Despite our run in the FA Cup and a silly appearance at Wembley in yet another half-hearted competition called the Simod Cup – invented once again to fill in for missing out on European football – it was a season I’d rather forget. We ended up finishing eighth in the league and, deep down, I knew that it was time to move on. It was not just a football decision but, off the pitch, I was getting deeper and deeper in trouble and, for the sake of Susan and my gorgeous baby daughter Gemma, I felt my time at Everton was up.
I was sitting at home one day during pre-season and Sharpy popped round and said Gary Lineker had been on the phone to him and had asked him whether I was now fully fit. He said that Links had asked me to give him a call, so I did, and he said Terry Venables was interested in signing me and would I consider speaking to him? I suppose in a way it’s an illegal approach, but that’s how it worked. We were all guilty of it and, if ever your club wanted to sign a player, there were always ways and means of getting to him. In this case, it was via Links and Sharpy and I think Graeme was hoping I’d bugger off due to the amount of scraps I was getting him involved in every time we went for a pint!
The way I saw it, I had nothing to lose, so I told Mr Venables to go about his business through the proper channels and I’d see what Colin said when Everton were formally approached. Deep down, I knew I’d go; as I saw it, the team was breaking up, I was forever in the shit on Merseyside and needed to get the fuck out of there before my marriage disintegrated as quickly as our Championship side was doing.
Within a few days, Colin called me in and said Tottenham Hotspur had come in for me and that they had made an offer acceptable to the board of directors and did I want to go? I told him I did, and he asked me my reasons. I told him it was nothing to do with him taking over from Howard but, for the sake of my family, I really needed to get away from Merseyside. Out of the blue, he told me he wanted me to stay and offered me a new four-year deal that included a decent raise at the start of every season which was far better than what was on offer at Spurs. The boss also said he wanted me to move into the centre of defence, a position I had always felt more comfortable in, but my mind was made up – I declined Colin’s more-than-generous offer.
As much as I respected him, appreciated his offer and, as much as I loved Everton Football Club, I told Colin that I wanted to join Spurs. He seemed genuinely disappointed but wished me well. He was a lovely man and, given the fact I had caused him no end of problems with my off-the-field antics, it was a credit to him that he did not just tell me to empty my locker and piss off.
In those days, very few players had agents, so I flew down to London, met Mr Venables and agreed with everything he put on the table. There was no signing-on fee, no extra dough; in fact, it probably cost me money to join Spurs, but deep down I had to go and signed with a heavy heart. I never met any of the Everton lads to say my goodbyes – I was not that kind of person – and combined with the fact that I was sad to leave, it hit me hard.
Looking back now, it was a bit naughty the way the move came about and, yes, I do regret it, but Spurs were building a top side. The likes of Lineker and Gascoigne were huge names at the time so it was a new start for me. I never really saw it as a dream move like the one to Everton, but neither did I see it as the nightmare it was about to become.
13
WINNING – AND LOSING – MY SPURS
Terry Venables was probably one of the few managers who could have convinced me to leave Everton. He was so well-respected in the game – he still is – and even today his name is still mentioned every time the England job becomes available. That is the measure of the man and his skills as a coach.
When we spoke about the move, he told me that, in his opinion, Tottenham were just a couple of players short from having a team capable of challenging for honours and he saw me as one of those required to take Spurs to the next level. I was in awe of his mannerisms and the way he conducted himself during our meeting, Terry oozed class and he talked the talk, but was more than capable of walking the walk as well. He had been back at Spurs for a couple of seasons and had built a good side with the likes of Gary Lineker and Paul Gascoigne, world-class players who would walk into any top side. The fact that he believed I could help him win something made the move seem a fantastic opportunity, particularly as things at Everton had apparently gone stale.
The move was finalised and I signed for Tottenham Hotspur on 25 August 1989 for £575,000 and the deal was completed on the night of my new club’s game – at Everton! I did not go to the match but listened to it on the radio as my old team-mates ran out 2–1 winners. Who I was supporting that night I can’t say!
I made my début in a 2–0 defeat at Aston Villa, played OK and kept my place for the next game, when we were well and truly dicked 4–1 at home by Chelsea. It was a home début from hell and my one memory is watching a long ball go down the middle and thinking it was safe as houses, Kerry Dixon latching on to it before chipping our ’keeper from outside the area. I realised in that split-second that Thorstvedt was no Southall.
We beat Southend 1–0 for my first win bonus but we were not playing well as a side. Then we suddenly clicked and, despite losing the second leg to Southend who took us to extra time before we went though on the away goals rule, we won four league games on the bounce before thrashing Manchester United 3–0 in the League Cup at Old Trafford. Things were looking good, although the results against Southend and United were typical of how inconsistent we could be. We were capable of beating anyone when we played well, but the problem was we were capable of being beaten by anyone when we played not so well. We were either very good or shit – we were never average.
Off the pitch, I had a bit of luck when my old mate from Liverpool, Dave Dolby, got in touch and told me he had moved to London and had a boozer I might like to visit. What a place it turned out to be, as it was situated right opposite a huge dance college called the Italia Conti Dancing School. After one visit to the pub, I was hooked and, once training was out of the way, I would go there as every day the place would be full of these beautiful dance students. I was in heaven!
One night, I ended up in bed with a pair of young ladies from the dance school and they were absolute stunners – one was from Coventry, the other a London girl. Eventually, after giving them both a bit of a tickle, the local girl left us to it and I had a great time with the one from Coventry. I had some of the best times of my Spurs career in that pub and, to this day, I can’t understand why I never opted for the dancing girls instead of Mandy. One setback was that I got hooked on the Guinness, and it only took a few weeks before Mr Venables noticed I had put a few pounds on and told me quite clearly to get off the stuff.
The first thing I noticed when I began to drink in central London was that everyone was walking about with these brick-sized mobile phones. They were not for me and, although I was given one by the club, probably to keep me on their radar, I was forever losing it and leaving it lying around. Eventually, I smashed it against the wall and never bothered with phones again until they became much smaller.
After just a couple of months, money was slipping through my fingers like water. I was on a good contract at Spurs but almost everything in London was twice the price as it was in Liverpool, and I was forever going to the club for a cash advance. Every week, I’d be borrowing from my monthly salary until one month there was nothing left to pay the bills. My missus rang the club and asked them what the hell was going on and, a day later when I went for a sub, the lady in the office in charge of the petty cash said she was sorry but Mr Venables had told her that I was not to have any more money from her and that was that. I tried a few times as you do, but Terry’s word was final and I got nothing again until payday.
I thought a move from Merseyside would calm me down but things just carried on as normal once I found a few pubs to my liking, and I went missing for the first time at Spurs over the Christmas period and missed the game against Millwall. I turned up at the lads’ Christmas party the
following day and some were not too happy with me. I also had a right old boot in tow with me, so I ditched her and got on with the party and already my attitude was fuck ’em all!
I went into training the following day after calling home to make my peace with Susan, who by now was used to it. I was not doing it every week, but every so often I needed a blow out and just went missing for a few days. It sounds mad now, but at the time it was all just routine for me.
Terry got me in the office and was rightly not happy with me; he knew my every move and, as Howard had at Everton, also had some great spies in the camp. He never bollocked me as such, he was so calm, but told me plainly and simply that I had let everyone down. There was no ranting and raving but, by the time I got out of his office, I felt like I had been battered around the room with a baseball bat by him. The simple things he told me were worse than a punch, a kick or any verbal bashing. He was an absolute master when it came to letting you know right from wrong and, from that day on, I tried my utmost to never let him down again.
Despite going AWOL, I was back in the side for the following game against Nottingham Forest and Paul Walsh had a moan in the papers about my return while he was keeping the bench warm. We sat down after training and I told Walshy straight, ‘Since when have you been a left-back, you prick?’ Terry intervened and told Walsh that he picked the team and that he was not going to cut his nose off to spite his face, adding that I was the best left-back Spurs had available and that I was playing – end of!
After the game, my friend Tommy Hayes gave me a lift into town to meet my top adviser Nick Trainer and, as he was a well-to-do solicitor, he was always immaculately dressed. The only problem was that he had the worst taste in ties you have ever seen. We were in a wine bar with the gorgeous lady who ran it and were enjoying a lovely drink and chat when I said to Nick that he should remove his tie. He laughed at my suggestion so I went into kitchen area and picked up this huge chopping knife which was the size of a machete and slipped it down my sock.
We carried on laughing about his tie with me telling him I was that pissed off with it that it was time to remove it, but again he refused. We ended up leaving and, as we walked down the road, I grabbed his precious neck accessory, pulled the knife out, raised it above my head and chopped the tie off in one slice, missing his nose by half an inch!
People in the street were running about thinking we were having a serious set-to and the lady from the bar could not believe what she had just witnessed. She managed to get the knife off me and back in the kitchen before somebody called the police and I found myself locked up. We stayed on the piss all night with Nick still wearing the knot of his tie as the stubborn bugger still refused to take it off. I ended up with the bar manager and had a great night. That was one of the first and only times I have ever seen Mr Nick Trainer speechless!
Back on the pitch, I played the majority of games that season, missing the odd one with injury or suspension, but was first choice unless rested for the League Cup when Terry decided to give a few squad players a run out. After beating United, we fancied our chances but were knocked out by Forest after a replay, despite coming back from their place with a draw. And as for the FA Cup, well, it was the usual disaster as I missed the third-round game at home to Southampton when we were dumped out 3–1.
Our League form improved immensely and I played in a 2–1 win against my mates Everton, eventually winning eight of our last ten league games to finish third, a position today that would guarantee Champions League football. It was a great effort, although we lost 13 games, 9 were by the odd goal. That really was a season when I look back at it and think we were probably just a couple of quality players or a few clean sheets away from being a team that could have been champions. The Champions League today is what everyone aims for, but then it did not have the same rewards, so we looked upon it as progression, not success. I was really looking forward to the new season, for the way we had finished the previous one and with a full pre-season behind me, I thought we would be in with a great chance of challenging for the title.
Spurs got off to a great start as we beat Manchester City 3–1 and went 13 games unbeaten and were flying before we lost at Liverpool. I was playing every week and loving my football again. As was the case the previous year, Terry rested me for League Cup games playing Justin Edinburgh in my place, which was no problem, but I badly wanted to be back in for fifth-round tie with Chelsea. I’ll never know if I’d have been selected as I was injured for the game which we lost 3–0 in a replay at White Hart Lane, having done what we thought was the hard part when we drew at their place. The Wembley jinx was happening at Spurs as it had at Goodison but, to make things worse, our League form was abysmal for the second half of the season, too.
After the Liverpool defeat, we went another four games unbeaten, so had lost just once in eighteen games, including a 1–1 draw against Everton on my return to Goodison, when I received a fantastic reception from the Goodison faithful. We then won just another three games in the League all season and finished a disappointing tenth. I played almost every game and, despite the dreadful run and woeful league position, my dream of winning the FA Cup came true when, on 18 May, Tottenham beat Nottingham Forest 2–1 at Wembley to ease the heartache of my three Cup Final defeats there with Everton.
We made hard work of it getting to the semi-finals, even though the draw was kind to us. I sat out a 1-0 win at Blackpool, but played every game after as we eased past Oxford at home before going to Portsmouth for the fifth-round tie. I will always remember this game as I played a great ball through to Gascoigne, which he tucked away to set up a quarter-final against Notts County which we nicked 2–1. After the Pompey game, Gazza said the ball through to him was one of the best he had ever received and I was truly thrilled. A week later, he said exactly the same thing to Vinny Samways and the following week to Walshy, and I began to think mine hadn’t really been that special.
The semi at Wembley against Arsenal was a bit like the one I had played for Everton against Bayern Munich, insomuch as after such a fantastic win, the final was always going to be an anti-climax. The goal Gazza scored from a free kick that day is up there with the best strikes I have had the good fortune to witness and it set us up nicely for a 3–1 win against our closest rivals. Lineker got the other two goals and the joy in the dressing room after the game was as good as it gets, but Terry had to remind the lads that you win nothing for being victorious in a semi-final. I was one player he did not need to mention that to.
As a senior player, I must take some responsibility for not getting a grip of Gazza on the day of the Final and trying to calm him down. From the minute we had breakfast, he was like a man possessed and I am amazed he made it to Wembley for the game as he was that wound up. As it was, we let Gazza be Gazza and he ended up making that crazy tackle after just a few minutes and his Cup dreams were in tatters as he was stretchered off and taken to hospital.
Without Paul and with the circumstances that surrounded his exit, the game was somewhat subdued but we won it 2–1 thanks to a Paul Stewart strike and an own-goal from Forest legend Des Walker. Lineker was relieved as he had earlier missed a penalty that could have won us the game and, when the final whistle blew, despite feeling a bit sorry for Des, I was just glad that my Cup jinx was over and I was a proud man climbing the steps to collect my winner’s medal.
The record books show that, two days after the Cup Final, I missed our final league game at Manchester United and, to this day, I have no idea why. If I did go missing, I’m sure Terry wasn’t too bothered as the Cup was back in the Spurs trophy room.
After the Cup Final, we were told the extent of Gazza’s injury and asked Terry if we could take the Cup and his medal to the hospital. He agreed and off we went, straight to Gazza’s ward, and found him putting on a brave face in front of a gang of nurses. As soon as we walked in, he was so emotional – he cried, as usual – but was genuinely touched by our gesture but it was the least we could do. I had won an FA C
up Final at Wembley on my fourth attempt, so knew what Cup Final heartache was all about. Although Paul had a winner’s medal at his first attempt, it probably didn’t mean much as the injury and the fact it would balls up his move to Lazio probably overshadowed the victory for him.
Gazza was a great lad and such good fun to be with. We were out one Christmas with the lads and Gazza was in tow and, as usual, 100 per cent nuts. We were walking down the street and he noticed a tramp sleeping in a doorway with a pile of cardboard boxes covering him to keep the poor bugger warm. Gazza took a massive run and did one of those high-jump leaps and landed bang in the middle of the boxes while this poor tramp was almost crushed to death. I thought it was a bit out of order, to be honest; the old fella was wheezing and could not get his breath, but Gazza thought it was hilarious and was pissing himself. He eventually checked the tramp was OK before we walked off to another bar after giving him a £50 note for his troubles. The man was as mad a March hare, totally crazy – lovely, but crackers.
He was also guilty of having too many hangers-on in his company, something we all warned him about, but he had a heart of gold and saw the good in everyone despite the fact that they were like leeches on him. I wonder where those leeches are today when I believe he is really in need of true friends to help him through a difficult time in his life. Am I shocked to see him the way he is? If I’m honest, no, as he did everything to the extreme. I am, however, sad to see such a fantastic footballer and quality person suffering as he is, and truly wish him all the best in his recovery.
He did take the pressure off me from time to time, and I remember one morning when we were all in training and Terry said that Gazza would be in a bit late as he had been home for the weekend and the train he was on to London was running late. In true Gazza style, he turned up about two hours later, pissed as a fart, as he’d drunk the train dry. We all looked at him and he had that cheeky grin of his and we could tell he was steaming. Terry knew but did not bollock him; he just told him to do his running and then had a little word in his ear. Once again, it was quality man-management, as the next day Paul was first in and worked his bollocks off.
Pat Van Den Hauwe Page 13