Journeyman

by Ben Smith

  After such an amazing result I decided to make myself as comfortable as possible on the bench as it seemed I would be there for a while…

  Luckily for me, though admittedly not so much for him, Sam Hewson picked up an injury and I was back in the team for a 1–1 draw at Walsall. Both the team and I played well and probably deserved to win the game. I retained my place for the midweek game at home to Millwall too, but we lost 2–0.

  Next up was Stockport away. Sam’s fitness was touch-and-go as he only played a very small part in Friday’s training session. We did some work on our set plays and I was involved in all of them – another strong indicator that I would be playing the following day. I went home that night as certain as I could be that I would be in the team.

  After the pre-match meal we had a meeting at the hotel and the gaffer named the team; I was on the bench and very annoyed. I had no problem with being left out when there was a level playing field, but I knew at that moment in time that I had no chance of playing, irrespective of my performance.

  Obviously this was no criticism of Sam, who just wanted to play first-team football and gain some experience, but it was no good to me.

  That was the first time I smelt a rat. As I mentioned earlier, I had a clause in my contract that meant I got another year’s contract on the same wages after thirty starts. I knew the club was aware of this because Jamie Pitman had told me they were keeping an eye on it.

  We lost the Stockport game 4–1, but Sam did get our only goal so maybe starting him was the right decision. When I turned up at Edgeley Park I wasn’t quite as devastated to be left out since the pitch looked as though a herd of cows had just been taken off it. You wouldn’t have wanted to have a kickabout on it, let alone a professional football match.

  The defeat seemed to galvanise us, though, as we went on to beat both Cheltenham away (in a game where my replacement scored twice) and Leeds United at home. We followed that up with a defeat against Peterborough and a home win versus Leyton Orient. We’d been looking dead and buried, but those three positive results had given us an outside chance of salvaging something from the season. Our next game away to Crewe Alexandra brought us back down to earth though – we lost again.

  We were due to play Bristol Rovers at home next and I really wanted to put in a good performance as we were still smarting from the annihilation we suffered in the reverse fixture. The gaffer named the team and I was in it. On this occasion, John gave me one of the most underwhelming pep talks I ever had the pleasure of receiving. It went like this:

  JT: You’re playing against Craig Disley today; he likes to make a lot of forward runs and you aren’t very good at tracking them.

  Me: OK.

  JT: We need to try to exploit them with longer passes, but you haven’t got a very good range of passing.

  Me: OK.

  JT: However, you are good at twisting and turning with the ball so stay on it and don’t panic when we have good possession.

  Me: OK. (Read: Thank God for that – at least I’m good at something!)

  I may have paraphrased John a little, but that was the general gist of the conversation.

  All that advice was immaterial anyway as we got torn to shreds by Rickie Lambert again – he scored a hat-trick within an hour, decided that was enough pain for one game and Rovers comfortably saw out a 3–0 win.

  John was right about Craig Disley and me, though – Craig did like to make forward runs and I wasn’t very good at tracking them. I know this because I remember quite vividly one occasion when he ran off me and nearly scored. It sticks in my mind because I was near the dugout and I can still hear the expletives GT shouted at me now.

  It felt obvious I would be left out of the next match and when you’ve just been part of a heavy defeat, irrespective of your own thoughts on your performance, you don’t really have a leg to stand on.

  I sat in the dressing room before the Southend United game, waiting for the inevitable, and, sure enough, I wasn’t named in the team. I waited for confirmation that I was on the bench, but that didn’t come either – I was left out of the squad entirely.

  As a group of players we were doing terribly so I had just as much right to be left out of the squad as anyone else. What made me so angry was the fact I was club vice-captain and had had nearly four and a half years of success under the manager. I thought the least I deserved was an explanation. After all, how was I expected to know what they wanted me to work on without one? Mind you, after John’s ‘pep’ talk before the Bristol Rovers game, it didn’t take Einstein to work the answer out.

  We lost the Southend game narrowly 1–0, but my punishment was prolonged as I travelled all the way up to Scunthorpe too just to sit in the stand and watch us get beaten 3–0.

  The gaffer was fuming after that game and scheduled a meeting the following Thursday to discuss what was going wrong. ‘If anyone has anything to say they should say it on Thursday,’ he announced. That was like a red rag to a bull: I was wound up and had plenty to say.

  Thursday came and GT called the aforementioned meeting. We were all sat in the gym and he opened discussion up to the floor. As usual, everyone had been moaning in private but nobody wanted to be the first to speak.

  ‘Who has got something to say?’ he asked.

  No one spoke so he repeated the question.

  ‘I’ve got something to say,’ I said. ‘Why do we not work on the shape of the team any more? Why don’t you warn people who haven’t played for a while that they are going to start before naming the team an hour and a half before the game? Why don’t you explain to people why they have been left out?’

  Well, this clearly hit a nerve and GT went for me. ‘Would working on the team shape make you track your runners? Would letting someone know they are playing make you track your runners?’

  Ouch.

  ‘I appreciate that is something I have to work on, but it’s not relevant to what I’ve just asked,’ I replied.

  GT was clearly not happy and it was becoming a personal slanging match. I found his reaction quite strange as he’d asked for people’s opinions but become very defensive upon receiving them. My speaking up worked, though, as it led to other players putting their thoughts across and getting some of our other issues out in the open.

  I was really disappointed though and I lost a bit of respect for GT that day. I knew he had a tough job being both the manager and the chairman of the club – and he no doubt had an abundance of issues to deal with – but if he’d had a problem with me we should’ve talked about it in private. That meeting was not meant to be about my deficiencies but about the team’s, so I don’t think he should’ve been taking out his frustrations on someone who, on the whole, had done well for him.

  I was still unhappy the next day and went in early to speak to John. I asked him if the gaffer had a problem with me. He gave me that incredulous look he had mastered and rocked back in his chair.

  ‘What makes you say that, Smudger?’ he said. I, rather flippantly, referred him back to the previous day’s ‘discussion’, but John assured me there was no problem and I’d only got the thick end of the stick because I was the first one to pipe up. I wasn’t totally convinced by his explanation but decided to let sleeping dogs lie and get on with it.

  By the way, if you’re wondering who ‘Smudger’ is, that would be me. As I’m sure you’re aware, footballers are not known for giving their teammates imaginative nicknames. Having a surname like Smith meant Smudger was the most obvious option; however, bearing in mind some of the other deficiencies I had, I wasn’t going to disagree with the moniker.

  Next up was Swindon Town at their County Ground. I had somehow managed to get myself back in the match-day squad and watched from the bench as we were comfortably beaten 3–0 again. I came on for the last twenty minutes, replacing Sam – who had picked up an injury that actually finished his time at Hereford. Obviously it was a disappointing way for him to end his spell, but it meant I had an opportunity to get that thirt
y-game mark required to trigger my new deal – although it was by no means a foregone conclusion that I would be back in the team.

  Next up was the trip everyone looked forward to – Carlisle away!

  I got the nod and not only did we win 2–1 but I scored as well, my first of the season (an embarrassing stat for an attacking midfielder like me, but an indication of how poor the season had been personally). It was also one of my best performances of the season, although my frailties nearly came to the fore again.

  I was having a great midfield battle with Carlisle’s old warhorse Graham Kavanagh but, early in the second-half, he exposed my Achilles heel by making a run off the back of me. I held my breath as he ran through but, luckily, he hit a post and we scrambled it away. If that had gone in I very much doubt I would have had much involvement in the rest of the season.

  The result was a false dawn as we didn’t win a single game in our remaining nine fixtures. I managed to stay in the team for the majority of those and put in a couple of good displays against Hartlepool United and Leicester City, plus a terrible one against Tranmere Rovers. We lost the Tranmere game 2–1, but it was especially poor as it confirmed the inevitable: our relegation back to League Two.

  According to my calculations, I’d made twenty-nine starts by then and there were four games remaining. I was left out of our next game versus Colchester United and was pretty sure it was due to the contract clause. In fairness though, after my abject performance in the previous game I did deserve to be dropped.

  I was now in a quandary because it seemed clear I wouldn’t play another game thanks to the clause in my contract: should I go to see GT and tell him I would waive the clause to at least play some more and put myself in the shop window; or should I play dumb, sit tight and hope I’d just been dropped because of my poor performance?

  After the defeat to Colchester I decided to give the situation more time to develop and, to my surprise, I was named in the team away to my former club Yeovil Town. This guaranteed me another year’s contract – or so I believed. I wasn’t expecting it but I also wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Even though I was recalled to the team, I’d seemingly lost my role as vice-captain. Nothing was said directly; the gaffer just named the team and announced Steve Guinan was captain. He’d easily been our best player all season and deserved it, but, then again, I would’ve appreciated a subtle word explaining the situation beforehand – even if it was just: ‘You’ve been rubbish and don’t deserve to lead the team.’

  The Yeovil game encapsulated the embarrassment our season had inflicted on the club and its supporters. We started the game well and went 2–0 up before an inevitable collapse. Huish Park erupted and their players went off celebrating like they’d just won the FA Cup, which was understandable as it confirmed Yeovil’s safety in League One for another season. I, on the other hand, just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. It felt like everyone was laughing at us. In the grand scheme of things, the result meant very little – but it dented my professional pride.

  There was a huge change at the club before our next game away at Northampton. GT decided to step down as manager and John took over the reins.

  Obviously it was a shame GT stood down in such disappointing circumstances. After saving Hereford United from the brink of bankruptcy and turning the club into a profit-making organisation, he deserved to go out in a blaze of glory – but he was doing what he thought was best for the club.

  From a personal perspective, I didn’t think the change of management would have much of an effect on my future, whatever that may be.

  We lost 2–1 in Northampton but put in what was a decent performance for us. A few things John did then made me question his managerial credentials. During his first team talk he gave an aggressive speech making it clear that if you ‘didn’t do what he wanted’ you’d be removed from the pitch ‘irrespective of the time in the game’.

  I never liked such threats as I felt they put players on edge before a game had even started. We were unfortunate not to get a result at Northampton but, in Monday’s debrief, John again blamed me for us conceding a decisive goal.

  The ball had gone in to their striker Akinfenwa on the edge of our box so, as one of our defenders marshalled him tightly from behind, I tried to nick the ball from the front. I was unsuccessful and he laid it back to my former Arsenal youth-team colleague Jason Crowe who smashed it in from 25 yards.

  I was definitely partially at fault for the goal of course but to lay all the blame at my feet seemed harsh. However, this season had highlighted the fact I did have a problem with following the ball rather than staying with my man.

  That was always a weakness of mine, even as I remember all the way back to my days as a schoolboy at Arsenal. Fred, my then coach and whose surname eludes me, would say after almost every game that I was great going forward but not as good defensively.

  Unfortunately, we were getting battered most weeks. Defending was all I was doing – and I clearly wasn’t doing it very well. I remember once reading a quote from Johan Cruyff: ‘If a defender has to sprint, it’s too late.’ I think that summed up my defensive skills. I’d regularly think oh shit when someone ran off me, but by then it would usually be too late.

  We finished our season at home to MK Dons. We lost and my performance was pathetic; I was anonymous until I managed to be at fault for their winning goal. I looked over to the bench and John was going ballistic. Before the ball had been returned to the centre spot, my number was up and I’d scuttled off the pitch without making eye contact with him.

  I was embarrassed. I didn’t recognise this player who, just a year earlier, had been dominating games from midfield. GT came in after and thanked us for our efforts, but I wasn’t really listening as we all knew he was just going through the motions.

  John added that he would be contacting everyone by phone regarding the club’s plans for next season. There was no last debrief or meeting – that probably told a story itself.

  It was fine by me though – I just wanted to go home and forget about the whole season. I thought I’d triggered the clause in my contract entitling me to another year but I was sceptical because nobody at Hereford had confirmed anything.

  Within a week of the season finishing, while I was in my office working on my degree, John rang to inform me that every player would be getting a letter from the club saying they had been released. Some, however, would be getting contract offers.

  That was a naughty move and an unethical way of doing things. How it normally works is if a Football League club offers you a contract, they have to confirm it in writing. Once you get the confirmation, you have twenty-eight days to accept or reject the offer. It is a legally binding document.

  If, after twenty-seven days, the club decides to retract the offer but the player wants to accept, they then have to stand by the offer or agree a settlement with the player. So, by telling us all we had been released, Hereford could then give verbal offers that it could withdraw whenever it liked.

  John went on to say my £1,400 per week contract was massive – which I took as a compliment to my negotiating skills – and that if I were to stay he would be looking at me taking a pay cut of 50 per cent. I took the opportunity to tell John I was entitled to another year on the same money and I heard the deep gulp he took before saying he would call me back.

  Within ten minutes, Joan Fennessy, the club secretary, called to inform me that I was not entitled to another year as, even though I had made thirty-two starts, only twenty-nine of them were in the League. What a coincidence…

  She also added that, because we’d been relegated, I was only entitled to £750 per week. I explained the £750 per week deal was only if we got relegated to the Conference and, as far as I was aware, we’d only been demoted to League Two. I told her I would have to look at my contract to confirm this.

  There was one small problem with me looking at my copy of the contract: I couldn’t find it! In the end,
I had to ring the FA and get a copy faxed over. Unfortunately, it confirmed what Joan had said about the thirty League starts.

  John rang back and said he knew I wouldn’t be in a rush to accept a 50 per cent pay cut but that he would give me a call in June to discuss the situation.

  I was really disappointed – not so much with the contract offer but with the way the management had blatantly stopped me reaching the thirty-game mark. I understood the financial landscape had changed since I’d signed the contract, but what I didn’t understand was why GT hadn’t just pulled me to one side and discussed the situation. If we’d had a meeting then I’m sure we could’ve come to an agreement. Instead, management had pretended to know nothing about the situation and basically insulted my intelligence.

  If I was someone who’d done nothing at all for the club then I might’ve had some sympathy for the management. However, bearing in mind the overall contribution I had made, I felt I deserved at least an admission as to why they did what they did.

  I also learnt a lesson – the only mistake I made in my negotiations with Hereford was I should have insisted on an extra year’s contract in the event of promotion, rather than based on the number of games played in my last season.

  The clause I had was worthless – detrimental, in actual fact. If a player has such a clause, not only do they not get their new contract if the club wishes them not to, but they also don’t get the opportunity to play and impress another prospective employer.

  Don’t get me wrong – I personally had a poor season. But, the year before, I (along with a lot of my teammates) made big contributions in getting the club promoted. In my opinion, there was no reason why we couldn’t, with some decent additions, do it again. To get rid of players, or make very little attempt to keep them, seemed a short-sighted approach to me.

  The more I thought about it, the more I was determined not to take the mooted offer. The reason I say mooted is because John never formally offered me the revised contract. Out of principle, I decided I would find a new club. It was a big decision as both my girlfriend and I were again settled and happy, but she understood the life of a footballer.