Where's Your Caravan?

by Chris Hargreaves

  Onto football matters now, and after narrowly missing out on promotion to the championship at the end of the 04/05 season, I now had to make a few decisions. After leaving Brentford, quite a few clubs were keen for me to sign for them. Russell Slade at Grimsby Town, Martin Ling at Leyton Orient and Brian Talbot at Oxford United were all asking me to meet up to discuss terms. I thought long and hard about the Grimsby Town move, I knew Russ well, and he really did try to get me up there. He offered me the captaincy, a decent contract, and the chance to move back home. The problem was that, although returning to my hometown club would have been special – it would certainly have made my dad very proud – there were too many bad memories of those early days for me. I had been a bit of a tearaway, I had ruined the chance of a big move, and I had put Fiona through hell. In fact, I had more skeletons back there than in an entire series of Scooby Doo. Admittedly we were only young, and my hoovering and cleaning alone over the subsequent years has made up for early indiscretions, but I just didn’t want to put myself or my wife through it all again. I also felt that there was more for the children in Northampton – they were at a good school, we had a nice life, and Fiona and I didn’t feel that moving back home was the right choice. Of course, it would have been brilliant for us to be nearer our families, but having lived away for so long, we were used to it.

  I spoke to Martin Ling at Leyton Orient, who offered me the same deal as Grimsby Town, and the same role, but the travelling would have become a major issue again, and, although he said I could have days off and take it easier in training, I said no. I also said no to three other clubs, all in the same league as Brentford, which had all offered one-year deals. Was I right to make the decision to sign for Oxford United? Well, standing on the pitch as captain, after the last game of the 05/06 season, and having just been relegated to the Conference by one of the teams I had rejected, Leyton Orient, who, incidentally, were celebrating promotion, may give you the answer.

  I met up with Brian Talbot and immediately liked him. As a player, he was very good and very fit. He had won back-to-back FA Cup finals with different clubs, he had played for England, and he had had an illustrious career at club level. He had been a player-manager at West Bromwich Albion and had guided Rushden & Diamonds from non-league obscurity to league status. He wanted more success, and felt that Oxford United was a sleeping giant, and that he could bring the success he wanted to the club. He was also one funny guy – he didn’t know it, but he was bloody hilarious. I said to him a few times that he could be a stand-up comedian, but he would just look at me and say, ‘Don’t be stoopid, man.’

  He had a glint in his eye and a great sense of humour.

  Andy Burgess told me a tale about Brian, from when he was with him at Rushden & Diamonds. Burg had started going out with Brian’s daughter, and after Brian eventually relented and accepted that one of his players was with his daughter (a big no-no in football), Brian sort of looked after Andy. Burg visited the family house several times, and on one occasion Brian and his wife were having a bit of a row. The argument was based around a very large trophy cabinet of Brian’s. As Burg walked in, he heard Brian saying, ‘No problem Sandra, I’ll just smash it all up. Yes – where’s the axe? I’ll smash it up, no problem, no problem at all.’

  He was perfectly calm while saying this, and as he saw Burg just said, ‘Hello Andy, sit down son.’ He then carried on, ‘Yes, it can all go, smash it up.’

  By this point, Brian was as much performing for Burg as he was arguing with his wife, knowing that Burg would find the suggestion of smashing up the cabinet funny. Arguments were always half tongue in cheek with Brian, and, as that cabinet probably contained a fair few decent awards, the irony wasn’t lost on Burg.

  On the surface Oxford looked like a good club; the ground, for that level, was incredible. It had a good history, and it now had an experienced manager, with tons of awards behind him, at the helm.

  The problem for Brian was that, unlike his experience up the road at Rushden & Diamonds – they had risen from the non-league and at one time were throwing money around at Championship level; they also had their own ground, magnificent facilities and a very wealthy chairman – his budget at Oxford was tight, there was no money to spend, he had inherited a very average squad, and the ground ownership would become a major problem. Brian wanted me to lead the team and to drive them on to promotion, but there were problems straightaway. For starters, he didn’t really get on with his assistant David Oldfield. David had had a decent career at Leicester City, but it was quite clear from the off that the two of them didn’t click. It was also clear that David didn’t like or rate many of the boys, myself included. I would have been much happier if he had just said, ‘Listen, I don’t think you’re very good, but I am putting up with it because it’s my job’, rather than skirting around the truth and being of no help to Brian whatsoever. He just seemed bitter to me, and I honestly think that meant Brian was on his own at the club.

  Pre-season with Oxford United was tough, and, having had no real rehab after my groin operation the previous month, I was finding the pain a real problem. I felt terrible, but I couldn’t exactly throw it in; I felt obliged to dig in with the rest of the lads, so that’s what I did. It was, of course, the wrong thing to do, and before long I had pretty much totally seized up, but at that point I was surviving, with the help of a lot of tablets and a whole load of ice.

  The team were actually looking pretty good, and, having survived Brian’s pre-season regime, we were up for the challenge ahead. We had a few experienced campaigners and decent players in Steve Basham and Lee Bradbury, as well as the legendary tag team of Billy Turley and Barry Quinn. We also had a couple of exciting prospects in Chris Hackett and Craig Davies, and a lad who would become a good friend and future teammate at another club, Lee Mansell. I also had a magnificent new car-school (the football term for carpool) in the form of my old Northampton teammate Chris Willmott, and two new signings from Rushden & Diamonds, Andy Burgess and John Dempster. Stuart Gray, another Rushden & Diamonds old boy, completed the car share. Those of us in this car school would go on to become really good mates and would have some brilliant times that season. I even ended up starting a soccer school called Pro Soccer Academy with ‘Burg’ the next season. He took that seriously, but his ‘deal with it in the morning approach’ to everything else was mental. Stephen Mulhern looka-like, John ‘Digga’ Dempster, was a great lad, who walked like Julian Clary, also looked a bit like Paul Nicholls, and liked to MC in his spare time. Stuart Gray, like many old pros, was one of those who had come to hate the game, which was painful for him, but funny for us. At least we had old Motty in the car to calm us down, and tell us that we all needed to save more money for our impending old age.

  When the fixture list came out for that season, we were to play Grimsby Town away in our first game. In all the years in the game I had never returned to play against my hometown club; we always missed each other. I was either in a league above or in a league below, or I was suspended. How ironic that the club I had said no to a month earlier would now be the first test we would face. All my old mates would be at the game, my family would be there, and I would be stepping out onto the pitch where I had made my debut seventeen years ago.

  The night before the game felt so odd; to be staying in a hotel with the lads, but with my family only a few miles away, was really strange. I was very nervous the next day, caused by a mixture of returning to the place where it had all started and wondering what people would be expecting of me. It was also me wanting to do well, to say to the fans that I was a hometown lad who was still a half-decent player, and who could have done well, had it not been for Alan Buckley and too many nightclubs. It was great to see a few old faces, Grimsby stalwart and legend John McDermott was still there, as was my old boot boy and mucker Gary Croft. John is a great lad who puts Gordon Ramsey’s use of the F word to shame, and Crofty went from Grimsby Town to Blackburn Rovers for one point six million in a whirlwind few years th
at saw him officially live the dream. I think John now coaches at the local college and Crofty owns an estate agent business, funny old game eh?

  The team started really well, and, although we came in at half time 0–0, we had been the better team and really fancied our chances. The second half had barely got started though, before we conceded. A corner had been whipped in and as I tried to reach the ball it fell to the lad I was marking. He hit a shot which looped into the corner of the net beyond Billy. I always marked at corners, and I can count on one hand with a couple of fingers chopped off the amount of times a player had left my grasp to score from a corner, but he had, and we were now losing. So many things crossed my mind that afternoon, not least the fact that I very much needed not to lose the game that day. We kept piling forward, and I really tried to make up for my mistake, but with a couple of minutes to go we were still behind. After a bit of decent interplay in the last minute of the game, we got a free kick ten yards into their half. Chris Hackett stepped up and whipped a great ball just inside their box; I jumped up, caught it full on the head, and watched as it slammed into the net in front of the Pontoon stand, the stand where the Grimsby Town faithful would pile in, and the stand where, as a young boy, I had stood and dreamed of one day playing on the field.

  It was a brilliant moment for me, in what turned out to be a horrendous season. Still, it was a moment I will always remember. After the game, the general feeling was that we would be fighting for promotion that season – our performance had been that good. If things had panned out a little differently maybe we would have been, but too many player changes, too many management changes and a season of frustration would turn that prediction on its head.

  After a couple of months we were still doing OK, but a loss at home against, of all teams, local rivals Rushden & Diamonds seemed to change things. Brian had his own views on players and they certainly differed from mine. Ones that we needed didn’t play enough, but Brian felt that some of them just weren’t up to the task. He also had some problems with not being able to play certain players because of contractual issues, but the likes of Steve Basham, Lee Bradbury and Chris Hackett were decent players who needed to play. Brian thought ‘Brads’ was too slow, Chris Hackett too erratic, and had decided that Steve Basham couldn’t score. Chris Hackett is currently playing at Millwall and doing well, Lee Bradbury has had a recent promotion at Bournemouth, and Steve Basham will always get you a goal when you need it. Two of these players left the club that season, and the other, Steve Basham, was often on the bench. It just summed up the season really, frustrating. Even though I believe Brian overlooked these players, he still had the experience and knowledge to pull us out of trouble, and I honestly believe that we would have finished comfortably in the table had he stayed, but it wasn’t to be.

  The chairman at the time, Firoz Kassam, had been instrumental, along with the council, in moving the stadium from the old Manor Ground site (I had played there many times, and have now been many times in the hospital that took its place!) to a site on the other side of the city. Kassam modestly named it the Kassam Stadium, and the club was reborn.

  The problem now was that he didn’t want to spend any more money. He had thrown the chequebook at the previous three or four managers, including one who left under a cloud of controversy, and another who had brought an entourage of Argentinians who ‘revolutionised’ the club then quickly left. Unfortunately for Brian, all the money had gone. Kassam was now incredibly wary of football, and of spending money on it.

  As a result, Brian couldn’t get any players in, and had to let some go; in short it was an absolute mess. Lots of fans were already disgruntled at the ground move, but this situation now made it much worse. Kassam wanted results and he wanted the manager to do it with no budget. The chairman felt that spending all that money over the past couple of seasons should have bought the club success, and Brian bore the brunt of Kassam’s frustration when it hadn’t. Kassam’s patience wore thin, and Brian was sacked in March of the 05/06 season. Kassam still owned the stadium, but wanted out and he didn’t want to let it go until he got the right price. So, the club was stuck with an uninterested chairman. It was an awful time for the club and I happened to be there during it – lucky me!

  I felt sorry for Brian, he definitely didn’t get a fair crack at it, and he was let down by staff and players alike. I’m not saying he didn’t make any mistakes, but there is no doubt that he had it tough there. I felt responsible for not being able to help him more. I hadn’t been the player I was the previous season, by a country mile; I was unable to play in some of the games because I honestly couldn’t move. It was as if my body had just said ‘enough is enough’. I never really spoke to Brian after he left, which was strange – until then we would chat every day in his office about the team and the players, and his vision for the club.

  There is always a killer game for a manager under pressure and for Brian it was away at Stockport. We both knew that day would be his last. We conceded an early goal and were then under some severe pressure. We managed to get a foothold back in the game and, just after half time, I managed to put a cross in for Tim Sills to head in the equaliser. We were all fired up that day; well, some of us were, and we tried desperately to push on and get a winner – a win would have seen Brian keep his job, as would even just a draw. However, with five minutes to go, our centre-back, Jon Ashton, played a sloppy ball back to our keeper, their striker nipped in to score, and they stole the win.

  In the changing room after the game, I absolutely lost it with the lads, and particularly with ‘Ash’. I kicked everything I could, wrecked the table, and abused most of the lads. I was just fuming, because it seemed no one in the team really cared! They obviously did, but I was the captain of a struggling team, and I was in fucking bits and couldn’t even rely on my own body! Ash summed up the team attitude that season – not really that bothered: ‘what will be, will be’.

  To be fair to Ash, I liked him. He was a great lad, but he was still very much in his party mode that season. Winning, drawing or losing didn’t affect his Saturday night one bit. I am delighted to say that he eventually saw the light in the end. We still went down, but Ash eventually, via a few other clubs, moved on to Stevenage, settled down a bit, and got his head around playing. He was probably their best player in the team’s recent promotion campaign, where he was definitely up for the challenge.

  After Brian had joined in and hammered Ash, saying that he was immediately on the transfer list, we all got changed and got back on the coach. I remember doing a quick radio interview after the match where I said some pretty strong stuff. I basically said that the club needed to pull together and fight, on and off the pitch, otherwise we would be in real danger, and that if anyone didn’t want to help, then they should sod off. It was half directed at some of the lads I thought didn’t care, and half directed at some of the people around the club who were doom merchants. Everyone nodded, but on the Wednesday of the next week Brian was sacked.

  Although I felt as if I had let him down on the pitch, we did have the same opinions on a lot of areas of the game, and I was one hundred per cent behind him with tactics, advice, and support. In fact, I think I would have been of more use to him as an assistant manager that season than his captain!

  He pulled me in on Monday morning and after engaging in a bit of banter that, as usual, brought me to tears of laughter, he quickly got serious and told me that he was making Ash train with the youth team. I think this was the first time we disagreed on anything significant. I stuck up for Ash and said that he shouldn’t do it, that we were a team and that it wouldn’t be a good sign. Maybe my disagreement was the last straw for Brian, and looking back maybe Brian should have done exactly what he suggested. Ash needed to see what his laid-back attitude meant, and the consequence for him should have really fucking hurt. I should have agreed with Brian and backed him. Ash was too happy-go-lucky, and, as far as Brian was concerned, he didn’t really give a shit either way; Brian knew it and
didn’t like it.

  I always use something he said back then when I’m speaking to the young lads I coach now. One time, having caught Ash using his mobile phone on the coach after a game – mobiles were banned on all trips – Brian strode down the aisle of the coach and said to Ash, ‘Who’s on the phone, and what are you talking about?’

  Ash went bright red, and replied, ‘My missus, I was just telling her what time I would be back.’

  Brian responded, ‘Well, I’ve got a wife and four children – that makes five things more important to me than your girlfriend is to you, and I’m not on the phone am I? Turn it off, and start growing up.’

  Although not allowing phones on the coach may have been a bit harsh, Brian did have a valid point, especially considering Ash got through girlfriends like Warren Beatty!

  After my disagreement with him, Brian came in to warn the lads that he thought he might be sacked very soon; some were bothered and some weren’t. I felt I’d let him down; I was his captain, the man he had brought in to lead the team, a job I was extremely proud of doing, but, and as much as I tried, I couldn’t get my body right. Before he was sacked Brian had got rid of David Oldfield, which wasn’t a major blow to me (but obviously was to Dave and his family), and had also got rid of a fair few players, so the new manager would really have his work cut out. The new man was Darren Patterson, the manager of the youth team. As a random fact about Darren, he was on the pitch playing for Crystal Palace when ‘King’ Eric Cantona infamously took to kung fu fighting for five minutes – Cantona was probably fed up with Daz kicking him up in the air all game! Anyway the team all thought, as he did, that Darren would have at least until the end of the season to steady the ship. He got four games. After two wins and two draws, he was ousted to make way for the return of the bald eagle, Jim Smith.