by Ben Smith
I was really looking forward to the replay but I wanted to get a couple of games under my belt first so I would be on top form. Unfortunately Mother Nature had other ideas because we suddenly endured a prolonged cold snap and the next two games fell by the wayside.
During that period there was a ridiculous amount of snow and the commute from Essex to West Sussex, which had been relatively kind all season, became nigh-on impossible. I got up one morning and there was a good 8 inches of snow, so I rang the gaffer and told him I would struggle to get in. He was as understanding as ever and said that he didn’t care and that I had to be at training.
After three and a half hours I was thanked for my persistence with a £200 fine for being late. I think he expected me to bite, but I just laughed it off. I knew from experience not to confront him immediately and to let him calm down a bit. I was confident he would be willing to negotiate at a later date.
Due to the adverse conditions, the next playable game turned out to be our FA Cup replay at the County Ground. The gaffer unexpectedly changed our formation to a 4–3–3 and named me ‘in the hole’, while also giving me a specific job to do.
Jonathan Douglas was Swindon’s main playmaker and I was earmarked as the man to stop him starting off their attacks. Then, when we got the ball, I was expected to spring off him and make forward runs into the opposition box.
The change of formation was a shock. Training, due to the poor weather, had been very limited and the gaffer had given us no indication of such a modification. I was concerned – I’d hardly kicked a ball competitively over the past two months and was suddenly playing a specific role against a side two leagues above.
I knew I was good enough to compete with anyone in the Conference National, but the demons in my head were trying to infect my positivity. Two seasons before, Hereford – and, arguably, myself – had proved we weren’t good enough for that level.
Playing ‘in the hole’ was a great position when you were on form but, if you weren’t feeling at the top of your game, it was a lot easier to play in an orthodox 4–4–2 because you could get through by just rolling up your sleeves and battling it out with your opposite number.
I started the game apprehensively. The conditions were more reminiscent of the Arctic than Wiltshire, but my work rate was high. I always knew when I was in good form because my first touch was perfect and I was very aware of my surroundings. This was not the case until about fifteen minutes in, though. I made a late run from midfield and anticipated a Craig McAllister knock-down that I could then volley as a left-footed shot into the bottom corner of the goal. The pitch had some frozen patches meaning any shots either side of the goalkeeper were going to be hard for him to reach.
I suddenly felt the adrenalin and confidence surge through my body and the shackles came off. We were playing a League One team and we dominated them on their own patch … until Jon-Paul McGovern equalised and Charlie Austin put them in front before the break. But we still felt we were the better team.
Another positive occurred on the stroke of half-time when Jonathan Douglas, my direct opponent, lunged into Glenn Wilson and was given an immediate red card. I was now relieved of all my defensive responsibilities and had the space to utilise my newfound confidence.
We knew we could beat them and continued pressing for an equaliser. I was at the heart of many of our best moves. Swindon eventually succumbed when Glenn Wilson’s cross/shot – he said shot, everyone else said cross – deflected off my former Hereford United teammate Michael Rose to level the score.
There was only one team winning this now as we camped in their half for the rest of normal and then extra time. Just as I was beginning to panic about having to take a penalty, Jamie Cook went on a mazy run across the opposition’s penalty box before sliding the ball to me. I instinctively flicked it with the outside of my left foot into the bottom right-hand corner, giving the keeper no chance to set himself.
I hadn’t had a second to think about what I was doing and was as shocked as anyone when the ball nestled in the goal. There was just under two minutes of extra time left, which we survived comfortably.
The final whistle went and it was a surreal moment; photographers ran on the pitch and wanted pictures of me doing cheesy poses, holding my arms aloft in triumph while looking straight into their cameras. I did not feel comfortable and didn’t like being the centre of attention – although I did enjoy seeing that the Daily Telegraph named me as the most influential player on the pitch.
Before I knew it I had been coerced into a picture with the gaffer. It was like one of those moments when your ninety-year-old great-aunt gets hold of you at Christmas for a kiss and you can’t get away. By the time I got into training on the Thursday, someone had managed to blow a copy of the image up and put it above my peg in the dressing room.
I was buzzing after the game and held the team coach up afterwards for about half an hour as I attended to numerous press interviews. The lads welcomed me onto the coach with a song: ‘Two goals and you were going to pay him up! Two goals and you were going to pay him up!’
Even the gaffer couldn’t help but chuckle at that one.
What an amazing game football can be. I was finally reaping the rewards for all the hard work I’d put in by myself down the gym, proving the people who had doubted me wrong.
The Swindon game took a lot out of me, plus I was now struggling with a gash on my ankle. We were playing Dartford in the FA Trophy on Saturday and I was determined to build on my two recent goals, but the gaffer had other ideas. He made eight changes to the team and I was in the stand. After ten minutes, we were 2–0 down and I was smugly thinking I had dodged a bullet. We eventually secured a 3–3 draw, but I was left out of the replay as well (which we lost).
The weather took control again and we didn’t play until New Year’s Day. The transfer window was about to open and the gaffer did his business early, signing Scott Shearer from Wrexham, Josh Simpson from Peterborough and both John Dempster and James Dance from Kettering. He also added David Hunt, on loan from Brentford, for the rest of the season. That was worse for me than I’d been expecting. I’d known he’d bring in one central midfielder, but Josh Simpson and David Hunt were both recognised midfielders.
But, to be fair, the gaffer did manage me brilliantly during that time. He firstly praised me in front of the whole group – saying how hard I had worked and how I was an important part of the squad – and he then privately reiterated that I was going to have a big part to play in the rest of the season. He was as good as his word.
Every one of his signings went on to make a contribution on the pitch – though some more than others. They were also all great characters in the dressing room, each adding something positive to an already really lively group.
Whether by luck or judgement – probably a bit of both – the squad that had been put together over the summer was gelling brilliantly. There was a core group of five or six nutcases – namely Scott Neilson, Brodes, Kyle McFadzean, Tubbsy and Macca – who egged each other on to do more stupid things, while the rest of us ‘normal’ people enjoyed being entertained by them. This group of lunatics was then added to in the New Year by Scott Shearer and John Dempster, who were more than willing to match and surpass their new teammates’ antics.
There were so many hilarious incidents – some not suitable for print – but I will give you a flavour of the sort of stuff they did while keeping the individual culprits nameless.
One of the nutters decided to put yoghurt-coated raisins up his bum before returning them back into the packet and trying to get one of the other lads to eat them. As a result, most of us very quickly learnt not to take any food unless it had come out of a packet you had witnessed being opened. However, one of our more trusting (read: dopey) players was more than happy to take up the offer and didn’t believe us when we told him what had happened. Unfortunately he couldn’t ignore the evidence when the culprit pulled down his trousers, bent over and revealed the remnants of th
e yoghurt coating around his arsehole!
The same perpetrator then decided to see how many Minstrels he could get under his foreskin. The number escapes me but I remember it being a lot more than I thought possible!
The victim of the yoghurt-coated raisin incident was also stupid enough to leave his water bottle unattended in the dressing room once. As soon as he left the room, the cap was removed and the tip of the bottle wiped around someone’s ring piece. He duly came back, took a massive swig of his drink and was greeted by sniggers from those in the dressing room.
The same mischief-maker yet again decided on another occasion to see how far he could get a broom handle up his arse. Do not ask me how far it went as I could not look, but whoever cleaned the dressing room that night may have wondered why someone had put a peanut butter-like substance on the handle!
New Year’s Day saw us up against Eastbourne Borough in a local derby. After our enforced break and the new additions, I was again feeling a little insecure about my position within the team. I kept my place though, as promised, and repaid the gaffer by scoring the opening goal. Tubbsy continued his one-man assault for the ‘Golden Boot’ with another two goals, including a Andrea Pirlo-esque dinked penalty.
Within forty-eight hours we had another game, away to Forest Green Rovers, and again the gaffer played me very well. I was left out of the team in favour of Josh but Evo qualified the decision by saying I was guaranteed to be playing against Derby County in the third round of the FA Cup.
I didn’t have enough time to sulk as I was busy telling all the lads I was the only player definitely playing the following week. In reality, he wasn’t offering me much as Josh was cup-tied (plus I still had to play in a reserve game midweek), but it was a good piece of psychology.
My absence from the team made absolutely no difference whatsoever as the lads cruised to a 3–0 win on a pitch covered in a light dusting of snow.
We had a full week to prepare for the FA Cup tie at home to Derby County. Even though they were a Championship club, the gaffer’s arrogance was rubbing off on us and we really fancied our chances. After all, they were going through a consolidation period at the time and trying to recover from overspending in the Premier League.
As promised, I was selected to play ‘in the hole’ as part of a 4–3–3 but, again, I was nervous – the standard of opposition had gone up yet another notch. I still hadn’t had a regular run in the team but, as with the Swindon game, I had another important job to do: pick up the experienced Robbie Savage.
Everything seemed to be building towards a cup upset. When Derby came out onto our pitch they were met by torrential rain and a gale-force wind. We had the wind behind us in the first half and we tried to take a stranglehold of the game. As always, we set our stall out to be competitive and not give them a second on the ball. Kris Commons, Derby’s best player, was welcomed by a robust Glenn Wilson tackle that resulted in both him and the ball finishing up on the opposite side of the advertising hoardings.
Our strategy looked like it was going to backfire when keeper Michel Kuipers had one of his more impetuous moments and gave away a penalty. Thankfully he instantly redeemed himself by saving it with his legs.
We continued our high-tempo pressing game. There was a great clip shown by Setanta Sports, who were covering the game live, in which four of our players were hunting down one Derby player deep in his own half and forcing him to kick the ball out of play.
Our superiority paid dividends shortly after that incident when Craig McAllister put us ahead. We fully deserved the lead and even received a little bit of good fortune just before half-time when our talisman, Matt Tubbs, was lucky to stay on the pitch. The ball had fallen between him and Robbie Savage, and Tubbsy fully committed himself to the tackle. He ended up taking both the ball and the pantomime villain. At the time it had looked like a very aggressive but ultimately fair tackle; after seeing it again on telly though, it was actually a very naughty one. Robbie, as I’m sure you can imagine, was not best pleased. Almost immediately after that, the ball fell between him and me. I could see he was going for the ball irrespective of whether I was in the way or not so I moved just in time and he smashed it out of the ground.
I started laughing and he went off on one: ‘Don’t fucking laugh at me. When you’ve played 300 games then you can fucking laugh.’
Actually, Robbie, I’ve played about 400. Is that OK with you? No doubt he would have cut me down with something about the number of Ferraris he owned or the millions he had in the bank, so I kept my thoughts to myself.
Derby improved in the second half but we were still going toe-to-toe with them. It looked as though our chance had gone when Derby equalised midway through the second half, but we continued to press for a winner.
Right on full time, Sergio Torres had a great strike flicked over the bar by Paul Green on the line. I’d love to say that, from the resultant corner, Dean Howell performed a well-thought-out set-piece routine, but the truth was he shanked his cross to the edge of the box. Thankfully it fell to Sergio, who managed to strike the ball through a clutch of bodies and into the bottom corner of the goal.
The whole place erupted and Sergio eventually appeared from beneath a sea of bodies after about five minutes. The goal came so late that Derby had no chance to recover. Crawley was through to the fourth round of the FA Cup for the first time in the club’s history.
I was happy with my own performance too. After another nervy start, I got into the game and caused the opposition a lot of problems by getting into those little areas between their midfield and defence.
The dressing room was buoyant after the game. Evo, being the hard taskmaster that he was, had us in for training the next day so I stayed in Crawley and we all celebrated with the supporters in the club bar.
During that evening I got talking to one of our mystery owners, Paul. He was very complimentary and praised my performance. He believed the influx of new players had made me raise my game. I begged to differ, and said that nothing had changed except the manager’s opinion of me.
Paul was obviously in a buoyant mood as apparently he gave the gaffer a Rolex, allegedly worth £25,000, as a reward for the triumph. This cup run was financially beneficial for everyone, though. Our bonuses for League victories were minimal but we were entitled to 40 per cent of any prize money due from a win in the FA Cup, which was now getting pretty substantial. For reaching round four we received 40 per cent of £67,500, shared between the eighteen-man playing squad.
It was a strange time overall for me as, even though I was playing well when selected, the gaffer had a lot of midfielders available and was rotating the squad. I say rotating, but there were only four or five of us who were regularly rested; everyone else seemed to be untouchable. It was clear Josh and I were competing for one place and I was pretty sure Steve favoured Josh, but my performances meant the gaffer couldn’t ignore me. It was an interesting one as, although we were both midfielders, we played the role in totally different ways. Josh was a lot more athletic and threatened the opposition by stretching the play with his forward runs; I played the position by coming towards the ball and knitting the play together.
I was left out of the squad for the next game at home versus Kettering (where we laboured to a 2–1 victory), then I was back in for our away trip to Bath City (which we won 2–0). I was desperate to play every game but, I must admit, maybe the gaffer was doing the right thing by selecting which games I did and did not play in as things were going well.
That trend continued as I was on the bench for the long trip to Grimsby (where we ground out a creditable 0–0 draw), but then, surprisingly, back in for a midweek game at home against Cambridge United, even though we had our next cup game that Saturday, for which Josh was unavailable.
We beat Cambridge comfortably 3–0, although the gaffer did get a little stressed at half-time because it was goalless. We blocked out his normal overreaction, ignoring it to go on and make our superiority count. Jamie Cook reminded
everyone of his quality with a wonderfully composed finish – the main thing holding him back was his almost horizontal outlook on life. I put in another decent performance but was especially happy with my set pieces, which I had put a lot of work into over the year.
We were up, out and on the road early on the Friday as we travelled to Devon to play Torquay United in the fourth round of the FA Cup. Steve had developed a taste for the finer things in life because, with the club’s newfound riches, we were now staying in some lovely hotels.
On that occasion, we stayed at Woodbury Park – a hotel once owned by Formula 1 driver Nigel Mansell, boasting a beautiful complex and excellent training facilities. It was a far cry from my first away trip with Crawley the previous season, when we’d stayed at a Travelodge in Gateshead, full of boozy Swansea City fans.
We couldn’t wait for the Torquay game as we all knew the vast majority of us would never get a better chance of making it to the final sixteen of the FA Cup. Initially we were – as I’m sure Torquay were too – disappointed with the draw because we wanted to play a Premier League club, but that all changed when we got to Plainmoor.
Even though it was a showdown between a humble League Two club and an even humbler Conference National club, we could soon sense how big a game it actually was. Kick-off was delayed by fifteen minutes to allow the 5,000-strong crowd into the ground, including a contingent of 1,200 from West Sussex – quite an achievement considering we were averaging around 700 for home games just a year before.
The game was as competitive as you might expect, but we quickly got into our stride and took control. We looked like the higher-ranked team and Torquay tried to hit us on the counter-attack. Tubbsy put us into the lead six minutes before half-time.
The second half continued in the same vein and, at around the hour mark, we had a chance to put the game out of sight. I delivered an in-swinging free kick from the left that was inexplicably handled by Torquay’s Chris Zebroski. The referee awarded a penalty and Zebroski was sent off upon receiving a second yellow card. Unfortunately Scott Bevan produced an excellent save to deny Tubbsy. However, we now had the added advantage of an extra man and, ten minutes later, we were awarded another penalty after Jamie Cook was felled in the box. After a slight disagreement between Jamie and Macca over who was going to take it, Macca stepped up but the Torquay keeper thwarted us again. We saw the game out though and it created a great buzz. At that time, we were only the second non-League team in the history of the competition to reach the fifth round of the FA Cup. The money was mostly irrelevant, but it didn’t go unnoticed by some of the team that we were sharing 40 per cent of £90,000 for that victory.
