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

by Michael Calvin

  Outside, raindrops, shed from the roof of the main stand, were refracting in soft sunlight after a sharp shower. The match had just kicked off when we parked ourselves at the back of the directors’ box. Seven of the Reading side, including striker Jacob Walcott, a distant cousin of Arsenal’s Theo, would be released. Griffin did not reveal his intentions to those around him, but had confided his interest in Gozie Ugwu. The long-limbed striker had been brought to his attention by Liam Daish, one of his former players, who had managed him during a two-month loan at Ebbsfleet United in the Conference. ‘A foal,’ he murmured. ‘Got to grow into himself a bit, but would do us for a season.’

  It was another eerie, ritualistic exercise. Players’ studs clattered across the deserted terraces as they retrieved the ball. It was a harsh, percussive sound, lacking the soothing rhythms of well-shoed horses, cantering along a country road. Urgent entreaties – ‘c’mon, winners’ – seemed utterly out of place. Everyone winced at the rifle’s retort of a clash of heads between Brentford defender Leon Legge and Reading defender Angus MacDonald, who carried on, bloody and groggy.

  Brentford’s goalkeeping coaches were watching discreetly from the upper tier of the Wendy House stand, behind the left-hand goal. Antoine Gounet, signed from Tours, conformed to every Gallic stereotype. He attempted step-overs while under pressure in his own penalty area, punched the ball when he should have caught it, and generally behaved with a manic lack of care and consideration. ‘He’ll be on the way back at half-time,’ said Griffin. ‘You’d never guess he’s French, would you? No, no, no. Taxi for Calais.’

  Gounet was, indeed, replaced at the interval, when Griffin was approached by Luton manager Paul Buckle and his technical director Lil Fuccillo, who returned just as the second half started to ask for a number for Steve Shorey, Reading’s chief scout. ‘They’re interested in my player,’ Griffin whispered. ‘I’ll get the gaffer to call on the way home. We’d be good for the kid for a year. We’ll see what he can become, rather than what he is now.’

  Football works in mysterious ways. It transpired that Reading wanted Ugwu to go on loan in League One. Yeovil manager Gary Johnson, who happens to be Griffin’s nephew, was the beneficiary of Wycombe’s rejection. The veteran scout didn’t share Waddock’s enthusiasm for Reading’s Jordan Obita, which would also remain unrequited. Griffin did not see enough to trust the young winger’s intermittent flashes of instinctive talent in a game which was won by Brentford, courtesy of an Antonio German penalty.

  Memories provided respite from the tedium of a match which staggered over the line like a dehydrated marathon runner. Griffin recalled the unforeseen benefits of sending Dennis Bailey, whom he had signed for Palace from Farnborough, on loan to Bristol Rovers. ‘There was always a goal in Dennis, and Steve Coppell asked me to keep tabs on him,’ he explained. ‘I watched him four times, but my eye kept getting drawn to the Rovers keeper. I told Steve we just had to sign him. It was Nigel Martyn. We bought him for a million, and sold him for five. He played for England. I saw him recently. He has a caravan in the New Forest. I went to a site down the road and there he was, larger than life. A real nice Cornish man. His wife was a strong one. Not like today’s players, eh?

  ‘I remember Gal, my nephew, signing John Akinde for Bristol City from Ebbsfleet. It was a strange one. It was the first transfer ever decided by a poll of the fans. I first saw him when he was eighteen and working in a cinema in Gravesend. He helped Ebbsfleet win the FA Trophy. Akinde had it all, pace, strength and power, but he had no idea what he was going to do when he came anywhere near the ball. He was a million miles away from being a player, but there was something there. Gal took a chance on him, but when I heard the details I rang him and said, “What have you done?” He’d given him fifteen hundred quid a week, a car and a flat for six months. Where was his incentive? He was ruined. With a player like that you give him three hundred quid, and tell him to earn it if he asks for more. I love Gal like a son, but. . . .’

  If blood is thicker than water, Griffin also understood Dave Philpotts’ concerns about the culture shift which was accelerating, and subtly changing the dynamics of his job. He identified with the insecurity of Mel Johnson, who was in limbo at Liverpool, following the sacking of Kenny Dalglish. Johnson attempted to retain a semblance of normality, submitting cautionary reports on such young players as Blackpool’s Matt Phillips, but received no feedback. The silence was unnerving, unyielding.

  It was impossible not to relate to his quiet dignity and sense of impotence. ‘I’ve had a great run,’ he said, as the rumours swirled. ‘I’ve been very, very lucky. I’ve always worked hard. I’ve always gone to as many games as possible. I love watching players. I’ve only ever been moved out once in twenty-seven years. It can happen straight away or it can take time, or you can get to know the people that take over and you can be OK with them.’

  In extremis, the Nowhere Men look after their own. Despite the distractions, Johnson joined Griffin in attempting to promote scouts for whom he had respect, on a personal and a professional basis. Each continued to encourage Dean Austin to pursue a role as chief scout for a club of appropriate stature. Griffin also recommended Steve Jones, who had been released by Sheffield United following their loss on penalties in the League One play-off final at Wembley, for a newly created post at AFC Wimbledon.

  ‘If you’re a chief exec, scouting is the first thing you’ll cut back on if things go wrong,’ Griffin rationalised. ‘They’ve always looked for petty savings from us. I did hear a story from Terry Venables about Alan Sugar. He reckoned one of the first decisions he made when he got into Tottenham was to cut the two pints of milk in the scouts’ area to one, to save money, because he was always trying to save money.

  ‘You still need the old-fashioned scout who goes out and stands on the grass. The analytical scout can go and make a further judgement if necessary. They do their jobs well, but are a different breed of people. They would never dream of standing behind a goal and watching. I don’t disrespect them for that. We are totally different animals. What they do is also expensive. I don’t think it can filter down into League One or Two.

  ‘At my level, it is difficult to employ more than one or two scouts. At Wycombe I’ve just got the one guy, who is on expenses only. That’s all I can have. Financially we just can’t do any more. I can understand why people talk about the benefits of technical scouting, but it would cost so much to set up and run, it couldn’t possibly be done below the level of the Premier League, or a really top-quality Championship club.’

  It was not shaping up to be a Summer of Love.

  11

  Yellow Ten and the Custard Cream Kid

  THE CHOSEN FEW lounged on beaches lapped by the Caribbean, or partied in seven-star ghettoes beside the Arabian Gulf. The wannabes, who envied the lifestyle of football’s rich and famous, and had convinced themselves of the legitimacy of their ambitions, sought to emulate Sakho Bakare. As career strategies go, that had its limitations. Bakare was unemployed, separated from his family and sleeping on the sofa in a succession of friends’ houses.

  The French forward was deemed a success by those unversed in the ways of the football world, simply because of his rarity value; he got something for the £50 he paid to participate in the lottery of a mass off-season trial. It had earned him a year in the Evo-Stik Southern League with St Albans City, where he was given £100 a week and as many free chips as he could eat from Andy’s Gourmet Burger van, situated in the corner of the tree-lined Clarence Park ground.

  I had seen him play there just before he was released, at the end of the 2011-12 season. Clarence Park was a place of suburban gentility, reached by a wooden walkway from a bridge. Anxious parents fussed over children, amusing themselves noisily on swings and climbing frames in a rubber-crumbed playground. A sheepdog, with a blue and yellow Saints scarf wrapped around its neck, dozed in the shadow cast by another van, which dispensed coffee. Bakare had justified his pedigree as a one-season wonder in the Swi
ss League with Neuchatel Xamax by scoring 15 goals, yet was utterly dysfunctional.

  He was tall, and the thinness of his legs was emphasised by the fashionable habit of stretching his socks over his knees. He loped, rather than ran, and his lack of co-ordination suggested he was not in full control of his limbs. He struggled to do the simple things automatically, and had the peripheral vision of a mole. His awareness of his teammates was minimal, and a source of collective frustration. But he had a physical presence. Occasionally, in a fusion of fortunate timing and sheer instinct, he took the breath away.

  He provided the highlight of a dour 1–1 draw with Banbury United just before half-time, when he met a headed clearance on the right-hand edge of the penalty area. He fashioned a scissor kick as he fell with the grace of a flamingo in a high wind. The ball swerved and dipped, but cannoned to safety off the crossbar, with opposing goalkeeper Andy Kemp as astonished a spectator as the rest of us, in a crowd of 482. The Official Sakho Bakare Appreciation Society had 173 likes on Facebook, but the fans’ forum which summed him up as ‘egg beater or world beater’ represented a more measured judgement.

  Bakare was 27, too old, too unreliable and too high maintenance. Scouts representing Morecambe, Dagenham & Redbridge and Luton were unimpressed. St Albans manager David Howell was sanguine about their disinterest. A protégé of Barry Fry, he understood the limitations of the type of open audition staged by Barnet, one of a number of small clubs who used them to address cash flow problems. He liked the man, a devout Muslim whose love of biscuits had led to him being given the soubriquet ‘The Custard Cream Kid’ in the local press, but knew the shortcomings of the footballer:

  ‘Sakho definitely has ability, but has to learn to work within a team. At this level you have to put the work in. A lot of the lads are part time. There’s really nowhere for us to train. We can only use certain parts of the pitch in midweek. That in itself is challenging. People have been looking at him, but not enough boxes are being ticked. Is he mentally strong enough? Is he a one-trick pony? He needs to listen, to follow instructions better. It is as simple as that. His mindset is telling him to do something different. Our biggest enemies, as coaches, are deeply ingrained bad habits.

  ‘The trial at Barnet was awful, to be honest. There were players with their agents, their parents, their partners and their mates. It was a free for all. I asked for numbers for three or four players, to disguise my interest in Sakho. We were light up front and needed someone to fit into a pattern. It is strange, but I remember the exact sequence of play when I noticed him. He took the ball on his chest around about the halfway line, went to go right and shimmied back on to his left. He got the ball out to the right wing, and immediately headed into the box with a real sense of urgency. That stuck.

  ‘He’s a lovely lad, but he speaks no English. He fell out with his agent and I kept getting texts from his landlord, who wasn’t getting paid. It turns out he was going from house to house, relying on friends and sleeping where he could. He was on the streets for one or two nights. His family is still in France, and he is seeing where football will take him. He has his dreams and aspirations. This is his way out. But, at this level, a lot of people are deluded.’

  The truth behind such a bleak statement was written in cyberspace. Scouts of any substance tended to shy away from the open days, unless they needed a little pocket money to see them through to the pre-season friendlies. A whole range of initiatives, some as well intentioned as others were brazenly exploitative, gave the impression that fame was just a click, and a series of 20-minute trial matches, away. It was here, on the internet, that football’s flotsam and jetsam found a disembodied, confused voice:

  Hello Scouts, Agents and Managers, I have a Ghanaian footballer who plays just like Ashley Cole of Chelsea fc, anybody interested to have him try out how good strong, talented left footed young boy.

  I HAVE TOP STRIKER 1994 FROM EGYPT PLAY IN THE BEST TEAM IN AFRICA AND NT OF EGYPT. WANT TO PLAY IN ENGLAND OR SPAIN OR TOP TEAM IN EUROPE. FOR CV AND VIDEO PLEASE CONTACT ME.

  PLAYERS. SPANISH INTERNACIONAL U16 LOOKING NEW CLUB TOP IN EUROPE. Contact Sergio.

  Scout, Manager and Agent interested in coming to Nigeria to Scout for Players or have a look at African talent on grassroots level and become pro for great deals. We will provide accommodation and security, throughout Nigeria. As we all known that African as a whole has good talented players, who need sincere and honest scout from European countries and Asia to help them show case there talent to the world. We are going to arrange for match, trials for the players in the present of the agent scout and managers to evaluate the players that suit such agent, scout and Manager Thanks to you all, God bless.

  I know 20 -year old soccer player who wants to be a professional soccer player in the world. If you need the player to introduce to professional soccer clubs, please let me know.

  Have a great European Goalkepeer 1 . 12 . 95 looking for a UK academy can anyone assist!!

  I have some young quality good players I want to sponsor for trial. Please, I need club to invite my players, I will buy their tickets to come over for trial. Please email me if you are in need of players. I have 2 strikers and 1 midfielder. And some others available play.

  I am an English-born (mixed race Spanish, St Lucian and English) attacking player. My perfect position would be just behind the striker(s) and in front of the midfield. Football trials from a top company.

  Taken individually, the messages had the troubling poignancy of a love letter from a fleeting acquaintance. Viewed collectively, they conformed to a pattern, a combination of spam and scam. These were shards of dreams, momentary insights into empty lives. They damned the system, and the sport which encouraged them. Demand for footballers was increasingly specific; supply was inexhaustible. Recruitment, on the margins, was unregulated and unseemly. The better scouts, appreciative of their responsibilities as arbiters, were more comfortable with convention.

  The Premier League and Football League outsourced exit trials, for young men released by academies and centres of excellence. Some were tailored to identifiable markets, such as the American College system. The majority were essentially a cross between a careers fair and a cattle market. These typically featured between 100 and 150 players, and were distinguished by certain rules and regulations. Scouts were forbidden from directly approaching players or their parents. Instead, they were required to lodge expressions of interest, which could be monitored appropriately.

  The most intriguing initiative had commercial connotations, but was driven by altruism. The Nike Academy was unashamedly a marketing tool, but, as a human experiment, it had depth, credibility and value. It operated out of Loughborough University, and featured a fluid squad of around 18 players, under the age of 20, previously released by professional clubs. It was exclusive, and all-inclusive. The boys lived on campus, received cutting-edge scientific support, and had eight hours’ contact time with tutors each week so they could continue, or resume, their education. They were supervised by Premier League staff, had the security of one-year contracts, and were expected to focus on a single objective, impressing visiting scouts, and getting back into the professional game.

  Head coach Jimmy Gilligan, a former Watford and Cardiff City striker, also scouted for the England Under 21 squad. The Nike Academy was fed by two talent identification programmes: The Chance, a global competition featuring 100,000 players from 55 countries, and annual trials, which featured up to 200 players, released by British clubs. Twelve of the squad from the 2011–12 season were given professional contracts. The example they set was powerful, inspirational.

  David Accam had gone from Evesham United, in Division One of the Southern League, to playing for Helsingborg in the Champions League. Tom Rogic, an attacking midfield player who won The Chance, was a full Australian international at 19, and had a four-and-a-half-year contract at Celtic. Alex Whittle, initially rejected by Liverpool, was a first team regular at Dunfermline. Exeter retained their faith in def
ender Jordan Tillson, despite a freak metatarsal injury which kept him out for five months. Other graduates were developing their careers in Scandinavia, South Africa, Belarus, Ireland and Italy.

  The class of 2012–13 began to take shape on a windy day, under a weak sun, on a pitch set on a plateau behind the university’s new stadium. Thirty-five survivors of the initial trials were split into two squads, yellow and blue, who would compete in three forty-minute matches. They were evaluated by Gilligan, fitness adviser Jon Goodman, assistant coach Matt Wells and goalkeeping coach Mark Goodlad. ‘We’re doing due diligence,’ said Gilligan. ‘We’re making assessments of players technically, tactically and physically, but also looking at them as young men and human beings.’

  A couple of boys released by Chelsea had abandoned the trials that morning, preferring to gamble on their association with the club generating interest. ‘They’re in a bubble,’ said Goodman, who was sitting on a blue plastic drinks box, as the hopefuls warmed up. ‘It pains me to say it, but they’ve probably had their careers. These boys are all quite nice footballers, but we’re looking for that little something that separates those who make it, and those who don’t. Some struggle to understand this process. This is about the individual, not the team. We have somehow to identify the character of those who will work with us.’

  This was a challenge to football’s modus operandi, which involves choosing the most talented, and extemporising from there. It involved elements of the SAS recruitment strategy; Special Forces look beyond basic competencies and select on the basis of a candidate’s capacity for self-improvement. David Goldsmith, a striker released by West Bromwich Albion, was asked, casually, to take the yellow team’s warm-up. He didn’t appear to realise his leadership qualities were being scrutinised, subtly, but the strength of his character, and his ease of command, shone through. He was a goal up, before kick-off.