But things never went smoothly for long at Southampton. Two weeks after beating Manchester United 6-3 we lost 7-1 at Everton. We had a few injuries and then Simon Charlton got hurt early on so our left winger, Neil Heaney, had to go to left-back. He had never played there before, had no idea what the role entailed and was up against Andrei Kanchelskis in full flow. It wasn’t pretty. We were 5-0 down after 35 minutes and I seriously feared it could be double figures. We had Chris Woods on loan in goal and it was embarrassing. Thankfully the manager had a cunning plan for the next match at home to Leeds. He unleashed a secret weapon by the name of Ali Dia. So secret that no one had ever heard of him—but everyone in Southampton knows his name now and it will forever be etched in Souey’s memory.
Ali Dia was recommended to him in a hoax phone call from someone claiming to be the cousin of World Footballer of the Year, George Weah. Or maybe the caller said that Ali Dia was the cousin of George Weah. It was all very confused and I don’t think anyone really knows who made the call but the upshot was this lad turned up for training ahead of a home game against Leeds. He played in a five-a-side and looked like a fish up a tree. He was awkward and gangly and I remember thinking he would never make it. I confidently expected that that’d be the last we would see of him. How wrong was I? Having seen him train, it never occurred to me that he would play, even less that he’d actually come on as sub in place of me. I thought he had no chance of making at top level or indeed any level. I was amazed when I turned up before the Leeds match to find that not only was he in the squad but actually on the bench.
After training on the Friday before the match I was practising penalties and felt a slight tweak in a thigh. I didn’t know whether to say anything to the medical team, and I thought it’d be OK with a night’s rest so I kept quiet. After about 20 minutes of the game against Leeds I went to cross the ball with my right foot and felt the thigh tear where I’d felt the pain the previous day. I knew right away I’d have to come off—and to my astonishment Souey decided to put on Ali Dia. Oh my God, it was embarrassing. The kid hadn’t got a clue. He tried hard enough but just ran about like a headless chicken and ended up being subbed himself. He was on for 53 minutes. I can’t believe it took that long for Graeme to realize he was rubbish. I suspect he didn’t want to lose face and was desperately hoping the lad might fluke a goal. It was the most bizarre debut in Premiership history. I was watching from the dug-out as we lost 2-0 and honestly I was waiting for Jeremy Beadle to turn up with the You’ve been Framed crew. Certainly it was a set-up of some sort but we never found out who was responsible. Why was it always us who fell for these hoaxes? Ali came in for treatment on the Sunday and was expected in for training on the Monday but he left that night. Next thing he surfaced at Gateshead playing non-league football, but he’d had his 53 minutes of fame.
THANKFULLY THE
MANAGER HAD A
CUNNING PLAN
FOR THE NEXT
MATCH…A
SECRET WEAPON
BY THE NAME OF
ALI DIA.
No one was brave enough to give Graeme any stick, especially as results weren’t helping his mood. We lost the next three and then came news of a bizarre reverse takeover by a little-known company called Secure Retirement. Their main asset appeared to be the fact they were listed on the Stock Exchange, which was necessary for the club to finance the move to the new stadium, apparently. They injected the princely sum of £3m. Big deal. We could have raised that amount simply by putting in a sell-on clause for Alan Shearer.
As players we didn’t take too much notice of what was going on behind the scenes, but it had a huge impact on the whole fabric and foundation of the club. Secure Retirement were run by a man called Rupert Lowe who had never even seen a football match until we played Lincoln City in the League Cup that season. His arrival immediately got Souey’s back up. To be honest I think the mere fact he was called Rupert should have been enough to sound alarm bells. People called Rupert should not be running football clubs. His background was rugby and hockey, and Souness was quoted saying it wasn’t the future he had been promised when he agreed to become manager. The talk was that Graeme had a wealthy group of Israeli backers lined up to come in and provide a significant cash injection which would have lifted the club to a new level. But the club opted for a deal with Secure Retirement which meant the directors all maintained their involvement—and benefitted financially overnight. I don’t have any problem with directors making money provided it’s also good for the club. The takeover didn’t directly affect the players. We just knew we had a new chairman who talked posh and didn’t know much about football.
We spent £500,000 of the new funds on a goalkeeper, Maik Taylor from Barnet. Maik was a lifelong Saints fan who became an instant crowd favourite. Almost immediately we recouped the half million by selling Gordon Watson to Bradford, so it was hard to see how this cash influx was actually helping us. In fact we were still second from bottom going into 1997. The New Year began badly as we went out of the FA Cup at Reading, again, and once more the weather played a big part. This time it was not rain but ice. There was another Big Freeze and virtually every game in the country was off. I think ours was one of only three which survived, but it shouldn’t have done. The pitch was iron hard and the ref was a young Graham Poll who recently admitted to me that he cocked up and the game should never have been played. But, on the day, quite inexplicably, he passed it fit. He told us we would be OK provided we only went at it 90 per cent. I said I wasn’t going to raise my work-rate for anyone.
How he could possibly imagine that teams would be happy to play at 90 per cent in an FA Cup tie? There’s no way it should have been played and we lost 3-1. Claus got caught in possession for the opener and although Egil Ostenstad levelled we bombed out in the second half, finishing with nine men. Francis Benali was sent off by Poll for the second time and then Robbie Slater got a red card supposedly for abusing the linesman. An angry Graeme Souness had to be restrained by stewards as he tried to get to Graham Poll at the final whistle. Personally I think they should have let him—it would have been more entertaining than the match.
We bounced back winning 1-0 at Middlesbrough, and then mounted another one of our late come-backs against Newcastle coming from two down to snatch a draw at The Dell with two goals in the final minute. Tony Gubba was commentating for Match of the Day and got a little carried away with the excitement. Neil Maddison had just pulled one back, the crowd were at fever pitch, we were piling forward and I smashed one in from 25 yards. It was the hardest I have ever hit a ball. John Beresford told me he heard the whistle as the ball flew past him. It was a little too close to Shaka Hislop but he was beaten by the sheer power leading Tony Gubba to describe it as ‘Goal of the Century’. It didn’t even win Goal of the Month. I think the timing caused him to get a bit over-excited.
Certainly the fans were beginning to get a bit hysterical as results continued to stutter and we won only one of our next 10, 1-0 away to Newcastle. They must have really hated us at that time. A 2-2 draw at home to Leicester saw us go bottom with just seven matches to play, although four of those were six-pointers against sides just above us in the table. We were five points adrift of safety and three behind our nearest rivals and next opponents Nottingham Forest. We travelled there knowing defeat would all but put us down, a point which was reinforced as we listened to the radio on the team coach and heard the experts say that Southampton had gone and it was just a question of who else would be relegated. That was a wake-up call.
We were incredibly focused on what we had to do and pulled off a 3-1 win. We got off to a flyer with an early goal from Jim Magilton, but I was having a shocker and was replaced by Mickey Evans who scored two good goals. He had just signed from Plymouth. He was a real West Country yokel who made the Wurzels look sophisticated. He wasn’t the most naturally gifted but he was strong, brave and committed—an inspired signing, just what we needed. He showed all those qualities at home to West Ham when
Robbie Slater slung in a deep cross from the left wing. Mickey was running in full tilt but the only way he could possibly squeeze the ball home at the back stick was by colliding with the post. He knew he was going to get hurt but you know what they say—no sense, no feeling. He clattered into the post and was unconscious before the ball hit the net. But that selfless determination just summed up the spirit in the side. Jason Dodd also took one for the team that day when he committed a professional foul which could only lead to a red card. But it prevented us from conceding a goal and we won 2-0.
It was so tight and tense that Graeme Souness decided he couldn’t risk the luxury of playing both me and Eyal Berkovic away from home —and for some inexplicable reason he decided to go with Eyal. He wasa super footballer with a brilliant touch but, when it came to tackling, I was like Norman Hunter compared to him. And he wasn’t exactly a team player in terms of his character, as he showed when we went to Sunderland. It was the classic six-pointer, a real colossal clash with the losers almost certainly going down. And for some reason the fixture computer determined we should make that long trek on a Tuesday night, which was a big ask for our fans. It wasn’t even as though it was a re-arranged match. It had been on the calendar right from the previous summer, although it still came as a surprise to our Director of Football, Lawrie McMenemy. Apparently he thought the game was on the Wednesday and therefore organized a doctor’s appointment for the Tuesday. It couldn’t possibly be rearranged and so he had to stay behind. Obviously it had nothing to do with the fact he’d have faced a hostile reception from the Sunderland fans who still remembered his spell in charge which led to their being relegated to the third tier.
Being a midweek match we flew up on the day. I was injured and not in the squad but I had split up with my wife Cathy two days earlier so Graeme suggested I come with the team, just to get away from everything. We got to Southampton airport and the tarmac was deserted apart from one rickety old plane which looked more like an Airfix kit—without the glue. It was little more than a flying box and Eyal said, ‘We are not flying in that are we?’ We were sure our plane would be arriving soon so we wound him up and jokingly said yes, until we got called for departure and it was still the only plane in sight. Eyal freaked. He said, ‘I’m not flying in that. I will drive to Sunderland.’ And he did. We just sat open-mouthed as he legged it out of the airport. He never moved that fast on the football field.
He jumped in a car with Malcolm Taylor, our kitman, and set off for the north-east. Bearing in mind it was mid-morning, it was at least a five-hour drive and the game was that night, it was hardly ideal preparation. He got there at 5pm for a 7.45 kick-off. It was the last ever floodlit game at Roker Park and there was an intense atmosphere. Their fans are passionate at the best of times but we quietened them with a 1-0 win, and they ended up going down, one point behind us.
VILLA BARELY
THREATENED,
NEITHER DID WE—
ALTHOUGH THAT
WAS NOT
UNUSUAL.
It was a long midweek trip but there was no chance of a lie-in next morning as the phone went crazy. The press had got hold of the fact that I had left Cathy and wanted a statement and pictures. It was a pretty stressful, wretched and emotional time for both of us and for the kids, and the last thing we needed was that kind of intrusion from the media. Some celebrities court publicity so they can hardly complain when they get it in the neck, but I always kept my private life to myself. I just happened to be good at football and fame was a by-product of that. It wasn’t something I ever sought for its own sake. I never regarded myself as a ‘celebrity’ and I always resented intrusion by the press. I was always happy to talk to them about football but my family were off limits. Even in this book, I’m not going to talk about my private life, except for the impact these troubled times had on my game. I knew the press would have a field day once news leaked out but even so I was surprised just how much interest there was—and that was before the days of 24-hour news channels. It was painful enough without having to spell out the reasons to ghoulish reporters who were making money on the back of my misery.
And when the news broke about my going out with Angela—now my wife—I found myself on the front page of The Sun. I was thinking, ‘Surely there must be some global crisis which is more important than a footballer having a new girlfriend?’ Thankfully I had already told Cathy before it came out in the papers which was at least one small mercy. I wasn’t the sort to play around so I was never the victim of a kiss-and-tell story, despite the best efforts of the national press who sent photographers to follow us on a club trip to Tenerife just after I left Cathy. They were hoping for pictures of me with another girl but I was—and still am—very much in love with Angela so they got nothing. A few of the lads were pretty fed up with me, though, because it meant they couldn’t go on the pull because of all photographers lying in wait.
Thankfully the break-up didn’t affect me on the field. We beat Blackburn 2-0 at The Dell. I came off the bench to get the second but any hopes that that win might mean safety were dashed as bloody Villa let us down again, losing to a last-minute Middlesbrough penalty. But it meant that even a narrow defeat in our last game would be enough to save us. It looked perfectly set up. We needed a point to be absolutely safe, and Villa needed a point to get into Europe. Plenty of fans plumped for a 0-0 draw. It looked a cert. Only we could manage to lose 1-0 to an own-goal.
There was no pre-arranged deal, but both teams knew a point suited us both. Villa barely threatened, neither did we—although that was not unusual. Then ‘Trigger’ turned the ball into his own net. I told you he was thick. But both teams were happy with that result and it was one of the more low-key, last-day escapes.
The celebrations from the manager were certainly very muted at the final whistle. He gave a brief wave to the fans and disappeared down the tunnel. I didn’t think too much of it at the time because he never got too close to the players. He didn’t hug any of us after a good win. And he didn’t join our post-match jubilation. I presumed it was simply that he didn’t feel survival was something to celebrate, which showed he didn’t really know our club that well. All his career had been spent challenging for honours at the other end of the table so this probably came as quite a culture shock. But I wonder now that if by then the writing was already on the wall because he left soon afterwards.
However, he did leave a legacy. Just before the Villa match he signed a young lad by the name of Kevin Davies from Chesterfield for what proved to be a bargain fee of £750,000. He was ineligible to play at Villa Park but was in the dug-out as we stuttered to safety. By full-time he was probably wishing he had stayed at Chesterfield.
The feel-good factor continued two days later when Francis Benali staged his testimonial. It was a great night for him as a host of former Saints stars came back including the likes of Alan Shearer, Tim Flowers and Jimmy Case. Apparently it finished 8-7 to the ex-Saints but no one was too sure. I have watched the video and still can’t keep track, it was one of those nights with a couple of very memorable moments.
Franny had never scored for the first-team and of course we were all expecting him to net the obligatory debatable penalty. No one expected him to curl in a genuine goal with a peach of a shot into the top right corner—and with his right foot. And it was a great night for me because I have always been a bit of a frustrated goalkeeper so I got a go between the posts. I was up against Alan Shearer and Tim Flowers who were playing up front for the ex-Saints. Of course both were desperate to score past me, even in a testimonial. Tim did beat me with an angled shot which was a decent finish. And he sent me the wrong way from the penalty spot which gave him a lot of pleasure. But I made a decent save from a volley to deny him a hat trick. That was nice as he had denied me a hat trick at Blackburn when I went through one-on-one. But I had great fun against Al, making a string of fantastic saves even if I do say so myself. There was one at point blank range. He really thumped it but I managed to get in th
e way and I loved seeing his frustration. Then a cross came in from the left and Alan absolutely thundered in for a header but I just got there first, caught the ball one-handed, lobbed it over his head, darted round, caught it again and cleared it.
A lot of it was pantomime stuff. Dave Beasant also played outfield and, after conceding a goal, the ex-Saints stuffed the ball up his shirt and charged up field and into the net. The ref wasn’t sure which law he had broken so he just let it stand. It was that kind of night. That was followed by a trip to Elat in Israel but I refused to go. I had just left Cathy, was still in emotional turmoil and I had a lot to sort out both personally and from a practical point of view. I met with the manager and he told me I had to go on the trip. I tried to explain to him about my personal situation and that it wasn’t right for me to go but he said I had to. Maybe it was part of the deal that I had to play in the game out there? I said I wasn’t going so he told me he would fine me. I said fair enough, thanks very much. I should have lost two weeks’ wages, which would have been around £5,000, a small price to pay considering how desperate I was not to go. But the fine was never enforced because Souness left soon afterwards. It is just as well Rupert Lowe has now left Southampton otherwise he would probably have tried to enforce it now—with interest.
15
LAWRIE OUT, DAVE JONES IN
‘THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY NO WAY I WANTED TO SPEND
THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH A FLOPPY ARM! IT WOULD HAVE
RUINED MY GOLF SWING.’
I don’t think anyone knows the full story behind the departure of Graeme Souness. There had been rumours for months that Torino were chasing him, and I know he found it difficult working with Rupert Lowe who had taken over as chairman towards the end of the season. In his arrogance Rupert made out that he was almost reluctantly accepting the post, like he was doing the club a favour, and I think he genuinely believed that. But I’m right there with Souey in thinking that a hockey-loving ex-public schoolboy by the name of Rupert is hardly likely to be on the same wavelength as the fans, or have an understanding of the club, its history and traditions.
Taking le Tiss Page 14