Taking le Tiss
Page 11
There’s a follow-up though. I told that story at an after-dinner speech in Hong Kong a few years ago and, unbeknown to me, Dave Beasant was in the audience. He came up to me afterwards and said, ‘You don’t know what happened next morning, do you?’ He said he went to Bally’s room because he felt he should apologize. He stood at the end of the bed looking at the gaffer who had the bed clothes pulled right up to his chin. There was just a tuft of ginger hair peeking out over the top. Beas said he knew he had been out of order and he felt it was the right thing to come and say so. Bally seemed to take it quite well and said, ‘No problem Beas, that’s fine.’ And as Dave turned to go, Bally piped up, ‘Oh by the way, we are signing Bruce Grobbelaar tomorrow.’
That wasn’t the only time on that tour that there were a few problems after Bally had had a few to drink. I’ve said that he had something of a love-hate relationship with Lawrie McMenemy, who was Director of Football. Bally was passionate, impulsive and wore his heart on his sleeve while Lawrie was the restraining voice of reason. They needed each other and worked well together but there was some rivalry and jostling for position, and that meant they did have some blazing rows—including one over dinner on that tour.
The wine was flowing and Alan launched into a lengthy rant. The gist of it was, ‘You’ve had your effing chance, I’m in effing charge now. Why don’t you eff off back to England and let me effing get on with it?’ So Lawrie did just that and jumped on the first plane home while Bally went and slept it off, again. When he woke up and discovered Lawrie had gone, he picked up the phone and said, ‘What the effing hell do you think you are doing? Why are you back in England? I need you here.’
They were like an old married couple in many ways, often arguing but with a deep mutual affection and respect. Lawrie also curbed Bally’s impulsive excesses in the transfer market—apart from the time he made the mistake of taking a couple of days off. He got back to find Bally had signed a centre-back from Exeter by the name of Peter Whiston, a nice lad but never Premier League quality. I never quite figured out the reason for signing him, but it can’t have been a footballing one.
That 1994-95 season was probably the most enjoyable of my career. I played great football and scored a lot of goals, largely without the fear of relegation. I also won the BBC’s Goal of the Season for what was my favourite ever goal—largely because it was against my old mate Tim Flowers. We were at Ewood Park and I picked up the ball just outside the centre circle, beat a couple of players and spotted Tim just off his line. I hit the ball from 35 yards and it went exactly where I wanted it to go, straight to the top left corner. It was a wonderful moment, not least because Tim got nowhere near it and ended up floundering in the net. It was my second goal of the match but, even then, Tim had the last word because Blackburn won 3-2.
My form in the early part of the season was helped by the fact we’d signed a terrific player who was completely on my wavelength, both on and off the field. It was great piece of business, and it came about in the most bizarre way. After another 1994 pre-season tour, this time in Holland, we’d checked into a hotel with its own football pitches in the middle of nowhere. It was a popular venue with a lot of clubs, including Barcelona who were staying there when we arrived. They were managed by Johan Cruyff who knew Alan Ball well. They were both big stars in world football and had a strong mutual respect and friendship. Cruyff was a legend and we were in awe of him. I was the only one of our squad brave enough to ask him for his autograph.
That night Bally had dinner with Cruyff and half-jokingly asked if he had any players he could spare. Next morning Alan got up to find Barcelona had checked out but had left behind a young Danish lad by the name of Ronnie Ekelund with the message, ‘Take a look at him and if you like him, he’s yours.’ He trained with us that morning and it was immediately obvious he was a top-quality player. He had great vision and technique, and could pick out a pass. We clicked straight away and Bally immediately set the wheels in motion for us to take him on loan, pending a permanent deal. I detected some reluctance from Lawrie McMenemy, either because the deal had nothing to do with him or because he didn’t want another Peter Whiston. Lawrie was back in Southampton completing the transfer of Bruce Grobbelaar who flew out to Holland to join us.
We had a match that night and someone needed to meet the big new signing from the airport. As usual the club did things on the cheap, and instead of hiring a car, they asked a reporter and photographer from the local Southampton paper if they’d mind giving Dave Merrington a lift to Amsterdam to pick up Bruce. They were more than happy because it meant they got their exclusive and also had an excuse to upgrade their cheap run-around hire car to something befitting an ex-Liverpool household name. However, Dave did draw the line at the suggestion that they should wait in arrivals holding a piece of cardboard with Bruce’s name on it. Driving back down the motorway, the photographer pulled out sharply into the fast lane without spotting a BMW hurtling up behind. He swerved back a split-second from a collision which might ultimately have saved the club a great deal of hassle and embarrassment when the match-fixing allegations were made in The Sun.
I was quite excited when I heard Bruce was signing for us. He was fit and agile and I thought he was a cracking keeper. I knew what a character he was so I was looking forward to hearing his jungle stories. In fact I never really got to know him that well. I got the impression that he thought his talents hadn’t been properly rewarded, even at Liverpool.
As usual, we didn’t get off to a good start to the season. We drew our opening game 1-1 at home to Blackburn. I set up Nicky Banger with a raking 50-yard ball which Ian Branfoot would have been proud of. I then hit a last-minute screamer from 25 yards to earn a 1-1 draw at Aston Villa before we went to Newcastle where Peter Whiston came off the bench to make his one and only appearance for the club. We lost 5-1.
IT WAS THE FIRST
OF THREE
PENALTIES I
TOOK AGAINST
IAN WALKER
THAT SEASON…
UNLUCKY
WALKS!
Our first win came in the fifth match away to Spurs who were playing some amazing attacking football under Ossie Ardiles with Jurgen Klinsmann, Teddy Sheringham, Darren Anderton and Ilie Dumitrescu. All the talk was about how they were going to batter us, and sure enough we went behind after six minutes. But then Sol Campbell fouled Neil Heaney on the edge of the area. It was touch and go whether it was a penalty but the ref gave it and sent off Campbell because of the new orders to punish professional fouls with a red card. It was the first of three penalties I took against Ian Walker that season. He got a hand to all of them but they all went in. Unlucky Walks! It was still 1-1 with a minute to go when Jeff Kenna rampaged down the right and crossed low. Stuart Nether-cott should have got it away but it was the worst attempted clearance I have ever seen. The ball hit me on the thigh and fell in front of me to slot in for a 2-1 win.
We drew 1-1 at home to Forest and then went to Coventry where we went a goal down inside five minutes when Dion Dublin lifted it over Bruce Grobbelaar from 25 yards. I was at the other end but I remember being really surprised to see it go in. No matter where I was on the pitch—and it was usually a long way from our goal—I always knew instinctively if a shot had a chance of going in. As the ball left Dion’s foot I thought it was safe because he hadn’t got enough height on it. But the ball sailed just over Bruce’s fingertips and into the net. I didn’t think there was anything untoward about it but it was one of the games later called into question. I’d like to think it was just a lack of concentration or judgement, but only he will know for sure.
We actually won that match 3-1, thanks largely to a terrific performance by Ronnie Ekelund who was making his first start for us after the paperwork had finally been sorted out. He was a sensation; we won three in a row and he scored in all of them. He linked up so well with the rest of the team and with me in particular, and we suddenly looked a real force, playing some fantastic football.
Unfortunately Ronnie suffered a bad back injury which required major surgery to a disc. He felt it didn’t need an operation but Saints were reluctant to make his deal permanent unless he went under the knife. I don’t know if there was still some friction between Alan Ball and Lawrie McMenemy, but the club refused to budge and Ronnie went back to Barcelona. He was a big loss to us and never really recaptured his form and finished his playing career with San Jose Earthquakes, where he is now Director of Football. He is still a good friend and even flew over from the States to play in my testimonial, which was a very special moment for me. It is such a shame that his back didn’t hold up because we worked so well together, never better than in a 3-3 draw at Manchester City in November when he scored twice.
A few days later the club was rocked by an explosive story in The Sun which accused Bruce Grobbelaar of fixing matches for money. We were absolutely stunned; it hardly seemed real. Certainly it did not look good. The Sun had what appeared to be pretty damning video recordings of Bruce appearing to offer to throw games for money. That was probably the most shocking part of all and it didn’t seem as though there could be any other explanation, although Bruce did argue that he was trying to gather evidence to hand to the police, and that he was trying to stitch up a former business partner with whom he had fallen out. At this point I have to mention that Bruce was tried twice and the jury failed to reach a verdict on both occasions so the case collapsed. He successfully sued The Sun for libel damages and was awarded £85,000. The newspaper appealed and the case was eventually taken to the House of Lords where it was found that, though the specific allegations had not been proved, there was adequate evidence of dishonesty. The damages were slashed to just £1, the lowest possible under English law. Bruce was ordered to pay The Sun’s legal costs, estimated at £500,000.
Incidentally, Bruce wasn’t the only one implicated by The Sun, which also accused the Wimbledon duo John Fashanu and goalkeeper Hans Segers—both of whom were also cleared in court. Strangely enough the list of games under investigation didn’t include our Boxing Day fixture at home to the Dons when they won 3-2 and Jason Dodd scuffed a 20-yard daisy-cutter which lacked any power but still went straight through the legs of Segers in goal. You could tell it was the pantomime season because it was a case of ‘Hans, Easy, Ooops-a-daisy!’ as the crowd cried out, ‘It’s behind you!’ Wimbledon came back to lead 2-1 and I levelled just before half-time with a shot which I didn’t quite catch right. Whenever I hit the ball, I always knew instinctively if it was going in and my immediate reaction was that I had put it too close to the keeper. I was definitely surprised to see the ball go in.
Of course, the media besieged the club. We had photographers hiding in the trees at the training ground hoping for pictures. They were taking a risk because with our shooting they were right in the firing line. It was a really bizarre situation. Bruce was such a larger-than-life character and probably one of the few people that could cope with such an intense spotlight. He just turned up for training and got on with it as though nothing had happened. It was weird. I really expected him to get the lads together and deny it all and tell us it was a media conspiracy to stitch him up, but he didn’t even mention it. It was like a taboo subject which we couldn’t talk about with him. He was such a likeable character we wanted to believe he hadn’t done it, and none of us wanted to think our own goalkeeper might have let the ball in deliberately. Of course we talked about it amongst ourselves and that’s when the Coventry goal came back to my mind, even before I knew it was one of the ones being investigated. There was no point broaching the subject with him because he’d have immediately denied it, so we just got on with things.
Lawrie McMenemy showed what an asset he was because he handled the press with his usual panache. He fed them plenty of witty quips and soundbites while actually telling them nothing. He kept them at bay without alienating them, a masterclass in media-manage-ment which allowed Bally and the rest of us to continue training in peace as we prepared for a home match against Arsenal. I was really excited going into the game because the focus of the nation was on it, and I loved that. I knew there was going to be a lot of press coverage and the chance to be the headline hero, and there was a real buzz ahead of the match.
The Arsenal fans of course were brandishing fake money, which is the sort of terrace humour which makes the game what it is. Although some of the chants can be vile, most are just funny and players have to respond in the right way. I used to laugh at the songs about my big nose and tried to answer them by putting the ball in the net. I loved it when the opposition fans sang, ‘Big nose, he’s got an effing big nose’ and the Saints supporters responded with, ‘Good goals, he scores some effing good goals’.
None of it seemed to faze Bruce and he went out to warm up as normal and he even had a bit of banter with the crowd, pretending to collect their fake fivers in his baseball cap. Jim Magilton scored the only goal of the game as we won 1-0, and Arsenal missed a penalty. It was all set up for Bruce to be the hero and his antics definitely put off Paul Dickov who missed the target. We certainly had no doubts about Bruce going into that match. After all those headlines you’d have to be pretty daft to try anything under that sort of scrutiny. As a breed goalkeepers are pretty stupid but not that stupid.
I have no idea how Alan Ball felt in private but he certainly defended Bruce in public, although I guess he had no choice. Bruce played virtually every match for the rest of that campaign but under Dave Merrington, who was the manager the following season, Dave Beasant played 36 of the 38 games in goal while Bruce was left on the bench. Dave knew who he wanted.
We then drew eight of our next nine league games after the Arsenal match, including seven in succession. But we made good progress in the FA Cup and fancied our chances after reaching the fifth round and earning a 1-1 draw away at Spurs. We brought them back to The Dell and murdered them in the first half, racing into a 2-0 lead which included my third penalty against Ian Walker. We looked well set for the quarter-finals only for Tottenham to throw on Ronny Rosenthal who had the game of his life. He got a hat trick as Tottenham put six past Bruce to win in extra-time. What were the odds on that result?
The run of draws saw us slip into the relegation zone following a 3-0 defeat at Nottingham Forest where the shy and retiring Gordon Watson made his Saints debut. He was sarcastically christened ‘Snowy’ because he took so long to settle—not! None of the lads knew that much about him, which was quite unusual, so we didn’t know what to expect. When he turned up at our hotel on the Friday night a few of the lads were in reception playing cards. He sat down and the first thing he said was, ‘Call me Flash.’ I just thought, ‘Oh my God, what have we got here?’ but he was a great lad, larger than life and a big character.
He had to room with someone who didn’t mind him smoking because he liked a puff. One thing I did know was that he’d had a tough upbringing and a big gambling addiction but, fair play, he has straightened himself out now and won’t even play golf for money. He was definitely great for team spirit. Bally also brought in Neil Shipperley and the pair were decent additions and scored some important goals.
Having dropped into the bottom three, we certainly needed help and the season turned on its head when we hosted Newcastle on a Wednesday night. Floodlit games at The Dell were always special with a really unique atmosphere. This one was surprisingly quite flat as we trailed 1-0 with four minutes to go. At that point it looked like we might be in trouble, but the crowd stuck with us and we turned it round in an incredible finish to win 3-1 with goals by Neil Heaney, ‘Flash’ and Neil Shipperley. The atmosphere wa
s absolutely amazing in those final few minutes. Newcastle must have hated playing us because we always seemed to do them. They were coasting from the twelfth minute but as soon as we equalized we just ripped them apart with the crowd absolutely buzzing. That ended a run of 12 games without a victory and then we won five out of six.
The next fixture was a Sunday televised midday match at home to Spurs. It was way too early for me, and Sky got a great shot of me standing in the middle of the pitch giving a prolonged yawn as the action flew around me. But I can’t have been too sleepy because I scored twice in a thriller. My friend, and by then business partner, Mike Osman asked me to give him a sign if I scored so I signalled the letters CP, which stood for Celebration Plaza, the nightclub we had bought together. Not the wisest business decision we ever made. To use a technical financial term, it was an effing disaster.
We were very naïve and entrusted the running of it to a mutual friend but it did not work out. In fairness, Mike and I didn’t spend enough time there and didn’t really know what we were doing when we did. There was a lot of cash flying around and we needed to be there a lot more than we were. We paid a hefty price—to the tune of around a hundred grand each.
I almost lost another big sum in 1995 as my one and only betting scam went disastrously wrong. Spread-betting had just started to become popular. It was a new idea which allowed punters to back anything from the final score to the first throw-in. There was a lot of money to be made by exploiting it, as Gordon Watson was quick to point out. To say he liked a flutter would be an understatement, and he said he had a foolproof way to make a fast buck. We were safe from the threat of relegation when we went to Wimbledon on April 17 and, as it was a televised match, there was a wide range of bets available. Obviously I’d never have done anything that might have affected the outcome of the match, but I couldn’t see a problem with making a few quid on the time of the first throw-in. The way spread-betting worked was that the bookies decided the time of the first throw would be between 60 and 75 seconds. If you thought it would be sooner than that then your stake would be multiplied by the number of seconds under the bookies’ estimate. In other words, if the ball went out of play after four seconds, you’d effectively get odds of 56-1. If it went out of play between 60 and 75 seconds then it was a dead bet with no one winning or losing. The danger was that if it went over the bookies’ estimate then your loss would be multiplied by the number of seconds before the first throw, and you could lose a lot of money. For example, if there hadn’t been a throw-in for three minutes then your stake would be multiplied by 105, or more if it took longer for a throw. ‘Flash’ had some mates with spread-betting accounts who laid some big bets for us. We stood to win well into four figures but, if it went wrong, we could have lost a lot of money.