Journeyman

by Ben Smith

  What chance have you got as a player when your manager says that about you after some good play? I dread to think what he used to say when I made a mistake.

  In our next game we were playing Braintree Town in the FA Cup. That week, GP and I had the sort of conversation that punctuated my time at the club. He told me in this particular lecture that I would never play central midfield for his team and that I was too slow to play on the wing. I told him that, with regard to playing on the wing, we could’ve saved a lot of time and effort with me telling him that at the start of the season. I’d always been one of the slowest players at all the clubs I played for and there was no great chance of that changing. We agreed to disagree on my qualities (or lack thereof) as a central midfield player, however.

  So, after such a discussion you can imagine my amazement when I started against Braintree Town in central midfield! I believe there was a more sinister side to it all, though: as I mentioned earlier, I was respected by the supporters and I think this was part of GP’s plan to undermine me.

  Did it work? Well, it didn’t break me, but it didn’t help my mental state either. In the long term it did toughen me up, but I was losing the will to prove GP wrong. At that stage I just wanted to move on and play for someone who appreciated the talents I knew I had.

  We won the cup game 4–1 but my performance, while not great by any stretch of the imagination, was acceptable, particularly considering the mind games I was embroiled in with the manager.

  We were away for the next game so I was obviously dropped. I then managed another first in my career: I was dropped without playing. We were due to play Mansfield at home and I had been selected to play. Tragically, during the pre-match warm-up, the Mansfield goalkeeping coach collapsed and died on the pitch so the game was cancelled, and, since our next game was away to Rochdale, I was technically dropped without even kicking the ball.

  That game at Rochdale produced an interesting incident in the dressing room afterwards. We had been 3–1 up at half-time but eventually lost 4–3 after that pair of Grant Holt and Rickie Lambert scored two goals apiece. No one in our camp was happy, as you can imagine. In fact, striker Colin McMenamin was foaming at the mouth and going mental, blaming Gavin Cowan for not clearing the ball for Rochdale’s winning goal. Gavin let it slide initially, but Colin wouldn’t let it go and continued to scream at him. Gavin finally reacted and all hell broke loose. I was in the corner, brave as ever, watching and wondering what everyone was getting so wound-up about. GP came flying in, well and truly nailing his colours to Colin’s mast by pinning Gavin up against the wall and giving his opinion of the situation.

  Being the Neanderthal-like figure that GP was he loved the raw emotion Colin was exhibiting but it has never done anything for me. Coming into the dressing room screaming and shouting at your teammates does not make you more passionate than someone who keeps himself to himself and gets on with their job.

  I see this kind of reaction as being for ‘show’. They are effectively saying: ‘Look at me boss, I really want to win.’ My answer to that would be how about you show how much you want to win on the pitch rather than smashing up the dressing room and team morale. There is nothing wrong with a heated, constructive discussion that gets issues and disagreements out in the open, but screaming and shouting obscenities is pointless.

  The next week we were at home to Colchester United in the second round of the FA Cup and I was back in the team but, pre-game, I had yet another surreal GP experience.

  The manager decided every player in the team had to wear studded boots. If you didn’t have them you weren’t allowed to play. GP then decided to go round and check what type of boots each player had on. It was ridiculous.

  I had worn Adidas Copa Mundial boots for years and, for wetter conditions, I would get them modified – someone would shave down some of the moulded studs and put in longer screw-in ones. I liked this as I always found Copas to be the most comfortable pair of boots. Their studded alternatives, Adidas World Cups, were a lot narrower and not as comfortable.

  GP rather awkwardly checked everyone’s boots. When he came to me it was decided my modified boots were not up to his standards. He said if I did not find a pair of studs then I would not be playing – this was at 2 p.m. I had always been anal about my boots and did not feel comfortable wearing someone else’s in training, let alone in a big game against higher-ranked opposition. I did what he wanted as I was not going to give up my place in the team, but I found this to be another example of his need for total control over everything we did.

  We lost the game 2–1. It was played on 3 December and was the last time I was in the squad for Shrewsbury Town. The manager was pretty scathing regarding my performance and said he could not play me when I was performing like that – which was fine as I didn’t want to play for him anyway.

  He said I should look for another club and I said I would see what came up. He warned me that I would not get another club ‘if I waited until the end of the season’, which basically meant I should leave as soon as possible. I’m sure getting me off the wage bill had absolutely nothing to do with that instruction…

  I was more than happy to leave but it was going to be on my terms, not forced by a bully like him. I still had over seven months left on my contract so I was in a strong position. I’d gotten rid of my ineffective agent so it must’ve been GP who was putting my name about as I received a call from ex-Hornchurch manager Garry Hill, who was now at Weymouth.

  Joining a club like Weymouth was initially of no interest to me: they were in the Conference South and I had no desire to drop down two leagues. But Garry was very persistent. They were a full-time club and he did not baulk at my £800-a-week wage – in fact, he said he could better it. My ears started to prick up.

  He was also positive that if I were to leave Shrewsbury I would be due a settlement on the remaining time of my contract. I told him Shrewsbury were insisting I wouldn’t get any type of pay-up, but he was convinced they were bluffing.

  For those who are not aware of the protocol: if a club wants to end a player’s contract early, both parties must come to an agreement on the remaining value of it. Often, at the lower levels of the game, a contract will just be terminated to let the player move to a new club for no fee, but in some situations, depending on how much you earn or how badly the club wants to get rid of you, the player will be paid to go. The beauty of this situation is that any pay-off under a certain amount – I believe £30,000 – is tax-free, as it is considered severance pay.

  Suddenly Weymouth had become a viable proposition, but, after speaking to my former teammate Jamie Pitman, I also got a phone call from Graham Turner saying he would like to see me return to Hereford United.

  In the middle of January I went to speak to both clubs on the same day. I ventured down to the West Country the day before and stayed at my old mucker Skivo’s house.

  I went to Weymouth first and Garry, plus his assistant Kevin Hales, showed me the training ground and stadium. It was refreshing to talk to someone who was really enthusiastic about my attributes and what I could potentially bring to the team. I had not had a manager speak that positively about me since I was at Hereford. It was just what my ego needed.

  Garry is a very astute businessman. He does not initially come across that way but I think he does it to lull people into a false sense of security, getting them to drop their guard. He said I had to speak about the terms of my contract with chief executive Gary Calder, although we were both aware it was Garry who would make the ultimate decision.

  I said that I wanted £1,000 per week, plus a few small bonuses on a two-and-a-half-year contract. He didn’t agree to it but he didn’t say no either. We left it at that and agreed to speak again in the next few days.

  I left Weymouth to drive up the M5, happy with what I saw and had been told. I was now off to meet Graham Turner. He and I met at the services on the M5, just before the M50 turn off.

  Graham asked me how it had gone at Weymout
h and was a little taken aback by the figures I had been offered. He went on to say that he would match my Shrewsbury wage of £800 a week, and add in appearance money over eighteen months. That was a good offer and it meant I wouldn’t have to move house because I could easily commute to and from Edgar Street. Hereford was also a league higher than Weymouth.

  I had plenty to think about.

  I was back in training at Shrewsbury on the Thursday and it was pay day, but I had only been paid half my wages. We normally got paid two weeks in arrears and two weeks in advance. GP was obviously so sure I was leaving that he’d had the second part of my wages stopped. I was not best pleased and asked him what was going on. He said I was leaving so I was only getting half pay.

  This was where the bluffing had to start. I told him that both clubs I visited had offered me less money than I was currently earning so I would not be leaving unless Shrewsbury paid me to leave. He reiterated that I should leave immediately as there was no chance I would get another club in the summer. Like most things GP said, I ignored it; both Garry and Graham had said they would wait and take me in the summer if they had to.

  The next day I was called into GP’s office as soon as I got to training. He said, and I quote, ‘The chairman says you were injured when you joined, you’ve done fuck all since you’ve been here, so won’t get a penny from this club!’ I calmly replied that this was fine and I would see out the rest of my contract.

  As a result, Duane Darby and I were sent to train by ourselves. Duane, I imagine, was one of the biggest earners at the club and did not fit into GP’s plans either. As a result, we spent an hour running – which didn’t bother me in the slightest as I now enjoyed keeping fit. However, within an hour of getting home I had a call from GP asking if I would leave for £5,000? I said yes, I would, thank you very much. What a U-turn from the conversation we’d had three hours previously! I should have perhaps held out for a bit more but this was effectively free money I had not expected.

  Garry Hill was on the phone straight away asking what it would take for me to join Weymouth. I told him what I’d told Gary Calder: I wanted £1,000 per week. He said they would give me £925 but I held firm. Garry said we wouldn’t fall out over £75 so was willing to offer me the full amount on an eighteen-month contract. There was also a clause that if I started thirty games in the full season I would automatically get another one-year contract on the same money.

  The owner of the club owned a chain of hotels so agreed to put Emma and I up in one of them until we found a house. Garry was in a rush to get the deal down and got all the forms faxed over to a local hotel.

  I rang Graham over at Hereford and told him I had decided to join Weymouth. He was surprised and disappointed but ultimately respected my decision.

  It would have been easier for me to join Hereford as there would have been a lot less upheaval, but I was really disillusioned with everything and just wanted to get away. I would be lying if I said the money was not a factor but it was not the be all and end all.

  Another reason I joined Weymouth was because of how desperate Garry was to sign me. I really needed a manager who thought a lot of me, who not only wanted me in his team but would build it around me. After a year of being told what I could not do it was nice to find someone who was waxing lyrical about my strengths.

  I was pretty happy with myself and the way I had handled the negotiations. I had managed to get myself a 25 per cent pay rise and £5,000 to leave Shrewsbury. GP had given me a tough time over the last year but I felt I had won a small victory.

  During that first part of the 2005/06 season I made sixteen appearances, via fourteen starts and two sub appearances. I scored one goal.

  • • •

  1 MAY 2013

  Another football season has come and gone with Thurrock. It has been pretty nondescript and summed up by mine and my team’s performance in our last game of the season, which we lost 4–0. Rather surprisingly, manager Mark Stimson is very keen on me staying for next season.

  We had a chat after the game but I was very non-committal. I didn’t particularly enjoy much of the season, but every time I was ready to quit something happened to remind me how great football can feel and lure me back in. I have made many bad decisions during my career, never more so than over the last twelve months, but I do not want to make another one by stopping playing too early.

  I know that once I stop that will be it for me. However, I am really keen to start working in a professional academy with young players. The money is low but it is where I want to be and I am pretty sure that, if I am happy and enjoying myself, everything else will fall into place. In an ideal world I would marry the two together – playing and coaching – but, as I have learnt, this definitely is not an ideal world.

  Talking of being happy, I have told the school I no longer want to teach next year. I spoke to the headmaster and said all I’m willing to do is work with the football academy part time and find myself more work around that.

  It seems ironic as one of my main motivations behind moving away from football was a desire to have a secure income after years of not knowing where I might be or what I might earn.

  Unfortunately, I am now as unsure of what the future holds as I’ve ever been.

  CHAPTER 14

  RE-BUILDING ON THE SOUTH COAST

  SEASON: 2005/06

  CLUB: WEYMOUTH

  DIVISION: CONFERENCE SOUTH

  MANAGER: GARRY HILL

  FOOTBALL MOVES SO quickly. I signed my release forms from Shrewsbury on a Friday, packed up the house on Saturday and travelled down to Weymouth on Sunday, ready for training on Monday. Emma and I arrived on Sunday, with me nursing a raging hangover after celebrating my parole from Shrewsbury the night before.

  My new club put us directly on the seafront in the Prince Regent hotel and, as tends to be the case when you have played professionally for a few years, there were a few familiar faces upon my arrival in the dressing room.

  Weymouth were flying high at the top of the League when I joined but I was thrown straight into the first team. Although we were the ‘big spenders’ of the League, a young, vibrant St Albans team was pushing Weymouth all the way.

  My initial thoughts within a couple of weeks of moving, however, were along the lines of what have I done?

  The hotel we were staying in was like a something out of the film Cocoon. Emma and I were the only people in residence under the age of sixty. The most excitement was when the weekly game of bingo was held or when one of the old dears fell down the stairs.

  I quickly found out that some old people can be quite rude. I believe, due to their seniority, several of them felt they didn’t have to queue up at meal times, but their pushing-in wound me up. It was also very challenging for Emma and I to share one little double room for three months; she was doing my head in and no doubt the feeling was mutual.

  To add to all that, the weather was horrendous. I subsequently found out that when living on the coast you suffer the extremities of the conditions. When the weather’s nice it’s an amazing place to be, but when it’s bad – like you’d expect it to be in January – it’s terrible. It seemed to be raining and blowing a gale-force wind every day.

  My performances were nothing more than average on the pitch. I arrogantly thought, after dropping down two leagues, that I would be the best player in every game – but that definitely was not the case.

  We won three out of my first four games and I scored in two of them. I went on to also score against Weston-super-Mare to make it three goals in seven games, but we lost two of those overall. We then went unbeaten for a month until losing away at Welling at the end of March. I remember this game well as I over-indulged in the pre-match meal at the hotel on the Friday night and ended up ambling around the pitch in first gear – more so than normal.

  My performances were still up and down – some games I would coast around thinking how easy it was and on other occasions I felt like everything was passing me by. It was at t
hose times that I became acutely aware of how much money I was earning for this level of football and I expected a lot more from myself.

  After that defeat, we kept winning – but so did St Albans. Everything came down to a ‘winner takes all’ game on Easter Monday when they came to our Wessex Stadium. All the pressure was on us: Weymouth were the hot favourites; St Albans were just the young up-and-comers playing with total freedom and surprising everybody.

  A crowd of over 5,000 squeezed into our ground and the game lived up to its billing. We sneaked a 3–2 win, mainly due to a true captain’s performance from skipper Matt Bound, although we lost Shaun Wilkinson to a red card midway through the second half and were holding on for dear life near the end. It was a brilliant game to play in but very nerve-racking.

  I remember the game vividly for two reasons: firstly, because I won the penalty for our third goal; and secondly, because I nearly dislocated my left shoulder at the same time. As I hit the ground my arm was doing its best to come out of its socket, though this time the ligaments and muscles did their job and just about kept everything in place.

  As I write this, I am reminded how quickly life moves on, let alone football. Two of the main protagonists in that game have sadly passed away now. Both Weymouth owner Martyn Harrison and St Albans manager (and my former Yeovil gaffer) Colin Lippiatt succumbed to cancer recently. It seems like only yesterday we were all battling it out and now they are no longer with us. Colin especially was someone I knew very well and had a lot of time for. He was a great, fun-loving guy and I often cringe when I think about some of the things I did under his management. He was very patient with me though. We always had great chats whenever we bumped into each other throughout my senior career and I will always be grateful to him.