by Ben Smith
Dean Beckwith, one of our stand-out performers from the previous season, gave us an early lead, but it didn’t give us the boost we’d hoped for and we deservedly lost 2–1. Orient were no great shakes but we looked like a team that didn’t believe it was good enough to be at that level.
My performance mirrored my team’s and I was dragged off before the end. My former teammate Tamika Mkandawire marshalled me with ease and barely broke sweat. I was still desperately searching for some sort of form.
The gaffer was not happy and we had an inquest on the Monday morning – something that became a pretty regular occurrence that season. However, he persevered with the same style of play for our League Cup game against Crystal Palace at Selhurst Park.
We lost 2–1 to a Victor Moses-inspired Palace, but during the game I had that sudden feeling you get when you start to regain some form. Palace won pretty comfortably but I felt good and thought I had turned a corner. I wanted to be influencing games like I had during the vast majority of my two spells at Hereford, but I had to bear in mind the fact that the quality of players and teams we were up against was of a different level.
Just three games into the season and it was already getting to the stage at which I was struggling to see where our first win was going to come from.
Next up was a trip to the Memorial Ground to play Bristol Rovers. I had always loved playing there as they had a really vociferous crowd who created a great atmosphere. I also knew their passionate fans would turn against them if we could keep the score level for the first thirty minutes.
Craig Sansom, one of our new goalkeepers, had joined us from Scotland. Before the game I warned him about Rovers’ centre forward, Rickie Lambert, whom I likened to Matt Le Tissier. I told Craig that he loved to hit shots from distance.
The advice worked really well as we managed to keep Lambert quiet for a total of seven minutes before he smashed in a great strike from about 30 yards…
To make it worse, this was not even the first goal – we had already gone a goal behind after three minutes. Their strike force of Lambert and Daryl Duffy was cutting through us like a hot knife through butter. The game was effectively over after twenty-two minutes as we went 3–0 down.
Ironically we were playing quite well on the ball and enjoyed a lot of possession. The problem came when we didn’t have the ball. By the seventy-eighth minute, Lambert had curled their fifth goal into the top corner via a 25-yard free kick. I was still captain and had never felt so embarrassed on a football pitch.
All I wanted was for the final whistle to go so I could get changed, go home and lock myself in the house for the rest of the weekend. Unfortunately Rovers had not finished handing out the punishment and still had time for a sixth goal. Steve Guinan did manage to nick a goal for us but we still lost 6–1. As I’m sure you can imagine, almost 7,000 enthusiastic Bristolians thoroughly enjoyed it.
Now, you are probably assuming that after a result like that us players faced some severe repercussions – GT giving the hairdryer treatment, players arguing with each other etc. Sorry to disappoint, but that wasn’t the case. Maybe that was our problem though – we were all just too nice. The gaffer and John just said the usual lines about the result being unacceptable (as if we needed to be told – although, saying that, we did have a few players who were a little deluded, so maybe we did).
The results were confirming what many of us senior players had suspected from the off: our squad was not good enough. We would probably have been struggling in League Two, let alone League One, and I believe we would’ve been battered by our team from the previous season.
That week officially saw the club hit the panic button. The management was keen to make changes after our heavy loss so a midweek reserve-team match was arranged against a young Aston Villa side to give other players some game time. This plan massively backfired though as Hereford got spanked 7–1. I wonder if a club has ever had a worse week!?
We had dabbled with 4–4–2 but, after Bristol, we reverted back to 4–5–1 with a tweak to the midfield. It worked particularly well for this game as Crewe played a 4–4–2, allowing us to put pressure on their central midfield players. We went on to win the game 2–0, which was a great relief and meant we were picking up our first points of the season. You could almost feel the pressure being lifted from our shoulders; after the game, we all took a deep breath and relaxed. What that led to is something I witnessed throughout my career and is what I think separates top players from us also-rans. Everyone instantly became visibly relaxed and the whole place became a happier environment but I think, instead of taking our foot off the pedal, we should’ve been channelling the hurt we’d felt after the Bristol Rovers game and the intensity we’d trained with leading up to the Crewe game. We had only won one game, after all. That isn’t necessarily a criticism of the management as this pattern happened at every club I had ever played at; it is just more of an observation.
We consolidated our win with a home draw to Swindon, but our mini-revival came to a swift end when we lost our next game away to Southend United – one of my former clubs.
Our results clearly showed we were not good enough so, as you would expect, the gaffer continued trying to strengthen our squad and he did so by adding former Everton and Plymouth Argyle striker Nick Chadwick. Nick made a great early impression by putting us 1–0 up on his debut at home against Scunthorpe United. That game also marked the return of Gary Hooper to Edgar Street.
We were still ahead at half-time and GT praised me for conscientiously tracking back during the break, which was unusual as he very rarely gave out praise and I very rarely tracked back.
Ten minutes into the second half, though, Scunthorpe equalised. The ball was played into Gary Hooper’s feet and, being the clever midfielder I thought I was, I tried to nick the ball from the front. I should have known better because Gary’s touch was as immaculate as usual and the midfielder I was supposed to be marking ran off the back of me. Before I knew it, Hoops had flicked the ball into him and the midfielder had smashed it into the back of the net.
I instantly knew I was at fault. If I hadn’t tried to be so clever and had just stayed with my man, the goal would not have happened. Within five minutes, the inevitable had happened: Hoops had got his customary goal and we’d lost the game 2–1.
My lapse in concentration had shifted the whole momentum of the game. I was really frustrated with myself. Ironically I had played quite well but, at that higher level, any little mistake I made was punished. So far in the season, I had already been directly at fault for two goals that had cost us points.
GT was fuming and made a specific point about how he had praised me for my diligent defensive work and I had then switched off. I might be paraphrasing him slightly, but I’m pretty sure he said: ‘I don’t know why I fucking bother!’
Even more concerning for me was the fact I’d made a high-profile error in the weekend preceding one of the biggest games of our season. We were due at Elland Road to play Leeds United and, after winning and performing so well there the season before, I was desperate to play.
A couple of days before the game, the gaffer added to the squad again with the temporary signing of Bruno N’Gotty, who had played for the likes of Lyon, PSG, Marseille and AC Milan. It was an amazing coup for our club but what I admired most was the fact he was willing to come and play for a team of our stature when he was no doubt financially set up for life. He was coming to the end of his career and sitting on a nice, chunky contract at Leicester City, but he wanted to play first-team football rather than just sit in the reserves.
His class was immediately evident. One thing I hated as a midfield player was having my passes read by the opposition. I prided myself on being able to punch them through at such a pace that my opposite number couldn’t intercept them or to put enough disguise on them that I fooled my opponent. However, during his first couple of training sessions, Bruno read my passes so comfortably that it felt like he knew where they were going before
I did!
In the week leading up to the Leeds game we did a lot of work on the shape of our team. It was clear we were going to change our formation and revert back to five in midfield. What was also clear was that it was between Simon Johnson and I for the position just off the striker. John Trewick, who led the vast majority of training sessions, kept interchanging us for that role.
I was wary because I knew GT had a knack for playing people against their former clubs, thinking they would feel as though they had something to prove. Simon had spent many years at Leeds, both as a schoolboy and a professional, so, adding that to my lapse in concentration the previous week, it was not looking good for me.
We travelled up to Yorkshire on the Friday and stopped off to train at what is now the St George’s Park training complex (back then it was just a collection of nicely manicured football pitches). The team was not confirmed that day but it seemed clear that I was going to be left out.
It was confirmed the following day and a very disgruntled midfielder took his place on the bench. The game itself was a non-event – we lost 1–0 but it was as one-sided a 1–0 as you will ever see. I managed a ten-minute cameo on the wing.
As I’d got older, though, I’d realised I couldn’t let managers get away with leaving me out without getting an explanation. After all, if it wasn’t clear what I’d done wrong then how could I rectify it?
The process of seeking out an explanation was a little different at Hereford United. Normally I’d have a chat with the manager, but because Graham was both the manager and the chairman he was always very busy. So how it worked was you spoke to John Trewick, unless it was something really important.
I had been stewing all weekend about not playing and went straight in to see John on Monday morning. Meetings with him could often be long, drawn-out affairs and normally took the following format: ask a question; John rocks back in his chair and brushes his hands through his very-impressive-for-a-man-of-his-age hair; question is answered with a question.
On this occasion, I asked him why I had been left out of the team and it went something like this:
JT: Why do you think you have been left out of the team?
Me: Well, if I have been left out for my performance last week then that is unfair, but if I was dropped because of my mistake then I can understand that.
JT: No, you have not been left out because of the mistake; we just wanted to freshen things up.
Me: Well, I’m not happy then as I thought my overall performance last week was good.
JT: It was.
Me: So I was dropped because of the goal?
JT: No, but you were at fault for the first goal, which changed the whole game.
Me: OK, we are going round in circles here but it seems pretty clear why I was left out.
John just gave me a knowing look. I knew I had to take responsibility for my mistakes and I had no problem with that, but what frustrated me was not getting a straight answer.
Whether my little whinge worked or not I don’t know, but I was named in the team during training the day before a home game against Walsall. Unfortunately I fell ill on the Friday night and missed out. I was back available for the next game away at Oldham and it looked likely I would play until, I think, I managed to take myself out of contention with a very sloppy and lethargic performance in training on the Thursday.
Missing the Oldham game turned out to be a blessing in disguise as we put in an abject performance and got absolutely battered 4–0. I spent the majority of the second half drinking as much water as possible as it was made known that I had been selected for a random drugs test.
I personally had to wait a full five weeks and six games before I got another start – at the New Den against Millwall. In the past, I might’ve gone off the rails after not being involved for so long but I had matured and knuckled down by this point and ensured I was ready to play when selected. There was not much chance of us putting a ten-game unbeaten run together so I knew I wouldn’t have to wait too long.
We got beaten 1–0 but put up a really good fight, only losing to a goal in the last ten minutes. I started the match like someone who had not played for a month, but soon warmed to the task and put in a strong performance. Playing at the New Den was a real eye-opener. It’s not often you get shown the middle finger and called every name under the sun by both dads and their eight-year-old sons! In a perverse way, I really enjoyed it.
The Millwall game was in late October and from then until Christmas I managed to stay in the team and be captain whenever Karl Broadhurst wasn’t available. Our results were still poor, illustrated by a disappointing defeat to Dagenham & Redbridge in the first round of the FA Cup, but we were picking up the odd result and just about hanging in there.
During this period I was starting to find some decent form. I felt I was finally competing at League One level and had eradicated the silly mistakes I’d been making – at least until we played Tranmere Rovers at home on Boxing Day.
It was a tight game and, by the start of the second half, finely poised at 1–1. At around the hour mark, Kris Taylor – my good friend and gym buddy – won the ball and gave me a horrible pass on the edge of our box with me facing our goal. Looking back, I take it as a compliment that he thought a man of my ability would be able to deal with it.
But, if that was the case, he was wrong…
I should have just smashed the ball into row Z but as that goes against all my principles I tried to wriggle my way out of trouble with my trademark Cruyff turn (OK, technically it is Johan’s, but you know what I mean). Unfortunately, the opposition either knew I would do this or I executed it very poorly. Either way, I got dispossessed and the ball was in the back of our goal before I knew it. Thankfully Steve Guinan rescued a point with a great finish to ensure the game finished at 2–2. I had recovered enough from my mistake to create a goal but, even with nearly half the season still remaining, it had become pretty clear home draws would not be good enough to keep us in the League.
Even more worrying was the fact we had Leicester City away in the next game. I had already missed the Leeds game due to an error and I was concerned my very recent history was going to repeat itself.
Fortunately I kept my place for our visit to the Walkers Stadium, where just under 23,000 people were packed in. We went 2–0 down, fought back to 2–1, but couldn’t salvage anything from the game.
Once again the plucky underdog came up short but this now seemed to be a regular occurrence. We were competitive throughout against Leicester and put in a decent performance. I was happy with the way I had personally played but still got a footballing lesson from the opposition.
You’ve probably deduced that the season had, up to that point, been pretty depressing, but one incident helped lift the mood. The FA and UK Sport had brought in a new rule during the season regarding drug testing whereby you had to text or call UK Sport on your day off and give them an hour slot where someone could pop round and test you if they so desired.
Not an overly testing task, you’d imagine. What most people did was text them a time they would be in bed – between, say, 5.30 and 6.30 a.m. – so it didn’t disrupt their day. If memory serves me correct, you had to text your name, location, the hour slot and your club.
Unfortunately a lot of players were struggling with this and kept forgetting to text. Every time you forgot and UK Sport picked up on it you would get a strike, and three strikes meant you were liable for punishment. Many players across the Football League were on the cusp of being reprimanded.
One morning Graham called a meeting to tell us the club had been warned by the FA and UK Sport that its players were either forgetting to text in their details or doing so incorrectly. The example he gave us was Kris Taylor. Kris had not forgotten to text, but he’d only sent his name and the time he was available, meaning the testers had no idea where he was…
Everyone was having a chuckle and I asked Kris if he thought UK Sport was like Father Christmas and just knew where h
e lived. Believe it or not, Kris was one of the more intelligent members of our group.
In actual fact, I think this situation illustrates how players can be overly mollycoddled and how, as a result, some struggle when asked to think for themselves.
It was the start of January and, after Leicester, we hadn’t had a game for two weeks through a combination of our home League fixture against Leeds being cancelled and us already having been knocked out of the FA Cup.
The transfer window had opened, however. Given we were struggling so much, it was obvious there would be additions to the squad. There were plenty of positions in the team the management wanted to strengthen; unfortunately for me, they secured someone in mine.
The club made a double loan signing from Manchester United – Febian Brandy, a centre forward, and Sam Hewson, a central midfielder, both arrived. I knew straight away I was in trouble – you never got bad players from Manchester United and Sir Alex Ferguson didn’t let them out on loan unless they were guaranteed to play.
I wasn’t going to give up my place without a fight, however, so I made sure I worked even harder and was even bubblier than usual that week in training as it was clear my position was under the most threat.
My strategy made absolutely no difference as I was left out of the next game against Oldham Athletic at home. We won 5–0 mainly down to virtuoso performances from Steve Guinan, who scored a hat-trick, and Lionel Ainsworth, who scored a brace and generally tore them to shreds. Lionel had returned to us on loan from Watford less than a year after going in the opposite direction.
What a player Lionel had the potential to be! He had lightening pace, great technique and a wonderful footballing brain. The only thing holding him back was himself and his lack of mental strength. If he had managed to develop that he could have gone on to be whatever he wanted.