott Davies was in the firing line on this occasion.

I was sitting about 60 yards away when I saw some angry finger-jabbing, Phil Brown at Manchester City-style, going on in the middle of the pitch.
This was in full view of the hundred or so spectators and it continued until Scott threw his hands in the air, got up and walked off.

It subsequently transpired the reason for the gaffer’s anger was that, as our two centre halves split, Scott had the audacity to try to get the ball on the edge of his box. Anyone who had played for the manager knew this was a heinous crime, one punished with a public dressing down that normally sounded like: ‘He can’t fucking play for me! No, it’s over. Rayns, it’s fucking over.’

If you are playing that last sentence in your head, it needs to be in a thick Scottish accent with the hand going across the neck signifying a throat cutting gesture and phlegm showering anyone in the vicinity.

You could put an argument forward saying the gaffer was within his rights to tell people if they were in the wrong, but I believe screaming at someone in the middle of the pitch was not the way to do it. We played a specific way but this was never laid out in any detail to new players. This was how you were expected to learn – if you got a bollocking, you clearly did something wrong. If you did not then you had probably done the right thing.

For the next few days Scott got the full treatment. On our last day in Portugal he was stripped of all his training gear (not naked – he was allowed to wear his own stuff! – that would have been too far even for Evo) and made to train in the basement gym by himself. Steve said he would never play in the first team.

The more experienced of us did not bat an eyelid but for Scott, who had been used to the relative sanity of Reading FC, it was a shock to the system. As was often the case Scott had to go through a period of redemption before being reintegrated into the group as though nothing had happened.

After a relatively good pre-season the year before, I reverted to what had been ‘the norm’ and struggled through the friendlies. It really frustrated me as I worked so hard through the off-season. I felt fit but my touch and confidence were low. It was like I was wading through treacle when playing.
I was worried how far my stock was falling in front of a man not known for his patience.

I put in nondescript performances against a young Chelsea team, Bognor Regis Town, Crystal Palace (where one of my own fans was kind enough to call me ‘a cart horse’) and Peterborough United. Worryingly, they did not seem to be improving.

Due to a freak set of results that saw Birmingham City win the League Cup and therefore qualify for Europe while also being relegated from the Premier League, the FA implemented a preliminary round for the League Cup to be contested by the two lowest-ranked teams in the competition. That meant our competitive season started early, against our nemesis AFC Wimbledon.

I always performed well against Wimbledon but that was not going to be the case this time. The gaffer called me into his office the day before the game and asked how we were going to get me back to my highest level. It was a totally valid question and I was actually pleased he said it because we now had it out in the open.

The gaffer said he could not play me and, on this occasion, I totally agreed with him. In the end my absence was irrelevant as we won our first ever League Cup tie 3–2 in a really entertaining game, although Hope Akpan received a red card during it.

Due to that unique situation we had another friendly, against a strong QPR team, before our first League game of the season but the less said about my performance the better.

The fixture computer had thrown up an away encounter at Port Vale for Crawley’s inaugural game in the Football League. I was pretty sure there was little to no chance of me playing.

So imagine my surprise when, on the customary pre-game walk (which all managers must get taught to do at managerial school), the gaffer said he was thinking about playing me. He asked for my thoughts and I replied that I would at least give him a disciplined performance.

He told me if things were not going to plan he would not hesitate in replacing me after twenty minutes. Just the reassurance I needed!

It was clearly a toss-up between myself and Scott Neilson. Form-wise there was no contest; Scott had easily been more effective in the friendlies but the gaffer knew I was tactically astute and would be more disciplined when we did not have the ball. After this conversation I knew I would be playing and that was confirmed an hour and a half before kick-off.

We drew 2–2 despite going 1–0 and 2–1 up. Bearing in mind I felt more out of touch than I had during any part of my career, my performance was acceptable. I was only subbed on seventy-eight minutes because John Dempster got sent off and we needed to bring on a centre back.

As was always the case within the Football League, apart from this year, our second official game of the season was a League Cup game. We had been drawn away against Crystal Palace but the game was cancelled due to the rioting that engulfed London that week.

Our first home League game was against Macclesfield Town and it became evident during our build-up that I was not going to be in the team. We were doing some formation work, which, to the uninitiated, was basically attack versus defence. The team playing on Saturday was defending against the rest. As I was playing as a roving left back for the attacking team that told me all I needed to know.

I was not even named in the squad. I knew I was fortunate to play against Port Vale but I felt my competent performance was deserving of at least a place on the bench. Admittedly part of the reason I started the last game was because Hope had to serve his suspension, but that was not my fault.

We won 2–0 against a Macclesfield team that got exactly what they deserved – they had set up as if they were playing Manchester United and hardly ventured out of their half.

I snuck back into the squad for our next game and made a fifteen-minute
cameo during a 3–0 win against Southend United. It was a tight game until Dean Howell scored with a fortuitous cross and Tubbsy grabbed his first two Football League goals for the club. We all knew the step up to League football would be no problem for him.

Games were coming thick and fast and next up was the long trip to Plainmoor to play Torquay United. The fact I was not playing had caught a few people’s attention because Craig McAllister, who had left us to join Newport County, contacted me to say their manager was interested in taking me.

When I had played there last season I thought Newport was a really nice club, but I just did not fancy the commute, plus there was no way I was going to re-locate.

Garry Hill, my former boss at Weymouth and then manager at Woking of the Conference South, also rang me but I felt I should be playing at a higher level than that.

We arrived at Plainmoor and the gaffer pulled me to one side to reveal I was not playing. I told him I did not expect to but he assured me that I was close to selection. It sounded like the sort of bollocks managers tell young players, not experienced professionals. He tried to cushion the blow, however, by adding I would play in the re-arranged cup fixture against Crystal Palace.

That seemed like a strange comment to make; I was not good enough to play against Torquay but would be used against a much higher-ranked club? I had played for Steve long enough now to know when he was telling the truth and when he was trying to placate someone – this was definitely the latter. What confused me was he did not need to say it as I was not expecting to play.

The lads went on to win the game comfortably 3–1. We played our best football to date, retained possession confidently and the result was sealed by a sublime goal from Scott Davies.

The highlight of the day for me was, even though we were in Devon, the
Cornish pasties made available in the Torquay boardroom. I eased the pain of not being involved by eating my body weight in those – their hospitality was nearly as impressive as our performance.

Our focus immediately switched to the Crystal Palace game, the one I was apparently due to be playing in. I did not expect to get the nod but I was still really apprehensive and nervous. I did not feel ready to play against players of such quality.

On the way to Selhurst Park I got a phone call from Garry Hill, who told me a group text had been sent (which he forwarded to me) outlining my potential availability. It was something I was not aware of, but it did not surprise me. I suspected it but it would have been nice to have had a chat about the situation rather than be told by another manager.

The one thing this did confirm was that I would not be playing that evening. I am ashamed to say I was relieved. For one of the first times in my career I did not want to play because my confidence was at an all-time low.

I was an unused sub but I enjoyed my half-time warm up. Normally I would do some running, dynamic stretching and passing. But this time we had the pleasure of watching the Crystal Palace dance troupe, imaginatively called the Crystals. I must admit they momentarily broke my focus as I concentrated on how tight their choreography and dance moves were.

After having plenty of chances in the first half we eventually lost 2–0 to a Palace side inspired by winger Wilfried Zaha, who scored both goals. We had been well in the game but got taught a typical lesson by a higher ranked club – if you do not take your chances when in the ascendancy, you get punished.

That was not good enough for the gaffer though and he cancelled our day off.

The following morning we had a crisis meeting as a few issues had clearly got up Evo’s nose, like people not putting their kit in the laundry baskets after training. He also added Gayle, the club secretary, had to remove some
chewing gum that had been spat or dropped onto the carpet of the coach on an away trip. We all agreed that was disgusting.

Gayle came to the training ground two days later and Scott Davies asked her about the incident. She gave him a blank look and said she did not know what he was talking about.

Vintage Evo – it was just a figment of his imagination to back up his gripe about the training kit. Unfortunately he did not have the foresight to warn Gayle about his cunning plan.

A trip to Cheltenham was next on the agenda and I did wonderfully well to retain my place in the stand. I would have preferred to be left at home, at least then I could go to the gym and do some fitness work.

The game as a contest was over by half-time as Cheltenham sped into a 3–0 lead and comfortably saw the game out 3–1. After playing so brilliantly against Torquay, we were the exact opposite in this game, although credit must go to Cheltenham. They played excellently and had a midfielder, Marlon Pack, who put in as good a performance by any player I saw that season.

Steve was livid, made three changes at half-time and had not calmed down by the end of the game. We were called in for training at 8.30 a.m. on Sunday.

At our new training ground, which we had moved into at the start of the season, we had a games area plus satellite television in the changing rooms. The TVs were switched off and the games room closed as a punishment. I was not really sure what that was meant to achieve; whatever it was it seemed pretty petty.