Journeyman

by Ben Smith

  We won 2–0 against a Macclesfield team that got exactly what they deserved – they had set up as if they were playing Manchester United and hardly ventured out of their half.

  I snuck back into the squad for our next game and made a fifteen-minute cameo during a 3–0 win against Southend United. It was a tight game until Dean Howell scored with a fortuitous cross and Tubbsy grabbed his first two Football League goals for the club. We all knew the step up to League football would be no problem for him.

  Games were coming thick and fast and next up was the long trip to Plainmoor to play Torquay United. The fact I was not playing had caught a few people’s attention because Craig McAllister, who had left us to join Newport County, contacted me to say their manager was interested in taking me.

  When I had played there last season I thought Newport was a really nice club, but I just did not fancy the commute, plus there was no way I was going to re-locate.

  Garry Hill, my former boss at Weymouth and then manager at Woking of the Conference South, also rang me but I felt I should be playing at a higher level than that.

  We arrived at Plainmoor and the gaffer pulled me to one side to reveal I was not playing. I told him I did not expect to but he assured me that I was close to selection. It sounded like the sort of bollocks managers tell young players, not experienced professionals. He tried to cushion the blow, however, by adding I would play in the re-arranged cup fixture against Crystal Palace.

  That seemed like a strange comment to make; I was not good enough to play against Torquay but would be used against a much higher-ranked club? I had played for Steve long enough now to know when he was telling the truth and when he was trying to placate someone – this was definitely the latter. What confused me was he did not need to say it as I was not expecting to play.

  The lads went on to win the game comfortably 3–1. We played our best football to date, retained possession confidently and the result was sealed by a sublime goal from Scott Davies.

  The highlight of the day for me was, even though we were in Devon, the Cornish pasties made available in the Torquay boardroom. I eased the pain of not being involved by eating my body weight in those – their hospitality was nearly as impressive as our performance.

  Our focus immediately switched to the Crystal Palace game, the one I was apparently due to be playing in. I did not expect to get the nod but I was still really apprehensive and nervous. I did not feel ready to play against players of such quality.

  On the way to Selhurst Park I got a phone call from Garry Hill, who told me a group text had been sent (which he forwarded to me) outlining my potential availability. It was something I was not aware of, but it did not surprise me. I suspected it but it would have been nice to have had a chat about the situation rather than be told by another manager.

  The one thing this did confirm was that I would not be playing that evening. I am ashamed to say I was relieved. For one of the first times in my career I did not want to play because my confidence was at an all-time low.

  I was an unused sub but I enjoyed my half-time warm up. Normally I would do some running, dynamic stretching and passing. But this time we had the pleasure of watching the Crystal Palace dance troupe, imaginatively called the Crystals. I must admit they momentarily broke my focus as I concentrated on how tight their choreography and dance moves were.

  After having plenty of chances in the first half we eventually lost 2–0 to a Palace side inspired by winger Wilfried Zaha, who scored both goals. We had been well in the game but got taught a typical lesson by a higher ranked club – if you do not take your chances when in the ascendancy, you get punished.

  That was not good enough for the gaffer though and he cancelled our day off.

  The following morning we had a crisis meeting as a few issues had clearly got up Evo’s nose, like people not putting their kit in the laundry baskets after training. He also added Gayle, the club secretary, had to remove some chewing gum that had been spat or dropped onto the carpet of the coach on an away trip. We all agreed that was disgusting.

  Gayle came to the training ground two days later and Scott Davies asked her about the incident. She gave him a blank look and said she did not know what he was talking about.

  Vintage Evo – it was just a figment of his imagination to back up his gripe about the training kit. Unfortunately he did not have the foresight to warn Gayle about his cunning plan.

  A trip to Cheltenham was next on the agenda and I did wonderfully well to retain my place in the stand. I would have preferred to be left at home, at least then I could go to the gym and do some fitness work.

  The game as a contest was over by half-time as Cheltenham sped into a 3–0 lead and comfortably saw the game out 3–1. After playing so brilliantly against Torquay, we were the exact opposite in this game, although credit must go to Cheltenham. They played excellently and had a midfielder, Marlon Pack, who put in as good a performance by any player I saw that season.

  Steve was livid, made three changes at half-time and had not calmed down by the end of the game. We were called in for training at 8.30 a.m. on Sunday.

  At our new training ground, which we had moved into at the start of the season, we had a games area plus satellite television in the changing rooms. The TVs were switched off and the games room closed as a punishment. I was not really sure what that was meant to achieve; whatever it was it seemed pretty petty.

  The gaffer and I had another chat about my situation and he asked what I thought about going on loan to Woking. I said I just wanted to play games and did not want to waste the season in the reserves. He made no commitment but gave the impression he would let me go.

  We had a Johnstone’s Paint Trophy game away to Southend United on the Tuesday night. It was really a glorified reserve game but, after Monday’s training session, there seemed no chance of me playing – or so I thought.

  That morning the gaffer rang me to say I was not going on loan, I was playing that night. This was one of the gaffer’s traits – he was hard to read and my selection had come from nowhere.

  He stuck to his word and I played in a 1–0 defeat but the result was irrelevant because I finally found some form. After a steady first half everything clicked into place, I felt my confidence return. I knew I was playing well as I rarely wasted possession and was composed on the ball.

  Suddenly I could not wait for the visit of Bristol Rovers – an amazing turnaround after not wanting to play just two weeks earlier.

  I kept my place and, although they were one of the biggest teams in the League and tipped for promotion, we tore them apart. I continued my performance from midweek, caused them lots of problems and opened my goal-scoring account with a header as we won 4–1.

  After a few dodgy results it seemed like we were adapting to League Two until we were brought back to earth away at Morecambe. I retained my place for the third game in a row but that was the end of the good news.

  The gaffer, when he announced his line-up for this one, said he was happy with this midfield because he knew what sort of performance he would get. I do not think a 6–0 defeat was what he was referring to.

  We had a few injuries and a makeshift defence but that was no excuse for such a resounding defeat. We started the game positively but Morecambe had done their homework and continuously picked us off on the counter-attack. They were 2–0 up by the break.

  We got a pasting at half-time but nothing was addressed tactically – we were just told what poor players we were and what was going wrong. My performance was by no means the worst; in actual fact I thought I was our most effective midfielder.

  This did not stop me getting tugged ten minutes into the second half. As I left the pitch I told the gaffer what I thought of his decision. He had taken the easy option and he knew it.

  In hindsight, coming off was not the worst thing that could have happened to me as we capitulated to the eventual 6–0 scoreline. In his post-match interviews the gaffer was prone to over-exaggeration but when he
said it could have been twelve he was spot on. We absolutely folded and they looked like they were going to score every time they went forward.

  Whenever we lost an away game there was an unwritten rule: there had to be a period of mourning on the coach journey home. Before we had even left Morecambe, someone on the coach laughed, which Steve did not like. He warned us the next person who laughed would be removed from the coach and have to make their own way home.

  How the whole team did not get thrown off after the next incident was a minor miracle!

  We had fish and chips provided on the journey back; not exactly a cutting edge refuelling technique but I was not complaining. The food must have been ordered before the result filtered through. There was a portion for everyone onboard.

  Craig Brewster asked the gaffer if he wanted some but he declined – the result had obviously put him off his food.

  The lads, as you might expect after a game, were like vultures and hoovered everything up. The smell of fresh Lancashire fish and chips obviously got the better of the boss because he suddenly changed his mind. Craig was sent to the back of the coach to get the portion but, unfortunately for him, he had to go back empty handed and explain to an angry, ravenous Scotsman there was no food left.

  Steve was apoplectic. I was sat near the front and could see his head getting redder by the second.

  Paul Raynor was immediately sent to the back of the coach to bring the perpetrators to justice. After a severe post-game dressing down and our day off cancelled there was a siege mentality between the players. Nobody was talking, even under the severest of questioning.

  This situation ended up as Evo’s second big loss of the day as no evidence was found.

  The ‘Morecambe Two’ were never brought to justice. I have my suspicions who the guilty parties were, however, and I am pretty sure both their names start with Scott!

  We were in for training at 9 a.m. on Sunday and had the customary crisis meeting. You would imagine, after the previous day’s performance, we would maybe review the match DVD or talk about some of our tactical deficiencies, but we talked about ‘fish-and-chip-gate’ instead. Steve was determined to get to the bottom of the situation and, at times like these, he inadvertently gave us some funny moments – and this occasion was no different.

  Without a hint of irony he firstly asked: ‘Where has all the honesty gone?’

  How I suppressed my laughter I will never know. This was a man who lied about his lies, yet expected honesty from everyone else. After receiving nothing but deafening silence it was Rayn’s turn to take centre stage.

  As eloquently as ever he announced: ‘If you want us to be cunts, we can be cunts!’

  And normally you are so nice and approachable…

  Thanks for that, Paul, I thought, as I pondered how much he got paid for such insightful comments.

  Swindon Town and their newly appointed manager Paolo Di Canio were next up for us at our Broadfield Stadium. I was dropped and, to make matters worse, the gaffer came up to me after naming the team and said I was right about not deserving to come off at Morecambe. But I was being left out as I looked tired.

  That really frustrated me. Other players could seemingly have three or four average performances and the management would say they had done ‘alright’. It seemed I was not allowed to play like that – I had to be ‘excellent’ or I was left out, this time under the guise of being ‘tired’.

  We lost 3–0. We looked nervous and reverted to playing a very risk-free style of direct football. Swindon were not three goals better than us but, as we pressed for an equaliser at 1–0 down, they hit us twice on the break to give the scoreline a more flattering look.

  Another defeat, another day off cancelled…

  We were stuck in a rut but, luckily for him, Steve was well supported by the owners who allowed him to go and buy his way out of trouble. He signed two really influential players – Andy Drury on loan from Ipswich and defender Claude Davis, who had previously been with Crystal Palace.

  Andy was someone I had played against many times and I thought he was an excellent player, but his arrival signalled that my time at Crawley was coming to an end.

  A couple of managers rang to say they had been told I would be going on loan. Again, I was disappointed to find this out through third parties but it merely confirmed what I already knew – I was never going to get the respect I deserved.

  I was left out of the squad for a Saturday home game against Bradford City, which we won, before having the dubious honour of travelling to Cheltenham Town for a reserve game the next Tuesday.

  I spent eighty minutes of that game trying to ignore Evo, who was going mad at any slight mistake or error of judgement by any player. With ten minutes to go I was hauled off as the gaffer called me a ‘tippy tappy player’ (which, incidentally, I took as a compliment). Judging by the look on his face however, he did not mean it as one. The driving rain and gale force wind compounded what was a bad day.

  Football has got to be one of the fastest-moving and most dynamic industries in the world.

  I turned up to training on Thursday morning and was called into the gaffer’s office as soon as I arrived. I was told Kettering Town, then of the Conference Premier, wanted to take me on loan.

  I instantly said yes and that was it, deal done. I did not speak to their manager Mark Stimson, I did not liaise with any friends or family and I had no real ambition to join Kettering permanently. I knew this move would give me the opportunity to put myself in the shop window and that was enough for me.

  As soon as I agreed Steve and I were best pals again and he waxed lyrical about how I was still part of his plans. He was lying, I knew he was lying and he knew that I knew he was lying, but we still went through the rigmarole of pretending he was telling the truth. I am not sure what makes him do this, I just do not think he can help himself.

  I was off the next day to meet my new teammates. As was normally the case, especially at my age, there were a couple of players I knew or was aware of, which helped. As soon as I got there I met Mark Stimson, who took me into his office and went through on a tactics board what he expected of me. This sounds pretty simple but it was not something any of my managers had done before.

  My first impression of Mark was great but the rest of the club was a shambles. Kettering played and trained at the newly defunct Rushden & Diamonds ground, which was a lovely venue but now looking very shabby. There were still pictures of Rushden & Diamonds players on the walls and we used their old training kit.

  After coming from a club like Crawley, which was moving forward and investing in its facilities, that was a bit of a shock. The club was also struggling on the pitch and it was reflected by the atmosphere within the dressing room. At Crawley, after nearly eighteen months of success, there was a real buzz about the place and always something going on. The opposite was true of Kettering: the mood in the dressing room was sombre and dominated by several cliques.

  I made my debut the next day away to Bath City, which we won 1–0. I enjoyed myself and put in a strong performance. It was nice to feel like an integral part of a team again. We were not anywhere near the same level as Crawley quality-wise but we attempted to implement a patient passing game, which I always approve of.

  We entertained Hayes & Yeading FC next and the optimism generated from our previous win quickly dissipated as we got well and truly taken to the cleaners. We lost 5–3, which insinuates the game was close, but we were never really in it (being 3–0 and 4–1 down at different times).

  I witnessed another career first late in that game. We were awarded a penalty, which, after an unprofessional disagreement between Moses Ashikodi and JP Marna, resulted in Moses missing it. We scored from the subsequent corner and, as we were still two goals down, the majority of us were in a rush to get the ball back to the centre spot.

  However, JP and Moses were still ‘discussing’ who should have taken the penalty and, before the game could resume, the pair launched into a full-on
fight in the middle of the pitch. The referee had no option but to send them both off. I remembered the incidents between Kieron Dyer and Lee Bowyer, and Graeme Le Saux and David Batty, but had never personally been involved in a game where such an incident had occurred.

  We had played like a pub team and now looked like one, playing out the last few minutes with nine players. It was embarrassing to be a part of and what the manager made of it I do not know.

  However, Mark did expertly diffuse the situation after the game. Tensions were still running high in the dressing room and our two protagonists wanted to continue their disagreement. The gaffer removed one of them from the room and, instead of carrying out an inquest into the altercation, he began talking about the game. There was plenty to discuss after such a crap performance and this ten-minute debrief took the heat out of the situation.

  I dread to think how things would have ended up if he came in ranting and raving.

  The manager was very complimentary regarding how I had performed in the first couple of games and I was enjoying myself, but my initial fears about the place being a shambles were being confirmed. For the previous three days we had no hot water to shower with and the lack of enthusiasm from people who were fortunate enough to be professional sportsmen was embarrassing. Although, in mitigation, it probably did not help that after the previous game the chairman put eleven players on the transfer list.

  Morale further declined as we lost our next game 1–0 against Kidderminster Harriers. It was a match that could have, in all honesty, gone either way, but we just did not have the stomach for such battles.

  Although the place was a bit of a joke, excluding the football management, I was enjoying a bit of a renaissance. Unfortunately disaster struck during a full-scale practice match when I suffered a calf injury. At the time it seemed pretty innocuous, but it eventually curtailed my loan.

  It was now the middle of October, the injury was worse than I first feared and I went back to Crawley to get treatment.