Journeyman (26 page)

I quite admired that side of his personality, even though I didn’t always like the way he went about it. At times the work rate was misguided and a bit wasteful, but it was a good base to build from. Having said that, as much as the gaffer tried to spin the situation, we knew the season was petering out. It was the first time in a few years I wasn’t involved in a promotion race or relegation scrap. The idea of a ‘pressure-free’ run-in seemed like a good one but the reality was pretty boring.

We prolonged our outside chance by beating Ebbsfleet United in another nondescript performance, which included a hard-working but anonymous display from me. The gaffer loved those types of displays but I didn’t. I’d always judged how well I was doing by my contribution on the ball but, due to a variety of reasons, I wasn’t seeing enough of it.

Our play-off hopes were finally extinguished with a heavy 3–0 defeat at home to Stevenage. They weren’t anything special but their discipline and organisation was more than enough to beat us. I was left out of the next game at Rushden & Diamonds. The gaffer mixed it up to give other players an opportunity, as it was coming up to that time when – with the club not fighting for anything – he wanted to make decisions on contracts for the following season. It seemed like, either way, a decision had already been made about me.

Next up was Hayes & Yeading. I was initially left out but then reinstated as someone cried off before the game. I know this because on the handwritten instruction sheets pinned to the wall – outlining each player’s job in set pieces – someone’s name had been scribbled out and mine had been added. I was given the graveyard shift on the left wing in a 4–4–2.

Steve had his own pecking order within the League. We were allowed to draw or lose without him going ballistic to those he placed higher than
us; however, if he deemed us to be better than our opposition, we were not allowed to do anything but win.

Hayes & Yeading was one of the so-called ‘lower’ teams, so a 0–0 scoreline at half-time was accompanied by a tirade of abuse – nothing constructive, just the gaffer comparing us to female genitalia.

I’m not sure what the recognised name for a group of these are – I know you get a ‘pride’ of lions and a ‘school’ of fish so, if Steve was right, and I have no reason to doubt him, then it is a bunch of cunts!

I told him we had no divine right to beat any team and he eloquently told me to fuck off. He then added that I was crap in left midfield but effective in the hole – I couldn’t argue with that.

It was now mid-April and the season was coming to an end. I wasn’t sure what to do next – nothing had been said about a new contract but I didn’t know if I wanted one anyway. I’d expected to drop into the Conference and be one of the best players in the League but I hadn’t been. Yes, our style of play may not have been conducive to getting the best out of me, but I knew I’d been average.

I sent my CV out early to see if there would be any takers for my services. I wasn’t keen on moving so my options were seriously limited. I sent my CV to Braintree Town and Chelmsford City too – both part-time clubs – as I was contemplating going part time and starting a new career for myself alongside playing.

Braintree Town took the bait straight away and I went to have a meeting with the manager Robbie Garvey. He was keen to take me and even mentioned a job working within a football academy they were about to set up – but I didn’t really fancy it. Ironic really…

I told Robbie I would get back in touch once I knew Crawley’s intentions.

Before the season was over, we still had the journey everyone looked for at the start of the season – and then timed their five-match suspension for accordingly: Barrow away (I’m joking … partly!).

Due to the recent bad weather and their run in the FA Trophy, we were playing them on a Thursday night. I left home at 8.30 a.m. for a 7.45 p.m. kick-off in Cumbria. We lost 4–1 but the game sticks in my mind as I completed a career first in it: I scored for both teams.

The own goal came first. I was tracking back when a Barrow player’s shot hit a post and rebounded. Before I could react, the ball hit my knee and flew in from 6 yards. It was a reminder why I rarely tracked back – I wouldn’t make that mistake again!

What pleased me most, though, was that I didn’t let it affect me. I erased it from my mind and equalised with a header early in the second half. Unfortunately, we then got dominated by Barrow’s forwards and gave away some terrible goals before eventually losing.

Even though there were only a few games left in the season and we had nothing to play for, Steve was not taking that as an excuse. After the usual volley of expletives and character assassinations – which now had little effect on me – we were informed we’d be training the following day.

I got home at 4.30 a.m. and was back into training for 12.30 p.m. I wouldn’t have minded if we’d done something productive in training, but we just had a light jog and a stretch. I know sports scientists say that this is a worthwhile exercise, but surely any good effects are negated by being cramped up in your car for the three-hour round trip?

Fewer than forty-eight hours after, we were playing against Tamworth in a typical end-of-season affair. My body was screaming for a rest but to no avail. We won 2–0 and I scored one of the best goals of my career, curling a right-footed shot into the top corner from just outside the box – the keeper had no chance. Even the gaffer gave me some praise – that’s how good a goal it was! I came off near the end as my hamstring was tightening up. It was my last contribution of the season.

We had two games left. The first against Kettering I declared myself unfit for as there was no way I would risk tearing my hamstring in a meaningless
game with no promise of a contract. The last game was postponed as Chester City had gone into liquidation and folded.

I finished the season with thirty-four appearances and seven goals. In my opinion, that was a pretty average return for a player of my quality, but overall it was viewed as a pretty successful season for the club. We finished in a very creditable seventh place on sixty-six points.

All that was left now was to find out if I had any future at Crawley Town. We all had individual meetings with the management and the early vibes from other players wasn’t great. Most were offered new deals but on reduced terms.

The gaffer, Rayns and I agreed during my meeting that my season had been OK, but that I could perform better. Evo then asked what my plans were and gave me the usual spiel about money being tight etc.

Steve said they would be willing to offer me a new contract but, like everyone else, it would be on less money. He proposed £650 a week and no relocation money, meaning I would be taking a £50-a-week pay cut plus as well as losing the £4,000 I effectively used to buy my petrol. I was also told the offer was non-negotiable.

The club knew they were in a strong position. I was pragmatic about the financial situation in football at the time and aware a lot of better players than me were pricing themselves out of a job. After moving back to Essex, I was also loath to move away again unless it was financially worth my while.

I said I would think about it and get back to them in a couple of days. My initial thoughts were that I could afford to swallow the £50-a-week cut but could not afford to lose out on the £4,000.

Rayns rang me the next day to ask for my thoughts. I told him I couldn’t do it and, as the offer was non-negotiable, I’d have to move on. He asked what I would sign for – which I instantly realised meant we could agree a deal – and I told him I had to have the relocation money.

The day after, the gaffer rang (he always made the calls when the news was
good) and said he could do my requested deal but I was not to tell anyone else. I imagine he said that to everyone. So I’d secured my future as a professional footballer for one more season. I knew that I could earn at least, if not more, money than I was earning at Crawley with a combination of playing part time and working another job, but I also knew that instead of fifteen hours a week I’d be doing about fifty. So I made a lifestyle choice: I’d have plenty of time to do long hours in the future.

I had my reservations about re-signing for Steve – after all, I had no leeway to moan any more as I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for. But, conversely, re-signing turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made.

Once I got used to his unique and very aggressive style of management, I didn’t find it too much of a problem. I didn’t always like it, but I could handle it. Like anyone who was successful working under the gaffer, I learnt to take on board all the constructive stuff – which, contrary to popular belief, was there – and I let all the bullshit and insults go straight over my head. Easier said than done, but possible.

Yes, training was often boring and monotonous – and, for me, it didn’t have enough relation to what we did on a Saturday – but I did play regularly when fit and that was all I really wanted.

It did stick in my throat that Evo’s behaviour both on and off the pitch lacked so much class – I felt it reflected on me. However, I had to be selfish and do what was right for me. I was being offered a decent wage to do a job I loved.

I went away for the summer safe in the knowledge I would not be getting called every name under the sun for a couple of months and that I had at least one more year as a professional footballer to look forward to.

I also made the conscious decision to start gaining my coaching qualifications. I took my Level Two badge with the Kent County FA and soon realised how tough coaching actually was. I’d lost count of the number of sessions I’d been involved in as a player and had thought were rubbish. I
always used to think I could do so much better, but it turned out – at that moment, at least – that I couldn’t. I formed a newfound respect for many of the coaches I’d worked with.

I remembered on numerous occasions during my career when, mid-session, I had said to a coach ‘this isn’t working’ or ‘this is shit’ – as if he didn’t already know!

Well, karma came and bit me on the backside as I struggled through my own sessions as a coach. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, but breaking it down and explaining it simply to my peers proved trickier than I had envisaged.

I
'D ALWAYS BEEN
paid properly in my first season at Crawley – some months, a day or two after the agreed date, but that wasn't a problem. Over the summer, though, I didn't get the last two instalments of my relocation money – a total of £800. The gaffer was proving elusive to get hold of but I eventually spoke to him a couple of days before pre-season training was due to start.

I said I knew money was tight for football clubs during the close season but I needed what was owed to me. Steve said there were ‘no cash-flow problems at our club' and then went on to say how he had just signed Matt Tubbs from Salisbury City for £70,000 and there was ‘plenty more where that came from'. He added that we were going to be challenging for the title and that I would play a big part in it.

I took that last part with a pinch of salt, but definitely liked the idea of
being part of a team challenging at the top of the League. He also promised me that I would get my £800 on the first day of training, which I did.

During the first couple of weeks of pre-season, the gaffer was as good as his word and the club went on an unprecedented spending spree for its level. On top of signing Matt Tubbs we added Craig McCallister, Dean Howell, Pablo Mills, Chris Flood, Liam Enver Marum and Sergio Torres. These players were not household names but very well-known at our level of football. Pablo even came down to the training ground to check Crawley were up to his standards – we must have been as I cannot think of any other reason why he would have signed!

The reason behind this show of power, according to Steve, was the fact that two Hong Kong-based English businessman had decided to invest in the club. It seemed a strange decision to me as, with the best will in the world, Crawley was hardly a ‘sleeping giant', plus it was located in a catchment area that had it competing with the likes of Crystal Palace and Brighton & Hove Albion for supporters. If I were going to invest in a club at that level, I would've gone for Luton Town or York City – bigger clubs who had fallen on bad times but had the potential to regain past glories.

The way I understood the venture was the investment was not just a business decision but a sentimental one too, as the mystery investors were apparently lifelong Crawley fans. I think Evo used some poetic licence, however, because when I met one of them – introduced to me as Paul – he had as broad a Birmingham accent as you are ever likely to hear.

Rumours were rife regarding what the new players were earning. It was clear there must have been some financial incentives offered otherwise a lot of these players would not even have contemplated joining us. Sergio Torres, for example, had been playing in the Championship the previous season but had somehow been ‘persuaded' to drop to the Conference. The gaffer was a great salesman but not that good.

I had no problem with who was earning what: you sign the contract you're happy with; if you don't like what's offered then you don't sign it. So, if there were players earning double what I was getting – and I suspected there were – then good luck to them.

If you were going to give a manager a substantial playing budget, Steve was actually not a bad choice. Between him and his brother Gee (our chief scout), they had an extensive knowledge of the lower leagues. I could mention any player at Conference, League Two or League One level and they could talk about what his perceived strengths and weaknesses were.

The gaffer now had a problem, though. The new investment had clearly come after he had dealt with us existing players and those he had signed up early in the close season. I have no doubt he would have released everyone and built a new team from scratch if the funding had come earlier. He denied that by telling us we all had an important part to play, but he was not kidding anyone.

There was no divide in the dressing room, but all us ‘old' players knew we had a fight on our hands. After seeing the new recruits in training – as good as some of them were – I was more than up for the fight. In actual fact, I knew that if I could get in the team, it would benefit me hugely as I'd be playing alongside better players.

Considering the intensity the gaffer liked us to play at, I never found his pre-seasons too tough. The only time training almost got hard was when one of the lads put a Viagra into the jugs of drink I had for lunch. Unfortunately for them, but not for me, it had no effect. The last thing I needed was something popping up and slowing me down – although even if it had, I'm not sure anyone would have noticed!

My attempt to prove my worth had a very inauspicious start during the first friendly of the season against Millwall. I was sub, came on at half-time and played like a bag of shit. It was really hot and I struggled to move my
feet, giving the ball away sloppily on numerous occasions. To make matters worse, the lads who started the game looked really good.

Our next outing was against a strong Crystal Palace side and my performance improved considerably – not up to my best, but I played eighty-five minutes in a promising 1–0 win.

We were then split up into two groups – one played at Dorchester Town on Friday night while the other, which I was in, played at my old club Weymouth on the Saturday. The first group won 6–0 so we were on a hiding to nothing. We won 2–0 but Steve had written the script before the game had even started.

At half-time he told us we were all ‘big time' and that if we didn't improve we could ‘fuck off in three weeks' time'. Then, at the end of the game he told me that I couldn't play in a 4–4–2 and that I was trying to get on the ball too much. I'm not sure that's possible, but he added that, as a result of it, other players weren't moving while I was showing for the ball. I was perplexed as I couldn't work out how that was my fault.

It was good to be back in the groove, though – I hadn't been called a useless cunt since the end of April!

A young Arsenal XI were our next opponents and I started in central midfield. They were technically excellent and we were playing at full tilt just to compete. My hamstring started tightening before half-time so that was me done, but I was really happy with my performance and hoped I'd given the boss something to think about.

It turned out he wasn't thinking about me much: we played a young Chelsea team next and the gaffer named the line-up he clearly had in mind for the first game of the season – with me on the bench. The Chelsea team was nowhere near as strong as the one we played the previous pre-season, though, and we won comfortably. I even got a token 25-minute run-out.

Our preparation continued with a win against a strong QPR side, where Matt Tubbs really started to show his class with two well-taken goals. Steve
also gave the new lads an example of his ability to massively overreact afterwards.

Right back Glenn Wilson was holding court in the dressing room, as he regularly did, while bouncing a ball. One of the coaching staff asked him for the ball back, but he said, purely in jest, that they would have to come and get it. Evo waddled in at that stage and went spare, telling Glenn to go to his office immediately.

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.