Later that night, I was lying on the bed in my room resenting football and everything that came with it as I had discovered something that I found to be enjoyable. I was not giving a second thought to my poor wife at home or the repercussions my running off could have on my career and on the people who were close to me. I just wanted to spend all my time with this girl whom I’d only known for a week. As anyone who knew what I was like at the time would simply say, ‘That’s Pat Van Den Hauwe for you!’
At about 9.00pm there was a knock on the door and I was so pleased that it was Kimberly asking me to take a walk to the beach, not Big Nev asking me if I fancied a cup of tea! We walked to the spot we had first met and made love there and then and she promised to wait for me, telling me to do as the club said, then return as soon as I could and rejoin her. We spent a night in my room together before saying goodbye in the morning and I promised I would phone her every day until I could manage to get away from football and join her on her family ranch.
I swear, my phone bills nearly crippled me. I was spending hundreds of pounds every month calling her, I never tired of it. Then, one day, I asked her if she’d met anyone and she was honest and told me that she had been to a party and slept with a guy. She promised me it was a one-night stand and she still missed and loved me, but I was so angry I put the phone down on her and never spoke to her again.
I was told months later that she had been calling me at the club and had even sent a parcel that contained edible knickers and all sorts of photos of her, but they were all intercepted and I never even got to have a photo of her as a keepsake. I don’t know who the bloke was she slept with, but whoever he was, he saved my football career!
11
SWEET FA IN THE CUP
The day I signed my apprenticeship forms at St Andrew’s, my father turned to me and said, ‘Good luck, son … one day I want to see you play in a Cup Final at Wembley. Don’t let me down!’ It was a tough ask and I bet it is something that every father wishes for when their son signs up as a professional footballer.
It was a few years before I had the chance to make his dream come true as I never played in a single FA Cup tie in my first five seasons at Birmingham, and I never missed much as we always seemed to go out of the competition early doors. That trend changed, however, when I was established in the side during the 1983/84 season.
I have always looked forward to the day of the FA Cup third-round draw. Even today, when the Cup has been somewhat devalued by some clubs who play under-strength sides in the early rounds, the third-round draw is special.
That season with Birmingham, we were drawn out of the hat with Sheffield United, a tough place to go at the best of times, but we managed to come away with a draw thanks to a Billy Wright penalty. The replay went to plan as we ran out 2–0 winners, thanks to another Wright spot-kick after Mick Harford had got our first.
The draw was again not kind to us and we had to travel up to Sunderland’s old ground, Roker Park, on a freezing day in late January. I was up against Leighton James, a very experienced winger, but kept him under wraps and we were doing well until a clash of heads between Noel Blake and Ian Atkins held the game up for a while. Noel was hard as nails and, after he was sorted by the sponge man and retook his position, it was no shock when their lad was taken off and did not return. A few minutes later, Billy Wright somehow got his head to a ball that was going wide and thundered a header into our net to give them a 1–0 lead at half-time. After the break, Tony Coton kept us in the game and, with a few minutes left, we equalised with a goal from midfielder Martin Kuhl. We were more than satisfied to take them back to our place but, with about a minute to go, Mick Harford won it for us and, for the first time ever, I wondered if this could be the year I made my father’s dream come true.
At this stage of the competition, all we could ask for was a home draw, although West Ham at St Andrew’s was not going to be easy as the Hammers were having their best season for years and were an established top-five outfit and were in great form. We, on the other hand, were once again struggling to avoid the dreaded drop into Division Two. The form book went out of the window and goals by Hopkins, Rees and another Billy Wright penalty had us all dreaming of Wembley.
A lot of top sides were by now out of the competition; in earlier rounds, the Cup holders Manchester United had lost at Bournemouth, Brighton had beaten favourites Liverpool and Spurs had gone out to Norwich, so ourselves, Plymouth, Watford, Notts County, Derby and Sheffield Wednesday were in the last eight, with new favourites Everton and Southampton. All the lads knew if we could avoid those two we were in with a great chance, especially if we were drawn at home.
We got what we hoped for, but then it all went horribly wrong as, in front of over 40,000 fans at a packed St Andrew’s, we got swept away by a John Barnes-inspired Watford. It was yet another false dawn for the Blues and we were gutted. We had beaten them 2–0 at home in the league and, although they were a good side, they were lightweight and we knew if we got amongst them we’d be in with a great chance of reaching the semi-finals.
We never banked on John Barnes playing as well as he did and, after about half-an-hour, he swept past two of us and slotted in to give them the lead. We got back into the game when Steve Terry sent a cross into their box past his own ’keeper and I thought at that point that our name may well have been on the Cup. No chance, as we left their centre-back Taylor free to score and, late on, Barnes finished at the far post to send us crashing out. We really did think we had a chance that year and I was truly upset that day as I suffered FA Cup heartache for the first time. In my wildest dreams, I could not have known how much more heartache I would suffer in the competition before I eventually ended up with a winner’s medal.
To make matters worse, Watford drew Plymouth in the semi-final draw, giving them a relatively easy route to the final. I’ll admit that I was happy to see Everton beat them in the final, for no other reason than they had ruined my dream. I was not to know when I cheered Andy Gray and Graeme Sharp’s goals that, because of Everton winning the Cup, I would help them compete in Europe the following season, having gained entry by beating Watford that day.
My first FA Cup tie for Everton was a tough one at Elland Road on another freezing night. The game had been switched from the usual Saturday afternoon slot to a Friday night to accommodate live TV and, although Leeds United were in the Second Division, they were still rated as a decent side. Before the game, the TV commentator reminded us all that we had not won at Elland Road for 30-odd years; thanks for that, I thought. It was another game when John Bailey gave way for me, as I had been covering at right-back for an injured Gary Stevens. With Gary fit, I moved to left-back and I could see that John was getting pissed off as he had played well when Gary had been out.
As much as it pissed Bails off, a manager has to live and die by making decisions and Howard made the right one as we beat Leeds and ended the 30-year-old hoodoo with a comfortable 2–0 victory. Sharpy put us one up before half-time with a disputed penalty and Sheeds finished them off when his late free kick hit the bar and, as everyone watched the ball, he followed it in and smashed the rebound into the net.
A relatively comfortable home win against a Doncaster side containing the Snodin brothers saw us make the last 32 and, once again, I was dreaming of the Twin Towers. To give Donny credit, they were a hard nut to crack and it was probably that game when the gaffer noticed that one of the Snodins was a half-decent footballer. A couple of years later, Ian signed for us and was a top player, whose career was sadly hampered by injury. That day, he was a bit lippy and I gave him a thump in the ear to pipe him down a bit, which didn’t work, although goals from Stevens and Steven did!
The chance of my dream becoming reality was given a massive boost when we were paired with Alliance Premier League side Telford United, who had beaten Fourth Division promotion challengers Darlington 3–0 as we were seeing off Doncaster, to become only the fifth ever non-league side to progress that far in the competi
tion.
Unlike Doncaster, who tried to play a bit of football and who were applauded off the pitch at full time by our appreciative fans, Telford were simply dirty bastards and came to kick us off the pitch. We had to dig in, show some grit and give them a bit back; it was like a war and turned out to be a very hard, physical game. They had a lad up front called Ken McKenna who was a massive Evertonian; when he left his foot in early on, we knew they would all be at it. They were cheered on by the largest away following I had ever seen at Goodison, but second-half goals from Reidy, Trevor Steven and Sheeds shut them up a bit and, unlike Donny, they were booed off at full time as the home fans took exception to their spoiling and often brutal antics.
Don’t get me wrong – I was no angel and loved a physical challenge, and appreciate that teams from the lower leagues have to play to their strengths, but I think the reaction of the Evertonians that day let them know they had overstepped the mark. Had they have seen some of the lads’ legs in the dressing room after the game they would have had those views endorsed.
Yet another home tie gave us a great chance of making the semi-finals, as relegation-threatened Ipswich Town arrived at Goodison as huge underdogs. The form book went out of the window, as happens so often in the Cup and, despite Sheeds scoring with a famous free kick, we almost went out. The free kick was something I had never seen at any level and, to this day, I still haven’t. It was classic Sheeds as he curled his shot from outside the box into the top right-hand corner, but was told to retake it, so he re-spotted the ball and simply put it in the top left-hand corner!
Despite Kevin’s genius with a minute to go, we found ourselves 2–1 down and it was manic as we chased the all-important second goal needed to keep us in the Cup. We were all guilty of running about like headless chickens and I somehow found myself overlapping down the right flank and crossing for our centre-back Derek Mountfield to score.
I suspect Howard may have said he switched things and pulled off a masterstroke, but if that attack had broken down and they had gone up the other end and scored, we’d have had the bollocking to end all bollockings. It was pure luck and, at times like that, you think it’s your year for the Cup. If the gaffer could have planned tactical stuff like that, he’d have been manager of Brazil, never mind Everton!
There was no time to recover and we were straight up to Ipswich for the replay which, again, proved to be another very difficult game. Howard told us that at this stage of competitions the team that makes the least mistakes gets the opportunity to progress, and they made one, conceding a penalty, with a needless hand ball. Sharp smashed it home and we were one game away from Wembley.
The semi-final was at Villa Park and we were, once again, hot favourites as we faced Luton who, like our previous opponents Ipswich, were fighting relegation. The game came after our mid-week trip to Munich, and I felt drained both physically and mentally.
Ricky Hill scored for Luton when we all felt Gary Stevens had been pushed in the build-up and, as hard as we tried, it seemed our luck wasn’t in. But, as always, we kept plugging away and, with a minute or so to go, Kevin Sheedy scored from another long-range free kick. I would say it was not one of his greatest as it bounced a few times and just about hit the net, but the place went mental and I was just glad we had earned a draw.
I had never played in a semi-final and nobody had even discussed extra time, so when the final whistle went I was so happy that we had the chance of a rest and to play them again when we were not so tired. As I walked off, Big Nev shouted something like, ‘Where are you going, soft lad?’ I was then given the bad news that, despite hardly being able to walk, I had to do another 30 minutes! I was playing on pure adrenalin; I had never felt so exhausted in a game and I have no idea how I got through it. Villa Park was a nice stadium and central for most teams so an ideal neutral venue, but the pitch? It was never the best and the last thing you needed at that stage of the season, and after chasing Germans for 90 minutes solid a few days earlier, was 120 minutes running about on a mud patch with more sand covering the surface than grass. Still, a job needed doing and, from the first minute of extra time, I thought the Luton lads had it in their heads that they had blown their chance. To be a minute or so away from Wembley and to see it snatched away from you must have hurt them, and we were by far the better side for the remainder of the game.
As the minutes ticked away, all I was concentrating on was keeping things simple and getting the ball up to our forwards, as my father’s request the day I signed at St Andrew’s was playing my mind. All I could think of was, ‘Don’t make a mistake … and in a few weeks he could well be seeing me walk out at Wembley.’
With minutes to go, Sheedy swung another free kick into the box and Mountfield nearly burst the net with a bullet header and I went nuts! For the first time ever, I ran and joined in mobbing a goalscorer. As I have said, it was something I did not usually get involved in, but this time I could not hold back and it was a crazy couple of minutes, as we were joined by a couple of hundred fans in silly bobble hats chasing Mountfield around the pitch.
When the final whistle blew, I was elated; I had made it to my first ever Cup Final and knew that, as long as I could steer clear of injury and not get sent off before the big day in May, my dad’s dream of seeing me walk out at Wembley would come true.
The Final on 18 May was a game too far for us and, although I was never one to moan about playing too many games, whichever clowns scheduled that fixture just three days after the Cup Winners’ Cup Final needed their heads examining. It was a boiling hot day and we were not really at the races, and the jubilation we had enjoyed in Rotterdam turned to despair as United beat us 1–0 after extra time. Having beaten them a couple of times already that season – including the 5–0 hammering we gave them at Goodison – we were favourites to do the Treble, something never done by an English club, but it was just not to be. I still get grief in South Africa today from United and Liverpool fans about Whiteside’s goal which turned out to be the one that won them the Cup. I think back to it most days and regret the build-up as when Norman picked the ball up, I cheekily said to him, ‘Take me on … run me!’ I should have kept my mouth shut and just put him in the stands. Instead, I watched in horror as he dipped his shoulder and went inside me before curling in a shot that I would have expected Nev to save from that distance. Nev being Nev blamed himself, but I know deep down Norman should never have got that shot in, although to this day I think it was a cross. They held on and we were dejected and so upset to have not clinched our third cup of the season that day, as we were a better team than United. So although I had made my father’s dream come true, I had a new one, as I was not happy just to have played at Wembley in an FA Cup Final – I wanted to win one.
I was fortunate enough to be given the chance just 12 months later as Everton reached their third FA Cup Final in as many seasons. After beating Exeter unconvincingly at home 1–0, thanks to a late Gary Stevens goal, we played Blackburn in a game when I scored for both teams in front of over 42,000 at Goodison. I can’t remember my Everton strike for the life of me, but can remember the own-goal as I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. A cross came from the right and one of their lads went for a header but completely missed the ball, which then hit me on the head and went into the right-hand corner of the goal past a shocked Nev. I was gutted and one look from big Nev was all I need to realise that we had better go on and win the game.
We did, but got a tough draw in the fifth round away to Spurs. The game was called off on the Saturday so we went to White Hart Lane mid-week and it was almost a mirror image of the game the season earlier when we as good as clinched the Championship there. Gary Stevens was out so Harper and Pointon lined up with myself and Rats in a makeshift back four, but Kevin went off injured early on which was a massive blow as I was the only recognised centre-half on the pitch as Inchy replaced him. We shuffled the pack and dug deep and Heath scored first before Lineker got a superb diving header to put us in control,
but they nicked one late on and put us under some pressure, but we saw it out and were back in the quarters.
The draw was unkind and paired us with Luton on that wretched plastic pitch and was played just a couple of days after the Spurs win. Rats had not recovered, meaning I had to play alongside Alan Harper in the middle while Stevens and Pointon looked after the flanks. We played badly and were two down at one stage, but Howard shuffled things about and his tactical genius came up trumps. He pulled Pointon off for Inchy, we went three up top and hammered them for the remainder of the game. We got it back to two each and should have won it at the death but, considering the start we had given them, we were still glad to get them back to our place.
The replay at Goodison again saw myself and Harper in a under-strength back four but Luton had blown their chance on the Saturday and, once Lineker scored, we were never going to let them back in and we were one game away from Wembley again.
Another trip to Villa Park saw Sheffield Wednesday stand between us and a final against either Liverpool or Southampton and, once again, we were clear favourites, but Links was out and we lost Trevor Steven early on with a groin strain, which gave the Owls a great chance. Our strength in depth was fantastic and Harper came on and scored with a lob from about 20 yards, proving what a superb player he was for us. No matter where he played or what he was asked to do, he never let anyone down, a superb, versatile footballer without whom we would have needed another two or three squad players to do his job. They levelled when I think Mimms should have collected a ball swung into the six-yard box and, once again, we had to endure a further 30 minutes. This time it was Sharpy who scored with a classic volley to take us back to Wembley for the third year running.
Pat Van Den Hauwe Page 11
