Journeyman (29 page)

I was very frustrated – I felt I should have been one of the first names on the main team sheet, not reduced to filling numbers in such insignificant games. To top it off, I had to play central midfield alongside a porky auburn moaner by the name of Paul Raynor! He didn't shut up either – the poor old ref must have had to ice both ears at half-time as Rayns questioned every single decision made.

The only positives were that I scored and that the gaffer took pity on me, subbed me at half-time and let me go home. It was a lovely gesture as it meant I managed to salvage the last couple of hours of my birthday…

Next up was a big second-round FA cup game on a bitterly cold Friday night at home against Swindon Town, who, at that time, were in League One. The occasion was again marked by a dazzling new full set of highlights on the head of our esteemed leader. After my appearance on Tuesday, there was absolutely no chance of me playing – but I did sneak onto the bench.

We started quite tentatively and were lucky not to be behind at half-time. It became more obvious that the gaffer wasn't happy so I was introduced early in the second half. The two players identified as ‘key men' by the TV pundits got the goals in a 1–1 draw: Charlie Austin put Swindon in front and Matt Tubbs equalised sublimely for us.

Our performance improved in the second half and we were deserving of a draw – although it did look like we had perhaps missed our chance to go through. I didn't perform very well as I was lacking a bit of confidence, but at least I'd played a part in our recovery.

That was a good example of the highs and lows football can encapsulate within such a short space of time. I had gone from playing in what was
effectively a third-team game on the Tuesday to playing forty minutes live on ITV on the Friday.

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 the 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.