Final Whistle

by J Jackson Bentley

  “Is there anything I should know before we get stuck in this afternoon?” I asked knowing that I had done my homework on the teams.

  “There is the first rule of football commentary,” he replied. I got my pen and pad ready. Ian placed his hand over the pad and smiled.

  “I don’t think you’ll need to make a note of it. It’s very memorable.” I wondered what it was.

  “The first rule of football commentary is don’t drink for two hours before the match and go to the toilet before you go on air. It gets very cold up here and the toilets are a long way off.”

  Unlike the OB van, the technology up in the gantry was very simple. We agreed the hand signals that would bring me into the commentary and those that would cut me off if there was a sudden burst of action whilst I was summarising. We took over the live presentation five minutes before the kick off and, on a cue from London, we led into the commercial break. After the break it was the guys in the box until the second set of half time commercials. We would consume a small cup of hot coffee and a sandwich before returning with the second half commentary. Oh, how simple it all sounded.

  ************

  We sat huddled against the wind until we heard staccato instructions emanating from our headphones. The countdown to air began at fifteen seconds and from seven seconds it was a second by second count. We both had to turn and look at the cameraman crouching uncomfortably beside us. A shot of us wearing our headsets and holding hand-held microphones appeared on our monitor. The same shot was beamed to the great viewing public until it was replaced with a graphic overlaid on a wide shot of Anfield. The graphic listed the home team and I was asked to comment on how they would line up. As the Liverpool team was largely unchanged, as expected, I described a back three with a wide five in midfield and two up front. As I spoke the graphic changed and the names moved to the positions I had allocated to them. The miracles of modern technology.

  Ian and I discussed the tactics that would be employed and then I proceeded to comment on the Chelsea line up. Ian asked me how I expected them to play and as I began to explain I heard a voice from my headset say,

  “Thirty seconds to transmission centre.” The TV adverts were not handled by Sky Sports but by Sky Transmission centre and so we had to fit into their timetable. Allowing time for the ‘bumper’(the technical term for the video and music that led into and out of the commercials) the break was only a half a minute away and I started to shake. Could I fit in everything I had planned to say?

  “Well, Ian I expect Chelsea to come here and attack,” I began “the two front men will be supported by DeMarco, who will tuck in behind.”

  “Twenty five seconds to transmission centre.” It was difficult to concentrate when someone was talking in your ear. Nevertheless I had to continue.

  “I would expect the two wingbacks to track back, when necessary and cover the flanks for the three centre backs.” The Graphics changed to suit my predictions. “Of course, Liverpool have always produced good attacking midfielders and I think that this is the area that Chelsea will concentrate on.”

  “Fifteen seconds.” I struggled to keep my train of thought going.

  “If they can contain the two runners, then space will open up behind them that can be exploited by the two Liverpool wingers.”

  “Ten seconds, nine......” The voice urged. Ian held up his hand for me to stop and calmly spoke as we heard the voice from the studio say,

  “Five and four and three....”

  “So a terrific match in store this afternoon. Join us after the break,” he said.

  “Cut to transmission centre,” the unseen voice said, unconcerned. Ian had got his timing right to the exact second.

  ************

  The match wasn’t a great one. There were plenty of half chances and the midfield passing was superlative, but neither team could get it right in the last third of the pitch. We replayed the near misses and tried to sound enthusiastic about the battle for the midfield, but, in all honesty, it was a dull match.

  In the end the contest was settled by a well placed header from Liverpool’s big centre half who had run up for a corner and found himself unmarked. He would probably score two or three goals this season and this was one of them. A rare goal, perhaps, but an important one for Liverpool in the race for the title. Of course it must have been disappointing for the Chelsea players who had not only contained, but who had outclassed the Scousers for much of the seventy seven minutes played.

  Once we had handed back to Sky Transmission Centre for the break, I made the journey back to the box. It was a struggle with my leg in a cast but I made it. I joined with the England Manager and an ex Liverpool full back in the cramped box. Between us we dissected the action and commented on what went right (very little) and what went wrong (quite a lot).

  It had been a long and tiring day for me but the others took it in their stride. I joined Tony McDonald and Mike Richards, the presenter, for the taxi journey to Liverpool’s John Lennon airport. We took the plane back to London Heathrow and then split up. Mike drove home, up to Marlowe, and we spent the night at Tony’s flat in Ealing.

  Lisa McDonald looked genuinely pleased to see me.

  “I think we’ll be seeing quite a bit of you in the next few weeks,” she said smiling. “You will stay with us, won’t you?”

  “If it isn’t a burden I would love to.” I hated hotel living and I avoided it wherever possible.

  ************

  I hadn’t expected to see Danny Miller at the studios on Monday morning, and when I saw him I was touched that he had made the effort to come in to coach me. His right eye was covered by a large pad of cotton wool and his left eye was red and watery.

  “That looks painful,” I said.

  “You bet it is,” he replied with feeling. “The damned consultant said I could expect some discomfort. Discomfort I ask you!” He followed up with a hollow laugh.

  “Come on, Danny, these doctors don’t have the words pain and agony in their medical dictionaries. You know the drill. ‘Hold still now, you might feel a little scratch,.” they say, and you just know that your nerve ends are about to be set jangling.”

  Danny dabbed at his good eye with a clean tissue and I could see why he needed the time off.

  “Look, Alex, I’m going to take a couple of paracetamols. Duncan will show you around.”

  We walked over to a desk situated behind a biscuit coloured partition. Duncan stood up to greet us. I felt that he was wasting his time directing football matches, he should have been playing basketball. Even though I’m around six feet tall I still had to look up to him. We shook hands and after sorting out his desk we went on a tour.

  Our first stop was the studio, which was being made ready for the Monday Night Football programme. The layout was familiar to me from many Monday nights spent watching the football on TV. There was the presenter’s desk in the middle, and to one side a video console for recording and playing back clips from the match. That was where I would be sitting. At the front of the studio was the ‘Tactics table’, a backlit green screen on which I would be expected to discuss the team formations and the likely strategies. I was familiar with all of this from my earlier visit.

  We then went into the large production room. The semi darkened room was on two levels. The lower level had five chairs facing a bank of about twenty monitors of differing sizes. One big screen showed the picture to be broadcast to the world. Two other screens showed previews, shots that would eventually make it to the broadcast monitor. On the far left was a monitor showing the actual output from Sky Sports One HD at present and the remainder of the working monitors showed various camera angles and the screen graphics. There was a large mixing console right in the centre of the bank which mixed live camera shots with graphics and animation and all of this was done live, in real time. No second chances. Beside each seat was a telephone for keeping in touch with the ground and the transmission centre.

  On the upper level were a ser
ies of computers and video tape (VT) machines. The producer sat up here and orchestrated the show. I could quite believe Duncan when he said that tempers flared and angry voices were raised when things did not happen as planned. The tension must be tangible when people are working to the second with high technology, and temperamental, equipment.

  As well as a red diode digital clock there was a normal analogue clock on the wall.

  “What is that figure in the top right hand corner of the screen?” I asked.

  “Right,” said Duncan, “When the match kicks off we start the clock running on every camera. So when you see 16:23, it means that sixteen minutes, twenty three seconds of the match has elapsed. Do you see the figures beside the time that scroll so fast you can hardly see them?” I nodded and he continued. “Well, television cycles at about twenty five frames per second. That timer records every frame.”

  “So. If something happens on one of the main cameras at 16:23:15, you would be able to match the action viewed from behind the goal to a twenty fifth of a second?” I asked, impressed.

  “Yes, and the same goes for every camera we use. This is important because we generally use between thirteen and twenty cameras on Premiership and cup matches.”

  We looked at a typical layout of camera positions. As well as the main cameras there were many ‘iso’, or isolated cameras. Some were mobile and hand held, others were sited in fixed positions. On the opposite side of the pitch were two cameras mounted at the eighteen yard lines. These were known as the Danny Miller cameras because he used their wide angled views for his match analysis. On these cameras one could view the whole park all of the time. The last two cameras were automatic. They were placed behind each goal and, rather than run to the main console, they recorded onto a separate disk. These special cameras only recorded two to three minutes of play at a time on the disc and then looped to record on the same disk again. Thus there was no permanent record of the match from behind the goals. However, if the director wished to keep footage of a piece of action he could download the disk onto tape automatically. This is how we are able to see goals and near misses from behind the goal on recorded highlights.

  When the tour was over I spent the next three hours with Danny Miller selecting clips from the weekend matches that could be used for analysis before the night’s main event, Sunderland v Bolton. I had been allotted fifteen minutes and I desperately wanted to enjoy a good debut.

  ************

  At four fifteen we had a full rehearsal and practised and recorded some of the links and ‘promo’s’. Tonight we were promoting world championship boxing. Mike wrote his links to fit the time available and then we ran through my contribution. It all went better than I expected, but doing it live? That was going to be the real test.

  Danny went home and Mike and I changed into our suits. We sat talking in the luridly decorated canteen with its pale yellow walls and grey carpet. The furniture was a pleasant beech veneer but the upholstery was a bright orange. We ordered dinner and asked for it to be delivered to studio two at about eight fifteen and we sat there killing time. Mike made me laugh with stories from his days on breakfast TV and I began to relax, but I couldn’t help keeping a close eye on the clock.

  At six twenty we went back to the studio to prepare for the programme just forty minutes away.

  ************

  The credits rolled and the familiar music rang out. This time when it stopped I would be on camera. The video played out and a wide shot of the ground was shown, to a voice over from Mike. Pictures of fans arriving at the ground provided the background to Mike’s slick build up for the game. The red light on camera illuminated. We were on.

  “Well, we have quite a night ahead of us at Sunderland's magnificent Stadium of Light tonight. I’m Mike Richards and with me tonight is Alex Carter, the England international and former footballer of the year. Alex has missed a few games recently, due to injury. But in case you need reminding of just how good he is, look at this.”

  The next ninety seconds was filled with rock music and shots of me scoring goals in United and England colours. Mike spoke to the camera.

  “There were some terrific goals there, weren’t there? Alex is going to be with us until the end of the season and I know he joins with me in wishing Danny a speedy recovery.” Mike turned to face me and camera two lit up. “Alex, it looks like it could be a cracking match tonight, doesn’t it?”

  The consummate professional, he gave me my lead and I went on to explain what excited me about the two teams we were going to watch. Initially, I was nervous, I felt butterflies in my stomach and my mouth went dry, but as I spoke I became increasingly confident.

  The time passed quickly and before I knew it we had handed over to the commentary team. Once the match kicked off we discarded our jackets and ate the canteen dinners as we watched the match. From time to time I would record a piece of action to talk about in the half time summary. The producer and director both suggested clips that should be reviewed and then we rehearsed how we would fit them in.

  The make-up lady came in and touched up our make-up before we appeared on screen again. The studio lights came back on and we were ready to go again.

  ************

  At ten fifteen I shook hands with Mike and thanked him for his help. He climbed into his car and drove home. Tony and I met at the Farmers Arms for a well deserved drink, or two, and then we took a taxi back to his house. As we drove I rang my daughter from my mobile phone and told her that I missed her. Tanya sounded bright and cheery, she said was fine, Mrs Gilbert was doing a good job of looking after her and I wasn’t to worry. Nevertheless, I looked forward to being back in my own home with my daughter.

  CHAPTER 10

  Simon Moreton sat down at the dining room table and opened his briefcase.

  “I’ve got some good news and some bad news, as the old joke goes. Which do you want first?”

  “I’ll take the bad news,” I replied, wondering how bad the bad news could be. I soon found out it could be very bad indeed.

  “Counsel for Dean Butler has been on the telephone to Mr Byron looking for a deal.”

  “That sounds like good news to me,” I said.

  “Not at the figures they are offering, Alex.” He paused to consult his file. “They are offering you an ex gratia payment of £10,000 and are suggesting that each side bears its own costs. They are not accepting liability, they are just trying to get rid of an inconvenient action. Or so it says here.” He lifted up a faxed note from counsel.

  That’s a ridiculous offer,” I blurted.

  “I’m glad you agree. I take it that you reject it?” he asked. I nodded. “Good. Then we’ll get on. Now, there are two more pieces of bad news, but neither are fatal to your case. Firstly, the referee has been called as a witness for Dean Butler, and the presumption must be that he is going to say that the tackle was not reckless.”

  I could hardly believe the words that Simon had uttered. Any referee can make a mistake on the day but surely after seeing the video replays he must have reconsidered his decision. I found it hard to believe that he could honestly take the view that he had been right on the day, when the outcome was so devastating for my career. But why would a referee lie? What motive could he have? Even if he openly admitted his mistake he would only get a slap on the wrist from the FA and he would be back on duty the following Saturday. I expressed my disbelief to my solicitor.

  “I’m afraid it does cause us some concern,” Simon said sombrely. “Counsel believes that as a professional referee he stands as a judge on the match and its incidents. The Judge might, therefore, consider the referee to be an expert, of sorts, and it could be difficult for us to overturn his testimony. Unless we can discredit his evidence in some way.”

  “How?” I wanted to know.

  “Well, Alex. There are two methods of damaging his testimony as a witness. The first approach would be to compare his decision on this tackle with other decisions he has made during the season.
Thus, we could show that his behaviour towards the tackle in this case was inconsistent with his normal behaviour as a referee acting in accordance with the FA guidelines. Showing such an inconsistency would affect his standing as an expert in the eyes of the Judge. The second way is to discredit his evidence by overwhelming it by contrary expert evidence.”

  “You mean, we introduce two referees who think that it was a reckless tackle?” I offered.

  “Not necessarily referees, Alex. It might be that we could use players and ex players who can also be regarded as experts in this field.” He paused. “Which brings me to the second piece of bad news.” I waited to see if this news was better or worse than the other. “They have Luke Reaman listed as a witness and, apparently, he is prepared to give evidence that the tackle was neither reckless nor dangerous.”

  To say that I was amazed at this turn of events would be a gross understatement. I was at the match where a poorly timed tackle had wrecked Luke’s knee and his career. Luke had been bitter at first and had turned his back on the game. Then after a couple of years he found religion and he was a changed man. Now back in football, he was coaching and acting as manager to the England youth team.

  “But Luke was put out of the game by a reckless tackle,” I implored.

  “That makes him all the more potent as a witness for Dean Butler.” I could see Simon Moreton’s point. A man who could be expected to see recklessness in almost any tackle after his own experience, saw nothing wrong with Dean Butler’s lunge. The Judge might well give great weight to his evidence. Simon interrupted my thoughts.

  “However, as I said, there is some good news. Nicky Moxon is prepared to give evidence on your behalf.” My solicitor turned over the page and read. “This was a professional foul, pure and simple, a deliberate over the ball tackle that was meant to get the man not the ball. I should know, I’m often accused of being the leading exponent of the dirty tackle.”