The Boys From White Hart Lane

by Martin Cloake

  “Chris Hughton was a perfect gentleman, a nice person to talk to who didn’t hold airs or graces against anybody and would give his heart for the game and the team. A lovely man – but then most of them were: John Lacey and Paul Price, Barry Daines – all of them wonderful people, characters and individuals with no chips on their shoulders. Just nice genuine people.”

  By 1978, having become a professional, George was ready to try to break into the first team. With such experienced and capable players like Miller and Roberts ahead of him, chances were to be strictly limited. But 30 years on he still recalls this period in his life with excitement and his usual modesty.

  “When I broke into the first team squad I was welcomed but felt in awe of them as well. Suddenly I’m getting changed with Glenn, Steve Perryman – I still couldn’t believe that I was a pro footballer. I was very, very lucky to be made a pro in that year when those kind of players were around. When Ossie and Ricky came, I was in awe of their ability as World Cup winners but I actually probably got closer to those two because of my Italian links. When Ricky arrived his English was very poor; albeit that I never actually spoke to him in Italian – or Spanish come to that – but I could understand him.

  “Ossie was a cheeky chappie, a lovely person who was always smiling, always talking to you and trying to get you involved, bearing in mind that his English was poor to begin with but it improved day by day – though his pronunciation would make you giggle. Ricky was slightly more reserved but nevertheless always smiling and joking. I really do think they were tremendous people. But it was amazing to be around them. All the time I was at Spurs I was still floating on air.”

  Established within the group, George was privy to that most self-contained of football team environments, the club coach. Spending hours in each other’s company on long drives up and down the motorways, players observed each other and their habits in intimate and inescapable detail.

  “We travelled up for an away game the night before and would stay in a hotel. Depending on where you were, you might have a brief training session, a light lunch and relax. The emphasis was on being in the right frame of mind for the game. So most of your time on an away trip was spent sitting on that coach.

  “It was a lot of time to kill. If you were travelling up to Newcastle, it’s four or five hours on the coach there and back. What were you going to do? You listened to music, watched films, played cards, looked out of the window, read, did whatever. Tony Galvin and Chrissie would be reading a book but they also liked a game of cards, with a couple of games going on. Other people were interested in racing: Graham, for instance, would be looking at the form. There was and is a betting culture in football but it was less about the betting and more a case of filling free time if you had long coach journeys every couple of weeks.

  “Ossie and Ricky were smokers. They’d have a fag at the back of the coach; there was no attempt to hide it. They’d have their fags on the table while they were playing cards. But their smoking didn’t affect their performances.

  “There was a lot of card playing, everybody would have been involved. We played hearts, penny a time or penny a point, possibly brag, and poker. But there was nothing to excess, no big stakes. We played for pennies because the journey could go on for hours and if you were playing for big stakes it could end up with people owing a lot of money which would not have been good for team spirit. At most, the stakes would go up to a pound. It was kept sensible so there would be no antagonism.

  “Garry Brooke was a bit of a card sharp; so were Micky and Graham. Ossie was keen on playing chess; Ricky would have headphones on listening to music. We’d have music, and the latest films on the video. Glenn was a bit of an influence on what tunes we played, as he was a bit of a music buff, and Mike Varney would occasionally have his say; I remember him opening his car boot once at White Hart Lane and he had a bag of albums that we had a chat about.

  “But after the game we’d always talk about football, a constant conversation about the way we played. It was a way of learning about what went right and wrong, with Keith, Peter and the players. We’d praise the good and identify the bad things or what could be done better. It was part of a learning culture at a club. Nowadays everyone’s got a DVD to look at; back then we played the game, got on the coach and talked about it. Coming back we had the opportunity to have a meal, a drink and relax. But we’d be totally shattered. We’d be honest with each other – blunt even.”

  Back at the Lane after a long journey, players would jump into their cars for the final leg home. Despite the inevitable gap in income between the young players and the star names, George recalls an absence of explicit envy for what material signs of wealth others might display.

  “There was no real competition. When I got my first contract I had an old Ford Cortina Mk II and progressed from that to a second-hand three-litre Capri. Terry Gibson, a real character, had a beach buggy and the bloody thing broke down first day! I had to get jump leads to help him get it started.

  “Glenn had a black Volkswagen Sirocco. Later on some had sponsored cars. People started to get Saabs, BMWs, and Mercedes’ as the team’s fortunes improved. Chris, John Lacey, Paul Miller, all these types had good but understated cars. Their cars reflected their characters. No one had a Ferrari or Lamborghini. Towards the end of my time there, Garth told me that he had been asked by a sponsor to drive a different sports car every day. My reaction was ‘Wow!’ He ummed and aahed and said he wasn’t particularly fussed. So I said, ‘Well, send it my way then!’

  “This was the era when football was starting to become more lucrative. There were agents but they were few and far between; they were beginning to get into the big clubs and gain a foothold in the industry. Now they are dominant, but I never had an agent. Nothing came my way, but then I was a young player trying to establish myself.”

  And what of that other modern phenomenon, the celebrity footballer pictured in the gossip mags with assorted hangers-on and female admirers. Did George and his team-mates enjoy that kind of attention in their day?

  “Where I lived, everybody – I shouldn’t say everybody, because that sounds big-headed – but they all knew I was George Mazzon and played for Tottenham. It happened as it does now – footballers are a catch. I can recall going to places like the Epping Forest Country Club, but not with recognised players; I would go with my mates or some of the younger, less well-known players like me. The recognition was not immediate. I never used ‘I’m a footballer’ as a chat-up line. Hmm, well, maybe I did. But as a young person I didn’t benefit more than anyone else in going on the pull because I was a footballer.

  “When players were out together, either in this country or abroad, we would go out as people exuding confidence. Yes we would try and pull, but in that situation I can’t ever remember being successful. I don’t think me saying ‘I’m a pro’ or playing for Tottenham ever benefited me in trying to chat up girls, or to be more accurate, got me an immediate attraction.

  “When I was 17 and in the youth team, there was a policewoman who I think was attracted to the young players at Tottenham. That was the rumour – true or not, I don’t know – but she was always there with a big smile on her face. I think she always volunteered for matchday duty. You’d either find her in the car park outside the West Stand with her uniform on, or in the Chanticleer with her civvies on. She was young, quite attractive – but you’d think why does she spend her life, as it appeared to be, in and around the club? It actually became off-putting for the players, albeit that she was attractive; the story was, ‘Oh she’s a bit of a goer’. But did anyone actually try and find out? I’m not sure. She was always there, on your doorstep. The problem is if you did the deed, she would always be around and what if something went wrong? It might be a notch on your bedpost, but . . .”

  To the outsider, the lifestyle of a footballer in the late 1970s and early 1980s seems far removed from the everyday norm. “It never felt like hard graft,” says George. “Training and playing r
equired considerable physical effort, but away from the club with my non-football mates we did our ordinary socialising. We’d travel in my car (I graduated to a BMW) into London, go to a restaurant, club, or a cocktail bar but without me making it known I was a footballer. They had their own careers, I had mine and I didn’t like to promote mine as being ‘glamorous’.”

  But even for someone as reluctant to play the fame game as George, there were less savoury consequences. “Once at the Country Club there was a fight. I didn’t get involved, but my mates did and it sparked up because of my connection with Spurs. I decided then that, ‘This is not the place to go.’ It was probably supporters of other clubs. I was on the verge of leaving Tottenham by then. I don’t know the details to be honest, but it was something I didn’t want and I never went back there. I wanted to avoid trouble and not put my mates in that situation if I was the cause of it.

  “I tried to play things low key: if I was talking to people I wouldn’t want to advertise I was a footballer. Unfortunately I had a flat, broken nose which meant they thought I was a boxer. The conversation would lead to how I got it and then it would come out that I’m a footballer. Eventually I’d say I played for Spurs. ‘Who with?’ I’d be asked. ‘Glenn Hoddle, Ossie Ardiles . . .’ I’d answer. ‘Ooh, what are they like?!’ would be the next question.

  “I kept quiet not as a defence strategy, but because of my character. I am what I am; I didn’t want to deny or advertise that I was a professional footballer at a big successful club. I wanted to talk one-to-one – as soon as it was known what I did, the balance of the conversation may have altered.”

  Away from the nightclubs and on the pitch, George’s career proceeded in fits and starts. After a handful of brief substitute appearances, his most involved contribution came in October 1981. “I played a League Cup game at home against Man Utd. I was substitute that day. Mark Falco was playing at centre forward and got injured after five minutes, so I had to come on as a striker. I was a fish out of water and I barely touched the ball. At half time Keith switched things around with Ossie and Ricky pushed forward and me put into central midfield. We won 1-0 and I was grateful that I just felt more at home.

  “I’m trying to remember the games I played in: Sunderland away, Man U at home, Everton at home, West Ham away; I played at Dundalk in an early-round European game, Exeter in the quarter-final of the 1981 run . . .”

  He trails off, lost in thought. It’s typical of Mazzon that his recall of the matches is hazy, as if the basic details are less memorable than the experience itself. As someone who admits he was floating on air during his time at Spurs, it is the sights, sounds and feelings of those games that have stayed with him.

  “It was amazing to go out on to that pitch. I felt like saying, ‘Shit! I’m out there in front of all these people – wow.’ I can’t adequately describe it. It was incredible to be there but the game started and you just wanted to get on with it and do your best. The crowd noise was always there. You had to scream and shout at the other players just to communicate, to make yourself heard above the din. Compared to other players I wasn’t that vocal; some would dictate games, and one of their assets would be that they could not stop talking or guiding their team-mates. Graham was a great communicator; he would scream and shout non-stop. But being a defender, there has to be an element of being vocal and I was. I had to communicate with my colleagues. If you played the offside rule, you had to make sure you worked as a unit.

  “There was also fear. You had to have the temperament. I was playing in front of big crowds. That affects people in different ways. But through experience players developed an understanding: we were there to play football. I’m sure I heard comments and perhaps insults from the crowd. But – and I don’t mean this unkindly – they went in one ear and out the other. It was an intense experience. People like Terry Naylor could engage with the crowd at the same time as concentrating on his game – he was a showman who wanted to entertain. I was shocked to play in the first team but it felt fantastic.”

  The vivid memory of playing in those games, however, could have been rendered redundant had manager Keith Burkinshaw been less forgiving the first time he picked George. “How it came about is comical. The West Stand was being redeveloped, but we were still using the areas underneath and behind to change. Before the whole stand was demolished, they used to put the team sheet up on a noticeboard. The understanding was that after you’d trained, washed and got dressed to go home, on the way out you would check the noticeboard to see what team or squad you were playing for that weekend – reserves or first team.

  “It got to the point for me that I wasn’t in the first team, the stadium was being redeveloped and building work was going on so I didn’t walk past to check the noticeboard all the time. One particular Thursday I didn’t check it and went home. I came in at 8am on Friday morning to catch a coach away to Plymouth on the Saturday for the reserves. I got on with the rest of the players, the coach left, and we headed off down the M4.

  “En route we were talking about the first team and who was playing. We got to Reading and Robin Stepney, the reserve manager, looked up and said, ‘George, what are you doing on this coach?’ I said, ‘Well, I’m going with the reserves down to Plymouth.’ He said, ‘No you’re not – you should be with the first team!’

  “So they stopped the coach, dropped me off at Reading Station to get a train into Paddington, I got a taxi from there to White Hart Lane and arrived back at five o’clock. I went in to see Burkinshaw. He gave me the biggest bollocking I’ve ever had. ‘Do you realise if you hadn’t got back tonight you might not have made it? I’m even considering not making you sub tomorrow!’

  “He gave me a going over. I felt it was a bit unjustified. Yes, it was my fault but surely someone could have said something to me before we were halfway down the M4. But anyway, because of that Keith said, ‘You’re sub tomorrow.’ He may have given the impression he would have picked me for the actual team but I think he always intended to make me sub. It was just to wind me up. Word got around, and I got a bit of piss-taking.”

  For George, getting into the first team set-up meant he had arrived. He retains a sharp memory of the physical environment and day-to-day routine he was now plying his trade in.

  “The stadium made you realise you were at a major club. Going abroad and seeing other stadiums in places like Spain and Turkey was an eye-opener. But I recall the height of the Shelf stand, looking at that and thinking it was really impressive. The dressing room facilities were pretty functional before the West Stand changed. It was basic, like any other changing room – square, plain, a noticeboard beside the door as you went out – the one that I didn’t look at! When the stand was rebuilt all of a sudden we got these new plush facilities – top-quality benches, wooden panelling, a much wider changing area with two benches in the middle, a large communal bath and showers round the back. It was a complete progression from what it had been previously.

  “The facilities at Cheshunt training ground were just the standard stuff – textured tile floors, creamy tiles on the walls, with slatted benches all the way round; everyone shared a very large communal bath you could probably get 15 people in.

  “They were good facilities for that time. I’m sure nowadays they wouldn’t compare, with their saunas, treatment rooms and high-tech facilities with all the medical services and hygienists associated with it. We didn’t have that. But then they were fit for purpose.

  “Tea was always on tap from a tea urn. In the canteen at Cheshunt at pre-season training we had salads. Not the good solid stuff you’d expect for those days. Chips were on offer – it was a bit like school dinners – but the majority of us had salads. You’d run yourself ragged, trying to improve your stamina and even though we weren’t so hot on nutrition in those days we ate quite sensibly. Apart from Micky Hazard who could eat anything and everything, including all the Mars Bars he wanted, and not put on an ounce.

  “This was only during pre-season; duri
ng the winter months, you’d finish earlier at Cheshunt at lunchtime and go home or out to eat. Some of us might go back to White Hart Lane to look at videos of opponents, or do a bit of weight training. Come Christmas there was no necessity to have lunch at Cheshunt or the ground. There was a little cafe as you came out of the stadium and a lot of the youngsters would go there and have their fry-ups. I recall being in there as a kid and Chris Hughton coming in and ordering lamb chops and two veg – setting a healthy example!”

  Mazzon’s high point came with the 1981 final. Even though he didn’t play at Wembley, he felt like an important part of the winning squad. “It’s there in black and white – my name in the cup final programme. I was part of the 16 at Wembley with a suit made like all the rest and all that went with it. I didn’t get a medal, but I was entitled to a Paddington Bear. I sat in the stands and I didn’t get on to the pitch or in the dressing room. George McAlister, one of the physios, told me that in the changing rooms all the players had been left a little ceramic Paddington Bear with their name on it. He saw mine, put it in his bag and said he’d give it to me, but I never got it. I assume that it did exist. But just being part of it, doing the record and everything was great.”

  It was to prove short-lived, however. Starved of opportunities, George couldn’t establish himself in the side. By the end of the 1982/83 season he was heading for the exit and in time towards a far more serious setback.

  “I felt that I could have got a regular place, that I had the ability. The problem I had was that I needed to get confidence and experience in games to sustain a place, plus I perhaps didn’t have that self-belief and confidence. It was a Catch-22 situation – to get games I needed to be playing games.