Darkness and Light

by Joe Thompson

  An away trip to Oxford followed on the penultimate weekend of the season and once again the football gods conspired against us. Keith asked me to play right wing-back, but it’s always a position I’ve struggled with. I’m used to operating 10 or 15 yards further up the pitch in a 4-3-3 or a 4-4-2, so I always find my distances aren’t quite right. I often overcompensate defensively and end up about 15 yards too deep, and that was exactly what happened again. At half-time the opposition winger hadn’t troubled me but I hadn’t done anything to cause them concern in the final third and I was brought off before the hour mark.

  Five minutes later we took the lead through Bradden Inman and briefly it looked like we were going to pull off a vital win and start our great escape. Unfortunately, that glimmer of hope lasted all of three minutes when Callum Camps brought down his man and John Mousinho converted the penalty. Worse was to follow. With seven minutes of normal time remaining, Campsy conceded a carbon copy of his earlier penalty and Todd Kane fired home from 12 yards. The result moved Oxford eight points clear of the bottom three and secured their League One status, but we were now a point adrift of Oldham with just one game to go.

  After the game, the dressing room was like a morgue. All you could hear was the sound of boot studs scraping against the floor and the Velcro shinpad straps being removed and tossed aside. I think a few of the lads thought we were down. I really felt for Campsy, who is a top young player, but he’ll learn a lot from that afternoon. Like all good managers, Keith could sense the mood of the group and decided there was only one thing for it. ‘I want you all out in Manchester tomorrow, every single one of you,’ he said. A few of the lads exchanged glances. We thought he’d lost the plot. We asked him why, when we were all knackered and had a massive week ahead of us. ‘I don’t care what plans you’ve got tomorrow or what your missus is doing, pick a bar and meet there at 1pm.’

  I rang my other gaffer, Chantelle, and told her I had no choice but to go out on a day session on Sunday. She was as baffled as I was but there was no getting out of it; she knows what Keith is like and thought better of trying to stand in my way. I joined the rest of the boys at 1pm sharp, but I wasn’t drinking after deciding to knock it on the head after beating cancer. I’ve never been a big drinker, anyway, and can have a great time without getting off my face. There’s no boozing culture in football anymore, like there was in the 80s and 90s, but I know players who like to have a few at the weekend and let their hair down. It’s not for me, but if it’s in moderation and it doesn’t impact your recovery between games, then I think you can get away with having the odd beer.

  The lads were a few pints deep when the insults started to fly. Campsy had to weather a few verbal blows about the two spot kicks he gave away. ‘Don’t trip him up mate,’ said one of the lads when someone walked past him. Our centre-back Harrison McGahey also took a hammering from Keith. Harrison is a good young defender and the gaffer loves him, but he gets it in the neck every single day in training because he used to play in the same position and knows how much potential he’s got. Harrison was like a young bull and tried to give a bit back but it was water off a duck’s back for Keith. ‘I don’t care what you say, I’m going to keep hammering you on Tuesday and Wednesday and the day after until the penny drops,’ he said.

  It was 2am by the time I rolled into bed. It was a cracking night and when we all arrived at training on Tuesday morning, there was a real buzz around the place. Keith’s plan had worked a treat. Somehow he’d turned an unhappy dressing room into a united one, ready for a final push for survival. We weren’t going down without a fight. The gaffer decided to reveal his squad for the game several days early, so we could all prepare mentally. I was gutted to find out I was on the bench. There’s nothing more frustrating than watching on and not being able to make an impact. I consoled myself with the thought that I still shouldn’t have been anywhere near a football pitch, just being involved was a success in itself.

  Our final day fixture pitted us against Charlton, who were flying high in the play-off places, while Oldham were away at Northampton, who had already been relegated. On paper the odds were stacked against us but Sky still picked us as their live game. In a way it felt like we were being set up for failure. In my head, I could already see the images of us trudging off the pitch after a gallant but unsuccessful attempt at a great escape. We were determined to avoid it at all costs and had three of the best days of training we’d had that whole season. Keith told the lads who weren’t involved to train in a separate group and it helped to keep everyone focused. We couldn’t risk any negativity spilling over and affecting morale.

  I stuck to my usual routine in the build-up to the game. I don’t believe in changing things just because the stakes are higher. You need to be focused, but also relaxed, and routine helps to create that mindset. On Thursday, two days before the game, I picked Lula up from her gymnastics class. She loves singing along to music in the car and on that particular journey she was belting out the soundtrack from The Greatest Showman at the top of her voice. I’m not going to lie, it isn’t my sort of music, but on this occasion, there was a song, ‘This Is Me’, which caught my attention. It’s a rousing track about refusing to give up, celebrating your scars and bruises, and triumphing through adversity. I added it to my pre-match playlist in the hope it might provide a bit of inspiration in the hours leading up to the game.

  We were certainly going to need a showman or two if we were going to have any chance of pulling off a miracle. We were on TV, but I had no concerns that we’d suffer from stage fright, because we’d produced the best performance of our season against Tottenham in front of the BBC cameras. Some Football League players shrink when they’re on Sky but our lads are never scared. Instead, they use it as an opportunity to show how good they are. I know I enjoy being in the spotlight because that’s what you dream of when you’re a kid, but there is an added pressure. You can play ten good games and then make one mistake on TV and people will make a split-second judgement about your ability. Even worse, your mates will give you stick about it for weeks.

  I woke up early on Saturday morning to a sweltering hot day, as it always is on the last game of the season. Chantelle was flying to Dubai for a hair and beauty exhibition, so I had to get Lula dressed into her Rochdale shirt and then take her to my mum’s house before they both headed to the game together. Chantelle was gutted to miss it. Normally she’s in the stands for all my big matches, but she’d at least be able to watch it in the departure lounge at the airport.

  It was a 5:30pm kick-off, so I got to the ground a couple of hours beforehand to start my preparations. The tunnel was busier than normal, with the TV crew setting up their equipment. There was a cameraman waiting outside the dressing room as I entered, which was a little reminder that we were under the microscope. I could feel the extra scrutiny when we were doing our pre-match warm-up, but I’m not one to get too serious and start playing up to it because it’s just a drain on your reserves of energy. If I started posing and shouting at people to gee them up I don’t think it would come across as authentic anyway and the lads would soon call me out for it.

  Charlton are a very good side, but they made several changes, which gave us a lift. One of my mates from my Manchester United days, Nicky Ajose, had been rested, along with their big striker, Josh McGuinness, which meant they didn’t carry their usual goal threat. They were in sixth place, three points ahead of Plymouth, meaning there would need to be a seven-goal swing to deny them a play-off place. Keith went for a 3-4-1-2 formation, which meant that if I entered the fray at any point, I’d probably come on in a wing-back or central midfield position.

  Ten months of football had boiled down to 90 minutes. Over 5,000 fans had turned out, which was considerably more than we’d attracted for most of our home games, and a great turnout considering where we were in the table. I could sense the anxiety in the stands; everyone knew we’d face an uncertain future if we dropped into League Two. The referee blew his whistle, a
nd the game started like a boxing match, with both sides throwing a few jabs, feeling each other out, and conserving energy in the heat.

  I kept glancing up to my mum in the stands to try and find out the Oldham score. News filtered through that they’d gone 1-0 up early on, which would send us down. We couldn’t allow ourselves to be distracted by what was going on in that game, though, we had to run our own race. Just before the break, Ian Henderson struck the post from close range as we edged the opening 45 minutes. It was a big chance, but we were boosted by the news Northampton had scored twice in a matter of minutes. If the scoreline stayed the same and we could find a winner, we would survive.

  At the break, Keith told me and Steve Davies to warm up on the pitch. He wanted us primed and ready to come on at a moment’s notice if he decided he needed more ammunition. We started the second half on the front foot and another ex-United team-mate of mine, Ben Amos, pulled off a brilliant save to deny Ryan Delaney’s header. Charlton had a couple of efforts from distance but we were in control and just needed to find the cutting edge in the final third that we’d been missing for most of the season. With 67 minutes gone, Keith gave me and Steve the signal to get changed. My heart rate quickened a little bit. I was buzzing to get the chance to make an impact. There was a roar as we ran on to the pitch. Oldham had equalised, so we needed a goal or else we were down.

  The crowd cheered every ball that went into the box and appealed even the slightest hint of a foul in the hope of getting a penalty. Two minutes after I came on, Joe Rafferty launched another cross into the box. Their centre-back headed it clear, sending Hendo crashing to the floor. Our fans went mental but the referee was having none of it, and Calvin Andrew headed the loose ball into my path. I had a quick scan around me and knew if my first touch was good, I could get a shot off on goal. As the ball came down, I shifted it from my right foot, on to my left. There was a sea of bodies in front of me, but there was just enough room for me to have a crack at goal. I got my head down and hit it as low and hard as possible with my left foot, towards the bottom right-hand corner.

  There was a brief silence and then the net bulged. The stadium erupted. What happened next is a blur. I sprinted towards the corner flag to celebrate and chaos ensued all around me. Fans charged down the stairs and the whole squad ran over to join in the mayhem. My instinct was to rip my shirt off and jump into the stands but I knew I might get booked, which was the last thing I wanted with 20 minutes left.

  In my head, a highlights reel of the last 12 months started to play. The bag of bones hooked up to a chemotherapy machine. The shivering wreck in the corner of the isolation room. The hours spent bent over a bowl being sick. The pain of my first run on the treadmill, which had nearly reduced me to tears. Training in the rain on my own with Kev and wondering if I’d ever make it back. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. This was me.

  The game restarted and Keith barked instructions from the touchline. There were still 20 minutes remaining, but I was convinced we were staying up. It was fate. I wasn’t nervous anymore, they could throw whatever they wanted at us but the script was written. In the stands, I could see everyone checking their phones. Charlton started to pump the ball into the box but we weathered a late storm and the final whistle blew. Full-time: Rochdale 1-0 Charlton. Fans started running on to the pitch, but we told them to calm down and wait, because the Oldham game still hadn’t finished, which meant we faced an agonising seven-minute wait.

  We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. I grabbed Lula and put her on my shoulders so she could share the moment with me. Sky grabbed me and gave me their Man of the Match award, but my mouth was dry and I could barely string a sentence together. I headed into the tunnel and watched the final minutes of the game on a screen with a few of the lads. Keith sat in his office in complete darkness with his eyes closed. The seconds ticked by before the final whistle blew at last. Final score: Northampton 2-2 Oldham. We were staying up!

  I ran to the dressing room and stuffed my shirt in my bag so I could get it framed, before joining the rest of the lads in the centre circle. Five thousand fans ran on to the pitch to celebrate and chanted, ‘We are staying up, say we are staying up!’ There were flares going off and all the supporters wanted to take selfies. In my head, I pressed pause for a minute and had a look around to take it all in. If you don’t stop and take a mental picture then your memories can become a bit distorted. The moment was lost on Lula – all she wanted was to have a kickabout on the pitch with her two friends, Sebastian and Rachel, and found it all a bit weird that thousands of people were chanting daddy’s name. She had to be patient; the party wasn’t going to end any time soon.

  I wouldn’t normally celebrate surviving relegation, but this was different. The drama of the occasion and my goal was incredible. It was the best feeling I’ve ever had on a football pitch. It wasn’t the best goal I’ve ever scored, but it was definitely the most important. I’m an ok finisher, but it’s something I work on a lot with our coach, Tony Ellis. He’s a born and bred Manchester man and was a prolific striker for Preston, Blackpool and a host of other clubs in the early 1990s. In training, he always wears his favourite pair of black Copa Mundials and his shooting is still lethal. Our finishing sessions are always at the end of training so we can practise under fatigue, and his advice is always the same, ‘Low and hard, Joe, keep it low and hard.’ If I hit the ball even six inches off the floor he’ll pull me up for it.

  After the chaos had calmed down a bit, I walked down the tunnel, and Tony was stood there. ‘What did I tell you, Joe? Low and hard, keep it low and hard,’ he said. We both burst out laughing. I’m just glad he didn’t give up on me because all that practice paid off in the end. Stood nearby was Ben Amos, who congratulated me. It was surreal that I’d scored past him, having played in the same team as him for so many years at United. Football has a funny habit of throwing up these crazy moments of coincidence.

  My overwhelming emotion was contentment. I owed the club big time for standing by me and paying my wages while I was ill and my team-mates for their constant support. That goal was a big chunk of my repayment to everyone from the chairman to our kitman, Jack. As I’ve said before, Keith isn’t one to give me much praise, and he didn’t say anything to me one-on-one after the game, but he did a few interviews saying how happy he was for me and that I deserved that moment after everything I’d been through. He knows how important my goal was for the club. Financially it was a lifesaver and, although I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have been sacked had we gone down, it could have saved his job.

  A couple of hours later, I dropped mum and Lula off at home. She wanted to sleep with my Sky Man of the Match trophy, which is something I always did with my cross country and football medals as a kid. I was so happy she was proud of her dad.

  The celebrations continued long into the night. People were queuing up to buy me a drink but I stuck to pineapple juice. The lads couldn’t believe I wasn’t having a few beers but there was no chance I was touching a drop.

  It was the early hours of the morning by the time I got home. I checked my phone for the first time and was swamped with WhatsApp and Twitter messages. It was amazing to see how my story had transcended football. There were strangers suffering from all sorts of illnesses telling me how my story had inspired them. I watched the goal back on my phone in bed and couldn’t believe how fast everything had happened. There were so many thoughts going through my head as I brought the ball down and fired it into the bottom corner, but you wouldn’t know it. It was a very technical goal that I wouldn’t have been able to score a few months earlier because it took so long for me to get my touch back. It was only at the end of the season that everything felt fluid and automatic again, which meant I could produce that touch and finish.

  In the days that followed, I did countless interviews and was stunned that my story was even covered in America. I’d had a lot of media attention both times I’d been diagnosed with cancer, so it was nice to talk about what
I’d done on the pitch for once. I also had a chat over the phone with my psychologist, Martin Robert Hall. He recalled my premonition when I was 22. My vision was that I’d score a winning goal in a blue kit and white Nike Vapors then carry a little boy on my shoulders after the game. Although it was a little girl sat on me and I was wearing a black pair of the same boots, it was scarily close to the reality of that final day. ‘Believe in something and hold on to it,’ he said. ‘It might not have happened on the biggest stage, but you did what you always thought you would do.’

  He was right; I had achieved my dream. It wasn’t a title-winning goal for Manchester United at Old Trafford, in front of 80,000 people, but I’d saved my club in front of my people. Some top players go their whole careers without ever experiencing a moment like that. I realised this was how it was meant to be all along. My tough childhood in Bath, the pain of being released by United, surviving cancer twice; all of that adversity had given me the resilience to never give up. Had I not been through those setbacks, I may never have made my comeback and been stood on the edge of the box to score that winning goal. My football story had its fairytale ending but before I rode off into the sunset I needed to pay someone a visit.

  Chapter 19

  The visit

  THE prison loomed large on the horizon, like a single dark cloud on a bright summer’s day. It was surrounded by barbed wire fences and high walls as grey as a winter sky. Inside, hundreds of men were serving time for committing some appalling crimes. Among them was my father, who had been banged up for three years after being caught selling Class A drugs to an undercover police officer. It’s a crime he still denies.