Journeyman

by Ben Smith

  1) It’s going to be tough.

  2) You need to persevere.

  3) Keep in mind why you wanted to do the job in the first place. Yet when people I respect gave me similar advice, I tried to find as many reasons as possible to disagree and justify the urge to give up.

  However, in a rare moment of clarity I realised that although I’ve managed to get myself into a situation where I’m not doing enough of what I like, I’m gaining experience working with children that will be invaluable in the future. This period in my life has confirmed that I want to coach children in a professional environment. I just have to work out how to go about doing it.

  The beauty of being a teacher is, of course, the holidays. School doesn’t restart until 7 January and, to be honest, I’m not particularly looking forward to going back. This is a strange feeling as I loved going to training when I was a footballer. Even on the low days I still managed to see the bigger picture.

  This scenario is different – it is not a feeling of dread but it is also not a buzz of anticipation. I need excitement and am determined to find it again. It is not all doom and gloom as there are some parts of the job I enjoy. I’ve started mentoring some Year 7 boys from different backgrounds, which has been really enjoyable so far, and I also like building relationships with the students It’s only when I need to get them to do something that the problems start – motivating teenage boys can be tricky.

  I’ve also enrolled on an assessor course, which will help not only with the teaching but also in my quest to improve my future for the better.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE DECLINE GATHERS MOMENTUM

  SEASON: 1998/99

  CLUB: YEOVI L TOWN FC

  DIVISION: CONFERENCE PREMIER

  MANAGER: COLIN LIPPIATT

  ISIGNED FOR Yeovil at the start of March 1998 and made my debut on the 7th at home against Morecambe. Unbeknown to me, I made that debut alongside others the club had signed at the same time, including Sammy Winston (a robust striker), Steve Parmenter (a versatile left-footer from Bristol Rovers) and Dave Piper (a right back from Southampton who had a hairline that belied his young years and who became a close friend of mine).

  We lost that game 3–2, despite Morecambe going down to ten men in the first half. Not the most auspicious of starts but I really enjoyed playing and was subsequently named ‘Man of the Match’. I went into the game having no idea what to expect and with no respect for my teammates or the opposition – I had come straight from a Division One club so obviously this was going to be easy and I would be the best player on the pitch every game.

  On this occasion that happened to be the case, but little did I know that my new level of football was littered with talented individuals who, for whatever reason, had ended up playing below their potential. I was just another example.

  Initially I was playing with a freedom I had not exhibited since playing in the park with my pals. I had an arrogance to my game that all players have when they are playing to the peak of their capabilities. I also had the advantage of being parachuted in from a full-time professional environment to a semi-professional one.

  In the late 1990s the only full-time teams around at that level were those who got relegated from the League (and only one team got relegated back then), plus the odd ambitious club like Rushden & Diamonds. So I had the advantage of being in a much better physical state than my peers, even taking into account my dubious lifestyle and the benefit of not having to work another job all week.

  We only trained one day a week – on a Wednesday evening – so I had plenty of spare time. Initially I stayed living in Reading with Swalesy. It made some sense: I had no ambition to move to Somerset, and Berkshire was a lot closer to Yeovil than my family home in Essex. Also, while I had a driving licence, I did not own a car, so my new boss Colin Lippiatt, who was based in Bracknell, kindly gave me lifts to training and games.

  After the personal triumph of my debut, my progress continued on an upward trajectory. The team’s results were not overly impressive but I remember, without blowing my own trumpet too much, being one of our standout performers.

  After Morecambe we drew away to Kettering and then beat Stalybridge Celtic at home 2–0. In the next game we beat Telford United away 4–1 and I scored my first two senior goals. This landmark was followed by a boozy Wednesday at the Cheltenham horse-racing festival with my former Reading colleagues, ending up in the Utopia nightclub where one of the lads performed the greyhound (an act of pulling his trousers and pants down, putting his cock and balls between his legs and roaring around on all fours) while Gareth Davies earned a 3-inch carpet burn on his forehead after being rugby tackled to the floor by one of his teammates. This was pretty much in line with how I spent the majority of my days off.

  With the confidence of my first senior goals still coursing through my veins, things continued to go well. Apart from a narrow away defeat at Northwich Victoria, we remained unbeaten for the next month. Part of that unbeaten run was a 1–0 victory over Hednesford Town, which included a spectacular effort from the halfway line by myself. Although it ended up being scrambled to safety by the Hednesford goalkeeper, subsequent CCTV footage showed that the shot had actually gone over the line. I believe this was when the clamour for goal-line technology really started!

  I was building some good relationships with my teammates on and off the pitch. Dave Piper and I became great friends. On the pitch he would give me the ball whenever he could and off it he had the same outlook on life as me: enjoy yourself as much as possible, even to the detriment of your football. I also struck up a great understanding with Warren Patmore, who was a strapping centre forward and won everything in the air. I played as an advanced central midfielder so would regularly feed off his knockdowns or play off him in and around the box. Before the end of this season we became travelling partners as I moved back to Essex and he was based in Watford.

  Warren was one of many players I came across during my lower-league football career who could have achieved so much more if he had been more disciplined. In his defence, I don’t think he ever really had any ambition to play higher. He was a shrewd man who did very well out of non-League football and he had an abundance of interests off the pitch that have subsequently resulted in him doing very well for himself. He was and still is a Yeovil Town legend.

  The club was obviously happy with the impact I had made because they wanted to sit down and discuss a proper contract, like the one Alan Pardew had assumed I was initially signing. We arranged to have a conversation after the home game against Hereford United on 18 April. I had no one representing me and no real idea what everybody was earning, so I didn’t really have a figure in my head regarding what would be acceptable.

  We beat Hereford United 2–0 and I scored both goals in the first half. Even I realised this would do my negotiating position no harm at all.

  The meeting itself illustrated just how unprofessional both the club and I were back then. On that particular weekend the players had arranged a team night out so we were enjoying a few pre-drinks in the bar at Yeovil’s ground. I was not the only one discussing a new contract so, by the time I was called for my chat, I had consumed at least three pints.

  I went to speak to the chairman John Fry with – and I still cringe thinking about this – a full pint of beer in hand, which I promptly slapped on his desk. He opened discussions by saying how happy the club had been with me and how it would like to tie me to a contract. He explained this meant I would be protected and guaranteed to be paid every week. Moreover, if another club wanted to sign me, they would have to pay a fee unless Yeovil agreed to let me go for nothing.

  I was more than happy to do this. I had scored four goals in my first nine games, with a few assists thrown in for good measure. Whether it was slightly drunken bravado or my own self-importance I thought I should be the highest-paid player in the team, as, at the time, I thought I was the best player. The club initially offered me £275 per week, which, if memory serves me
correct, also included a small signing-on fee of about £1,500. The problem was all this money got taxed so, in effect, I was worse off than my current £250 a week after tax. There may have been a few little add-ons thrown in, such as appearance money and goal bonus, but nothing significant.

  John was not impressed with my claims and was not really budging on the offer. A few of the players who travelled a long distance also had cars paid for by the club so I decided I wanted a club car in my deal too. I did not feel this was unfair as I was now commuting from Essex, although it may have been a little cheeky as I was still only nineteen and had done nothing in the game.

  We did not come to an agreement that night and decided to talk again on Monday. I didn’t mind – I had a big night out planned and did not want to waste time discussing matters that could wait until the following week.

  The club seemed keen to get the contract sorted out as soon as possible, however. I was flattered by their attentions but what happened during that week may have been the reason for their haste.

  Right on cue I got a phone call from the club on Monday enquiring about my thoughts regarding the contract. I had spoken to a few people about my situation and decided that Yeovil was the best place for me to continue my football education, but I wanted to squeeze a little more money out of any deal. I told them I would sign if they raised my basic wage to £300 a week and included a pay rise in the second year of the contract if certain performance-related conditions were met. Yeovil agreed.

  So the final deal was £300 per week, rising to £325 in the second year on the condition we finished in the top six of the League in the 1998/99 season. I also received a signing-on fee of £1,500 paid in instalments, a sponsored car and a goal bonus. This new deal would kick in straight away but meant I would, after this summer, no longer get paid through the close season.

  The day after the agreement was made we were due to play Rushden & Diamonds away. When I arrived at the ground I was ushered onto the coach to sign my contract before the game, which I did.

  The game itself was an exciting 2–2 draw. I scored one and set up the other to follow on from the two goals I had scored against Hereford the previous Saturday. That made it five goals in my first ten games.

  It was by far my best game thus far for Yeovil and I tormented the Rushden defence throughout. They were a big-spending team at the time, backed by Max Griggs (founder of Dr Martens), who was willing to do whatever it took to get the club into the League. They had a wonderful stadium with top-class training facilities and, for the standard we were playing at, a team to match.

  I was really happy with my performance and had that brilliant adrenalin buzz you get after an exhilarating game. I got home at around 11.30 p.m. and almost straight away my phone started going off. An agent, whose name escapes me but who I do remember was northern, rang me and asked if I had signed my contract with Yeovil. I told him yes, I had, thank you very much. He went silent on the other end of the line. I asked him what the problem was.

  He went on to tell me that he had just spoken to Brian Talbot, the manager of Rushden & Diamonds, who wanted to sign me immediately.

  He said the deal would be two years with a basic salary of £500 per week and a £25,000 signing-on fee. Back then, £25,000 seemed like a lottery win and would have surpassed any individual signing-on fee I would receive in my entire career. Suddenly the buzz I had felt after the game had gone.

  I felt sick.

  The deal was worth a guaranteed minimum of £75,000 over the two years without contemplating any add-ons for success, which, considering the team they had, seemed a given. It was also a 52-week contract, meaning I would get fully paid over the summer break. Aside from the finances of the deal, Rushden were also full time, which meant I would be training every day again.

  The agent believed we could get out of the Yeovil deal as it would not have been lodged with the FA yet. He insisted that I speak to the manager and tell him I had made a mistake.

  But I refused to do this.

  History shows that many players have used this strategy successfully, but it did not sit comfortably with me – especially when suggested by a man I hardly knew. He insisted I was making a mistake but I refused to budge and, after all, I hadn’t even spoken to Brian Talbot so I didn’t have any confirmation that what the agent was saying was true.

  This agent, like a lot of middlemen, was very persistent and said he would speak to the Rushden hierarchy to ask if they would be willing to pay a transfer fee for my services. After a couple of days of going backwards and forwards it was relayed to me that Max Griggs, much like myself, was not keen on making enemies of other teams and that Rushden’s interest in me would not go any further. I never actually spoke to any club representative so I will never know how strong their interest was, nor how true the figures the agent quoted were, but from what I subsequently heard, I am pretty sure they would have taken me on a free transfer.

  After that fiasco I continued with the rest of the season. We still had four games left, which turned into two away defeats (against those big, horrible northerners Leek Town and Southport) and two home victories (including ten goals scored against Dover and Gateshead). We finished the season eleventh – perfect mid-table mediocrity – with fifty-nine points. I hadn’t scored another goal so finished the season with five in fourteen games.

  Yet again I spent the summer abusing my body.

  I was still friendly with a lot of the Reading players and as soon as my season finished I joined them on midfielder Paul Holsgrove’s stag party. I spent three days drinking non-stop and never made it back to our apartment during the whole trip. I did make one aborted attempt to return for some sleep, but was so disorientated I had no clue where the apartment actually was. I should probably take this opportunity to apologise to the taxi driver who toured the outskirts of Magaluf trying to find my accommodation. As the meter kept going up, it dawned on me that we were never going to find where I was staying and I had no money to pay my increasingly irate chauffeur. We briefly stopped in traffic next to a backstreet and I took my chance to escape. I jumped out of the car and headed for the alleyway but, as I did, the driver got my shirt and ripped off half the buttons. It was not enough to stop me, however, and I was away.

  Unfortunately, I was then left wandering around Magaluf with no money and a half-ripped shirt. This was before most people took mobile phones abroad so I couldn’t easily contact any of the lads. It was FA Cup final day so I pitched camp at a Linekers Bar, reasoning that my colleagues would eventually turn up there. They did but, unsurprisingly, not until about 9 p.m. I hate to think what I looked like that day!

  It took me a good four days to recover from that ‘holiday’.

  Some may argue that this was immediately after the season ended so there was no real harm done. Nobody could say that about my next decision, however. As I had dropped into ‘non-League’ football, I surmised that pre-season was no longer important and I could go on holiday whenever I wanted. Along with some of my non-footballing friends, I decided to take a two-week holiday in Ibiza in early July.

  Pre-season training pretty much always begins around 1 July, give or take a couple of days. So, even though I’d just had two months off, I thought it wise to have another two weeks at an all-inclusive resort drinking and eating as much as I could rather than preparing for a new season. Admittedly I did get the blessing of my manager, but that is irrelevant. It was a ridiculous thing to do and during the 1998/99 season I paid for it in a big way.

  I re-joined the Yeovil Town squad for training a couple of weeks after everyone else. Except for bringing up the rear during the running in my first training session, I actually seemed to be getting away with my lack of preparation. I performed relatively well in my first pre-season game against Plymouth and continued that form to be selected for the first game of the season away at Kettering Town.

  My manager and his staff were still talking really positively about me before the game and referring to me as one of th
e ‘go-to’ players in the team – this satisfied my ego. We won the game 2–1 and I remember performing fine, but I missed a great opportunity to score in the first half. The ball had sat up perfectly and all I had to do was lift it over the stranded keeper from around 20 yards. I did that part expertly, but I also managed to clear the crossbar and the chance was gone.

  The good start sadly did not continue as we lost at home to both Kingstonian and Hednesford Town. I remember learning a footballing lesson against Kingstonian. They had Gary Patterson and Geoff Pitcher in midfield, both really experienced midfielders who complemented each other perfectly, treated me like the nipper I was and totally dominated the game.

  Those two losses were followed by a draw at Hayes and then a win at Dover, where I played poorly and was substituted. We then beat Kidderminster Harriers 3–1 at home on the August bank holiday and I played a more advanced role just off Warren Patmore. I got my first goal of the season and, more importantly, my club car.

  I did not stipulate what type of car I wanted but I cannot say the green Seat Ibiza, complete with tow bar, was what I had envisaged. I was a young eligible bachelor and this was not the sort of transport a ‘man about town’ should have been driving – not in my opinion anyway. It was probably very cool in rural Somerset, though, and it was in club colours.

  I was hoping that bank holiday performance would kick-start my season and bring on a consistent level of performance after a so-so beginning. Our next game was at home to Rushden & Diamonds and it was the first time we’d meet after their rumoured interest in me the previous season. I was determined to impress.

  We lost the game 1–0 but I felt I had been our most effective attacking player throughout. You can imagine my surprise therefore when, with fifteen minutes left and us chasing the game, I was taken off. I could not believe it when my number came up and I showed my anger by telling the manager what I thought of his decision as I left the pitch. He was a lovely man but I was really frustrated. We were playing with three central defenders and had two defensive-minded midfielders on as well. The general gist of my argument was that he should have taken one of those defensive players off and left me on as we needed a goal. I had a strong case but my reaction was unprofessional and must have looked terrible to the supporters, not to mention the manager in the other dugout who I was trying to impress.