by Gordon Banks
We practised for ninety minutes every Sunday, week in week out, and it soon began to reap dividends for me. I found I was constantly adjusting my positioning when the opposition were on attack. Whenever an opposing forward was about to shoot, I knew at what angle and height the ball would come and could adjust my position accordingly. I began to anticipate shots on target, moving into position before an opponent actually struck the ball so that when he looked up, the point at which I was standing afforded him a restricted view of goal. Goalkeeping for me was no longer an art. It had become a science.
Of course, it was not exact science. I still conceded goals, but progressively fewer each season. In the five seasons from 1958–59 to 1962–63 Leicester conceded 98, 75, 70, 71, and 53 goals, respectively – and this was at a time when the emphasis was still on scoring goals with five-man forward lines, rather than conceding them. It would be unfair of me to take all the credit – we had a very good team and I had quality defenders in front of me – but I’d like to think I played my part in reducing our goals-against tally.
Throughout the early sixties Frank, Davie and I continued our Sunday morning routine and were occasionally joined by other Leicester players. These sessions were invaluable to my development and with each practice I delved deeper and deeper into goalkeeping. My job was about a lot more than shot-stopping, so I worked on taking crosses under pressure, and practised goal kicks and kicking out of my hands, picking out Frank or Davie at various points across the halfway line.
Having worked on position and angles, I next had to improve my reactions. I’d ask Frank and Davie to half-volley the ball at me from five yards, never telling me which side of the goal it was going. I spent countless hours improving my ability to stop shots from inside the penalty area and discovered that I had to position myself differently and make different types of saves according to exactly where in the area the ball had been struck.
To cope with a shot from the edge of the box I would take up a position a couple of feet inside my six-yard box and expect to hold on to the ball. For a shot from just inside the penalty area, I would move up to my six-yard line to produce a quick-reaction save. A shot from within an imaginary band running from one side of the penalty box to the other and through the penalty spot, required me to position myself just outside my six-yard box to execute a blocking save. Anywhere wide of the six-yard box required that I come out and dive at the feet of the opponent grabbing the ball and gathering into the safety of my midriff. It was all very complicated, but in time it became second nature.
I also spent a lot of time learning to read situations. I often gave the Leicester apprentices a few bob to stay behind with me on a weekday afternoon. I would set up two cones just wide enough apart to enable me to dive and make a save. These cones I would set up behind the touchline on the halfway line. That area was not strictly part of the pitch but the grass was always worn out because that was where the linesman ran up and down in the course of a game. I’d dive about in that area and no one at the club was aware I’d been training on the pitch because I left no tell-tale signs. If I had been in the goalmouth, Leicester officials would have noticed my stud marks on the rolled pitch straight away. Looking back it’s ridiculous to think I had to be so secretive about learning my trade as a goalkeeper, but that’s how it was. Players weren’t allowed on the pitch, except of course on match days.
I came to realize that a lot of goalkeepers, myself included, often stood on or near the goal line watching a situation develop to which they then had suddenly to react. Working after weekday training with the apprentices, I saw that I could learn to dictate to opposing forwards rather than have them dictate to me. For example, having instructed an apprentice to play the ball into the goal area for a team mate, I started to anticipate a cross or pass by adjusting my position quickly, causing the opponent to change his mind. With me off my line, having taken up a position on the edge of my six-yard box and in front of the intended receiver, the player feeding the ball into the area was forced to hit a much wider ball to another team mate in order for his side to retain possession. Even then I discovered that, being on or around my six-yard line, I was in the best position to come out and collect the ball.
These informal sessions with Leicester apprentices took place almost daily and over the years must have cost me a small fortune in tips. The best sessions took place on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons when as many as eight apprentices stayed to help me. All players were paid every Friday morning. Apprentices were paid only six quid a week and by Thursday they were skint.
When Matt Gillies appointed Bert Johnson as first-team coach, I asked Bert if I could have some sessions after normal training. Bert was all for it and soon had half a dozen or so of the first-team lads helping me out. One of the things we worked on was defending corners. Many First Division teams had just two options where corners were concerned: either hit the ball to the far post for a towering centre forward, or drive the ball to the near post where another forward hoped to glance the ball goalwards with his head, or, simply deflect the ball into the net.
The near-post ball always posed problems for goalkeepers because you had to make up ground quickly in order to put yourself between the opponent and the goal. More often than not, in dealing with the near-post corner, goalkeepers found themselves trying to prevent the opposing forward getting a decisive touch while approaching him from behind.
To minimize the danger of a corner driven in at the near post, I asked Bert for extra cover. For example, if the corner was taken from our right, I had right back, John Sjoberg on the near post and right half, Frank McLintock, goalside of the opponent. With my near-post area now adequately covered, I was free to concentrate on the remaining two-thirds of my goal and subsequently better positioned to deal with a long ball to the far post.
With a full back and a wing half covering my near post, I decided I didn’t need any other defenders in the six-yard box and two yards beyond it. That zone became a no-go area for Leicester players. I wasn’t bothered if two opponents wandered in unmarked, because it was my domain and I considered it was my responsibility and no one else’s to win the ball in there.
Bert immediately saw the advantage of this. Leaving opponents in or around our six-yard box at a corner left the likes of Richie Norman, Ian King and Colin Appleton free to pick up anyone running from deep, and Ken Keyworth or Mike Stringfellow available to receive a quick throw-out from me. Then they were away. In short, we found we had a numerical advantage when defending corners, hence Leicester City’s reputation as being masters of the counterattack.
We also worked on a procedure for coping with free kicks conceded in midfield. When a team concedes a free kick some forty or fifty yards from goal, it immediately places them under pressure, especially if the kick is to be taken from out on the flanks. Like most Premiership sides today, First Division teams in the sixties would willingly concede territory in midfield and fall back to defend on the edge of their penalty area. When winning a free kick some forty yards from my goal, opponents would invariably aim the kick towards their big target men who the Leicester defence had picked up and marked along the edge of my penalty area. Sometimes the likes of Ian King or Colin Appleton would win the ball in the air, sometimes not. When the ball was won by an opponent his best option was usually to knock the ball down to one of his team mates who would then try and fire in a shot.
Conceding a free kick enabled the opposition to dictate play to us. Should they retain possession of the ball and create a shooting opportunity for themselves, the onus was then on me to make the save. It occurred to me it would be much better for us if we were to cut down the chances of my being placed in that situation. Remember my philosophy: the mark of a good goalkeeper is how few saves he is called on to make.
I also discussed defending free kicks with Bert in some detail and we came up with a number of ways of minimizing the danger. One idea I had was very simple, but proved highly effective for a time. Whenever Leicester conced
ed a free kick some forty or fifty yards from goal, our defenders would position themselves on the edge of my penalty box as normal where they would jockey for position with their opposite numbers. I would watch the man taking the free kick like a hawk. Just as he was about to strike the free kick I would scream, ‘Now!’ Immediately they heard this, the Leicester back line would take to their toes and spring a yard or two upfield leaving the opposing attackers in an offside position. The pressure was off us, I was not called upon to make a save and, even though we had conceded a free kick in a dangerous position, we had dictated the play.
Today, all goalkeepers try and dictate situations to opponents. Back in the early sixties, however, this was seen by Bert Johnson as being revolutionary. He liked the idea and encouraged me to do it because he saw the advantages to us as a team. My constant practice, development of goalkeeping technique and specialized self-training helped me enormously. With every day that passed, I learned a little more.
I gave myself a heavy training workload, but I was always careful not to overdo it. I learned that rest was a very important aspect to my training programme; it was vital that my energy levels were at their optimum for the beginning of a match. Overtraining before a game can lead to both physical and mental fatigue in the pressurized environment of a match. Athletes have to tread a fine line between rigorous, beneficial training and too much work. After their pre-season sessions when all the really hard work is done, many footballers have a great start to their campaign. But a long hard programme of fixtures played on heavy pitches takes its toll; a number of players lose form towards the end of the season. I came to the conclusion that this is caused by physical and mental tiredness. Their pre-season training, and the sheer number of games they had played, had caught up with them.
I was determined that this wasn’t going to happen to me. I carefully planned my training to ensure I would have as much rest as possible. A day of intense training might be followed by a day of some light running and stretching, and some twisting and turning exercises to improve my agility. This would allow sufficient recovery time for the game on Saturday.
I paid particular attention to stretching exercises. I discovered the value of stretching slowly and gently so as not to induce muscle strain. I realized that my bottom was the part of my body that provided the initial explosive power for a sudden burst of speed and jumping and devised a series of exercises that would increase the power in this area. One such routine involved me sitting down with my legs out in front of me. I’d then bend one knee, pulling the leg closer to my body, then place the foot over my opposite thigh. I would then wrap my arms around the leg I had bent and pull it into my body as close as I could. When I felt the outside of my bottom stretching, I knew that was the time to stop. To complement this, I would also work on exercises that stretched my lower back and the muscles on the outside of my hips, the abductors. These exercises improved my speed off the mark and helped me gain height when jumping up to catch or punch a ball clear. Such exercises helped my continual improvement.
At no time did I consider myself to be anything special as a goalkeeper, but I did believe the role of a goalkeeper in a team to be special. That’s why I continually worked at my personal game. It was a journey of self-discovery. There were no books about goalkeeping technique, no specialist coaches and not everything I tried worked. It was, in the main, uncharted territory and there was an element of hit and miss about what I did. If an idea didn’t work, I simply ditched it and tried to think of something else.
When it comes to training and practice many players are simply content to work on the things they are good at. I did that, but I also spent much time working on what Iperceived to be the weaker aspects of my game. For a time I was never really comfortable when taking crosses from my left. I made myself confront my demons. I spent a lot of time practising taking crosses from the left wing and thinking about how my footwork, body positioning and handling technique could be bettered. I worked at my different techniques for punching the ball clear and which ones to use in any given situation. When I conceded goals, I spent Saturday night and most of Sunday trying to work out why.
I travelled around the midlands with my best pal Richie Norman in my old Ford van, watching as many midweek games as time would allow. I wanted to study the styles of as many other goalkeepers as I could and try to learn from them. I devised my own training schedules that were geared not only to improving my technique, but also to enhancing my agility, strength, reactions and focus. My improvement was constant, but I was never satisfied and kept working at my own game. It paid dividends. In 1963, Alf Ramsey selected me for the full England team.
It is widely believed that when Walter Winterbottom resigned as England manager in 1963, the FA immediately turned to the Ipswich manager, Alf Ramsey and that the rest is history of the most glorious kind. That wasn’t exactly how it went. The FA at first offered the England job to Jimmy Adamson, who had been Walter’s assistant during the 1962 World Cup finals in Chile. As coach and captain of Burnley, Jimmy was still playing and though he was a key member of Walter’s coaching staff at Lilleshall, he turned down the job as England manager as he wanted to carry on playing and saw his future not as a manager, but as a coach. (Jimmy did eventually turn his hand to management, with his beloved Burnley, Sunderland and Leeds United, but his strength was really his coaching.)
So the FA looked to their second-choice candidate, Alf Ramsey. In his time as a right back for England, Alf had seen at first hand the effects of team selection by committee. He was adamant that no official would wield such influence again and became the first England manager to have sole responsibility for team affairs.
For sixteen years Walter Winterbottom had diplomatically negotiated, rather than argued, with the selection committee over who should be included in the England team. During one such meeting five nominees were put forward for the position of goalkeeper. The list was reduced by the voting process until only two names remained, whereby one goalkeeper would be chosen by means of a simple majority vote. When Walter asked how many of the committee had actually seen the two remaining goalkeepers in action he was astonished to discover that the answer was none.
Prior to Alf Ramsey’s appointment, selection for the England team was not based purely on ability and form. Much to Walter’s frustration, quite often a player was awarded a cap in recognition of his services to the game or, as Walter once said, ‘because the committee thought him a decent and deserving chap’. For instance, in 1950 Arsenal’s Leslie Compton was selected to play against Wales because, as one of the selection committee said, ‘He’s a decent fellow, so let’s give him a chance.’
Walter was only too aware that the system needed to be changed. He used the Football League representative games as a means of honouring ‘the decent chaps’ so that he could press for the inclusion in the England team of players who deserved a cap on merit and form.
As the World Cup grew in status and importance in the fifties, Walter wanted to introduce a policy of developing a young England team that would play and mature together and peak within a four-year cycle. In 1959 he persuaded the England selection committee to pick a batch of young hopefuls for a game against Sweden at Wembley. Middlesbrough’s Brian Clough and Eddie Holliday, Tony Allen of Stoke City, Trevor Smith of Birmingham City and John Connelly of Burnley were added to a team that also included the youthful Jimmy Greaves and Bobby Charlton. Sweden won 3–2. England had lost only once before on home soil against foreign opposition, the first having been that watershed defeat at the hands of Hungary in 1953. Walter found himself back at square one as the selection committee objected to his policy of introducing youth and reverted to the old regime of panel picking.
When Alf Ramsey succeeded him, all was to change. The Ipswich Town directors had never interfered in the selection of the Ipswich team. Alf had sole control of team affairs at Portman Road, and he knew that if he was to make a success of his new role as manager of the national team, the dinosaur that
was the selection committee would have to go. The FA bowed to the inevitable and Alf took the job.
I was happy to be named the reserve goalkeeper when Alf selected the squad for his first game in charge, a European Nations Cup match against France. The Nations Cup was the forerunner of the European Championship and in 1962–63 took the form of two-legged knock-out ties ratherg than group games. Under Winterbottom England had drawn 1–1 against France at Hills-borough and when the return leg was played in Paris in February 1963, we still had high hopes of progressing past the first round of the tournament.
Alf introduced only one new cap for the game in Paris. Ron Henry of Spurs came in at left back and I once again found myself as second choice to Ron Springett of Sheffield Wednesday. The game turned out to be a nightmare for England, for Alf and for Ron Springett. France won by five goals to two to send England tumbling out of the tournament at the first time of asking and give Alf Ramsey much food for thought. At least he now had some idea of the magnitude of the task ahead of him.
Alf gave debuts to three players in England’s next game, at Wembley against the ‘auld enemy’, Scotland. To my considerable delight I was one of them along with the Liverpool pair Gerry Byrne and Jimmy Melia. It is difficult to imagine the current England manager giving debuts to three players in a game widely considered to be of crucial importance, but Alf did.
The Scotland game was considered the most important match in England’s international calendar, of more significance than the European Nations Cup and even, in some quarters, a World Cup qualifying match.
There was a time when every international match, irrespective of the opposition, had real importance and kudos. Bolton’s Nat Lofthouse achieved legendary status in English football for his sublime performance against Austria in 1952. Nat’s courage in that game earned him the nickname of the ‘Lion of Vienna’. It is difficult to imagine a contemporary England player enjoying the pinnacle of his international career and attaining legendary status by virtue of his performance in a friendly international. It just doesn’t happen these days.