Journeyman (33 page)

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.

Nothing much had changed: the team was doing well but Steve was still prone to the odd rant. The rise of social media was causing problems for a lot of football clubs as it was giving players an open forum to air the sort of opinions their employer did not want to be associated with. Crawley was no exception.

Hope Akpan, the talented young midfielder who the club signed from Everton and eventually sold to Reading, was alleged to have posted a homophobic comment on Twitter. Evo immediately called a meeting and took his usual dictatorial approach – all social networking was now banned until you signed a disclaimer agreeing to your contract being terminated at the club’s discretion for any misuse.

This was clearly not in the players’ best interests so, in my role as PFA representative, I explained that to the manager. Unsurprisingly he did not take kindly to this and threw a barrage of abuse at me. The rest of his staff – Rayns, Craig and Steiny – just sat there embarrassed until he ran out of
steam and sloped off to his office. I looked at all three of them and said with a straight face: ‘That went well then…’

I should have known better and not bothered even mentioning it. David Hunt, a prolific tweeter, was willing to sign the disclaimer and called Gayle to arrange it the next day.