Gazza: My Story (22 page)

About the only bright spot in Graham Taylor’s
reign was having Steve Harrison as coach. I didn’t really know much about him when he first came – like Graham, he had been at Watford. He was a great prankster. In the run-up to one England game, the whole squad went into the West End for a night out. We did some go-karting, and then we went to the theatre and saw the Buddy Holly musical, which was brilliant. Afterwards, we had dinner in a hotel. During the meal, this scruffy tramp came up to me, begging for money, his teeth all black, really stinking. I was a bit taken aback, wondering how the hell he’d got in. It turned out to be Steve Harrison, winding me up. He really got me there.

We had a karaoke competition after dinner. While Des Walker was giving us his version of ‘Singing in the Rain’ I poured a pint of lager over his head. That was pretty normal behaviour for me; Steve’s tricks were often much better. One evening, at a team dinner, he burst into the room wearing a dirty mac. When he opened it, he was naked, except for a rubber chicken tied round his waist. Nobody could work out what the point was, but I got the joke: there
was
no point. I liked that kind of joke. He also played similar tricks to mine. He’d lead us on training runs round a circuit, then suddenly carry straight on, right into some bushes. He was a canny lad.

One thing that could be said for Graham Taylor was that he was good on team togetherness. He organised lots of outings and events, which I always think really helps to boost morale and team spirit.

In 1994, I got another really bad injury, a broken leg, and once again I was out for about a year. I missed fifteen months of England games. The only small consolation was that I didn’t miss out going to the 1994 World Cup, because, of course, England didn’t get there. And by that time, Graham Taylor had got the push.

This disaster struck at the end of my second season in Italy, 1993–4. Things had been going well, too. I got the Man of the Match award in January 1994 against Sampdoria, even though we were beaten and I had had to come off with a rib injury. They gave me a huge injection to keep me going for the next game, and I had a run of six consecutive matches, the longest I’d managed since I was at Tottenham, where in 1990 I played nineteen on the trot.

Against Cremonese, whom we beat 4–2, our captain in that match, Roberto Cravero, had to go off and I was given the captain’s arm band for the first time in my professional career. I hadn’t captained a team since I’d led Newcastle Youth to their Cup final victory.

Although the Italian press still didn’t like me, it seemed the public still did. The Panini stickers people, who produce those little photos of footballers for people to collect, issued a voting slip with each packet sold in Italy, and I came out as their top player, beating Roberto Baggio and Franco Baresi.

So this new injury came at a really unfortunate time, when I was riding high. It happened in April 1994, on a day we were expecting to be a day off. Instead we were all told we had to come in and train, so I was pissed off. We were having an indoor game, which I was treating as just a bit of a kick-about, but when I made a mistake which gave away a goal, my side screamed at me. I hadn’t realised they were taking it so seriously. Right, I thought, if they want a proper game, I’ll give them one, and I went to tackle Alessandro Nesta, very, very hard. He was OK, but I went down in a heap. I just lay there, numb. I knew straight away that something was seriously wrong. The doc rushed over but I said, ‘Leave it, leave it,’ and began to feel my knee. There was a hole there about five inches in diameter.

I’d broken my leg. When they picked me up and carried me out, I was screaming in agony. I was taken to a hospital in Rome, but I persuaded them to let me have
the op I needed in London, so that Mr Browett could do it, as he’d fixed my leg before. This time I had a double fracture of the tibia and fibula. I was put on a plane, all plastered and bandaged up, surrounded by photographers trying to take pictures of me. I went to the Princess Grace Hospital, which had become my second home. My first home was of course the Queen Elizabeth in Gateshead, but I’d got a season ticket at a new place now.

The Lazio fans gave Nesta dog’s abuse for what had happened. They were convinced he must have been to blame, as he was known as a hard tackler. They loved me so much that one or two of them even sent him death threats. But it had all been my own fault.

I worked my bollocks off after the op to get back to fitness, doing exercises three times a day when I was only supposed to do them once. I think that made it my fifteenth operation. Feel free to check my chart.

I hated being injured, as all players do. I threw myself into getting fit again, doing everything I was told and more, but I got very low, and then I’d start taking pep pills or drinking or stuffing my face to try to comfort myself. I was out for practically a whole season. So, of my three seasons at Lazio, 1992–5, I only really played for two. In that time, I made forty-seven appearances
and scored six goals. Not a lot, really. It was all a crying shame.

Things got even harder when Dino Zoff left Lazio and Zdenek Zeman took over as manager. He was a very tough Czech. Tough on all the players, not just me. He was a right bastard in training, making us work like dogs. Signori, our regular captain, complained to him that he was knackering us all, and it was too much. Zeman said, ‘I’m not packing my bags and going, I’m staying, so you’ll have to put up with it.’

Zeman informed me I was two stone overweight and he got me exercising on these bikes. When I’d done what he’d told me to do on the bikes, I was supposed to do a two-mile run, but once I did the equivalent on one of the bikes instead. He said: ‘Get off the bike and do the run on your feet.’ I was so angry I picked up five bikes and threw them down the stairs at the training ground. They didn’t hit anyone, but they were ruined. The bikes cost about £300 each, and I had to pay for them.

The club doctor moaned on about my weight, saying I was only 50 per cent fit and couldn’t manage two consecutive games because I hadn’t got the strength. It was one thing to be told this in private, but the club let it out in the press, the bastards.

When I was fit, I wanted to play every game, but Lazio insisted on resting me for some of them, even though I was fine, in case I was injured again. They wanted to keep me safe, I understood that. But I always wanted to play.

But I have to say that I enjoyed Italy. I loved the football and never felt out of my depth. In fact, I felt I was a better player than most of them. I loved Lazio – the players, the club, Rome, the fans, the Italian way of life, everything. In the end I picked up quite a bit of Italian, enough for me to talk to Italian waiters whenever I meet them now. Or swear at them. And the lobsters were great.

The first New Year’s Eve I was in Rome I went to this posh restaurant with Shel and ordered lobster because I’d seen they had a huge lobster tank. I pointed to the one I wanted and they went off to get it. They were taking so long I thought, what are they doing messing about? I’ll get it myself. So I dived into the tank. I had on my best suit. The water was freezing cold and very salty. It took me a while, diving and swimming around, to catch the one I fancied. When I did, I hooked it out and said, ‘There’s the fucker I want.’ Then I ate it sitting in me dripping suit.

I managed to see quite a bit of Rome without getting wet. I went to the Colosseum and did the historic sites. People think footballers have no idea where they are in the world, and care less. But because of Johnny and Augusto, I learned something about the country I was living in. They took me around and showed me places and told me about Italian history. It was quite interesting, actually.

I planted a tree while I was there, for the unification of Europe. Don’t ask me what all that was about. I got this invitation from the British government, asking me to take part in a tree-planting ceremony, and I sent my reply to the prime minister, John Major. ‘Dear John,’ I wrote, which people thought was a bit cheeky of me, as I’d never met him, and he was, after all, the prime minister of my country. I said I would be delighted to help with the tree-planting, and invited him to come and watch me play for Lazio in a forthcoming friendly against Spurs at White Hart Lane. ‘It will be a change from watching Mellor perform in a Chelsea strip,’ I added.

I got a letter back about three weeks later. He called me ‘Dear Paul’ but said he was sorry, he had another engagement and couldn’t make the match. In his own
handwriting at the end, he added, ‘Welcome back to the England team.’ I was very pleased with that.

One of the things I enjoyed in Italy was the training. We did about twice as much as at Newcastle or Spurs, with an afternoon session as well as a morning one. But that didn’t bother me. I liked it. Preferred it. I’ve always loved training.

With Zoff, the training was always fun, and we played a lot of football or worked on skills. It wasn’t quite so much fun with Zeman. He put fitness before football, so I wasn’t as keen on that. The hardest time I ever had was when they were getting me to lose the two stones. For 75 days, I did 35 miles a day on a bike and 8 miles a day running. That was truly knackering. But it worked. I got my weight down.

Italians are more dedicated and professional than we are, especially on things like diet. Players would worry if they had a Coca-Cola, in case it had a bad effect on them. And none of them drank, not like I call drinking, or British players call drinking. They’d have one glass of wine with their pre-match meal, and that was it. No drinking at all after a game. No going out getting pissed.

I didn’t go out a lot with the players anyway, not socially. I got on with them all, liked them all, and I
like to think they liked me, but I didn’t socialise with them. I usually had Jimmy and Cyril or my dad staying with me. I preferred to be with them in the evening.

I didn’t actually do a lot of drinking in Italy, not really, not compared with later. I suppose I picked up a bit of their healthy lifestyle. Italy did do me good – made me a better player and a better person. Made me determined to be the best player in the world.

I never made friends with the Italian press after that belching incident, and all my injuries buggered up a lot of my time at Lazio, but the Lazio fans never turned against me. So all in all, I have very fond memories of Italy and no regrets about moving to Lazio.

Much as I loved Italy and Lazio, I had had enough of Zdenek Zeman, and he had probably had enough of me. When I did eventually manage to get back to full fitness, it became clear that I was no longer going to be an automatic choice for my place. There was a limit on how many foreigners a club could play, and Lazio had signed yet another one, Alen Boksic from Marseille.

The Italian press were declaring that I was finished, that my best years were behind me, and some of the British papers were saying much the same; worse, in fact: that I’d never been the same since my 1991 Cup final injury. I knew that was bollocks and I was determined
to prove them all wrong. I was only twenty-seven, after all.

I’d heard rumours that Chelsea, Rangers and Aston Villa were all making inquiries about me. I didn’t want to go back to London, so I didn’t fancy either Chelsea or Rangers. Yes, I know Rangers are a Scottish club. But when I first heard the talk I thought it was referring to Queens Park Rangers. When I realised it was Glasgow Rangers, I was much more interested.

Glenn Hoddle came over from Chelsea to talk to me. I had a loose tooth the day we met and I was more concerned about that than about anything he had to say. Doug Ellis from Villa came too – without his boat, obviously. It was Glasgow Rangers that appealed to me, right from the beginning. I remember, as a schoolboy with Newcastle, a taxi driver telling me that there was nothing bigger and more exciting in the whole of football than a Rangers–Celtic derby. He said if I ever got a chance to play with either of them, I should.