by Ben Smith
It all resulted in Glenn being banned from the club and training indefinitely – a stupid move, in my eyes. The gaffer didn’t realise Glenn, being the longest-serving player, was a huge asset to him in the dressing room. He was the one explaining to the new players what to listen to and what to ignore – as he’d done for me when I first joined the club.
The gaffer clearly had an agenda – he wanted any excuse to get rid of the players he no longer felt he needed while laying his usual marker to the new arrivals.
I was only being selected for the reserve pre-season games and it seemed clear I would not be in the first team at the start of the season. I anticipated it, but I was also willing to bide my time as I didn’t think the balance of the team, especially in midfield, was quite right.
Mine was not a philosophy shared by the management, though, as, on a Sunday two weeks before the start of the season, I got a text from the gaffer saying some semi-professional clubs were interested in taking me and I could go if I was interested.
One was Newport County, then managed by my former Weymouth teammate Dean Holdsworth. If it’d been closer to home, I would’ve walked there straight away. I wasn’t keen on moving but I still had my house in Worcester so I didn’t rule anything out completely.
I spoke to Dean the next day and liked what he said, but the financial offer was underwhelming. The maximum wage on offer was £550 per week (£100 less than what I was on at the time) and there was no relocation package. I said I couldn’t entertain that offer unless I got a pay-off from Crawley, so I needed to speak to Evo.
One other interesting point came out of that chat: Steve had initially told me Dean had asked about my availability, but, in reality, the gaffer had offered me up.
Now Crawley had come into some money, we were off to the Five Lakes hotel in Essex for a five-day training camp. Upon our arrival, the gaffer and I had a chat about my situation. I said that without my contract getting paid up at Crawley, I couldn’t contemplate Newport’s offer. He didn’t take the bait and said I could stay. I had no problem with that either as the move to Newport didn’t particularly appeal – mainly because of the travelling involved.
The training camp finished with our last pre-season game against Bromley, in which we played poorly and lost 1–0. I was restricted to a five-minute cameo and was starting to get annoyed.
The gaffer always justified not playing me by saying I was not mobile enough to play in a 4–4–2. That was rubbish. I was going down to the gym regularly to get myself fitter and fitter, motivated by a desire to prove him wrong.
The season started with a home game against Grimsby. I sneaked onto the bench but was not used during the 1–0 defeat. We played really well but lost after a rush of blood from our new goalkeeper Michel Kuipers. He came careering out of his box midway through the first half, handled the ball and was given a straight red card. To compound matters, Grimsby scored from the resulting free kick. Even with ten men we dominated and we should’ve earned at least a draw. Watching that game convinced me further that I could work myself into the team, though.
The new signings kept coming and we added both Scott Neilson from Bradford City and Jai Reason on a short-term contract from Cambridge United. Both were midfielders but both were also from the Essex area, so that helped with the cost of petrol. Swings and roundabouts…
They were enough to push me out of the sixteen, though, so I watched the game at Cambridge United from the stands. We started off like a house on fire, with Tubbsy getting a couple of early goals to put us two up – both he and Sergio Torres were really showing their class. However, Cambridge quickly hit back to level it at 2–2 and that was how it stayed.
It was a really good game of football, a great advert for the Conference Premier, and, although we hadn’t won either of our first two games, we clearly had the potential to be a really good side. Sergio had especially impressed me. He was clearly a very good footballer but, just as importantly, he was a great guy with no ego whatsoever.
Unfortunately for me, though, it didn’t look like I had much of a future at Crawley. The day after our visit to Cambridge I got a call from Paul Raynor explaining I was no longer in their plans and I could have £5,000 to leave. I had a little chuckle to myself and then told him there was no way I was going to leave for such a derisory offer. The remaining term of my contract was worth £27,500 alone. I told Rayns I would leave for £15,000 and that was a non-negotiable figure.
I was pissed off because I had re-signed just three and a half months earlier in good faith. The season had only just started so most clubs had their squads in place already, meaning it was by no means a foregone conclusion I would find a new contract. So I decided there was no way I was going to come out of this situation losing money. In actual fact, bearing in mind the money the club was spending on players, I believed I deserved a premium to leave. In the previous season, while not being amazing, I had been a key player in helping Crawley Town finish in their highest ever League position. Now I was being treated like an idiot.
To top it off, I knew I was better than some of the central midfielders the gaffer already had, yet he was going to pay me to leave. I’d never been so determined to prove someone wrong in my life. If I wasn’t going to get that opportunity, I was at least going to be well compensated to move on.
The next day at training, the gaffer pulled me into his office and asked me for my thoughts regarding the pay-off. I reiterated my position and, to be fair, Steve said he would not hold it against me and would treat me with the respect I deserved. He stuck to that for all of two days!
When managers are trying to ease unwanted players out of the club, they begin by trying to make life difficult. For me, that began on a Sunday when a few of us were called in to train – all we did was run. On the Monday, I was again sent up to the gym with another lad to train with the physio, even though we were both fully fit. It seemed pretty petty as Evo could’ve easily incorporated two more players into his session. If he thought his tactics were going to work on me, though, he had another think coming.
I had no problem doing whatever he asked – in actual fact, I made sure he knew that not only was I going to do whatever he asked, but I was going to do it better than anyone else and enjoy it. After all, worst-case scenario, I was getting paid to keep myself fit.
Steve was trying all sorts of techniques to try to get at me. Sometimes, when training was over, he would tell me I had to train again, even though I’d received no prior notice. I would say I couldn’t as I was travelling with other players who were taking me home. It was great to see the gaffer fume and grudgingly accept my reasoning.
Another of his tricks was to bring me in at 9 a.m. on the day of an evening kick-off, make me train and then get me to hang around for the game – which is what happened for our match against Bath City. On that occasion, I was pulled straight into the office and asked if I had changed my mind about leaving. I think Evo and Paul thought they’d worn me down, but they weren’t even close to my tipping point.
I felt they took me for some kind of imbecile: they’d told me I wasn’t getting any money while boasting about how much money they had at their disposal. I just said my position hadn’t changed and left the room.
The gaffer must’ve been straight on the phone to the owners as I was summoned back into his office and offered a very precise £11,666.66. I felt like I was playing my very own game of Deal or No Deal. I thanked him for the offer but reiterated my position: £15,000 or I stayed. I walked straight out of the office chuckling to myself – I was confident that within the next day or two I would get my figure and be off.
I had to suffer some short-term pain, though, as the rest of the unwanted players and I endured a tough double training session. But I didn’t mind as all I kept thinking about was the big fat cheque I’d soon be receiving.
My confidence was sorely misplaced, it seemed, as time ticked on and that extra £3,333 didn’t appear. I was still in exile. Then the gaffer had a change of h
eart – something he was prone to do – and decided he wanted me to temporarily go out on loan for a month. I wasn’t sure whether he was telling the truth or trying a new tactic but, either way, I wasn’t fussed. I was willing to go out on loan all season if he wasn’t going to pay me off.
During all that time the first team was actually coming along nicely and winning pretty regularly, but there was still, in my opinion, space for an attacking midfielder.
The end of the August transfer window was dangerously close, however, and any pay-off had to be agreed by then. If I agreed something after it closed, that would mean I’d be unable to join another club in the Conference Premier or higher until January. I’m still not sure how this practice is legal – surely it’s a restraint of trade? – but it was, and remains, a major issue for many lower-league players.
But then everything seemed to change. We had a reserve game on the last day of August, away at Peterborough United, which I played in and we won 2–0. I played OK but football is all about perception and, for whatever reason, the gaffer’s one of me had dramatically changed. Suddenly, in his eyes, I was a good player again. In that one game, I’d gone from someone who could do nothing right to a player who could do no wrong.
The first-team squad was now up to twenty-six players, including six strikers, and I was back training with them after two weeks in solitary confinement. I was also more confident than ever about forcing my way into the team.
The following day I was pulled into the manager’s office before training, told that my recent attitude had really impressed everyone and advised to keep it up. To be honest, I hadn’t been doing it for them but I appreciated the recognition. Maybe they’d been doing the whole thing to test certain players and see who fell by the wayside?
One of those who did fall away was my gym buddy Darragh Ryan. He’d received the same treatment as me and left the same day I was re-integrated into the fold. I don’t think he was on great money but, by all accounts, he settled for £5,000, which I thought meant he’d sold himself short.
I managed to get on the bench for the next League game against Fleetwood and put in a steady display for the reserves against local team Three Bridges – the sort of performance now perceived as ‘excellent’ by the powers that be.
I retained my place in the first-team squad away to Histon and, although I was an unused sub again, it was the first time in ages I’d sat in on a team talk and felt like I was in with a chance of playing. We won the game comfortably but we still weren’t pulling up any trees when in possession of the ball. I knew my time would come and it would be soon.
During that time, Evo pulled me into his office again as it turned out the FA had queried my contract. What with the gaffer’s previous misdemeanours, I think the authorities took a keen interest in Crawley’s dealings. (For the uninitiated: when Steve Evans was manager of Boston United, he was found guilty of tax evasion and was very lucky to evade a custodial sentence. In the end, he was given a twelve-month custodial sentence, suspended for two years, and banned from all football activity for twenty months.) My contract said we had agreed another relocation package of £4,000, but the authorities had come back to the club and told them such a payment could only be made in an initial contract to cover moving costs, not subsequent ones. This was something I’d known but I hadn’t said anything when we were negotiating.
So Steve said I would have to sign a new contract with the relocation money divided up into my weekly wage. I was wary as I didn’t trust him at the best of times, let alone after everything we had gone through over the last month, but I checked it out thoroughly, reading every little bit of small print, and all seemed fine. My new wage was the unusual sum of £788 per week.
Richard Brodie, known as ‘Brodes’, had been at the club for a couple of weeks now and had taken all but a day and a half to settle in – shy and retiring he was not. He is a great lad who had that brilliant, self-deprecating Geordie humour.
One of the gaffer’s favourite training ground games was to offer £50 to anyone who could hit the crossbar from the halfway line, much like the challenge popularised by TV show Soccer AM. He always used to have loads of £50 notes, which he called ‘pinkies’, on him at all times. I swear he must have insisted he got paid in cash!
I never got anywhere near winning anything personally as I could not kick a ball that far. Anyone who has seen me play knows I only pass it about 10 yards and normally on the floor. I used to enjoy these kind of games though as they really helped create camaraderie within our group.
On one occasion the gaffer was feeling particularly generous and raised the stakes. For some reason or another Brodes owed him £250, so the gaffer said he would offer him 4/1 to hit the crossbar from about 30 yards.
If he did it Steve would pay out £1,000. Being the eternal optimist that Brodes was he took the bet and only went and did it!
Evo was laughing through gritted teeth while all of us were running around celebrating. One of the gaffer’s mottos was: ‘If you owe money you have to show your credibility by paying up promptly.’ I enthusiastically reminded him of that while the celebrations continued.
To be fair, as soon as we returned back to the ground to get changed, the gaffer presented Richard with a cheque for £1,000. There was nothing better than seeing a Scotsman part with his money!
Training had become notably more enjoyable since I’d returned to the fold. We were doing a lot more football-based activity – maybe because we had better players and were going to play more of an expansive game. Whatever the reasoning, it was definitely a change for the better.
I finally made it onto the pitch that season on 18 September in a home game versus Gateshead. The match was finally poised at 1–1 when I was introduced with twenty minutes to go. Tubbsy, as he did many times that season, saved our blushes by scoring a last-minute winner. I was delighted with the win – and also the fact I’d played a part in it. I’d provided a spark with my introduction and was now starting to put pressure on the other midfielders in our squad.
Support for me from my teammates was also beginning to grow. A few of the new attackers were recognising what I could bring to the team and were pushing for me to get a starting place.
The fixture computer had been kind to us early on, but we were due some real tests. These started with AFC Wimbledon, whom Crawley had developed quite a rivalry with over the previous couple of years. The game seemed to come a week too early for me as everything we did in training leading up to the game pointed to my being on the bench.
Over the years, the top Conference League has had television deals with a host of sports channels – some well known and others more obscure. That year it involved one of the more obscure broadcasters – namely Premier Sports – and they were to cover our game against AFC Wimbledon, which meant it was moved to a Thursday night.
For any player who didn’t realise the game was being televised, that was soon rectified when the gaffer lit up the dressing room the day before the match with a fresh set of highlights. That was always a signal a big game was upon us.
After toying with a 4–3–3 formation in training, the gaffer decided to stick with 4–4–2, which, after evidence from training, was probably the right decision. I was on the bench and Wimbledon started off quickly but, after the opening twenty minutes, we were clearly the better team and took the lead.
We looked comfortable and were cruising until they nicked an equaliser with fifteen minutes to go. Then we inexplicably allowed Wimbledon to go on and win it.
Craig McAllister (Macca) and I came on at the end, but had little time to make any impact. The gaffer was fuming but, in the long term, this result was a blessing as it played a major factor in our subsequent success. Steve realised that night that the most expensive players did not necessarily make the best team. He also finally realised the central midfield partnership of Stevie Masterton and Pablo Mills was not working, as they both lacked the mobility for the position.
I was convinced I wou
ld be playing in the next game at Rushden & Diamonds on the Sunday. Well, I was until teammate Eddie Hutchinson texted to say Crawley had just signed Dannie Bulman (Bully), a former player before my time, on loan from Oxford United. That was a kick in the teeth!
We trained the day before the game and, even though we had added Bully to the squad, the gaffer confirmed I would be playing alongside him in central midfield. I appreciated the heads-up as I’ve always thought giving someone prior warning if they haven’t played for a while to be good management.
I had a day to get myself mentally prepared for a game I was sure would be my first to prove the gaffer wrong. I felt no pressure. I was not one of his big signings and I was not earning pots of money. I was just someone he had written off as not good enough. No doubt I was just earmarked to keep a place warm for someone else to come in during January but, the way I saw it, it was all upwards from that point. If it all went tits-up I would be in no worse a situation than I had been for the previous two months.
We won the game 1–0 and I lasted eighty-seven minutes, playing well while not being spectacular.
Bully and I struck up a good understanding straight away. I had played against him many times but, while I respected him, I had never really been overly struck by his talent. I subsequently found out you don’t appreciate how good someone like Bully is until you play with them. He went about his job quietly and effectively and played with no ego. If that meant he just gave the nearest player 5-yard passes all game then so be it. What I also really liked about Bully was that he was always available if I couldn’t play the ball forward.
The gaffer seemed pretty content after the Rushden game. Before we got on the coach he said the press had commented positively on my performance. He’d apparently told them I’d been suffering with a groin injury. I said nothing but I did wonder why he hadn’t just told the truth and admitted he’d made a mistake.
