On the morning of the game I spoke to my wife, and she texted me some pictures of the children. Kerry, the assistant who had first directed me to the manager’s office when I had initially gone to Torquay United, had given the children Torquay United shirts, and we had had Harriet’s printed up with ‘BEAST’ on the back. I had written a blog for the local paper, the Herald Express, for the whole of that season, and in it I had spoken about the day-to-day football, but also about my day-to-day life involving my family. At the time, we had nicknamed Harriet ‘Beast’ as, although she was very cute, she ate like an adult and battered everything in sight. We had to stop calling her Beast though, as the first day she arrived at pre-school she burst through the doors and said, ‘Hello, I’m Hattie Beast.’
However, seeing her pictured on my dad’s shoulders walking down Wembley Way with Beast on her top was hilarious. I laughed even more when Fiona told me that a few hundred Torquay United fans had spotted her, and had started shouting, ‘BEAST.’
Harriet laughed away and said, to my dad, ‘That’s me, granddad!’
Fame at three, eh!
The writing I had done for the paper was really enjoyable, and together with Andy Phelan, the editor, Dave Thomas, the sports writer, and Guy Henderson, the web guru, it was great fun charting the progress of the ‘Captain’s Blog’. As has proved with this book, after speaking to Scott Pack, my publisher, my mind is always racing away at a hundred miles an hour, and the old grammar can suffer a little, but hey, it’s hard to concentrate when I am trying to help with the building of a medieval house for a school project, or I am failing miserably trying to cook a beef stew.
We were in the away changing room the second time around, which was great. I don’t know why, but the whole feel of it was different and we were immediately more relaxed. We had music blasting away and Damien and Pete had a production line of massage beds set up. I went through to speak to the FA people about where to go before and after the game, and I saw Steve Bower, then the main Setanta presenter, along with Rebecca Lowe, who had both been real stars for us that season. I gave them both a hug and said thanks for all their help. I then quickly nipped out to see the family and then ran back in to get ready for the game.
I had kept the pair of boots that became my ‘lucky boots’ right up until the final. They had seen me through a trip to Barrow Town, a last day win at home to Burton Albion and a missile attack at Histon, and they were almost falling to bits. For the last three weeks of the season I had to use No More Nails after every game just to keep the things together. I do smile to myself thinking about those boots in the utility room at home, and Fiona saying, ‘Get those things out of here.’
Hell, was she mental? Did she not know the importance of these things? It was like a surgical procedure, what with the six pegs I had positioned on each boot end to help the glue set. I remember as a young kid at Everton seeing the apprentices painstakingly taping up the boots for the first team lads. Once a pair of boots become ‘lucky’ it can have a big effect on your game and this applies to all players, in all leagues. It’s obviously all a load of bollocks, and all in the mind, but try telling that to someone who has a piece of heather underneath the insole, or a cross scrawled on the tongue. It all goes on.
I did the usual pleasantries before the game, introducing Martin O’Neill, the Wembley guest for the day, to our players. He is a nice fellow and wished me luck. It was then time. I ran round to each player and gave them a pat on the back and said, ‘It’s your day today. Go and get what you deserve.’
For the record, the team that day was as follows: Pope, Mansell, Robertson, Todd, Nicholson, Carlisle, Wroe, Hargreaves, Stevens, Sills and Benyon.
Cambridge United started the game really well, popping the ball about and dominating the first thirty minutes or so. We had a few half chances, but were not exactly firing on all cylinders. Our keeper Michael Pope, on loan from Southampton, pulled off a brilliant save which could well have turned the game even more in Cambridge United’s favour. A minute or so after that save was a moment I will never forget. The ball had arrived at Elliot Benyon’s feet, just outside their eighteen-yard box, he laid the ball into my path and I took it past a defender and swung the right foot (I am left footed, the right foot is mainly used for holding myself up and occasionally spanking twenty-yard shots into the goal!). The ball flew into the net in front of the thirty thousand Cambridge United fans. Our fans went ballistic and I ran across to them and held up the armband again. I don’t know why; it was just a symbol of what it had all been about. The lads were laughing as we ran back to take the centre; Nicky Wroe turned to me and said, ‘Fucking hell pal, where did that come from?’
I looked up to the sky and just said, ‘Thank you!’ We got ourselves in at half time and were all just pacing about, repeating to ourselves that it was our time.
The second half couldn’t have gone any better. We played really well, and when Wayne Carlisle put in a brilliant cross late in the second half, it was a magnificent sight to see Tim Sills plant his head on the ball and send it into the top corner of the net. It was then time to see the game out. As the end was nearing, I asked the referee how long it was for the final whistle to be blown and his words were like a dream.
‘That’s it Chris, you’ve won it.’
I told him I loved him!
The final whistle went, and after commiserating with the Cambridge United lads, we ran to our supporters and families and celebrated. It had been an almighty effort but after fifty-seven games, about as many injections, a few tears and tantrums, and a lot of ifs and maybes, we had done it. Torquay United would be back in the league. It wouldn’t mean a lot to many people, but it would mean a hell of a lot to a few. A moment I had dreamt of as a kid was happening, and, although on a smaller scale than I had hoped for when setting out as a youngster, at the ripe old age of thirty-seven, I had lead a team out at Wembley, scored, and was now walking up the steps to receive the cup. It was pretty damn special.
I reached over to the family and gave them a big kiss. Fiona was in tears and the kids were screaming and laughing. I shouted to the children, ‘I told you I would get you the cup’, and, as I reached the final few steps, I saw Helen Chamberlain, who gave me a big hug and kiss, and said well done.
Here we were on the gantry at Wembley, and as I looked across to the lads I felt very proud that they had all played so well. Martin O’Neill then handed me the cup, and the rest, as they say, is history. Should I have left it there and retired then? Maybe. Should that have been my last game? I don’t know, but at that time, despite the aches and pains, I still felt as if I had a few games in me and I wanted to lead the team now we were back in the league. Before any of that though, we had the journey back and, after celebrating at the hotel with all of our families and hundreds of fans for several hours, we jumped on the coach and headed back to Devon.
I had missed out on the celebrations in the changing room because, lo and behold, who did the FA drug testing people ask for after the game? – Chris Hargreaves and Kevin Nicholson. Poor old Kev couldn’t pee for around an hour after the game – it’s not easy peeing on demand and in front of an FA drugs tester. It was a bit of a pain in the arse going through this long-winded process when all the other lads were celebrating. Still, it could have been worse; Lee Philips had also been chosen and he was on the losing team!
Kev and I made up for missing the changing room celebrations on the way home. The cup was filled with a cocktail of the most ridiculous drinks you could ever imagine, and for five hours we just laughed and joked. It was a brilliant feeling. My wife still had to contend with a four-hour train journey back with three small children, but I knew that she would be smiling away. I also knew that the children would be very, very happy.
I was delighted for the lads; seeing them laughing away and holding the cup on the way home was fantastic. I sat at the front with Bucks for a while, and he asked me, ‘What’s it like to score at Wembley then?’
‘Not too bad,�
� I replied.
When the dust had settled and the bus tour and civic reception had been milked, it was again back to business with the new season ahead. Before that, however, I had a long conversation with the manager about whether I would actually be playing at all.
We had all travelled to Majorca for our end of season celebration, and, although at thirty-seven, having been there many times over the last twenty years, Magaluf wasn’t on the top of my wish list of destinations, it was still a great break. Seeing Martin Rice give the best rendition of ‘Wonderwall’ that Spain has ever heard, and witnessing him blagging the most free pints in history, was worth it alone. Kev refused to go and Sillsy wasn’t allowed (sorry Hannah, but you do wear the trousers) but the majority of the players and staff made the trip a memorable one. Scott Bevan achieved the impossible for a single guy in Magaluf: he still couldn’t find a girl.
The first hint that Bucks might have a different plan for me the next season came on that trip. Kenny Veysey pulled me to one side and said, ‘Greavsie, it may be time to think about hanging the old boots up. Just think about the youth team role.’
I did indeed think hard about it, and had a chat to Bucks, but when I heard what the money on offer was, I was shocked. I knew that a coaching role would involve far less money and I was fine with that, but, combined with the fact that I would have to give up playing, it was just too much of a change. I turned the offer down and said that I could still play, and that I wanted to lead the team back into the league.
It was eventually agreed that I would take a drop in wages and that I would be turning up as a player, and remain as captain for pre-season. I was under no illusions whatsoever that our promotion and my scoring at Wembley gave me a bit more bargaining power. I knew that Bucks wanted a different team, but I was trying to look after my family as well as trying to keep playing as long as I could. I was thirty-seven and maybe had passed my best days, but as far as fitness was concerned I was still one of the fittest on the team and wanted to keep playing. I also couldn’t afford not to. It is a ruthless game though, and the fact that I had to fight for that contract did disappoint me a bit. As it was, I turned up for the pre-season and after another slog we lined up for our return to the football league against Chesterfield at home.
Sat here now, part of me regrets the decision not to take the youth team role, as I know how hard it is to get jobs in football. However, a player has to want to play for as long as he can, and I was no different. I also thought that the offer of four hundred quid a week was a bit of a smack to the old chops, considering how hard I had worked to help the team go up.
2009/10
I led the team out against Chesterfield on the first day of the season; we won, and I picked up the Man of the Match award, but I knew that things were changing. I was still playing and scoring the odd goal – one being the winner against my beloved Northampton Town. There was a great moment in that game – when we reappeared after half time I jumped over the hoardings to talk to ‘Muzzi’, an old mate, who was in the Northampton Town section. The Cobblers’ fans gave me a big clap which was great. Mustapha and his dad were massive fans of the club and although Muzzi was confined to a wheelchair it was no disability, as he was one of the most active and vocal fans at the club. I gave him a hug and said, ‘Apologies if I score the winner mate.’
What happened? … I scored the winner! I apologised with a wave to the Northampton fans, and I could see Muzzi laughing away.
Before long, I was in the office again and being asked once more about the role coaching the youth team. It became clear that Paul Buckle and Colin Lee wanted me to stand down as captain; that was fair enough, but the manner in which it was done was odd. Soon after the season had started I had chatted to Bucks and the chairman Alex Rowe, and said that although I was still playing I would help out with the youth team by taking the odd afternoon session. This would mean that I could maintain my morning training with the first team. They agreed to this, and said that would be great. I also told Colin Lee, the then chief executive, what we had planned. It was at this point that there was obviously some confusion. Imagine my surprise when the following Monday morning, Colin turned up with full training kit on in his new capacity of Youth Team Coach – Chief Executive to Youth Team Coach in a weekend, not a bad effort. I don’t know where the message had got confused, but, for the time being, I just continued as I was.
A few months later, I was offered the role again, but this time with both Colin and Paul deciding that I would be given it on a four month trial basis, until the end of the season. This would be on a significant pay drop. This is when it became clear to me that the captaincy, and my playing for the club, would be coming to an end. The truth was, I knew that I couldn’t play for ever. I would have loved to have taken on the coaching role in some capacity, and, if it had been for a year, I would have accepted it. However, the club and Bucks were asking me to stop playing, give up the captaincy, have my wages cut to a third, and take it on a trial period with no certainty of being given the role in the summer.
I accepted that it was an opportunity to prove myself as a coach, but I had already been coaching the under-16s at Exeter City for two years, so I clearly could do it. I got on really well with the young lads who wanted me to do it, and I hadn’t exactly been a bad player for the club.
I know there is no sentiment in football, and I am absolutely fine with that, but even I had to laugh about the predicament I was now in. I am still amazed that Colin called me back into his office and offered me a small amount more, in acknowledgement of the fact I had a family to support. The increase meant that I would still be voluntarily giving up over fifty per cent of my wage. How generous. I already had a football league contract up until August, so who in their right mind would give up more than half their wage for a trial run at something they weren’t remotely guaranteed to get? I suspect it was really just an exercise to free up my wages, fairly common in football. However, I think that I deserved at least a year in that particular role, to work with the boys on a day-today basis, to get the best out of them. I would have sacrificed the money, no problem, but sacrificing the money, the captaincy and the contract was a problem. It was just too much to give up all at once. Principle can sometimes take over your thoughts, and may cloud your judgement, but, rightly or wrongly, I have always stuck to my beliefs.
I don’t think either my writing or the local TV stuff that I had started helped, as it seemed to alienate me from club management somewhat, though it had all been with a view to promoting Torquay United. Even when I had the honour of being presented with the BBC South West Footballer of the Year award (no mean feat for a Torquay United player!), I had to drag two of the lads with me to the ceremony, as no one from the club was available. With the help of Andy Phelan, the editor of the local rag, I had also published a book called Captain’s Blog charting the progress of that season. I suppose the whole thing just ran away with itself. Maybe the Torquay United management felt that I had become too big for my own boots? I don’t know, but it certainly was the beginning of the end.
The whole thing came to a head after a cup game on a Saturday. It should have been called off because of the weather, but Colin desperately wanted it to go ahead, so the referee was persuaded to play it, and we went on to lose. It was like playing football on an ice-skating rink. Paul phoned me after the game and said, ‘I think it’s time for a change.’
He seemed to think that some of the lads’ attitudes had not been right, and he wanted changes. He told me to tell the lads to be ready for change. Before long, Tim Sills had gone, as had Chris Todd. A team does have to evolve, but the whole thing felt a bit rushed and messy.
Eventually, Paul phoned me and said that he had a club on the phone, and that they were really keen to sign me until the end of the season. When your manager tells you that, you know that the writing is on the wall. After the earlier part of the season, it wasn’t that unexpected. However, it couldn’t have been more of a shock when he told me who
the team was – Oxford United. I was now in turmoil; I had wanted to see my career out at Torquay United and really felt that I still had something to offer, but clearly the club wanted me to play less, and now Oxford United, a club that had been a huge emotional rollercoaster for me, wanted me back.
I procrastinated for far too long really, but after a massive amount of soul searching, and a pretty heated debate with the manager, something I think we both regret, I decided that I would go. The last game I played for Torquay United was against Burton Albion. The fans sang my name, I won Man of the Match, but we lost, and after speaking to Paul after the game he felt that my move to Oxford United would be appropriate. I am a proud man and, although I could well have stayed and seen out my contract, and although I still had a great relationship with the fans and players, I couldn’t do it.
However it ended, it doesn’t really matter. I have to say that my time at Torquay United was incredible. At my ripe old age (for a footballer) and in the latter part of my career, I had enjoyed some fantastic times with the club and met some brilliant people. I also got on really well with the management, and still do, and if it didn’t end as positively as it could – as ‘they’ say ‘football is football’.
And you know what, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Whatever was said or done, and whatever the outcome for me, the job was done – Torquay United were well and truly back in the league. And after all, how can I be bothered about all the ifs, buts and maybes of all that now, when, as we speak, the car is packed, the surfboards are attached (just), the children are starting their pack-ups, and we have a date with a beach and some surf. Carpe diem, I think it is.
Another huge deciding factor in my move to Oxford United was what had previously gone on there. I still had a problem with us having gone down and not got back up. Chris Wilder, the Oxford United manager, had phoned me several times and asked me to sign, and Jim Rosenthal also phoned me saying that I had to come back. He said that even old ‘Bald Eagle’ Jim Smith had been on the case about me coming back. It was almost farcical – as well as the two Jims, at one point I even had Timmy Mallet on the phone telling me to get back and do it for the boys. I told my mate Jase that Timmy had called me, and he thought I was taking the piss. He only believed me a few months later when I mentioned that I was due to be playing tennis with Timmy Mallett and Chris Evans.
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