I was examined and the medical staff were not sure if I had fallen on glass or had been stabbed with a bottle; either way, it was a nasty cut that required seven stitches to tidy it up. I limped into Bellfield the next morning and told anyone daft enough to listen to me that I had been walking my dog on the beach and had fallen on some glass causing the injury, which might keep me out for a few weeks. I don’t for one minute think anyone believed me, but it was the best I could come up with at the time. A few weeks turned into a few months and it was a long road back to fitness, with one complication after another preventing my road to recovery. By the time I was ready to play, I had missed almost six months of a soon-to-be-memorable season.
After several failed attempts, I eventually made my comeback in an FA Cup tie at Bradford after I had made about half-a-dozen reserve appearances. I then made my first league start of the season a week later, when we beat Coventry to go top for the first time that term. The team obviously needed me!
It was a frustrating time for me as I would play a game here and a game there before I’d pick up another niggle or fresh injury. In total, I ended up playing only seven full games all season, which was a nightmare.
Following the Coventry win we went to Oxford, the team who had beaten us a year earlier, a defeat which had cost us the Championship. It was a case of déjà vu as we went 1–0 down, but Paul Wilkinson scored very late on to earn us a massive point to keep us in top spot. A couple of weeks later, Paul moved to Nottingham Forest, which I found strange as he was getting games, scoring goals and was in with a chance of winning the biggest medal in English League football.
We were not playing as well as we had done in previous seasons but were winning games while others were dropping points so it was really a two-horse race between ourselves and Liverpool. Our home form was excellent and Goodison was a fortress where we only lost once all season. On the road was a different matter as we lost seven, including games against Watford, Charlton, Forest and West Ham, teams we should really have been beating. The defeat at Watford cost us top spot and gave Liverpool the edge again but, like us, they were not on top form and dropped points against teams they should have been beating.
The run-in was difficult with back-to-back games at Arsenal and Chelsea. I played in the one at Highbury when Wayne Clarke chipped the Arsenal ’keeper from about 30 yards and the same day Wimbledon won at Anfield to make us favourites.
Clarke was another great signing by Howard. Sharpy, like myself, was struggling with injury and, although I don’t think Wayne was anywhere near as good as Graeme, he came in and scored some really important goals for us.
By now, after a shaky start, Dave Watson had won the Goodison faithful over. It was never going to be easy for Waggy as he had previously played for Liverpool and was replacing huge crowd favourite Derek Mountfield who, like myself, missed the majority of the season through injury, although his absence was football related. Watson was a rock for us and rightly went on to become a huge player for Everton; when you were up against it, he was someone you would want alongside you.
The same went for another of Howard’s signings – Ian Snodin – as with Paul Bracewell out for the season we needed quality back-up and Snodds gave us that. May I also say he fitted into the social side of things at the club perfectly. Ian had to choose between us and Liverpool and very few people turned down a move to Anfield, and I often wonder if he had joined them instead of us whether the title race would have had the same outcome.
Once again I was injured, but we won at Chelsea thanks to goals from Waggy and Alan Harper, then beat West Ham at home before two massive wins over the Easter period meant we had one hand on the title. We came away from Villa Park with a 1–0 victory, before beating Newcastle at Goodison two days later thanks to a Clarke hat-trick. I missed most of the run-in, including the game against Liverpool, when they opened the title up slightly by beating us 3–1 at Anfield, but was back for a disappointing home draw against Manchester City, a side that were looking like relegation certs. In the dressing room after the game, news came through that Liverpool had been beaten at Coventry City, meaning that we could clinch our second League title in three years by winning at Norwich on the Bank Holiday Monday.
Carrow Road was not really a happy hunting ground for us as I had been pulled off during a 4–2 hammering the season we had won our first Championship. Even though they were relegated, which was down to us losing at Coventry on the last game of the season, we had to go there the following campaign to play in some stupid, worthless cup game when we were beaten again. Although the stakes were a lot higher this time, it was going to be a tough game as they were a very good side at home.
We, and myself in particular, got off to the perfect start. We forced a corner direct from the kick-off and, after less than a minute, I connected with a Trevor Steven cross and thumped an unstoppable shot into the top corner … albeit from about 3 yards out! Even from that range, I would not have put money on myself hitting the target; nine times out of ten somebody in the crowd would have caught the ball but fortunately I connected well and am down in the record books as the man who won Everton the league. I, like the rest of the players, got carried to the dressing room on the shoulders of Evertonians who filled the Carrow Road pitch at the final whistle. I was a hero!
Seriously, I do not see it that way – my input that season was barely worth a mention but it was nice to get such an important goal and what a celebration we had on the way home. It could not have been any better as there were motorway jams, such was the volume of traffic heading back to Merseyside, and nobody cared if it took us all night to get home. It was a fantastic feeling winning the title back from our bitterest rivals who had broken my heart the previous season. It was back to business as usual!
We were presented with the Championship Trophy after the home game against Luton which we won 3–1 thanks to two Trevor Steven penalties. I was a little disappointed that after my net-bursting strike at Norwich that I hadn’t been asked to take them!
Everton completed the season with another home win against Spurs when a couple of lads played – Neil Adams was one – meaning they qualified for a medal. Derek Mountfield was another and we were all delighted for him when he scored the winner that day as his season, like mine, had been an injury-plagued nightmare. We eventually finished nine points clear of runners-up Liverpool and I was fortunate enough to have made the required amount of appearances also to secure a winner’s medal. Did I deserve one? Given the pain and suffering I went though before making my comeback and the fact I hit the net with that 3-yard screamer at Norwich, too right I did!
10
WHAT HAPPENS ON TOUR …
After moving to Everton, I was always being told by the players that at the end of the season we all go on holiday together, and they emphasised the word ‘holiday’. I was not sure if it was just for a piss-up or to conclude a club-organised tour or as a team bonding exercise but, whatever the reason, Mr Kendall thought it was a good way to finish off the season. Who were we to argue? After all, he was the gaffer.
The trips went down in Goodison folklore, usually for all the wrong reasons. There is, however, no doubt in my mind that Howard’s way was the right way as the team spirit was better at Everton than anywhere else I had played or would play later in my career. Spain was always the favourite destination and that was the case after my first season; as promised, the fine from my sending off at Queen’s Park Rangers was in the beer kitty, along with cash collected from the other players who had either broken club rules or been booked or sent off during the season.
On the first day, I went out with the lads and we drank the place dry. It was fantastic. We had just finished a great season and were rightly allowed to let our hair down a bit. My lasting memory of this holiday was walking back to the hotel and chatting away to Sharpy when, after a minute or so, I looked around and realised he was missing. I was pissed but not quite pissed enough to have lost a big bloke like him, and then noticed Terry
Darracott and Colin Harvey sitting in a bar facing the direction I had just come from. They asked me if I was OK, and I said I was fine, but had lost my drinking buddy Sharpy. Without an ounce of concern, one of them said, ‘He’s just fallen into that big bush over there … he’ll be OK!’ With that they carried on drinking.
I was gobsmacked. Sharpy was a top player, worth probably a couple of million in those days, and the assistant manager and head coach were not too concerned that he had just gone arse over tit into a huge bush in the middle of a busy seaside resort. I walked back and indeed, there he was. I helped him up and we continued our walk back to the hotel as if nothing had happened. I was learning quickly about life at Everton.
Of course, with holidays and the beer come the birds … and there were plenty of them hovering about when there were footballers in town. One night, I was out with a member of the club, not a player but a well-respected employee, who was always there if we needed him. Not a minder as such, but someone the club knew could handle himself and who was also responsible enough to keep an eye on things to ensure things never got too out of control.
I did not really know what the situation was with bringing birds back to the hotel – was it a line that was not to be crossed? The majority of the players were just happy with the beer, so I never pushed my luck too much. This particular night as we walked down the corridor, I noticed one of the lad’s doors was open and, as you do, I put my head in for a nose. The player was fast asleep with three naked girls strewn across his room.
I tip-toed in and could see that they had all been previously enjoying themselves. One woke up and immediately set about pulling my shorts down. One thing led to another, but I refused to go too far as I knew she had already been seen to and had not showered, so I settled for a lower massage and eventually shot my load. The girl had a good grip on me but my team-mate ended up getting something across his head that he was not too happy about when he came down for breakfast the following morning. Although he was never 100 per cent certain it was me, he gave me a look to let me know he had a good idea that it was.
Believe it or not, at this stage of my Everton career I was on my best behaviour. Now that may not have been as good as some people would expect, but it was as good as it gets. One example came a few nights later when a couple of us hooked up with a group of girls in some club and the one I sat with would not let me near her. All she kept saying was, ‘No … let’s go back to your room.’ Now that’s about right if you’re having a little play, a bit of a kiss and cuddle and getting a bit worked up. But this girl was not letting me even hold hands with her, so I smelt a rat and fucked her off.
A year later, on the eve of the Cup Final against Liverpool, I got a call from reception informing me that there was a lady asking for me in the hotel, so I went for a look and it was her. Once again she was saying, ‘Please let’s go to your room …’
To this day, I don’t know if she intended to rob me, sell her story to the papers or quite simply was really shy and only performed in a private room with the lights off! As I said, I was not off the rails at that time so never found out and, once again, told her to fuck off. Had she returned a year or so later, I may not have been so suspicious.
I soon got settled at Everton and came out of my shell a bit, none so more than when we flew to New Zealand via LA and Australia. We got absolutely steaming on the flight and, when we landed in America, we were all escorted off the plane and taken to security where we were warned that we may be sent home once we had sobered up. It appears, although I can’t remember the incident, that I had walked from the front of the aircraft to the back of it with my cock out. I won’t argue with the people who said I did, as it was something I had done before at Birmingham. If it is true, I can only apologise to anybody offended and appreciate they did not take pictures and sell them to the papers as, in all honesty, it’s not a Championship-winning part of my anatomy!
Eventually, we ended up in Australia and, as usual, we ended up clubbing, but this night I got lucky when I was introduced to a gorgeous model. I thought I was in for the night of my life until this bloke came over and it was obvious that he was this stunner’s partner. He was a very polite young man and, in passing, I asked him what he did and he replied rather cockily that he, too, was a model. Fuck me, I thought, it’s Ken and Barbie!
He then got a little bit complacent and left us alone and went off chatting to a gang of girls at the other side of the club. His bird was a bit pissed off so I seized my chance and asked her would she like to dance and she agreed. I held her hand and took her to the furthest corner of the club, away from her posing boyfriend, and we held hands and chatted for ages. I knew she had either fallen for my charms or was looking to get her own back on her pretty-boy partner – either was fine with me.
Just before the club closed, Ken appeared and caught us sitting a little bit close to each other and immediately asked me what the fuck I was playing at. I told him very politely that we were just chatting, but he was having none of it and grabbed the girl’s arm, informing her that they were leaving. She pushed him away and just said, ‘No, I’m going home with him!’
He looked at me and I looked at him and could not help but throw him a sly smirk. He was a big-headed clown and had come unstuck, so he muttered something and left us to it. Within an hour, we had arrived at her flat and it was an experience, to put it mildly. She led me to the bedroom and we undressed each other before I climbed on to this huge bed which I soon realised was actually a water bed. I had never sat on such a contraption before, never mind done the business on one, so I just lay there while she got herself ready and joined me. I was lying too near the edge, so when she joined me she caused a bit of a wave and, before I knew it, I’d been thrown off and was now bollock-naked on the floor. Once I got back on, we had an absolutely hilarious time and, although I would not rate it as my best ever sexual experience, it was 100 per cent the funniest.
We finished the tour in New Zealand and I ended up taking another girl back to my room, where I knew the beds were normal. My room-mate was fast asleep, so we started having a bit of a play when, all of a sudden, there was a knock on the door. I was once again bollock-naked, so my team-mate jumped up and foolishly opened the door without asking who was outside. As soon as the door opened, in walked this bird’s husband – he was a big bastard, too. So there I was, lying in bed with his wife, and he’s just standing there looking as if he’s ready to kill us both. He never uttered a single word, just stared at us for what seemed like an hour – although it was probably less than a minute – shook his head and walked out. She got dressed and left and, from that night on, it was always an unwritten rule that you had to ask who was knocking before ever opening the door to them, especially if you had a bird in bed with you!
A couple of seasons later, we went on an end-of-season trip to Hawaii, which nearly brought a premature end to my football career. Myself and Gary Stevens unpacked and headed straight for Waikiki Beach and got ourselves a beer. Once again, things could not get any better … and then I set eyes on Kimberly Cusack. I first noticed her standing by this little beach bar talking to Paul Power, so I wandered over and introduced myself and asked her if she’d like a drink. She declined quite bluntly, before telling me she was only 17 and hence not allowed to drink alcohol. I was stumped, so the best I could come out with was, ‘Fancy a swim?’
For sure, it was not the best chat-up line I ever came out with, but it worked as she looked me in the eye and said softly, ‘I’d love to.’ As we walked towards the water, she held my hand and we ended up chatting for hours. We never left the water; I was totally besotted with her and she was the most beautiful thing I had ever set eyes on. We splashed about and chatted some more, then I noticed that it was nearly dark and that everyone had left and we were the only ones still on the beach.
We dried off and then went to few bars and eventually ended up in her friend’s apartment where we shared some Southern Comfort and a couple of spliffs. Now, I was
never much good after the wacky baccy so I could hardly stand up, but still managed to do the business throughout the night. She was electric and we did it in the shower, over the sink and every place and position we could think of. Miss Cusack was quite simply fantastic in every way possible and Mr Van Den Hauwe had fallen for her, as always, hook, line and sinker.
I never saw a single player for the duration of the trip and was with Kimberly 24 hours a day until the final day when we were due to fly home. I had made my mind up – I was staying, fuck football, this was the life for me. I went and saw Howard and told him I would like to stay for another week’s holiday, but he told me we had arrived as a team and would leave as one. Deep down, I think he knew I had fallen for this girl as nobody had seen sight or sound of me for a week. He was probably doing his best to get me away from her, for the good of myself, the club and also my marriage, something I had not got round to telling the delightful Miss Cusack about.
I went and told Kimberly that I had to go home but she said I was welcome to return to Alaska with her and work on her father’s ranch. It was foolish talk, but I swear I was going along with it, from a League Champion and international footballer to a ranch hand in one week – crazy, but it’s what I had decided to do.
I went and saw Howard again and this time he was a little more serious about the matter and told me to get a grip and that I would be on the plane the following day. I went and found Kimberly, told her the bad news and, within seconds, she was gone. Had Howard allowed me to stay for another week, I would have never gone back; as soon as the plane had taken off, I’d have packed my bags and buggered off to Alaska with this 17-year-old girl I had fallen head over heels in love with.
Pat Van Den Hauwe Page 10