The Boys From White Hart Lane

by Martin Cloake

  The final also marked Keith Burkinshaw’s last game in charge. “We knew he was leaving. Keith had problems with Irving Scholar, who was a chairman who loved the club but never had no real finances. Well, he didn’t want to put them in. You could’ve done with Alan Sugar and Irving Scholar together, one who had loads of money and one who had the love and passion – like Jack Walker and Steve Gibson have had in the past for their clubs.

  “We knew Peter was about to take over and most of us had grown up with him so it evolved quite well really. Keith went off to make a lot of money in the Middle East; he done his bit, but it was sad really.

  “Keith had his Yorkshire stubbornness. I’m sure after he’d won the UEFA Cup, if he’d said, ‘Do you want to keep me or not?’, I’m sure he could’ve got a share in dealing with the transfers. It wouldn’t have gone back to how it had been before because Irving was determined to change it. I knew Irving from before he became chairman, by the way, he was a fan and he’d be around at the games. He was determined to change things and he was probably right in retrospect, but he didn’t go about it in the right way, and Keith – he was very similar to Bill Nick – he walked out on principle. That was very sad for the club, and for everybody. But I suppose he said, ‘I’ve been here eight years, done my bit, second most successful manager in your history, I’m leaving a legacy’ – which he did. Unfortunately, Peter wasn’t allowed enough time to take it on.”

  Miller makes no bones about what went wrong after Burkinshaw left. “The facts are that David Pleat was used to running a corner shop quite well. Never won anything in his life, as a player or a manager – he kept Luton up so I suppose that’s something – but he was like a small-time shopkeeper who’d come to run Harrods. He couldn’t handle the players, he couldn’t handle the place, he couldn’t handle the whole thing. And in his own negative, slimy way he sold most of the characters in the team. He broke it up entirely, and not to the benefit of the club. A couple of players he signed early on did OK for us, but it was silly to get rid of the mainstays of the side. He called myself, Graham Roberts, Mark Falco and Tony Galvin into his office pre-season and said, ‘You four are leaving’. We’ve got 1,500 games between us, all in our prime still, between 27 and 29 years old: he was foolish to do that. He had a big row with Glenn Hoddle pre-season, big row with Ossie pre-season, he ostracised himself from the team so much we all hated him. It’s a wonder we did what we did. We could’ve won the Treble with a decent manager.”

  “By then we had the best squad: 18 players, 16 internationals – me and Mark Falco were the only two non-international players. It was criminal he never won anything. Not only did he break the first team up, he sold all the underbelly to Norwich. When Terry Venables, a great family friend of mine, took over the club years later he said, ‘Where’s all the players gone?’ David Pleat couldn’t handle big characters. I knew that from Steve Foster and Mick Harford at Luton he’d done the same thing there. It’s very sad because it’s the supporters, again, who suffer. When you needed a decent manager to decide tactics and selection, give a little bit of motivation, he couldn’t give it.”

  It’s no surprise that in 1987, Miller left the club he had joined 15 years before. “It got sour for most of us,” he says. “I had my testimonial, played a few more games, and then left. I really should’ve stayed but I felt Pleat was taking us down the wrong route. I’d been there since I was a 13-year old, I was nearly 28, and I had nothing to prove. The club was only going to go into turmoil after I left. I’m not being big-headed, but I’d left, Robbo had left, Tony Galvin was on his way out, Chrissie Hughton stayed but didn’t really play, Mark Falco had gone. The underbelly had been sold off. Glenn and Ossie had made it clear it was their last season, so did Clive Allen, and Clem – no one wanted to play for Pleat. The club had gone as we knew it. I think they acted too quickly with Peter [Shreeve], who had a great first year – we should’ve won the league in 1985 actually. Unlucky with injuries again.”

  Then Miller throws in a piece of information that is so typical of the infuriatingly frustrating continuous loop of ‘what ifs’ that dogs those cursed with following Spurs. “And we should’ve bought Gary Lineker in January. He wanted to come, they wouldn’t pay 800 grand, so he went to Everton and the rest is history. The last few games, we played with one striker. Again, no investment. Peter, if he could’ve bought Gary Lineker in January – which Glenn had all settled up through the England squad, Leicester wanted to sell – we would’ve won the league, because he would’ve made that difference. Instead we wait three years, pay double, and he comes into a crap team. It’s too late.”

  It’s been an explosive discussion, utterly at odds with the genteel surroundings of the hotel tea rooms where we are sitting. Perhaps realising this, Miller says: “That’s my opinions. I don’t often say these things, and I’m not one for sneaking off to the papers. I got asked by Sky the other week for my comments on the Martin Jol thing and I didn’t say anything, because if I give my honest opinion I wouldn’t be allowed back in the club, so what’s the point really? I’m still a supporter, it’s still my team.”

  After leaving Spurs, Miller went to Charlton and proved he still had something to offer. “I took a big pay cut to go to Charlton, and the challenge appealed to me,” he says. “They were adrift at the bottom of the table, only 11 games left, I helped keep them up. Lennie Lawrence has been very nice to me and said it was one of the most important signings Charlton ever made because it kept their status and kept their club alive; 11 games, won seven, drew two, lost two. As an individual, that was my greatest ever feat – keeping Charlton up.”

  So what was his high point at Tottenham? “Winning the FA Cup the first time,” he says, without hesitation. “It’s your first trophy, for the players you’ve come through with, for your family. FA Cup finals are always special. It was a magic moment that defines your life really. And the way we did it – the romance, the Argentinians, the record, the parade down the High Road afterwards – it was all wonderful. And knowing we were on the verge of something great. We knew it was just the start, it wasn’t a one-off. With a little bit more luck, with a little bit more investment, we could’ve won more trophies, but it was a great time.”

  Despite the bitterness that provided the backdrop to his last days at Spurs, Miller still has fond memories. “We had great times, it was a proper football club, and it was a family, one of the strongest bunch of players there’s ever been. With a very strong leader, Steve Perryman, very strong. He didn’t stand no shit from anybody. He was a very big influence in my life. When we used to travel on the long trips, I’d sit up the front with him and we’d talk about business, which is why I went that route. It helped us. If you look at most of the team, we’ve all done all right after that.”

  Miller’s strong opinions about the bigger picture beg the question of whether he ever wanted to manage. “I’ve never really fancied management. I think I could do it, but it’s too late now and I’ve got my own life, which I enjoy,” he says. “I still enjoy watching the football, and talking about it, but there’s another life after football.”

  3

  RICKY VILLA

  “MY DREAM WAS TO SCORE A GREAT GOAL IN A GREAT PLACE”

  On a beautiful spring morning a gardener is on all fours tending to the shrubbery in front of a low-slung house in a quiet road just off a Hertfordshire village green. It’s a sedate part of the home counties – obviously well off, but not ostentatious with it.

  It’s a very English scene, but a very Spanish accent that issues a soft greeting when the front door opens. A neat, petite woman indicates the way to a long living room and offers tea. The room is chintzy, tidy, with a clutter of framed photographs of family life crowding the available flat surfaces on the furniture. It looks out through sliding glass doors on to a garden that stretches away to a brick structure with a built-in barbecue.

  Mrs Osvaldo Ardiles comes back into the room and sets a mug of tea down on a coaster on a polished table sur
face. The mug carries the logo of the Association of Teachers and Lecturers – an unexpected detail. “They are on their way,” she smiles, before gliding out of the room again. There’s the sound of footsteps padding across a carpet, the clink of cutlery on china, and a new, deeper Spanish voice. Then he walks into the room. He’s still a big guy, still got that trademark lope, still flashes that familiar grin as he sticks out a hand. “How are you, my friend?” says Ricky Villa. There’s more grey in the beard, and he’s more drawn than he was when he was first introduced to an astonished British public 29 years ago. He’s staying here at Ossie Ardiles’s family home, as he invariably does when he pays one of his regular visits to the UK.

  As we chat about the beautiful morning, Ossie pads in, clad in tracksuit bottoms and a training top with ‘OA’ on the left breast. His greeting is friendly, but he’s less relaxed than his friend, his body language a little less open, his eyes taking in the situation and weighing it up. We agree that Ricky will talk first, and so as Ossie flits off into the depths of his home, Ricky settles his still imposing frame into a sofa and begins to speak.

  We start by recalling that now distant summer of 1978 and how Ricky felt when his country won the World Cup. “We felt like the best, the happiest people in the world. And,” he says, laughing, “we believed everything would be easy from now on.” Room-mates Ricky and Ossie had discussed what would happen after the tournament. “We had prepared to move,” Ricky says. “Always in Argentina when you play in the national team you expect a move to Europe. The big money is in Europe – it is not nice to say, but it is the truth. We are professional. In Argentina most of the time the clubs don’t pay big money so you are expecting to go to Europe. We were expecting to go to Spain or Italy because the language and other things make it an easy way to come into Europe.”

  What makes a remarkable story all the more remarkable is that the two Argentinians, dreaming of a move to a familiar Latin climate and way of life, were persuaded to come to London by a partnership rooted in Yorkshire.

  Spurs boss Keith Burkinshaw had taken a phone call from his friend Harry Haslam, manager of Sheffield United. Harry’s assistant was Argentinian and knew through his contacts that some of the national team’s stars would be available. Haslam knew his club didn’t have the money to make a move, so he called Burkinshaw. The Spurs boss immediately called his chairman and within 20 minutes was told, “Get on with it.” So he booked a flight to Buenos Aires and within 24 hours was face-to-face with Ossie and Ricky. So what did Ricky make of the straight-talking Yorkshireman who appeared suddenly in the Argentine capital?

  “I was impressed with Keith, his very English style,” Ricky remembers. “He is very honest, he likes discipline, he likes order. When you are a player you just think to train and play, you don’t think much about other things. But now I reckon he was a very, very good English manager. I meet him every time I come here and I still appreciate that.”

  Burkinshaw’s achievement in persuading the pair to sign is even more impressive when it is remembered that Tottenham Hotspur’s star was on the wane. The club hadn’t won a major trophy since 1973. The decline of the ’70s ended in what had long seemed the inevitability of relegation in 1977 and, despite returning to the top flight at the first attempt, a team lacking depth looked set to struggle.

  Ricky admits the north London side was off his radar. “We only hear about the big, big clubs in those days – Manchester United, Liverpool – we don’t hear nothing about Spurs. When we arrived here we understood more about the history and the supporters, and that these were really great things.”

  But behind the scenes the situation was new and challenging for everyone. And, despite Ricky’s efforts to emphasise that he was well looked after, it’s clear just how tough this new life in an unfamiliar country was.

  “It was very hard for us because we had very little English. Everything was new; it was really a difficult time. Everything was very nice when we first came. We came in summertime, and I believe England in summertime is perfect really – long days, sunshine, everything we saw impressed us. But the big, big problem was the language. I like to talk with people, and now I can only talk with my wife and Ossie. It was very, very difficult. I believe if I hadn’t come with Ossie I would have left the country because if you are not happy off the pitch it is no good for playing good football. We had to really fight to stay in England, and it was not easy I can tell you. Imagine if you moved to Argentina now; you have to know the people, the customs, the food, you can’t watch TV, you can’t read the paper. It’s very hard – for at least six months you are on another planet.”

  Quite how isolated Ricky felt becomes clear when he talks about the day he and Ossie were paraded at White Hart Lane amid an unprecedented scrum of press and thousands of fans. “It was a very difficult day because people wanted to meet us, and say ‘Hello, how are you?’ and we can’t answer even the simple questions,” says Ricky. “I felt very sorry and really very depressed. When I arrived at my house after this happened, I said, ‘Oh, I am a stupid person, I can’t talk, I can’t say anything.’ I felt very depressed; not depressed – unhappy. Because if you can see the faces of the people but you cannot say anything to them, you feel really unhappy.”

  The duo, who could at least fall back on the fact that the club had found them houses next to each other a short journey from the training ground at Cheshunt, resolved to ride out the tough initial period. But the routine was dull and the efforts made to bed them in often rudimentary. “We trained, we went home – and we visited places. We were like tourists,” says Ricky. “If I sit at home it is . . . boring is not the word, but me and my wife like to catch the current and move.

  “We had a language tuition every week, but it was still very hard to learn because the teacher didn’t speak Spanish. He would teach us, but we don’t understand anything. He’d say, ‘This is a spoon, this is a table’ and we’d start from there. Ossie understood a little English, but not me. We struggled to improve our English and be comfortable. It was a really bad time for me – quite lonely. I joke about it now, but it was hard. I want to move quick with the chat, and people want to talk to me – but I can say nothing. In the first days I came home quick to my house to speak with the wife and the parents, which was not good for mixing.”

  It’s clear from the way Ricky talks that this was a very dark period of his life, his natural exuberance and sociability stifled by the new surroundings. But, as he will do often during the course of our conversation, he quickly moves to put things in context, never wanting to seem ungrateful for what he maintains was a great opportunity and – eventually – one of the best times of his life. He is clearly not a man to whom negativity comes naturally.

  “Everything was a surprise,” he smiles. “The countryside in summer in England is perfect: it’s green, everyone has flowers around the house – this is a very, very good-looking country. But we missed our families and our friends. It’s not that easy to explain – we are happy here, but we are still missing all those things.”

  What also helped was the response of Tottenham’s fans, whose attitude was a real eye-opener for Ricky. “The supporters here have more passion than in Argentina, because if you lose, people still go. In Argentina, if you lose a few games the people stop going and never come back until you are a good side and expected to win. In England we had really bad results in the first year but the people still believed in us.” He leans forward to emphasise the point. “This is a great, great thing. English supporters support the team. Not too many countries do this.” And the passion of English fans has not lost its ability to impress him. “Last year I went to see Watford, the last game of the season. They were already relegated, and yet the stadium was full! This would not happen in Argentina.”

  While the fans impressed, Ricky’s new team-mates also gave him a warm welcome, team spirit overcoming the language and cultural barriers. “Terry Naylor, the first year we arrived, he was the most funny person. And it was good
funny, you know,” says Ricky. “I would arrive every morning with Ossie, someone would say something and everybody laughed – we don’t know what they say. But afterwards, they explained, it was a real good atmosphere. I can imagine two English players going to Argentina . . .” He raises his eyebrows and laughs.

  “And I remember Stevie as a great captain. He was always in the right places, would help you with the right position. He would say all the time to everybody, ‘Get up, we can do it.’ Good character as well. He would come in early to training. Stevie was great for the club – he kept everybody together.”

  Asked if that kind of camaraderie was a product of the time, Ricky thinks for a moment, then leans forward again to make sure he gets his point across. “Today there is big money in the game, so maybe when you have big money in your pocket you don’t care about many, many things. But when you are fighting for money everyone is like a family because you are all fighting for the same thing. Maybe this brought us all together. I don’t believe money makes a better footballer or better relationships within the club. Having money in your pocket makes you feel powerful, but not many players can have money and also be a good team player.”

  As far as football was concerned, the struggles were more familiar and easier to deal with, and Ricky again singles out Keith Burkinshaw’s management style as an important factor. “Everyone had a good character and we expected every day to improve the team. Keith Burkinshaw was very important in this part, because Ossie and me, we play a different kind of football, so he had to put the English and the Argentina style together – that wasn’t very easy. Of course, sometimes players were a bit upset if they didn’t play, but you have to remember we only have one on the bench, so this is very hard in a squad of 25 players. It was very hard to fight for a place, but that always happens in football.”