The Nowhere Men: The Unknown Story of Football's True Talent Spotters

by Michael Calvin

  Padfield was respected for his insight, but had a detached, slightly sour manner, and surprisingly hard eyes, behind full-framed glasses. He was representing Sheffield Wednesday, ‘for today at least. Not that sure about tomorrow.’ A familiar story, of intermittent crisis, unfolded. Told Terry Burton was on his way to assist new manager Dave Jones, he blurted: ‘Well, Chris Evans is still there. He’s my man: assistant manager, chief scout, chocolate teapot.’ Padfield was hardly enamoured of his immediate task, monitoring Colchester. ‘Why now?’ he asked no one in particular. ‘We’re not playing them for six weeks.’

  Job satisfaction seemed at a premium. Jason Halsey, son of referee Mark, was there on behalf of Bolton, who, to universal envy, compensated him with a small retainer. He wasted no time in complaining that ‘The train was bleedin’ packed. I couldn’t move and I cricked my neck.’ He consulted his iPhone to plan his getaway and announced, a little too brashly for some, that he would be aiming to get to Liverpool Street by 10 p.m. Like Jones, he had been at Chelsea reserves’ 2–0 defeat by Arsenal the previous day. ‘Poxy,’ he concluded. ‘I’ve spent seven hours today, doing my match report. Try telling the analyst at the club that.’

  Halsey was expected to be a human time-code machine. He was obliged to record the precise time of every significant incident, to facilitate editing of the match video. Each set play had to be annotated, and five factors about each player, both good and bad, had to be tabulated. Unlike Jones and I, who had been randomly allocated seats at the back of the directors’ box, Halsey was forced to deal with the added distraction of being amongst the crowd. He was knowledgeable, and incisive, but it was understandably difficult to take a measured view of a typically functional League One match.

  Jones did the basics, and attempted to be a little more intuitive. Detecting collective strengths and weaknesses required tactical nous and unexpected emotional intelligence. He was looking for unconsidered nuggets of information; the psychological profile revealed by a player’s reaction to being substituted or the group’s response to things they could not control, such as a referee’s flawed decision. He understood his subject matter, the lower-division footballer. Most find their level; League One features a favoured few, on the way up, and a lumpen majority, whose careers have flat-lined because of limitations in talent or defects in temperament.

  Charlton, 13 points clear of second-placed Sheffield United, fell behind after five minutes to the sort of goal which deserved a better stage. Anthony Wordsworth, a tall, languid left-sided player, cut in from the touchline before fashioning a 20-yard shot which dipped and swerved on its way into the top right-hand corner of the net. Impressive, but deceptive, according to Jones: ‘The boy is cheating himself. He’s quite happy picking up his two grand a week, being the best player in an average side. People have been looking at him for two or three years. It tells you something that he is still there.’

  As Jones turned, to compare notes with Steve Lomas, who was sitting next to him, a season ticket holder, separated from the directors’ box by a wooden partition, indulged his curiosity. ‘ What do you think of Wordsworth, then?’ he asked, mistaking me for a scout. ‘Rumour has it we’re looking at him. Do a job I’d say.’ I parroted received wisdom, which seemed to satisfy him. Presumably, it was sufficient to enable him to peddle ‘inside information’ in the pub. He sagely advised me to keep an eye on Chris Solly, Charlton’s full back: ‘Bit small, but he’s got skill on the ball, loves a tackle and gets forward well. You probably know that, though.’

  Jones, meanwhile, was sketching set pieces into his notebook. These would later be converted into animated computer images, on the Scout7 network. He abbreviated a series of functions: AS meant Attacking Shape, DS Defensive Shape. BH defined Colchester’s best headers of the ball, and MM their main markers. PP depicted pattern of play which, in their case, was a bog standard 4–4–2. It was insight, in shorthand.

  ‘This is a shape I’m used to,’ Jones said. ‘When England play 4–4–2, they play. When a League One team play 4–4–2 they smash it down the park. The goalkeeper works off Odejayi, the big striker. He also dives to complete the save, when it is not strictly necessary. It buys him ten seconds’ thinking time. At this level it is all about working knowledge. I know who does what, their roles and responsibilities. I rarely write a lot in the second half.’

  Full backs were on the agenda at half-time. Halsey recognised the potential of Chelsea’s Todd Kane, whom we had both seen at that Youth Cup tie at Staines Town: ‘Always liked him. Decent. Pace. Discipline. Gets forward well. What about you?’ Jones permitted himself a knowing smile, as Halsey circulated, asking a similar question about Solly, his obvious target for the evening. ‘There you go,’ he confided. ‘He’s looking for answers and reassurance. We’re not short of people who try to pick your brain in this game.’

  Gary Smith, the Stevenage manager, was on the fringes of the conversation, monitoring the progress of the night’s matches on a television with his assistant Steve Guppy. He understood the environment; he scouted for Arsenal before making his name in the United States, where he won the MLS Cup with Colorado Rapids. His father, Roger, was recruited by Charlton after leaving Cardiff, where he was chief scout, following the sacking of Dave Jones. Father and son respected the bonds which tied the brotherhood tight.

  Each had strong links with Arsenal, where Roger coached at youth level, and scouted in Europe: ‘In truth Steve Rowley [Arsenal’s chief scout] did say there would always be a job for me but there’s a slight problem. It isn’t just about money for me now, but more about involvement. If you are not full time, particularly at big clubs, you can almost be on the outside looking in, you know? I had a conversation with Phil Chappell, Charlton’s chief scout. He is a thoroughly decent guy, very well organised. That might sound odd because you’d think all of them are well organised, but I can assure you they’re not.

  ‘I’d given in my notice at Cardiff, and they’d been somewhat difficult about arranging for me to go to games. It was bizarre. It was almost because Dave had got the sack, and I was associated with something nasty, that they didn’t want to be tainted. Phil, as somebody I knew well, was getting me tickets so that I could circulate and let people know my situation. I’ve done the same thing myself for other scouts who are out of work. I try to send them to a game. They might do you a little favour with a report but basically you know they’re looking to get back in.

  ‘After about three months, Phil asked me what I wanted to do. He was honest, that a full-time job might be difficult, but was really keen to do something. I told him I didn’t just want to put one report in a week and then sit there waiting for the following Saturday for a game. It would be nice to be centrally involved. Thankfully, Phil has been as good as his word. Unless they do something radically wrong Charlton are going up, so we’re already looking at players who not only might serve us well in the Championship but at a push, could even play in the Premier League. They’ve obviously had their problems at this club in the last ten years but as somebody put it to me, they’ve bottomed out. They’re coming back the other way, not only on the pitch, but off it as well. These things go together, don’t they?’

  His son was doing the managerial equivalent of the Knowledge. He was working 18-hour days, watching as many games as possible. He had inherited a muscular, instinctively conservative side from Graham Westley. His predecessor was a distinctive character in a game more accustomed to laddish orthodoxy. He was a successful businessman, a new age service provider who turned up for training in a Bentley and sweated alongside his players in a self-funded weights room. Change would, by necessity, be gradual, but Gary needed help to find players with pace and potential in the loan market. The obvious option, employing his father, was understandably forbidding.

  Roger admitted: ‘It’s obviously crossed my mind, and his. I’m not sure, because I think that could put him under undue pressure. Listen, let’s put it another way round. Blood’s thicker than water and if he want
ed me to join him, I wouldn’t be able to turn him down. But I’m still not sure that is the best route. It wouldn’t be a nice day when both of us got the sack, would it? No matter how well it goes, you know at some stage it’s going to happen. Clearly Gary knows he can lean on me for what knowledge I have of the leagues. I’d certainly give him advice because he’s been in America for four years. He’ll remember players who spring to mind easily, but there will be others who have developed while he has been away. He’ll go “I don’t know him, Dad, I’d like to get to see him,” but therein lies his dilemma. He needs to make one or two decisions, and in the short term, it’s highly unlikely he’s going to be able to get to see as many players as he needs. At least if I don’t know a particular player, I’ll probably know someone who does.’

  They were collaborating on a search for a striker. Jordan Slew, the star of the Sheffield United side which reached the Youth Cup final in 2011, had disappeared without trace after being sold to Blackburn Rovers for £3 million. Roger used his contacts to ascertain a basic profile: Slew was quick, measured in front of goal, and a ‘decent lad’ who needed to distance himself from the chaos of a club which was redefining the concept of mismanagement. Gary called England Under 20 coach Brian Eastick, who had visited him in Colorado the previous year. He passed him on to Noel Blake, who had coached Slew at Under 19 level.

  ‘People help one another, because they know what the game is like. Noel has given Slew a really good mention. Somewhere along that route, Gary may have to take a punt, because otherwise he ain’t going to get anyone in. I’m not telling secrets out of school, but from what I’ve seen of Stevenage, they are short of quality. Gary says they’re a fantastic group in terms of their togetherness, but, particularly up front, they have no pace. I mean, you could probably run as quickly as one or two of them, you know what I mean? It is a strange one. Westley has just gone to Preston and sacked all the scouts. OK I suppose, if he wanted a change because he knew better people, but he actually didn’t want any scouts. I can’t get my head round that.’

  My garrulous neighbour in the main stand attempted to engage his son in conversation as the second half meandered, losing any shape or sense of purpose. ‘You’re with that rugby club, aren’t you,’ he said, delighted with what he self-evidently considered a flash of original humour, rather than a tiresome recycling of a cliché, created by Stevenage’s reputation for physicality. Gary Smith smiled thinly, and offered several pained platitudes. He was as surprised as anyone in the vicinity when the fan suddenly began yelling ‘fish’, as if an unseen hand had sprinkled a hallucinogenic drug in his half-time tea.

  The mystery was solved by a glance at the big screen, at the left-hand corner of the stand. This depicted a goldfish being chased by a giant net. The home supporters cheered as it evaded capture. It was a surreal image and ritual, which emphasised the marginalisation of the match. Charlton were abject. Their fate was confirmed by a late goal from Steven Gillespie, who closed down goalkeeper Ben Williams, and blocked an attempted clearance. ‘He’s been doing that all game, fair do’s,’ said Jones, as we headed down an unmarked staircase which led to the main reception.

  It had been a profitable evening, in one sense at least. Jones revealed Lomas, the St Johnstone manager, had offered him £50 a week to monitor English players. It transpired he was in London visiting his children, and building a business case to broaden the Perth club’s recruitment base. He called Jones the following day, asking him to travel to Scotland, to meet his chairman. The scout’s luck just might have changed: ‘It’s all sweet. With Rangers going sideways, a Europa League place opens up. Steve wants me to talk about setting up a scouting network for them. All this has come about by me sitting next to him at a match. That’s how this game works. It is about being in the right place at the right time.’

  His enthusiasm was infectious, yet there was still a sense of transience; Padfield and Halsey would be looking for new clubs in the summer. The financial cataclysm in Scottish football would claim Owen, too. Fate had not finished with Jones. The mileage men were increasingly expendable. Good judges such as David Pleat, who acted as a mentor to aspiring managers like Dean Austin in addition to operating as a recruitment consultant to Tottenham, understood the strictures of a new breed of manager and chief executive:

  ‘A scout has got to be loyal, conscientious, and he’s got to feel he’s being listened to. Otherwise he gets very irritated and anxious, and he starts telling people, “Eh. Saw a fucking player last week. Told the manager, he wasn’t interested. You want to go and have a look at him.” What happens then is they all start talking to each other. I know they do. I’ve been in the room with them over the years and they are nice people, who love the game. They’re either not wealthy enough to let it go, or they’ve not got another hobby to distract them. Their life revolves around meeting people and going to football matches. But I have to say, the forty pence-a-milers aren’t listened to probably as much as they should be. They’re disregarded. Therefore, when you start adding up the money, which we did at Tottenham, you start asking “What are we getting back for this?” Some of them don’t write proper reports, you see. They’re not emailing, and I remember Alan Sugar saying to me, “I don’t want names on the back of envelopes, you’ve got to learn technology boy.” They won’t survive.

  ‘You need a chief scout. You need things properly organised. But I see a lot of, for want of a better word, random scouts. Without purpose, you know? You should ask the questions – who are you going to watch, why are you going to watch them, there has to be a reason. A lot of them just watch games, and they’ll put their report in, without adding anything of note to the pool of knowledge. We all know who the better players are in any given team. I’ll give you an example. Watford played Blackpool last week. I was going to go, but my back hurt and I decided not to. After the game, Dave Bassett called me. He said it was very poor and that I’d missed nothing. I asked about Matt Phillips because I knew he’d be a bit better than the others. Sure enough, Dave said he was the only one worth bothering about. He’s moving upwards, but I don’t know whether he will be quite good enough. I know the players off by heart, and I’m not unique, lots of people do. Harsh as it sounds you don’t need to pay people mileage to confirm what you already know.’

  So, what did Sheffield United get for their £4, the going rate for another night on the road? Jones devoted the first six pages of his report to a dissection of Colchester’s shape at defensive and attacking corners. He also annotated the roles and movement of each player at set pieces. This led into a general comments section. For all you budding English teachers out there, he couldn’t quite get the hang of the word ‘their’:

  Colchester were hardworking, disciplined, organised, and competitive. They came with a game plan, scored an early goal and then defended with there [sic] lives. At times, they rode there [sic] luck. They looked to hit CAFC on the counter, or directly long. When attacking from GK they would push 15-9 onto the centre halves, and 22-16 onto full backs. GK would target 15 with 9-16-22 gambling off. If first phase isn’t won, Rowlands and Izzet work hard to win ball back and regain possession. They move the ball wide for 16 or 22, who then play inside with Gillespie and Odejayi. If possession isn’t kept, they get bodies in quickly behind the ball. They make themselves compact and defend deep to allow opposition to come onto them. When it breaks down, they go again.

  Jones considered Colchester’s most viable strengths to be their physicality, discipline and work ethic. He warned of their threat at set plays, the potency of their long throws, and of the potential of Wordsworth ‘if he is in the mood’. He felt they were too rigid in their game plan, and lacked pace, especially at the back. He advised targeting centre half Tom Eastman, whose positioning earmarked him as their weakest defender. And he warned:

  Playing 4–4–2 against these will give them an edge as they can match us up. They are big and strong, and that might frustrate us. There [sic] not really playing for anything as they seem
to be safe and will finish mid table. Playing 4–3–3 will move them about, especially in wide areas at full back. Target the right back Wilson, who stands off the winger. The two CH will head it and compete in the air all day. With the GK coming for everything from wide areas, there may be chances with crosses into the box. In central areas there are only two of them. They may be experienced, but there [sic] legs have gone a bit and we can pass around them.

  Each player, in order of team shape, was ranked as follows:

  1 Ben Williams Age: 29 Height: 183cm / 6’ 0"

  Position: GK Rating: C Foot: Right

  Not the biggest. Kicks well hands and floor. Comes for crosses. Wasn’t tested enough.

  20 Brian Wilson Age: 28 Height: 178cm / 5’ 10"

  Position: RB Rating: D Foot: Right

  Didn’t want to join in. Stood off marker. Over-covered, and allowed play to get in behind him. Lacked pace. Weakest full back.

  4 Magnus Okuonghae Age: 26 Height: 189cm / 6’ 2"

  Position: CH Right Side Rating: C Foot: Right

  Big, strong, athletic. Competes well in the air. Good upper body strength. Strongest CH. Threat both boxes.

  18 Tom Eastman Age: 20 Height: 191cm / 6’ 3"

  Position: CH Left side Rating: D Foot: Right

  Weakest CH. Competes well in the air. Got pinned, rolled and moved about too easily. Lacks recovery pace. Threat both boxes.

  25 John White Age: 25 Height: 182cm / 6’ 0"

  Position: LB Rating: C Foot: Left

  Sat in rarely got on. Long throw final third. Got caught with pace down the side of him. Experienced at this level.

  16 Ian Henderson Age: 27 Height: 179cm / 5’ 10"

  Position: RM Rating: D Foot: Right