Taking le Tiss

by Matt Le Tissier

  I had previously played on the same side as Bruce in a League representative game and I took a lot of penalties against him in training, and he saved virtually all of them. He kept guessing the right way so I knew I had to do something special. I hit it harder than normal and the ball went higher than usual. It flew into the top corner, in off a post and breathed a sigh of relief. We got another penalty in the second half when Mark Wright handled, and by then it was snowing really hard. I went to put the ball on the spot but couldn’t even see it. I was on a hat-trick and the last thing I wanted was a delay. The ref started to walk towards me so I just called out, ‘It’s OK I’ve found it. But in truth I just put the ball down anywhere in order to get on with it. I smashed it in and incredibly we were 4-0 up against Liverpool. They got a couple of late consolations but it meant we had got off to a great start under Alan Ball. We had a bit of impetus and a lot of belief—but we were still nineteenth out of 22.

  The following week Paul Moody was transferred to Oxford, which was a huge weight off my mind, with my main rival now out the way. And that same week in training Lew Chatterley said he’d seen a free kick in Europe where the ball was rolled back and flicked up for a volley, so he suggested we should try it. We had just signed Jim Magilton from Oxford with the express purpose of getting the ball to me because he was such a good passer. He was a great lad, a real character and a good player, so we had a go. He rolled a few balls back for me to flick up and hit. Some went in the net, most went in the trees. We did that for about five minutes but thought nothing of it. It was just a bit of fun.

  Next day we were home to Wimbledon. It was an absolutely dire match with very little excitement. I didn’t have a good game as Dean Blackwell followed me everywhere and I didn’t have the pace to get away from him. But with 16 minutes left we got a free kick 20 yards out in a central position. I set the ball up for a normal free kick but I knew it would be tight to get the ball over the wall and back down under the bar. Jim suggested trying what we had practised the previous day so I decided to give it a go. He rolled the ball back for me to flick up. In training, I had been flicking it quite high giving me time to steady myself, but I didn’t want to be closed down so I did not give it as much height and hit the volley sweet as you like. Hans Segers hadn’t a hope. Afterwards he said bitterly that it was the only thing I did all match, but I just told him to look at the score.

  We had a bad Easter. We played three of our relegation rivals in the space of six days and lost the lot. We were beaten 3-1 at home by Oldham who eventually went down, lost 2-0 at Chelsea who stayed up, and then were home to Manchester City on Easter Monday. Bally tried to gee us up by telling the media that if we didn’t win this one then we were down. We lost 1-0 so the manager had to try and put the toothpaste back in the tube by insisting we could still stay up. But we were second from bottom with just six matches left, and only two of those were at home.

  It was a real low point and we were in deep trouble when we went to Norwich and found ourselves 3-1 down with just over 30 minutes to go. At that point we were going down, no question, until I scored the only proper hat trick of my career—left foot, right foot, header. It was one of the most amazing games I ever played in. Just a couple of minutes after Chris Sutton had made it 3-1, I squeezed a left foot shot just inside the post from 18 yards. Bryan Gunn got a hand to it and should probably have saved it. Five minutes later Jeff Kenna was brought down and I scored the penalty to make it 3-3. Typically, within a minute we went behind again and things looked grim.

  But with 18 minutes remaining Jeff crossed for me to head in. I say head in but actually I didn’t know anything about it. I wasn’t the best in the air and did have a tendency to close my eyes when I headed the ball. I wasn’t sure whether the defender was going to get there first so I closed my eyes, felt the ball hit my head and was absolutely amazed when I opened them to see the ball in the net for 4-4, and that was how it stayed until injury-time. We got a corner on the right and I knew I needed to put in a decent delivery. I floated the ball across and Ken Monkou rose to head in. I had the Saints fans right behind me and I remember Ken grabbed the ball out of the net, raced across to them and belted it into row Z. We needed the fans to keep hold of the ball because if we played any longer than another 30 seconds we would have conceded again. We hung on for a 5-4 win and walked off to be greeted on the touchline by Lawrie McMenemy, who appeared from nowhere to congratulate us all. Where would he have been if that last-gasp goal had been at the other end?

  That was the win which gave us the impetus to stay up. The following week we were home to Blackburn who were going for the title, but we were buzzing and played really well. The Echo said we ‘served up a cocktail of Tizz Fizz, stout defending and a very large measure of spirit while Blackburn had a big whine.’ I set up Iain Dowie and then Paul Allen to gives us a 2-0 lead at half-time but Stuart Ripley pulled one back just after the break. Then Tim Sherwood handled to give us a penalty. I put the ball on the spot and Alan Shearer came up and stood in front of me before I took it. People have often asked me what he said, but I have never really told anyone until now.

  Before the game he and Tim Flowers had been discussing what I’d do if we got a penalty because Tim used to save a lot from me in training. They reckoned that I’d do something completely different and hit it down the middle, gambling that Tim would know I always went for the corners. As I prepared to take this one, Alan came across and said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t hit it down the middle.’ I’m not sure if it was a double-bluff to try and tempt me to do that, or whether it was because he still had a lot of affection for Southampton and genuinely didn’t want us to go down. I suspect it was the latter.

  As it happened, it never occurred to me to put it down the centre because I always fancied my chances if I put the ball in one of the corners. I was going to put it to Tim’s left, which was my favourite corner, but I kept an eye on him as I ran up. He moved a fraction early so I changed my mind and put it to his right, a sweet moment because Tim had always said I’d would never score past him. Normally when I scored a penalty I’d just salute the crowd and walk back to the centre circle—because I didn’t want to waste too much energy. But as this was such an important goal and Tim had been so gobby, I really celebrated and then waited for him outside the dressing rooms after we had won 3-1. I said, ‘Unlucky. I thought you said I would I never score past you?’ He looked at me and said, ‘Penalties don’t count.’ It was like being in the school playground, which was why I took such pleasure when I did it for real the following season with what turned out to be the BBC’s Goal of the Season.

  To beat the title-challengers 3-1 was a huge boost but I was suspended for the next game at Spurs, where we lost 3-0. It was a horrible feeling not being able to help the lads and although that result knocked us back, I still felt we could get enough points to stay up. We had just three games left, and one was away to Manchester United, which basically meant we had to get maximum points from the other two. The first was our final home match against Aston Villa when I picked up the club’s Player of the Year award for the second time, having previously won it in 1990. We got off to a flyer when Jeff Kenna set me up for an easy tap-in and then Ken Monkou headed in my corner. Dean Saunders pulled one back before I got my second, which was a lot better than people think. Francis Benali hit a massive clearance—I think he was trying to trap the ball. My first touch was perfect and I controlled it on the drop with my right foot, rounded Nigel Spink and slotted in for 3-1. I scored two and made two that day as Neil Maddison headed in my corner for a 4-1 win. The atmosphere was amazing at the end and we really felt we could stay up.

  We played well at Old Trafford in midweek and gave as good as we got but still got beaten 2-0. We certainly did not want to rely on other results going our way, with Sheffield United, Ipswich and Ever-ton also in the melting pot, and knew that a draw at West Ham on the final day should be enough to keep us up. And I stress ‘should be‘. It was the first time I had been thro
ugh a last-day escape but I wasn’t nervous. That’s the surprising thing. Far from it. I actually remember relishing the occasion. I liked the pressure. I knew if I performed and scored I could be the hero. It wasn’t a good start because the team coach got held up in traffic. Upton Park is a horrible place to get to and Lew Chatterley actually had to get off the bus and run to the ground to hand in the team sheet on time. We were still half-asleep as the game kicked off and went 1-0 down early on, but just before half-time we got a free kick just outside the area. I think everyone in the ground knew I was going to score. I felt supremely confident and hit it very well. The keeper had no chance and it silenced the fans who had been chanting about the size of my nose.

  It was a big moment and the first thing we did at half-time was check the other scores. We started the second half much more brightly, and went 2-1 up just after the break when I crossed for Neil Maddison to head home but, true to form, we quickly conceded another goal. But within three minutes we got a penalty when Iain Dowie was hauled down by Tony Gale, who is now a colleague of mine at Sky Sports. That was probably the most pressure I’ve ever felt taking a penalty because I knew exactly what was at stake, and the consequences of missing. I was glad it was in front of our fans and hit the ball a bit higher than normal, but it went in and we were still 3-2 up when the crowd invaded the pitch on 90 minutes, thinking that the final whistle had gone. Upton Park was about to be redeveloped and lose its terraces so the home fans were in party mood. The ref said there were still four minutes left so we had to go off while the pitch was cleared. We immediately listened to the other scores and knew we were safe unless we lost by two goals. At 3-2 up, even we were confident we could avoid that but, with our defence, you never knew.

  THE KEEPER HAD

  NO CHANCE AND

  IT SILENCED THE

  FANS WHO HAD

  BEEN CHANTING

  ABOUT THE SIZE

  OF MY NOSE.

  When the game resumed, hundreds of fans were crouched on the running track behind the goals ready to run on at the end, and some were even spilling onto the pitch as the match restarted. That played a huge part in Ken Monkou bundling the ball into his own net to make it 3-3. The crowd ran on again but the ref had had enough, blew for full-time and legged it for the tunnel. The big worry was that the game might have to be replayed but, as it turned out, Sheffield United were relegated as they lost at Chelsea with the last kick of the season. It was the first time all afternoon that they had been in the bottom three—harsh! And Everton survived despite at one stage being 2-0 down at home to Wimbledon. My old mate Barry Horne had got their equalizer before Graham Stuart hit a tame low 18-yard drive which somehow evaded the dive of Hans Segers to give them an unlikely 3-2 win. A few question marks have since been raised about Wimble-don’s display that day. What do I think? With my innate belief in the importance of fair play, of course I refuse to think they’d cheat.

  After our match, the lads celebrated in the bar but I went and sat on my own on the team bus to savour our achievement. I couldn’t have felt any more proud if we’d won the league. I was really chuffed at what we’d done. We were dead and buried on more than a couple of occasions that season and to stay up, against the odds, really felt as though we had won something. I thought, ‘Let’s have more last-day escapes.’ I loved the thrill, the excitement. And I felt a real personal sense of achievement. I’d scored 25 goals in 38 league games, 15 of them in 16 matches for Alan Ball, which wasn’t bad for a midfielder.

  In the last five games I played that season we scored 15 goals. I got eight of them and set up six others, so I think I justified Bally’s decision to build the team around me. I know a few of the other players were peed off that I seemed to get preferential treatment and I can understand that. Maybe it was a bit over the top the way the manager treated me and praised me, but I helped keep Saints in the top division.

  12

  ONE DRUNK GAFFER AND A MATCHFIXING SCANDAL

  WHEN ALAN BALL DIED, HE ARRIVED AT THE PEARLY GATES TO

  BE MET BY ST PETER WHO SAID, ‘I’M REALLY SORRY TO HAVE

  TAKEN YOU SO EARLY BUT I’M AFRAID WE NEED YOU FOR THE

  HEAVEN FOOTBALL TEAM.’

  BALLY PERKED UP AND ASKED WHO ELSE WAS IN THE SIDE. HE

  WAS HANDED A TEAM SHEET WITH BOBBY MOORE, GEORGE

  BEST AND BILLY BREMNER. THEN HE SAW THE NAME OF

  MATTHEW LE TISSIER.

  ‘WAIT A MINUTE, MATT LE TISSIER ISN’T DEAD,’ SAID BALLY.

  ‘NO, THAT’S GOD. HE JUST LIKES TO CALL HIMSELF LE TISSIER.’

  People often ask what was it about Alan Ball which brought out the best in me. The 18 months I played under him were definitely the most productive of my career in terms of goals, assists, confidence and happiness. I’ve never been short on self-belief but he gave me such a lift and when he kept me captain I was on Cloud Nine.

  His man-management was second to none and is best summed up by an incident on a pre-season tour of Northern Ireland in 1994. We ended up staying in the little town of Bangor, and it was immediately obvious that the secretary who booked our accommodation had never actually been there—because the team hotel was right next door to the biggest nightclub in town.

  We played three games over there and after the second one the gaffer told us we could have a day off and do whatever we wanted, within reason. Inevitably I wanted to hit the golf course and I roped in Neil Maddison and Tommy Widdrington. We were sitting in reception waiting for the taxi about 11am when Bally walked past and asked where we were going. We told him and as we had 20 minutes to kill he said, ‘There’s a bakery round the corner lads, do you fancy a bit of breakfast?’

  That sounded good so the four of us walked out only for Bally to spot a pub which had just opened up and he said, ‘Never mind breakfast lads, do you fancy a quick drink?’ Well it would have been rude to say no, so we trooped in and needless to say the only rounds that day were not on the golf course but in the pub. We eventually left at 6.30 in the evening, three of us walking not too badly because wewere finely tuned athletes—or at least the other two were. But the gaffer was like the proverbial newt. He didn’t take his drink too well and was all over the place. As we got back to the hotel, we turned right to go into the restaurant to have dinner with the rest of the lads and out of the corner of my eye I spotted the gaffer turning left and heading up the stairs to sleep it off.

  I was captain at the time so of course it was down to me to take charge in his absence. I took the responsibility very seriously and immediately gathered the lads together and said, ‘Good news, the gaffer’s drunk and has gone to bed so we can go out for the night.’ We had paced ourselves a bit better than Bally so we were up for making an evening of it and, straight after dinner, the three of us went out again joined by Dave Beasant, Jim Magilton, Iain Dowie, Neil Heaney and even Ken Monkou, which was unusual for him.

  THE DJ

  INTRODUCED US

  OVER THE

  MICROPHONE AS

  WE WALKED IN,

  WHICH WAS

  GREAT FOR THE

  LADS WHO WERE

  TRYING TO PULL.

  We went into Bangor and had a cracking night having a sing-along with the locals and playing silly drinking games until just gone midnight when the pub closed and…the biggest nightclub in town beckoned. The DJ was obviously a big football fan because he recognized us and introduced us over the microphone as we walked in, which was great because it meant it was a lot easier for the lads who were trying to pull. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize that the nightclub backed onto Bally’s bedroom. The walls weren’t very thick and he could hear every word the DJ said. He woke up and, thanks to the man on the mike, had a full roll call of who was out.

  So, when we rolled in at about 2am, the gaffer was in reception waiting for us. As captain and instigator of the whole night out, I thought it was only fair that I should be the one who came in last. As I tried to sneak in unnoticed, I was greeted by one of the funniest s
ights I have ever seen as little Bally delivered the mother of all rollockings to our giant of a goalkeeper Dave Beasant. There had to be more than a foot difference in height between them, and the gaffer was yapping up at Beas like a little terrier. He was laying into the likes of Jim Magilton and Iain Dowie telling them they should be setting an example—and then he spotted me!

  I was trying to blend into the background but he caught sight of me under Dave’s armpit and turned on me. He sent the others up to bed and said, ‘I want a word with you. Upstairs. Now!’ I have always wondered why hotels stick sofas at the end of corridors. I was about to find out why. Bally sat me down, plonked himself next to me and said, ‘I’ve just had to give a massive rollocking to Dave Beasant, Iain Dowie, Jim Magilton—all senior professionals who should know better—and you are the most high profile of the lot.’ I braced myself. All sorts of things were going through my mind. I imagined the headlines if I was sent back in disgrace or lost the armband. Then he added, ‘You are the captain! But the way you are playing you can do whatever you want. Now get to bed.’

  Of course I had to tell the rest of the lads that the gaffer had given me a right rollocking but I thought that was absolute quality, a fantastic piece of man-management. That season I scored 30 goals so I think I paid him back. But if he’d gone ballistic and taken the captaincy off me who knows what might have happened?