by Joe Thompson
After three or four weeks I had a good feel for what my body was capable of, but when I attempted to up the intensity and do a 2km run on the treadmill the pain nearly reduced me to tears. My body was like a car running low on oil, with black smoke coming out of the bonnet. My lungs were burning and my legs were heavy, like they’d been tied down with bricks. Our strength and conditioning coach, Kevin Gibbins, could see I was struggling and came over and stopped the machine. I hobbled off and held back the tears. The realisation of the size of the task ahead had come crashing down on me. We finished the session early and I went home to lick my wounds, but there was no chance I was going to give up. I was going to have to dust myself down, bite down hard on my gumshield and grind my way back.
Every morning, Kevin rang me up to see how my body was feeling and if I was coming in. I always did. Even if I just had a stretch or a rub-down, it felt like progress. I loved working one-on-one with him. He was a third-year youth-team player at Rochdale when I joined, before being released. I was petrified of him when I was younger and I’m still scared of him now because his sessions are always intense. Every evening, he’d send me my data so I could see how hard I’d worked and that I was improving. It helped working with someone who knew my personality but also how a player’s mind works. He knew how to put together a session that would keep me mentally stimulated and set small achievable targets to boost my morale. Keith would often ask why I was only doing a light session, but he never succumbed to pressure and always made sure we did things step by step.
It was all well and good me running in straight lines on a treadmill, but I knew the real challenge would be getting back out on the grass and changing direction. The first time I put my boots back on I could feel every stud through my soles. You don’t realise that your feet must harden through years of playing football every day. We started off with basic 20m or 30m runs to see how my body coped with the resistance of pushing off on grass, followed by passing drills over various distances. I couldn’t believe how weak my legs were. I couldn’t manage more than two or three long-range passes over 30 or 40 yards before the ball was coming back towards me in the wind. I just had to laugh. I felt like I was a little kid again trying to kick a size five ball for the first time.
One of my biggest challenges was performing repeated sprints with little rest in between each one. My recovery was just too slow between the runs, so I’d still be knackered by the time I started the next one. Aside from having done no running for about six months, my red blood cell count still wasn’t optimal, which meant there was less oxygen being pumped around my body. My other problem was trying to put the weight back on that I’d lost. My vegan diet meant the progress was slower than if I’d been eating meat, but I felt I’d be leaner and healthier in the long run with my new approach. Keith found it hard to get his head around it. ‘You’re a man, you need red meat Joe,’ he said. ‘Get yourself to McDonald’s and get a few burgers down your neck.’ He was only half-joking and kept asking me how much I weighed. I knew he wouldn’t allow me to train with the rest of the lads until I hit a certain number and he was confident I had the physique to handle myself in tackles.
If you’re not familiar with a vegan diet, it’s pretty simple. It involves eating an entirely plant-based diet, and cutting out foods that come from animals, like meat, dairy and eggs. I decided to become vegan after speaking to a dietician and doing some research on the various causes of cancer. Eating meat puts your body into an acidic state, which is the perfect environment for cancerous cells to multiply. I also binned protein shakes. I’m not saying they’re bad for you, but casein, which is in a lot of supplements, is like rocket fuel for cancer, so I just had to get rid of them. I was worried about where I would get my protein from to recover efficiently between games but learned I could get more than enough from various types of beans and natural protein supplements. Luckily, I have a friend called Dean Howells, who runs his own company called Rev Foods. I called him every night to ask him what he and his wife were cooking so I could learn new recipes. It’s easy to get enough calories and protein from other sources, it’s just a case of re-educating yourself.
As my hair started to grow back, I felt it was thicker and blacker than it had been before. I also noticed the purple rings on my fingernails, which are a by-product of chemotherapy, disappeared a lot faster than after my first treatment four years ago, which I attribute to my diet. I also have blood test results from my doctors, one after eating a normal diet containing dairy, meat and some processed sugars, and another after eating a vegan diet. There is a big difference between the two, in favour of my new diet. The staff were amazed by the effect nutrition had had on my body’s performance. It might not be for everyone, but for me it has been a game changer.
It took six hard months of training before I was ready to make my return. I was nowhere near fit enough to play for 90 minutes, but I knew I had enough in the tank to make an impact off the bench and that my game understanding would get me through it. Keith included me in his squad for our home game against Walsall, two days before Christmas. Ironically, the fixture was one day short of a year since I’d been diagnosed with cancer for a second time. Chantelle, mum, Reuben and my mentor, Martin Robert Hall, were in the crowd when I came on as a substitute with 18 minutes to go. It was a moment I’ll never forget and I could’ve cried as I ran on to the pitch. I received an incredible reception from the crowd, which gave me goosebumps. To cross the white line again felt so rewarding and I very nearly wrote the perfect comeback story. With just a few minutes remaining, the ball fell to me inside the penalty area and I drilled it towards goal. My old Carlisle team-mate, Mark Gillespie, was in goal, but was helpless as it flew past him, only for a defender to stop it on the goal line and somehow scramble it clear. I protested with the referee and claimed it had crossed the line but he was having none of it. I was convinced that was my moment, but it wasn’t to be. The main thing was that I was back.
My only regret about that night is that Lloydy wasn’t there to see me play. A month earlier, I’d received the devastating news that he’d been found dead in his home after falling down the stairs. Even now, I’m still coming to terms with his loss. We weren’t related but he was family and the only real father figure I’ve had in my life. He’d looked after me since I was 18 and we had a relationship that was so much more than player and agent. His lust for life was infectious and he seemed to be everyone’s best mate. If you had a problem he would be the first to try and help you out.
He was the man about town in Manchester. Ryan Giggs released a statement revealing his shock and recalling their childhood together on the terraces at Old Trafford. He was also popular with the cast of Coronation Street after creating a celebrity football team who played in charity matches to raise money for various causes. It felt like half of the city was at his funeral; the street outside was flooded with people paying their respects. It was the perfect funeral, if there is such a thing, but it was heartbreaking to see his wife and daughter crying and saying their goodbyes. It was fitting that they played the Frank Sinatra song ‘I did it my way’ as he left the church. He really was a one-in-a-billion guy and I’m just thankful that he was part of my life.
Football was a coping mechanism in the months that followed. I knew there would be a comedown from my comeback and the following week I tweaked my back in training. It’s pretty standard for players to suffer little niggles and knocks when they return from serious injury, so it wasn’t a complete surprise, but it didn’t go down well with Keith. ‘Is that it then? Is that your season finished with? Do you even want to play football?’ he said. As I walked off the pitch I took my gloves off and threw them in his direction. ‘Give me a fucking break,’ I said under my breath. After I’d calmed down, I explained to him that it was best for me to rest it for a week rather than trying to play through the pain barrier and risk a serious injury which could keep me out for months and undo all my hard work.
I could tell he wasn’t happy, but
I understood the pressure he was under. We’d played some brilliant football but found ourselves in the relegation zone after a bad run of form and a series of weather-inflicted postponements. He needed all of his players available for selection and to turn things around fast. Strangely, our fortunes fared better in the FA Cup. After beating Millwall in a fourth-round replay, we were drawn at home against Tottenham at the end of February. The game was on TV, meaning the club would get a big financial windfall, which was a big boost to our short-term future if we were relegated.
I’d been an unused substitute in both games against Millwall and was just happy to be named in the squad against Spurs. I was lapping up the pre-match atmosphere and preparing for our warm-up when our kitman, Jack, called me over and said Mauricio Pochettino wanted to speak to me. We always have a laugh and I thought he was pulling my leg but the ball boys said he was waiting for me in the tunnel. I wandered inside, half expecting to find I’d been the victim of a prank. ‘Thompson, Thompson,’ said Pochettino as I walked towards him. I’d learnt from my meeting with Pep and on this occasion I managed to keep my composure. ‘How are you feeling? I’ve read about your story, it’s incredible that you’re back,’ he said. We had a really good chat and he told me how much he loved the grittiness of lower league English grounds and how embedded the clubs were in the local community.
It was a touch of class and I understood after speaking to him and Guardiola why they’ve been so successful. They care about individuals and want to know the human as much as the player, which means they get the best out of them. A manager can have the best tactical brain on the planet, but if he lacks the personal skills to speak to players and understand their mindsets then he’ll quickly lose the dressing room when they go through a bad run of form. The two Keiths, Hill and Curle, are the best managers I’ve worked under because they took the time to speak to me one-on-one and find out what makes me tick.
Keith needed all of his man-management skills to pay off if we were going to have a hope of beating Spurs. We had a few injuries, which meant some of the younger lads were given a chance. They didn’t show any fear. Andy Cannon played out of his skin and wasn’t unnerved at all by the occasion. He’d been immature when he’d been criticised in the past, but on the pitch his temperament was excellent and he grabbed the game by the scruff of the neck. We took the lead through Ian Henderson’s goal just before half-time, but Lucas Moura and Harry Kane scored in the second half and turned the game on its head. With a couple of minutes remaining of injury time it looked like we were heading out of the cup, but Steven Davies equalised with a brilliant finish to clinch a replay. He’s struggled with injuries in recent years but he’s the best finisher I’ve played with and you can tell he’s played at a higher level. Me, Keith and everyone on the bench went mental and it felt like the stadium was shaking as the supporters jumped up and down. We were heading to Wembley.
Ten years had passed since I’d last visited Wembley and I didn’t have happy memories of the place. I was left out of the squad for the League Two play-off final against Stockport and had to watch on from the stands as we were beaten 3-2. Keith brought it up in his pre-match team talk but reminded us all that whatever happened against Spurs we had good reason to celebrate after the game. The match was basically a free hit for us because nobody expected little Rochdale to cause an upset. I was on the bench again, but mum, Chantelle, her sister Ruby, Lula and Reuben came to watch the game in the hope I’d come on and make a dream appearance. To run on at Wembley would be the perfect reward after the months of graft that I’d put in, but I also knew Keith couldn’t and wouldn’t just bring me on for emotional reasons.
It was -7°C in London and so much snow had fallen it was a surprise the game was still on. We went one-nil down when Son Heung-min scored an early goal, but Stephen Humphrys scored just before half-time to give them a fright. At the break, Keith told us to attack them and go for the kill, but in the end we ran out of gas and they picked us apart. Perhaps we should’ve sat back and tried to nick a goal late on, but it’s easy to say that in hindsight. Fernando Llorente scored a 12-minute hat-trick and Son bagged another to make it 5-1. It was game over and so Keith told me to go and warm up. With 64 minutes on the clock I ran on to the pitch with snow falling over Wembley. The stadium looked that big I felt like a gladiator entering an arena.
Keith had told me to play central midfield, which wasn’t ideal given that I still wasn’t fully fit. I knew I was going to have to use every ounce of my experience to get on the ball and cling to the coat-tails of some of their players. From the touchline the pace of Son and Moura had looked frightening. That’s the biggest difference between Premier League players and those in the Football League. All of them were incredibly sharp and could change direction in an instant. They were perfectly honed machines with technical ability to match.
My job was made even harder when I injured my shoulder in a collision with Danny Rose. I stretched my arm out as I fell to the ground and heard a crunching sound. I immediately knew it was fucked. I couldn’t raise my arm to hit long passes and crosses but there was no chance I was coming off. I didn’t want the commentators on TV to be saying, ‘Poor Joe Thompson, he’s had such a tough year and now his big night has been ruined.’ I’d had enough of being a sympathy case, so I just played through the pain barrier.
The game ended 6-1, but we’d done the club proud and headed back to Rochdale with our heads held high. After the game the physio had a look at me and told me I’d be out for a few weeks but thankfully I’d be fit enough to play a part in our run-in. He put my arm in a sling but I took it off and hid it in my bag when I did my interviews with the media after the game. I couldn’t show any weakness. I was already the player who had survived cancer twice and I didn’t want to be lumbered with a reputation for being weak and injury-prone. Once you’ve been given a label in football it’s very difficult to shake it off.
On the journey home, I reflected on the last eight months. I was proud of myself, but didn’t realise the impact of my story until I went on Twitter and saw my name trending in numerous countries. It was surreal seeing people on the other side of the planet tweeting about me. I wondered if my career would get any better than that night at Wembley. My contract was up at the end of the season and if we were relegated I’d either be released or offered reduced terms. If I left, what were the chances of me getting another contract with a Football League club? Playing under the arch at Wembley was incredible, but I still had more to give. Something told me there was one more chapter yet to be written.
Chapter 18
This Is Me
FOOTBALLERS and booze don’t always mix well, but there we were, less than a week before the biggest day of the season, sinking pints in Manchester city centre on a Sunday afternoon like a group of giddy teenagers with fake IDs. It wasn’t a quiet couple of pints, either; it was an all-day session with no curfew. Even better, we had the following day off to get our hangovers out of our systems.
Albert’s Schloss Bavarian bar was the meeting point. Kick-off was 1pm. Late arrivals would be fined £50 and if you didn’t turn up at all, the punishment was a hefty £200 fine. Guilty offenders wouldn’t just have the lads to answer to, because it wasn’t even our idea, it was Keith’s. Unsurprisingly, everyone was prompt and our tables were soon full of steins of German beer and raucous laughter.
We had nothing to celebrate. We were in the relegation zone, two points adrift of safety ahead of the final game of the season, but the gaffer had decided the best way to galvanise the squad was for us to let our hair down away from the training ground. He also wanted us to get any issues off our chest over a few beers so any simmering tension would be relieved and wouldn’t boil over during our relegation decider.
We didn’t deserve to be in that position but that’s probably what every team says when they’re in the thick of a dogfight. Three weeks earlier, we’d blown a golden chance to pull away from the bottom three in a relegation six-pointer against local rival
s Oldham. They had a spate of injuries in defence and were there for the taking, but Joe Rafferty had a second-half penalty saved after I’d been bundled over inside the box. We dominated the rest of the game but lacked the cutting edge to find the goal we needed and the game ended 0-0.
A draw was no use to us and afterwards I regretted not being firm and demanding that I took the spot kick. Don’t get me wrong, Joe is a brilliant penalty taker and it was the first time I’d seen him miss one, but I was convinced it was written in the stars for me to score. I would’ve put the ball down and just put my laces through it, but by the time I’d got to my feet he’d already placed it on the spot. I went up to him and asked him if he was sure he wanted it and he was confident, so I left him to it. That’s football, though, and we still had four games to try and beat the drop.
Bradford were up next at home but once again we threw away the chance to win three valuable points. We took the lead through Matt Done’s first-half strike but in injury time my old mate from my Carlisle days, Charlie Wyke, popped up to equalise. It was another nail in our coffin and as I looked around the dressing room after the game, I started to wonder if it just wasn’t meant to be. It felt like everything was going against us and mentally we were starting to crumble.
Keith had dropped me for that match, completely out of the blue, and I was worried if I’d feature in our remaining games. I’d been a bit late getting to the ground after being delayed by traffic, which meant my usual 30-minute journey to the stadium took two hours. When I walked down the tunnel, Beechy told me I wasn’t in the squad without giving me an explanation. I thought it was a punishment but to my relief it turned out Keith was saving me so I was fresh for our final two games. We managed to grind out another 1-1 draw against a Plymouth team fighting for a play-off place, which did a little to restore our flagging morale, but we desperately needed a win.