Journeyman

by Ben Smith

  The pitch was heavily waterlogged and the game would have been cancelled were it not live on television. My first pass got stuck in the surface water and I was not happy with my performance in general. The highlight for me was when I cleaned out one of the opposition players with a poorly timed tackle in front of the Blackpool dugout and their manager Steve McMahon, who played at Liverpool in his prime, called me a ‘fat cunt’. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d said it a year before, but I was in good shape at this point, thank you very much!

  We listened to the third-round draw on the coach on the way home and I was slightly deflated when we got Bolton Wanderers away. They were a Premier League team at the time but it was not the ‘glamour tie’ we were dreaming of.

  On New Year’s Day 2001 we beat Forest Green Rovers at home 2–0 and sat at the top of the League with fifty-four points from twenty-two games. We were seven clear of Rushden & Diamonds with two games in hand.

  We played the Bolton game at the Reebok Stadium on 6 January and narrowly lost 2–1 thanks to an added-time goal from Michael Ricketts.

  The team as a whole played brilliantly to run a Premier League team so close on their own pitch, but I was a little disappointed with my own performance. I had played well in the first half but my contribution deteriorated during the second and was not up to the high standard I had set for myself. It was a great experience contending with Per Frandsen, who was an excellent ball-playing midfielder, but this was the first indication my form was tailing off and a sign of things to come.

  My off-field activities and drinking were beginning to catch up with me. I was not training with anywhere near the same intensity as I had been at the start of the season. Yes, the atmosphere around the club was a lot more relaxed than under David Webb, but it was not affecting anyone else’s performance. I was still not mature enough to take responsibility for my own fitness levels.

  I knew my quality of performance was slipping but I did nothing to try to rectify it. I did not work harder in training or curb my inappropriate off-pitch lifestyle; I just buried my head in the sand.

  I got away with it through January as the team was still picking up positive results – if a team is winning it can hide a multitude of individual sins. I even managed to nick another goal at the start of February in a 4–2 victory against Wakefield and Emley in the FA Trophy.

  However, by mid-February the results started to reflect my form. We lost away to Chester (I played like crap), lost at home to Dagenham (my performance was even worse) and got knocked out of the FA Trophy by Burton Albion in a poor personal and team performance. I was now only staying in the team through the credit I had built up earlier in the season.

  During this period there was one funny moment that did help lift the mood, though. Skivo received an anonymous card on Valentine’s Day. For a large ginger man with an abnormally sized head this was quite an occasion. I noticed that the postmark on the card was Hereford. Knowing that the gaffer was from there and his daughter was a regular visitor to the club I put two and two together. I did not actually think it was from her but thought it would be funny to bring it up.

  The gaffer was giving one of his usual speeches during training, which every now and then could drag on a bit. When he finished I brought up that Terry had received a Valentine’s card from someone in Hereford and put forward my theory. Everyone laughed and I thought nothing of it after we finished the session.

  After training the gaffer pulled me to one side and started interrogating me about it. It turned out that she did send the card as she had a soft spot for our devilishly, yet slightly unorthodoxly, attractive captain.

  Unfortunately this story did not have a happy ending. They went out on a date but Terry said her mannerisms were too similar to her dad’s and he found this a little off-putting!

  The team had a terrible time from 10 February to the middle of March – we only won one game. During that time we had managed to turn a three-point lead into a seven-point deficit although, admittedly, we still had two games in hand. I also completed my fall from grace with a disgusting performance at home to Nuneaton Borough, which the local press very fairly described as ‘anonymous’.

  I held on for one more game – an uninspiring goalless draw at Christie Park against Morecambe, where ironically my performance had improved – before Colin put me out of my misery and left me off the team for the first time that season.

  Little did I know that I would hardly kick another ball for Yeovil Town after that. The incident that proved to be a massive contributing factor to that fact happened during a game against Dover Athletic a week later – but it did not happen on the pitch.

  Having been dropped from the team previously, Dave Piper, James Bent and I were dropped from the playing squad for the Dover trip altogether. At the time, the Crabble (where Dover play their home games) had a bar that overlooked the pitch and stayed open throughout the game. In a display of poor judgement, three very disappointed players decided to watch the game through the bar window while enjoying a few Budweisers.

  A group of Yeovil supporters were in the bar too, and they bought us a few drinks and talked football. We spent the whole game like that and were pretty drunk by the end of it. At one stage, one our players got injured near our touchline and play was stopped. I started banging on the window to get the lads’ attention to show them what we were doing.

  After the game, the guys who’d played came into the bar and we bought a few beers to drink on the way home. I went to the back of our coach and kept a low profile but, unfortunately, some supporters rang into the club to say how disgusted they were that players were getting drunk while their colleagues were playing. They had a point – it was ridiculously unprofessional. But I didn’t think like that at the time.

  Steve Thompson came to the back of the coach and told James Bent and myself (Dave Piper had made his own way home) that the gaffer was not happy and we had to report to the ground first thing in the morning. You may think this would’ve been my cue to go home and get an early night, but I wasn’t finished yet. I continued my bender until the early hours of the morning once we returned to Yeovil.

  The gaffer dragged me into the office the next day and questioned me about the allegations. I didn’t try to deny anything until he mentioned the knocking on the window and the flashing of beers at the lads while the game was going on. He said he did not believe I would do something so disrespectful and I said of course I would not.

  He believed me. I hated lying but I had to – I think if I’d admitted to it he might have sacked me. He eventually fined all three of us a week’s wages and got Steve to run the bollocks off us. That was an expensive afternoon’s drinking – I reckon those Buds worked out at about £40 each!

  This was not the end of my punishment though as I was banished to the reserves for the next week. Apart from the odd substitute appearance, I played no further part in the season and our results were up and down. We had to beat Rushden at home in early April to have any chance of winning the League. In front of a crowd of just under 9,000, we could only manage a goalless draw and, even more unfortunately, I was one of the people watching.

  Our failure to win promotion was confirmed in the penultimate game of the season when we lost 3–2 at home to Hereford United. Again, I was sitting in the stands.

  After that game, Michael McIndoe and I had a heated exchange. I came into the dressing room and started joking with Dave Piper about a wonderful diving header he had scored. This probably was not the wisest move considering the circumstances, but I did not mean to offend anyone. Macca was not best pleased and started going off on one about how gutted he was. I told him to fuck off as he had only been at the club five minutes.

  In reality our title challenge had slipped away weeks ago and that defeat just confirmed the inevitable. Michael and I sorted the situation out the next day but maybe in hindsight we needed some more intense characters like him to help get us over the line.

  We eventually finished the seaso
n in second place on eighty points – six behind champions Rushden & Diamonds. This was before the introduction of play-offs so our season ended there. I’d made forty-five appearances, including forty-two starts, and scored five goals. Again, these statistics weren’t bad for a 22-year-old – if I had started the season out of the team and made that many appearances it would have been a good year. But the way the season ended for me was a disappointment – even more so considering my problems were self-inflicted.

  Colin Addison immediately resigned from his post as manager of the club. It seemed there had been a difference of opinion between him and the board. I was really disappointed as, even though the season had finished poorly for me personally, I had nothing but the utmost respect for Colin. I felt like my performances at the back end of the season, and the way I’d behaved at times, had let him down. I’m not sure whether it would have made a difference to our season if I’d stayed in top form, but it definitely wouldn’t have done us any harm.

  I was now in limbo.

  I’d verbally agreed a new contract with the club but they were now saying I had to wait for the new manager to be appointed before anything could be sorted out. I was not happy and argued that after my 140-plus appearances, the club should be well aware of what I was capable of on the pitch.

  Unfortunately the board stuck to their guns. As my contract was due to expire immediately after the last game they agreed to extend my contract on a month-by-month basis until the new manager, whoever that would be, could make a decision.

  After a poor end to the season I felt it was a risk to leave my career at the whim of one man. I decided to take matters into my own hands and called David Webb directly to ask if he was interested in signing me for Southend United. He said he would talk to his chairman and get back to me. A couple of days later he offered me a one-year contract on £450 per week. I went down to Roots Hall, had a chat with him and accepted the offer.

  As Southend were in League Two, I got a standard Football League contract, meaning my new deal would run until 30 June 2002 rather than the last game of the season. They also started paying me from the beginning of June seeing as Yeovil would stop my wages as soon as I left. Normally a new contract would not start until 1 July.

  As I was under the age of twenty-four, this move would normally have entitled Yeovil to a transfer fee for my services. However, for this to be the case, Yeovil would’ve had to offer me a new deal on at least the same wages and for the same length of contract. Since all they did was offer a monthly extension, I was entitled to leave for free.

  It was a strange situation because I had loved my time at Yeovil and settled in the area. I was leaving behind a lot of friends, including Skivo. We had built up a really good relationship and I could not have asked for a better lodger!

  Ciderspace, the unofficial club website covering everything Yeovil Town, wrote the following about me when I left the club: ‘Ben can be a hugely frustrating player to watch, but at the same time is blessed with more natural talent than most players. When motivated he is good enough to play at a much higher level.’

  I think this quote summed me up pretty well.

  As disappointed as I was to leave Yeovil, the Southend move meant a chance to play at a higher level, with the added bonus that I could move back to Essex. I made 144 appearances and scored eighteen goals in just over three years at Yeovil.

  • • •

  16 FEBRUARY 2013

  I have made it to the next half-term at school. My situation as a whole is not improving though. Every morning when I wake up the first thing my subconscious tells me is to quit. It is the same every evening when I go to sleep. Surely this cannot be right?

  It does not feel like it’s getting any easier and I’m not enjoying it. I have decided I am definitely leaving at the end of the school year – or before, if I can secure a new job. The way I’m feeling at the moment I might quit anyway, irrespective of any other employment.

  I’ve been suffering from a headache all week and had an outbreak of mouth ulcers too. I never get headaches, not unless they’re self-inflicted.

  I think it might be stress, although I don’t feel any more worried than I have done for the last five and a half months. I do feel under pressure, though, as an inspection from Ofsted is looming. I’m worried my teaching isn’t good enough and I’m going to let everyone down.

  I sit in meetings listening to teachers talking about grades and the data required by the Ofsted inspectors. I do not have a clue what they are talking about. I pass on my concerns to my fellow teachers but they don’t seem bothered – not about me, anyway. It’s very much an ‘I’m all right, Jack’ culture. I think, in their defence, it’s because everyone is so busy.

  My main worry is the ICT lessons I am teaching. I say teaching – it’s more a case of me standing up in front of a class and waffling. I know nothing about ICT. Never have. More importantly, I have no interest in it. I was assured by the headmaster when I agreed my new contract that I would no longer teach ICT.

  In reality, I got an extra lesson of it.

  Over the course of the term, my lessons have deteriorated to the point of shambolic so, out of courtesy, I went and told the head of ICT how I’m feeling. She didn’t seem too fussed and was more worried about re-iterating how much support she’d given me.

  I then went and saw the vice principal and told her in no uncertain terms that my ICT lessons are a shambles, I don’t know what I’m doing, I have no interest in the subject and I’d been promised by the headmaster I would no longer be teaching it.

  I emphasised my fears regarding Ofsted because, as an absolute bare minimum, I wanted to flag up the situation in case shit hit the fan. The vice principal seemed really concerned and, within an hour, managed to offload two of my lessons to ICT teachers. It seems strange to me that I’ve been teaching ICT when two fully qualified ICT teachers were available all along.

  On the Friday before half-term I sent the vice principal a cheeky email asking if she’d managed to ‘dispose’ of any of my other ICT lessons. Her helpful demeanour had disappeared and she sent me a curt reply:

  Ben, I have removed two and that is all I can do as no other teachers available. Spoke to the head, this is your current timetable and contract. If this isn’t what you want, then that is all we can do from this end. You should be teaching 44/50 lessons (this is over a two-week timetable).

  Shit! I’ve gone from trying to get rid of lessons to getting my whole timetable changed and having to teach a lot more lessons – that backfired.

  I think the vice principal was just passing on what the headmaster had said, which made it even more disappointing as we clearly discussed this in our meeting. At least I now know where I stand and it’s clarified my thoughts on the future.

  Turns out it is not just the world of football where people are economical with the truth.

  CHAPTER 8

  BACK HOME

  Season: 2001/02

  Club: Southend United

  Division: League Two

  Managers: David Webb/Rob Newman

  THIS CHAPTER SHOULD not take long to read because my move to Southend was an unmitigated disaster pretty much from day one.

  Yeovil eventually appointed Gary Johnson as manager and went from strength to strength. From what Skivo subsequently told me, I think Gary would have offered me a contract and given me the opportunity to be part of their success. Players from the team I played in went on to have great careers, as did players Johnson brought in.

  I was now residing on the Essex Riviera.

  Everything started off fine. I came back to pre-season training fit and ready to prove myself at this higher level. However, in one of the early pre-season games against local Essex team Heybridge Swifts, I managed to injure myself, despite scoring the only goal of the game. It was pretty innocuous but it set the tone for my time at Southend United.

  If injured, as is the case in most clubs, you have to turn up early to be assessed. This allows the phys
io to report to the manager regarding the severity of your injury and decide whether or not you can train. At Southend, you had to be in by 9.30 a.m., but I didn’t care much for these rules and rolled up at about 10, pleading ignorance. Unfortunately John Gowans, the rather aggressive and uptight Geordie physio, did not take kindly to this and tore an absolute strip off me.

  I was slightly bemused by his anger and thought it was a bit of an overreaction, although I can now understand how unprofessional and disrespectful my attitude was.

  It turned out I had only severely bruised my foot, putting me out for a couple of weeks. That does not seem much of a blow but, as any player will tell you, when you join a new club it is so important to make a positive impression straight away. It also meant my fitness levels dipped below everyone else’s.

  I regained my fitness just after the start of the season and had to bide my time while waiting for an opportunity in the first team. Unfortunately, that opportunity never really came. After a couple of decent reserve outings I managed to sneak onto the bench for a home game against Halifax Town on 25 August. We won 4–1 but when I say my two-minute substitute appearance was the highlight of my time at Southend, it should tell you all you need to know about this part of my career.

  Before I could challenge for a starting place in the team I managed to pick up a really bad injury that disrupted my whole season.

  We were playing a small-sided training game of ‘one touch’. I was poised to shoot as a pass was played across my body but my studs got caught in the ground. I felt a sharp pain and went down in agony. I looked down expecting to see the bone popping out of my right leg. Thankfully it wasn’t, but I instantly knew I had a bad injury.

  In their wisdom, the club decided they were not going to send me for a scan straight away, preferring to wait and see how the injury settled down. I was not too pleased about this but, as a new player, I kept my opinion to myself. I was sure if I’d been an established first-team regular a scan would have been done at once.