Journeyman (27 page)

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 heart – 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 would 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.

What a difference a game makes. I was suddenly brimming with confidence and couldn't wait to play against Tamworth – a team I always did well against.

The gaffer named an unchanged team and I played like a man possessed – determined to continue shoving the manager's words about me not being good enough down his throat. He wasn't happy at half-time when we came in at 1–1. He told us we were playing ‘fucking five-a-side football' and weren't ‘getting the ball in the box quick enough' – it was a strange comment as we were dominating both possession and the game.

I explained I thought that, by retaining possession, we were tiring Tamworth out and would be able to capitalise on that in the second half (which we did). But my sentiments were certainly not shared by the management – as they had no hesitation in telling me.

We eventually won 3–1 and I got my first goal of the season.

Next up we faced a resilient Kidderminster Harriers. How I didn't score in the first half of that one is beyond me. I peppered their goal with shots at will and only a combination of bad luck, good defending and excellent
goalkeeping kept me off the scoresheet. I felt indefatigable and could not remember the last time I had played with such energy levels. We eventually broke them down with a great strike from Scott Neilson and a tap-in from Macca.

We were starting to play some good football rather than the direct rubbish we'd been serving up the previous season. Having two good footballing centre halves in Kyle McFadzean and Pablo made a big difference as they formed the base from which every attack began.

I played excellently again but I was finding it easy to do so within a good team that was now starting to gel. I had never been so motivated to continuously prove someone wrong. Some may say it was great man management – well, I can think of at least one person who would share that belief!

Luton Town, as always, were billed as one of the favourites for the title so it was an early season showdown when we visited Kenilworth Road at the start of October. There was a big, mostly hostile, crowd of just under 7,000 in attendance.

I loved playing at places like Luton, with its classic, old-school stadium. The crowd is right next to the pitch and you can smell the pungent aroma of beer, burgers and fag breath – the way football should be. Fans in the futuristic, all-seater stadiums seem so detached from the action nowadays. The home fans there were clearly up for it and gave us a lively reception while we warmed up. They were creating the sort of atmosphere any self-respecting footballer would have loved to be a part of.