by Gordon Banks
Sportsmanship was still very much in evidence in football at this time. The game was very physical, but I cannot recall an instance in any match in which I was involved, where a player took a dive or overreacted to a tackle with a view to getting an opponent in trouble with a referee. It is a commonly held view that the game has always had little place for sentiment. That is not to say sentiment did not exist. During this season Manchester United suffered two heavy defeats against Sheffield Wednesday. In March United lost 5–1 in a First Division fixture at Hillsborough. That day Dave Gaskell was in goal, but their 5–1 defeat was a marginal improvement on their previous encounter. In the fourth round of the FA Cup, once again at Hillsborough, both United’s goalkeepers – Harry Gregg and his understudy Dave Gaskell – were unavailable through injury. As the players’ loan system was not in operation in 1961, United manager Matt Busby had no choice but to call upon his youth-team goalkeeper, Ronnie Briggs. Briggs let neither his manager nor his team mates down in United’s first encounter with Wednesday which ended in a 1–1 draw at Hillsborough. The replay, however, was a totally different story. This game turned out to be an Old Trafford baptism of fire for young Briggs, Sheffield Wednesday winning 7–2. Perhaps a combination of his own adrenalin, the fact Briggs received a late call-up and therefore had little time to become anxious, and an over-protective United defence at Hillsborough, helped Ronnie to acquit himself well in the original tie and concede just the one goal. In the replay I should imagine a degree of self-doubt possessed him and, given his inexperience, he began to worry about whether or not he could produce a similarly sound performance.
What fragile confidence young Briggs may have possessed must have been shot to pieces when conceding seven goals in front of United’s own supporters. Two days later, however, Ronnie Briggs received a letter at Old Trafford. It was written on 2 February 1961 by the Sheffield Wednesday manager Harry Catterick.
Dear Ronnie,
I felt that I must write to you to let you know how highly some of our players, and Ron Springett [Wednesday’s goalkeeper] in particular, rate you as a goalkeeper of the future. I should not like to feel that the fact we beat you 7–2 was in any way going to shake your confidence.
All the great goalkeepers have had days when they have been beaten several times, and, of course, being a goalkeeper, when they pass you they are in the back of the net.
You showed sufficient ability at Hillsborough in the first cup tie to convince me and many good judges of the game that you have a bright future. This game is full of ups and downs, and I feel it is part of its fascination to players, managers and spectators, but I am equally sure, Ronnie, that you are going to have far more ups than downs. In addition to which, you are probably with one of the finest clubs in the British Isles and in the very capable hands of Mr Busby and Jimmy Murphy.
Kind regards,
Yours sincerely,
Harry Catterick
Bearing in mind what I previously said about opponents only offering compliments when they have beaten you, it would be crass simply to think this was the case regarding Harry Catterick and his letter. On the contrary, it was a tremendous gesture on his part and I genuinely believe him to have been sincere in his words. Ronnie Briggs was just a teenager and in writing the letter, I think Catterick was hoping his words would lift a young lad whose spirit and confidence must have been laid really low. In short, what Harry Catterick did not want, was the experience Briggs had suffered at the hands of his own players to have a detrimental effect on his career in the game.
Unfortunately, Ronnie Briggs did not go on to make a name for himself at United, nor in the game in general. Perhaps the shattering experience of conceding seven goals at Old Trafford at such a tender age had something to do with that, though my guess would be that it was simply a case of early potential not being realized. Whatever, I hope he kept that letter from Harry Catterick as a constant reminder to him that the 7–2 scoreline was not solely a reflection on his ability as a young keeper. I have been able to quote Catterick’s letter verbatim thanks to a friend who owns a copy – the very fact that a copy exists suggests that Ronnie did, in time, come to derive pride from the letter he received. I would certainly like to think so.
No place for sentiment in football? In 2002, following the death of Glenn Hoddle’s father, Derek, a minute’s silence was held prior to Tottenham Hotspur’s home game against Sunderland. The attendance for that game was 36,062 and the minute’s silence was respectfully and flawlessly observed by everyone present that day, including 4,500 Sunderland fans. So appreciative was Hoddle, that he wrote a letter to Sunderland Supporters Association conveying his gratitude for the respect shown in his bereavement.
Hoddle’s letter was written in response to very different circumstances from the one penned by Harry Catterick all those years ago. But I make mention of both simply to illustrate that, in certain circumstances, sentiment does play a part in football. It did in 1961 and still does today.
In the week during which Leicester City were preparing for the FA Cup final against Tottenham Hotspur, however, we were to witness behaviour in which not only was sentiment cast aside, but common sense was inexplicably defied. Matt Gillies was to make a decision that made Leicester City headline news in just about every national newspaper. Two days before the final he dropped the player who was our best hope of winning it.
During our last training session before setting off for London the next day, I was doing some ball work with Frank McLintock, Jimmy Walsh, Howard Riley and Ken Leek, when Matt Gillies called Ken over for what I assumed would be a chat about his role against Spurs. After three or four minutes we could see Ken standing head bowed, hands on hips, his shoulders slowly rocking to and fro. Gillies, his back turned to us, was making his way back to the changing rooms. Aware something was amiss, Frank, Jimmy, Howard and I made our way over to Ken. On arriving at his side, Ken looked up and I was astonished to see that he was crying.
‘What’s up?’ I asked.
‘He’s not playing me. He’s dropped me for the final.’
Were it not for his tears, I would have thought Ken was having us on. Ken had scored in every round of the FA Cup and since taking over as centre forward from Derek Hines in September, had scored eighteen goals in the league, a tally second only to that of Jimmy Walsh. To say he was important to the team would be an understatement.
He was inconsolable. Eventually he explained how Matt Gillies had found out that he had gone to a pub the previous night for a couple of pints with some friends. Matt interpreted this as a gross breach of club discipline, a wholly unprofessional act in the week prior to the Cup final. Perhaps it was, but Ken’s punishment was severe in the extreme. His replacement was to be our reserve centre forward, 21-year-old Hugh McIlmoyle, a promising player but with only seven league games behind him.
I felt a mixture of shock and disbelief, as did the rest of my team mates. Ken Leek was the best centre forward we had at the club. Even at full strength, with everyone playing to the best of his ability, we knew Spurs would be very difficult opponents. Surely it was a case of Gillies using a guillotine to cure dandruff. Yes, Ken should have known better than to go out in public for a beer three nights before the FA Cup final. But the fact was, that when we didn’t have a mid-week match, a Wednesday was one of two nights in a week – the other being Saturday – when players were allowed out for a drink. I thought Matt should have shown some common sense in dealing with the matter. To drop a key member of the team before Leicester City’s most important game for years seemed absurd to me. I know his combative play and sharpness made him feared by the Spurs defenders. When we beat them at White Hart Lane, Ken scored one of our goals and won just about every ball against Maurice Norman, who was no mug. Yet this psychological advantage had been thrown away.
There are occasions when a player relishes playing against a certain opponent because, irrespective of the quality of that opponent, he always seems to get the better of him. This has much to do
with an individual’s style of play. Ken, for example, might find his style as a centre forward bore little fruit when up against, say, Tommy Cummings of Burnley. Though Maurice Norman was no less a defender than Cummings, Ken’s style came off to his benefit when faced with that of Norman. Psychology plays its part. When this happens a couple of times, the defender on the receiving end of a run around, starts to think that particular opponent has the Indian sign on him. The defender gets it into his head that no matter how hard he tries, he will never get the better of this particular centre forward. Conversely, such a situation can also work in favour of the defender.
I am sure this ‘mind game’ was the case with regard to Ken and Maurice Norman. Yet Matt Gillies chose to ignore what I and other Leicester players perceived to be something that would be to our advantage in the final against Spurs.
Football has much to do with fitness, both physically and mentally. Ken’s controversial omission from the side – there is no other way to describe it – did not make us any less committed. Nor did it lessen our motivation or our belief that we could beat Spurs and lift the trophy. Subconsciously, however, it must have had an effect on every player. In the build-up to an important game, and an FA Cup final was seen as being the most important game in the domestic calendar, a team must be totally focused. The last thing you want is for the boat to be rocked. In dropping Ken Leek, Matt Gillies had, however unwittingly, blurred our focus and though he had not exactly sabotaged our chances, had certainly disrupted what should have been a tranquil build-up to the final.
It must be said that not one member of the team had anything against Hugh McIlmoyle. Hugh was popular among the Leicester players and, even at twenty-one, no mean player. But Hugh had just seven league matches under his belt. It appeared sheer folly on the part of Matt Gillies to pitch the relatively inexperienced Hugh McIlmoyle into the FA Cup final. The players had no say in the matter. Matt Gillies’ word was law. We just hoped Hugh would acquit himself well on the day and that we would not miss Ken Leek’s experience and guile as a centre forward too much.
In punishing Ken, Matt was in many ways punishing the team. Standing on a matter of principle is all well and good, but I believe it was a case of Matt Gillies cutting off his nose to spite his face. It wasn’t as if Ken Leek had been involved in some Bacchanalian revel until the early hours of the morning. He’d had a couple of pints and, according to Ken, was at home and in bed by eleven – hardly the sort of night out that would impair his performance in the final. Matt Gillies should have given Ken a good ticking off, reminded him of his responsibilities and perhaps, after the final, imposed a fine. That would have been punishment enough and Matt would not have compromised his position and authority as manager. In dropping Ken from the team, Matt Gillies, to my mind, did a lot of harm to our chances of lifting the cup.
Not all players are consummate athletes, one or two have habits out of keeping with our profession, such as drinking and smoking. But if those habits do not impair personal performance or harm the team in any way, as long as they are indulged in moderation, many managers turn a blind eye to them. John Robertson, a key member of Nottingham Forest’s League Championship side of 1978 and their European Cup-winning teams of 1979 and 1980, had personal habits not wholly approved of by Forest manager Brian Clough: a very casual dress sense, for instance, and his liking for fags. But Cloughie turned a blind eye to both because neither affected Robertson’s performances and contribution to the Forest team. As Cloughie said, ‘He thinks I don’t know he has a crafty fag when we break off from training. He turns up at the ground in loafers, unshaven and looking like a tramp, but he’s the best bloody crosser of a ball in Europe. When John sets off down the left wing, I know he’s going to beat his man then float that ball to the far post and on to the head of Trevor Francis or Gary Birtles. That’s why I say nowt!’
Don Mackay, manager of Blackburn Rovers between 1987 and 1991, took Rovers to three First Division play-offs in the days before the club benefited from the munificence of Jack Walker. Blackburn’s centre forward at that time was Simon Garner, a player not only given to smoking but one who also liked a beer. It was rumoured that, even at home, Garner would drink at least three or four cans of beer a night. Don Mackay, being the good manager he is, was well aware of Garner’s liking of cigarettes and beer but let it ride. When asked by a club official why he never brought Garner to task about his smoking and drinking habits, Don said, ‘Because he’s a twenty-plus goals a season player. Have you any idea how hard it is to find that sort of player these days?’
Brian Clough and Don Mackay were right to adopt a laissez-faire attitude to their players. John Robertson was one of the best, if not the best, wide player in Europe at the time. He created countless goals for Forest. Who can forget the cross he made for Trevor Francis against Malmo in 1979 that won the European Cup for Forest? As for Simon Garner, his 168 goals for Blackburn Rovers remains a club record.
Beer and certainly cigarettes don’t help a player where athleticism is concerned, but in certain cases, such as that of Robertson and Garner, they certainly didn’t seem to do any harm. Some players never touch alcohol or cigarettes at all and in their preparation for a game like to be tucked up in bed by 9 p.m. However, there are some individuals whose idea of pre-match preparation is a couple of tins of beer in the privacy of their own home. Brian Clough and Don Mackay obviously understood this. For either manager to have laid down the law in an attempt to restrict Robertson or Garner from pursuing their normal lifestyle would in all probability have caused disciplinary problems, which so often lead in turn to a player underperforming on the pitch.
Every player is different. The majority of players find it benefits them to observe a very careful and specific diet and to get to bed early. But there are exceptions. So long as having a beer, a cigarette or a takeaway is done in moderation and such indulgence never impairs personal performance, or gives a poor example to younger, impressionable players, most managers will tolerate it. Players with ‘unhealthy’ personal habits are not the norm in football. They weren’t in the late seventies and eighties and they are even rarer in the football of today. But such personal idiosyncrasies of lifestyle must be weighed against what a player contributes to the team on the pitch. Without doubt the contributions of Robertson and Garner to their respective teams were huge. So too was Ken Leek’s to Leicester City. So why Matt Gillies reacted in such a heavy-handed way to a couple of beers, and left Ken out of our Cup final team, I still find baffling. Still, we couldn’t change things now. At last we had to turn our eyes to the famous Twin Towers and go and win the Cup for Leicester.
6. The Wembley Hoodoo?
To play in an FA Cup Final is the pinnacle of a player’s career. It was certainly my greatest moment at that time. I was twenty-three, had been at Leicester for only two seasons and couldn’t believe the good fortune that had befallen me. From Chesterfield reserves to the final of the oldest cup competition in the world in three years.
For such an important game, everything is planned to the last detail. Before setting off for Wembley each player received a meticulous itinerary from club secretary Charles Maley detailing to the minute what time the players had to meet at Filbert Street, the time the coach left the ground for Leicester station and its arrival there. It even stated what time we would be served sandwiches on the train and what the sandwich fillings would be! Everything was planned to a rigorous timetable right up until our arrival on Saturday at Wembley.
Maley’s plans took us up until 1 p.m. when the Football Association’s player’s itinerary known as the ‘Programme of Arrangements’ took over. This very grand-looking little booklet bears the FA’s three lions crest and proudly proclaims that the final will take place in the presence of the Patron of the Football Association, Her Majesty the Queen. Inside everything is clearly set out for players and match officials: which team had which dressing room (Spurs had the North, Leicester the South); how and when we had to leave the dressing room; what w
e had to do once out on the pitch; what to say and what not to say if addressed by a royal personage. It was all in there. Even the protocol for ascending to the royal box for the presentations is described, with this surreal advice: ‘Players and Officials going to the Royal Box are warned to be careful. Do not under any circumstances step back and over-balance on the balcony.’ So everything, even not falling off the balcony, is planned to the last detail. (I doubt whether, on the day, we players gave the ‘Programme of Arrangements’ and the contents therein more than a cursory glance, relying instead on the punctilious Mr Maley to keep us right.) It’s a pity that the game itself couldn’t have been organized as rigorously, for it took only fifteen minutes for our schemes to go awry.
For people of a certain age, the Spurs team of that day runs off the tongue like a litany: Brown; Baker, Henry; Blanch-flower, Norman, Mackay; Jones, White, Smith, Allen, Dyson. We lined up alongside them in readiness to be presented to the Duke of Edinburgh: Gordon Banks; Len Chalmers, Richie Norman; Frank McLintock, Ian King, Colin Appleton; Howard Riley, Jimmy Walsh, Hugh McIlmoyle, Ken Keyworth, Albert Cheesebrough.
Both teams caused a minor sensation by breaking with tradition in wearing tracksuits when taking to the pitch. Ours were pale blue with the club crest, a fox’s head, stitched on to the left breast; Tottenham’s were white zip-front tracksuit tops, with emblazoned on the back the single word, ‘Spurs’.
I remember glancing around the stadium and being impressed by the sheer number of Leicester City fans present, especially in view of the fact that while our average home attendance was over 30,000, Spurs regularly drew crowds in excess of 50,000 to White Hart Lane. Two and a half million people had watched Tottenham home and away in their league and cup games, to this day the greatest number of spectators to watch a team in a single season in the history of British football. Yet each club received a ticket allocation of just 18,000, out of a total of 100,000. It was to the City supporters’ credit then that thousands more had managed to track down tickets from whatever source – probably, in the main, from spivs (the term we used for ticket touts in those days) at vastly inflated prices. Each player had received twelve complimentary tickets for family and friends, of whom a Cup finalist suddenly has more than he ever realized!