by Lee Howey
‘Are you sure?’ I asked him. He was. I don’t recall going outside, but Martin assures me that we did. The deed was done, after which he may or may not have been upside down. At this stage we drew upon our critically low supplies of common sense, checked his pulse, chucked a bit of water on him then went to bed. I had smacked him on the chin, but had done so without malice – more in a spirit of comradeship. I was always an eager contributor to team bonding.
• • •
Upon promotion in April, Bob Murray made himself chairman again. As he had always been the majority shareholder anyway, this made little difference. He made a few quid available for Peter Reid to spend, but was characteristically cautious.
Tony Coton, a great and experienced goalkeeper then aged thirty-five, arrived for £600,000 from Manchester United (where he had been since January as a replacement for Kevin Pilkington, but had never played). He had played for Reidy at Manchester City and was well known and respected. He was immediately installed as our first choice keeper. TC had also been part of the renowned team of hard-nuts at Birmingham City in the 1980s. He was a fine pro with a good line in dry humour and some great stories. I liked him, but we weren’t close. His seniority meant that he was something in between the coaching staff and the players. He was already friends with Paul Stewart and they would regularly converse about various businesses they owned and how the markets were developing. I would earwig these conversations and concluded that they truly inhabited a different planet to me; chuffed to instalments with my £500 per week over the past three years.
My social clique with other players was mainly comprised of the other lads who had won promotion. But Alex Rae was signed early from Millwall and immediately became part of our merry band, which was not necessarily a good thing.
He was a tremendous, tough midfielder and cost Sunderland £1,001,000. The odd thousand quid in that figure was because he played in a friendly at Whitley Bay when a suspension carried over from Millwall had been overlooked. He was also an accomplished spitter. Being next to him in the dugout was like sitting beside a small Glaswegian fountain. Spit, spit, spit. It was his tic. These days, the Opta Stats could furnish us with details of volume, consistency and accuracy.
We have established that my cohorts and I enjoyed a drink. Alex took it to another level and I suppose he is representative of the darker side of football’s booze culture of the time. He kept it quite quiet for a while, but a couple of years later he was in rehab. However, Alex is a remarkable bloke. He came off alcohol and has stayed clear of it for many years now. In 2007 he formed the Second Chance project in Glasgow, which does tremendous work in taking people off drink and drugs.
Our new second choice goalkeeper, Lionel Pérez, was a Frenchman. Despite this, he was another top lad. He signed from Bordeaux for £200,000 as cover for Tony. Soon after his arrival we persuaded him to join us in a quaint old English custom in Aidy Marshall’s pub in Seaham, The Phoenix.
This custom, which you may have heard of, is known as ‘Going for Sunday dinner then spending the rest of the day getting completely blootered’. Lionel soon entered into the spirit of things. By about 9 p.m. he was hugging everyone and declaring: ‘I love English customs.’
There was one thing that put people off Lionel and oddly it wasn’t his extreme Frenchness. It was his smoking. Today it is more likely that a footballer will use cocaine than tobacco, but it was a rarity in the mid-1990s too. No one wanted to room with him because of this, so we decided that he should share with the ever-popular Dariusz Kubicki when we were away from home, and everyone was happy with the arrangement: except for Dariusz, who would be on the verge of tears. Richard Ord derived momentous pleasure from this.
But there was no doubt about the most significant recruit of that summer. It came just two days before the start of the season.
Niall Quinn cost Sunderland £1.3 million from Manchester City, a then-club record buy. Aside from being a magnificent centre-forward, Niall was one of the greatest and most important signings in the history of the club. I had watched him play against Sunderland and always been impressed. On the final day of the 1990–91 season, he scored twice in a 3–2 win for City at Maine Road that sent Sunderland down. I said impressed, not pleased.
For all his glories, Niall Quinn was not to have a successful first season at Sunderland, to the point where at the end of it he felt he owed something to Peter Reid and the fans. He owes nothing now. What he went on to achieve for Sunderland AFC, as a player and then chairman, is unparalleled.
Niall remains a friend of mine. If anyone has an assumption of him as this genial, approachable and highly likeable bloke, then they are completely correct. There is no way to avoid the adjective – he’s very nice. He always sees the positive side to a situation, makes time for people and is intelligent, articulate, humorous, garrulous and a gifted raconteur. He is typically Irish in that he has more stories than the Old Testament. Pick a subject and Niall has a tale to tell.
His generosity is famous. This was seen in 2007 when he paid for taxis for Sunderland fans from Cardiff to Wearside after a vindictive air stewardess had them ejected from a plane home for no particular reason. In 2002, he effectively ended the practice of already wealthy footballers bagging testimonial money that they didn’t need when he donated all the cash from his own testimonial to two children’s hospitals. The Niall Quinn Children’s Centre stands within the grounds of the Sunderland Royal Hospital on Kayll Road in the city.
It makes you sick.
However, he isn’t a complete saint. The man is an extraordinary drinker. He doesn’t just have hollow legs – he also appears to be leaking at the toes. At Sunderland in 1996, this was considered an asset and he fitted in immediately.
Our spending, perhaps hampered by the ten-year mortgage that the club had taken out to build the Stadium of Light where construction had just begun, was modest. Newcastle had recently broken the world record with the £15 million they spent on Alan Shearer. But we weren’t going into the top division with no other ambition than to stay in it. We believed we could do something. If we could subsequently start a second season in the Premier League in what would be the best ground in England, the club could really stride forward. The likes of Niall Quinn, Tony Coton and Alex Rae could be the foundation for this. I was delighted, even if the arrival of Niall in particular meant I had no chance of starting another game up front.
• • •
It was during the close season that we were told about plans for Premier Passions, the five-part documentary that chronicled our 1996–97 season. It was narrated by the actress Gina McKee, a Sunderland fan. But it’s probably best remembered for the pyrotechnic swearing of Peter Reid when he wasn’t happy. I can confirm that nothing was contrived, scripted or carried out for the benefit of the camera on that programme. What the viewer saw was exactly how it was, with or without a film crew.
I wasn’t wholly comfortable with the idea of a camera being thrust at me when I least expected it, but we became friendly with the crew and after a while we forgot they were filming. Not for nothing are they called fly-on-the-wall documentaries. Occasionally we might have a quiet word about things we would prefer them not to broadcast – elbows on the table, split infinitives, cheating at chess, returning library books late; that sort of thing – and they were most obliging. The only time I was miked up and asked questions for a considered response was before we played Newcastle, and they wanted to ask me about Steven.
The man behind Premier Passions, Stephen Lambert, went on to create Gogglebox, Faking It, Wife Swap, The Secret Millionaire and Undercover Boss. These programmes are made internationally and the man must be loaded now. Surely he owes me a drink for starting him off.
• • •
We were given our squad numbers for the Premier League. Mine was fourteen (one-four, the first of the fourth, my birthday). I would not even sit on the bench for the opening few fixtures, the first of which was at home to Leicester City on Saturday 17 August 1996.
In truth, having this as the first match was probably disappointing to both clubs, who would have preferred to play Manchester United or Liverpool. Leicester were nothing new, as they had been promoted alongside us after Steve Claridge’s wonder goal beat Crystal Palace in the play-off final. Derby County had taken the other automatic place.
The Filbert Street spitter was around that day and still refusing to admit what he’d done; or ‘talking shit’ as other authorities would have it. I was more concerned with the fact that I wouldn’t be on the pitch. It was another 0–0 draw. Kasey Keller made a great save from Aggers. Niall Quinn made his debut from the bench and had one disallowed for a push. Still, it was a point on the board. Later there was the added novelty of featuring on Match of the Day. We were shown before Manchester United’s win at Wimbledon, with the celebrated Beckham goal from his own half.
In Sunderland’s first ever game in the Premier League (at that time called the Carling Premiership) Kevin Ball was booked in the second half, if you can imagine such a thing. However, the honour of our first ever yellow card in that hallowed division was awarded to Steve Agnew. I would wager that Bally remains irritated by this.
I travelled with the squad to the game four days later against Nottingham Forest at the City Ground. Since promotion we had improved the squad and it was clearly going to be even harder for me to make the team, or even the bench. In a way it was even more disappointing not to even be named as a substitute, because there were five subs in the top flight compared to three in Division One. Bobby Saxton spoke to me before the game to explain that I was still a valued player and could consider myself unfortunate. As consolation I was told that, even without playing, I would qualify for a win bonus of £600. I think it was £400 for a draw – draws being far more valuable in this league in every respect. I appreciated this fiscal pat on the back. It wasn’t about money, but I reminded myself that I was being well remunerated to watch the team I’d always supported. Life remained tip-top.
Anyway I soon forgot my little personal frustration as we had effectively won the game by half-time. At the risk of annoying those who, very reasonably, point out that football existed long before 1992, Sunderland’s first ever Premier League goal was scored in the eighth minute by Micky Gray, a Sunderland supporter (he scored four goals that season and all were high profile), belted in past Mark Crossley from about twenty-five yards and a very good strike. Niall, making his first Sunderland start, scored a fluke when the ball bounced against his knee then into the net following Kevin Ball’s challenge on Crossley. Alf-Inge Håland retrieved one for Forest before Niall scored more typically with his head. An ecstatic Richard Ord headed another with two minutes of the half remaining to make it 4–1. There were no more goals. What a performance.
The next game was nearly as impressive. It was against Liverpool at Anfield and their imposing forward line of Fowler, Barnes, Collymore and McManaman. Whenever we played Liverpool, Kevin Ball would be tasked with marking Steve McManaman – a phenomenal footballer. Bally was very fit, but by the final whistle that day he was panting like a flabby old Labrador, tongue hanging out and barely able to trot. This was about as well as anyone ever did against McManaman and Bally’s efforts paid off. It ended goalless.
Then it was the big one; the one that everyone looked for when the fixture lists were printed in the summer: Newcastle United at home, Sunderland’s first derby in three-and-a-half-years.
Whether or not Peter Reid wanted to use me against Newcastle was an academic point. I was injured with some niggle or other. Steven was playing for Newcastle and we had some good-natured words before the game, along the lines of me hoping he got battered in every respect. We avoided the subject of the housing market.
Newcastle began the brighter, but we grew into it and Robbie Elliott fetched down Aggers for a penalty that Martin Scott scored at the Fulwell End. We deservedly led at half-time. But Newcastle had finished runners-up the previous season and would do so again in this one having spent very heavily in recent years. There was no denying their quality. They won 2–1 with goals from Peter Beardsley and Les Ferdinand. The rest of their line-up included Shearer, Lee and Ginola. It’s always galling to lose to that lot, but we were clear underdogs and hadn’t disgraced ourselves.
I didn’t play in the following game either, but at least I was on the bench for the first time that season. We played West Ham at Roker Park in the third goalless draw of our opening five matches. This was broadcast live on Sky, who must have regretted their decision as it was an incredibly dull game. I remember watching West Ham’s new striker Florin Răducioiu, recently signed with hopes as high as his salary, and predicting he would be a flop. He was. Still, one of only two goals he scored for the ’Ammers would be against Sunderland at the Boleyn Ground at Christmas, as was inevitable. Harry Redknapp had signed him from Espanyol on the strength of his performances for Romania in Euro ’96. This is rarely a good idea, and he soon returned to a giggling Espanyol.
As a point of historical interest, West Ham’s bench that day accommodated teenagers Rio Ferdinand and Frank Lampard, alongside Peter Shilton, who turned forty-seven that month.
• • •
On 10 April 1965, Sunderland outside-left George Mulhall set a post-war record of 124 consecutive appearances for the club in a draw at Everton. On 14 September 1996, Sunderland right-back Dariusz Kubicki would have equalled that record at Derby County – had he not been dropped by Peter Reid.
Reidy always maintained that he was unaware of the Mulhall record, a claim that was met with some scepticism by the fans. All I can say is that it was news to me too. But Dariusz, who wasn’t even named as a substitute, was well aware of the record and in considerable umbrage when I spoke to him about it. This was the most emotional I ever saw him. I was first aware of the situation when I saw Richard Ord’s schadenfreude on the bus home.
Ordy needed cheering up after that game. Referee and red card enthusiast David Elleray gave him a second yellow in the twenty-fourth minute for an innocuous push on Marco Gabbiadini. We defended stoically until the eighty-fourth minute when, just in front of me, Gareth Hall fouled Aljoša Asanović for a penalty. If you look at the footage you’ll see that without the foul I would have probably put the ball away for a corner, which made it even worse for Gareth. The spot-kick was converted by Asanović himself and the game ended 1–0.
The fans would never take Gareth to their hearts and this result was a major reason why. It was he who had replaced Dariusz to deny him the appearances record. Dariusz was a favourite on the terraces and the supporters were peeved about it. But they were considerably more put out when his replacement gave away the only goal of the game. Gareth was no one’s idea of an all-time great, but the acerbic slurs that came his way, even years later, were beyond disproportionate. Anyone who regards him as ‘one of the worst players… blah, blah, blah…’ can’t have seen much football.
As for Peter Reid’s involvement; whether or not he liked Dariusz personally is irrelevant, because he thought Gareth was a more appropriate selection for the game. Derby were another promoted side and it was a winnable fixture. It seems unlikely therefore that Peter would have deliberately weakened the team just to annoy someone. You may think that he did weaken the team, but it certainly wasn’t his intention. Dariusz had quality, but I can say as a central defender that the game could be made easier by Gareth for the simple reason that he was more vocal. You need to communicate on the pitch, but this could be difficult with Dariusz, from whom every word on and off the pitch had to be virtually excavated.
The game was another personal milestone for me. When I replaced Paul Bracewell in the second half it was my first appearance in the Premier League. It was also my first game at the Baseball Ground since the jelly-legged humiliation of three years earlier. I was put in defence to hang on to a point and although I was nervous, it was nothing like as bad. As a centre-back I knew that if I was strong, determined and brave then I would be OK.
So there was another
tick on the bucket list. I could go to my grave saying that I was a Premier League footballer. However, as we lost the game it didn’t resonate much with me. Perhaps I had a thought or two about it before I went to bed that night, but if I did I don’t remember. As somebody, somewhere says every day in the world of football: you move on. You have to. Derby was a bad day, especially for Richard, Dariusz and Gareth. But the next game is never far away.
It proved significant. We beat Coventry 1–0 at home thanks to a beautiful half-volley from Steve Agnew. Sadly that wasn’t what made it significant.
Niall Quinn would miss most of the season with the injury he picked up in the first half. He went to ground in agony after an inconsequential-looking challenge from behind by Liam Daish close to the Clock Stand, which was a section of Roker Park and not a section of Niall. It didn’t look like much, but he had mangled his cruciate. This was on 21 September. He wouldn’t be back until April. Bollocks. He had already made a huge difference and this was a serious setback for the club as a whole. A couple of months later he did his other cruciate in training.
Perhaps I don’t much remember my first Premier League appearance because it was against another promoted club in a ground I had played at previously. Badly. But my next game was something very special to me for two reasons. I would play the whole ninety minutes and it was against Arsenal at Highbury.
This was one of the great grounds, even if it was only ten years from demolition. Richard Ord was serving his one-match suspension and I travelled to London knowing that I was going to play, glowing inwardly at the prospect. I had actually played there previously, in the aforementioned Floodlit Cup match for Ipswich as a teenager; I scored too, in a 3–2 win. Obviously this was a much bigger occasion and I absorbed every moment of it, starting with the famous marble entrance and the bust of Herbert Chapman. Then it was a right turn to the capacious changing rooms, the communal bath, the single baths and everything else you might need. It was a very impressive, imposing place, even before considering its abundant history.