by Ben Smith
It was a really disappointing way for everything to end and I didn’t want my legacy at Hereford to be that last season. I’d thoroughly enjoyed my two spells at the club on the whole, having built up a great rapport with the supporters and enjoyed working for GT. I’d lost a little bit of respect for him with the way my exit was handled, but I’d learnt a lot and he’d really helped my career. When I’d re-joined the club, I’d wanted to stay for a long time and really make myself a home in Herefordshire.
I wasn’t going to kid myself into thinking any League One clubs would want me, but, after the season before last, I was confident there would be some interest from within League Two.
Even though it had been a terrible season, I’d still made forty appearances, including thirty-two starts, although I’d hit just one goal.
• • •
26 JULY 2013
Somehow I’ve managed it – I have completed a school year and discovered a newfound respect for teachers. Before I started I thought I’d be waltzing into school at about 8 a.m. and be home by 4 p.m. – how wrong was I?!
I was in school, more often than not, by 7.30 a.m. and often didn’t leave until 5 p.m., doing between forty-five and fifty hours a week, split between the school and work I did at home. When you think I was earning £410 a week, that works out at a pretty poor hourly wage.
What about all the holidays you got, I hear you say? Correct – there were a lot of holidays, but if you think teachers just sit at home and relax then you are sorely mistaken. Those breaks were a godsend as they either allowed me to get ahead of the game and do some planning or marking, or they enabled me to catch up and keep my head above water – more often than not I was doing the latter.
It’s strange: I’ve been looking forward to leaving for so long but now it’s finally happened the buzz isn’t the same. On the last day I even started thinking that maybe I’d done the wrong thing – but that thought only lasted about a minute before I started thinking about all the hours struggling in front of those ICT classes.
The day I left was strange. As a footballer you’re normally ushered quietly out of the back door, but at school I was given gifts by the business, ICT and PE departments – and also some of the kids.
The gifts included a manual called PCs for Dummies (I could’ve done with that a year ago!), a book about publishing your own book (hopefully reading that has paid off!), a football from the Year 10 team I very unsuccessfully tried to coach all season, and a picture of the Year 7 PE class from hell (by the end of the year, I was actually starting to make progress with those nutters).
That represented what I’ve enjoyed most about the job: building relationships with the kids. There were many facets I was poor at, but this was something I definitely had an aptitude for. I talked to the kids on their level and, in actual fact, felt more comfortable talking to them than I did to many of the staff.
What I like is that kids don’t have any airs and graces: they tell you what they think and don’t care about the effect it has on your ego. Over the course of my year, I’ve been told I have grey hair, a wonky jaw, a bent nose and a lazy eye. All deficiencies I’m well aware of – mainly due to my mates who I grew up with – but I don’t think you can ever be told these sorts of things too often!
CHAPTER 20
ON THE MOVE AGAIN
PRE-SEASON 2009/10 – bearing in mind the way it had ended with Hereford, it was unlikely I would be returning, so it looked like Emma and I were on the move again. We made a conscious decision to either try to find a club around the Midlands, so we could stay in Worcester, or one in the south east, so we could move back to Essex. I was thirty now and not sure I wanted to keep traipsing around the country on one-year deals.
I still had no agent so I did my usual trick and sent my CV to every club in those two regions. I was experienced enough to know that if anything were to come from this exercise it would normally happen within the first week of sending them out.
Sure enough, within that time frame, I had three phone calls – one each from Crawley Town, Macclesfield Town and Mansfield Town. None of them really got me excited, to be honest, but I thought it only right I spoke to them.
First to call was Gee Evans from Crawley – chief scout and brother of their infamous manager Steve. He made all the right noises, telling me if I dropped into the Conference I would be the best midfielder in the League. His words lacked a bit of sincerity but were nice to hear nonetheless. Steve Evans wanted to have a face-to-face chat so we agreed to meet a week later at the Holiday Inn in High Wycombe – another famous haunt for lower-league football deals.
Next on the phone was, the now sadly late, Keith Alexander, then manager of Macclesfield Town – which was, at the time, in League Two. He was straight to the point and quite abrupt on the phone. I reckon he didn’t have many ‘free minutes’ available because he definitely wasted no time on small talk!
He asked what I’d been earning the year before and then instantly explained that the club couldn’t get anywhere near it. I politely informed him I wasn’t expecting similar terms and was open to discussions. He said he would have to speak to his board and, before I could say that was fine, he’d put the phone down.
To be perfectly honest, I had no real interest in going to Maccesfield. Keith had a reputation for employing a direct style of play that didn’t appeal to me and the club seemed to never really go anywhere either.
The last call came from David Holdsworth at Mansfield Town (also in the Conference). I’d played briefly with his brother Dean at Weymouth, but didn’t know David. He made it clear he would love to sign me, though, and asked if I’d pop over to Field Mill for a chat and a cup of tea.
I said I’d get back to him and checked the distance once off the phone – it was over 90 miles, going from the West Midlands to the East Midlands. Neither that daily commute nor the club itself appealed to me – and I don’t like tea – so I gave it a miss. It was only mid-May and I was confident something better would come along.
The following week I went to meet Steve Evans and his assistant Paul Raynor from Crawley. I’d witnessed Steve’s actions on the touchline – and heard plenty of colourful stories about him – but I was determined to go to the meeting with an open mind. I’ve always tried to live my life by making up my own mind about people.
It went well: Steve knew a lot about me and the way I played; I liked the idea he had regarding where I would fit in his team. He wanted me to play in an attacking midfield role that would release me from any defensive duties. He also re-iterated his brother’s words about me being the best midfielder in the League.
Finally the talk got round to money and Steve’s reaction was the same as everyone else’s when I said what I’d been earning. However, he could offer a two-year contract on £800 a week in the first year, rising to £850 in the second. As I would have to move house, the club would also give me a relocation fee of £8,000 to be paid over the course of the contract and would be exempt from tax.
It was a decent offer but still £600 a week less than I’d been on before – therefore not something I was going to take at this early stage of the close season. Steve told me to have a think about it and call him in a couple of days.
When I got home I did a bit more research on Crawley Town. It only averaged around 700 fans during the last campaign and I was wary, after my experience at Weymouth, of joining a club whose income clearly did not get close to its expenditure. The club was located near Gatwick and it would be a long commute from Essex if I moved back home.
Sure enough, two days later, Steve phoned for my thoughts. He used a tactic (which I subsequently found out he used a lot) to try to force my hand, explaining that an alternative midfielder, who was due to go on holiday, would be signed if I didn’t agree to the proposed deal. He needed my answer immediately. I was in no rush and not particularly excited about the move so didn’t take the bait.
I told him: ‘I’m in no rush to drop into the Conference and want to try to s
tay in the Football League, although this may change as the summer wears on.’ He was very understanding and said to keep in touch.
A couple of days later, he rang again telling me he was going to the races with the then club owner Bruce Winfield and asking what money it would take for me to join the club. I told him it was not about money – I simply wanted to play at as high a level as possible. Again he seemed to respect my stance and we amicably parted ways.
I was sure something better would come up, so I waited and waited for the phone to ring…
I went on holiday to Mexico early in June and was starting to get concerned. Though I was loath to do it, I got in touch with a couple of agents and asked them to put my name about. To be fair, there are some good agents out there and I think the one time you need one is when you’ve had a poor time on the pitch.
I was never going to pay 5 per cent of my wages to an agent again though, so I agreed one-off fees. While I was in Mexico, Dan Fletcher, one of the agents, let me know that he’d spoken to Aldershot Town but that they weren’t interested. I appreciated his help but really didn’t need him to tell me every time someone said no – I had a feeling that could become a little soul-destroying!
I returned from holiday and the phone was still silent. It was the end of June; I had nothing and had never been in such a position before. Pre-season was due to start and all I had planned was training down the gym with Gonzo. But, on the last day of the month, I got a phone call from Martin Allen at Cheltenham Town asking me to come train and have a chat.
Cheltenham was only about twenty minutes from my base in Worcester so geographically it was perfect. The club often got mentioned in the local press and I’d seen it linked to quite a few midfield players over the summer. It was clear I was not their first choice, but beggars definitely can’t be choosers.
To be honest, the club was not on my initial radar because I knew a few lads who’d played under Martin and they all said he was a bit eccentric. I hadn’t even bothered sending my CV to the club as a result. Martin mentioned he had gotten my name from the Professional Footballers Association list – a register that goes out at the end of the season and outlines which players are out of contract and which ones are available for transfer.
My first impressions were quite good. I got to the training ground early on 1 July and we had a positive chat. Martin insinuated he wanted to sign me but said it would take a few days to sort everything out. I took all of this with a pinch of salt but, worst-case scenario, I was still getting an opportunity to stay fit somewhere close to home.
Martin had an assistant working in his office – I think his name was Alistair – who was introduced as a sort of ‘life coach’ (Martin said he liked to have this guy around to bounce ideas off him). Martin wanted to get a bit of background on me so I told him about my studying for a degree for the last four years. He seemed genuinely impressed I was preparing for the future, but I found it a little disconcerting that he would not look me in the eye when he spoke.
John Schofield was his first-team coach and someone I took an instant liking to. He was really enthusiastic, had a bubbly personality and showed an obvious love for the game. These qualities reminded me very much of Richard O’Kelly, my old coach from my first spell at Hereford, and I cannot pay John a bigger compliment than that.
Just as I was leaving training, Martin called me over to say he was having an early morning meeting with the club chairman. I told him I already knew the chairman as he had previously tried to sign me. Martin said he was aware of that fact and, tomorrow morning, he wanted us to go through a role-play in front of the chairman – although the chairman was not to know it was pre-planned.
I thought this was a little strange but who was I to argue?
We were due to train early the next day as it was going to be very hot, so I was instructed to knock on the office door at 8.30 a.m., despite knowing full well he was in a meeting with the chairman. Our conversation was going to go like this:
Me: Gaffer, can I have a quick word?
Martin: Sorry, Ben – I’m in a meeting with the chairman. (Points at chairman.) Have you met him?
Me: Yes, we met a few years ago.
Martin: Mr Chairman, Ben is a very intelligent boy who is studying for a degree, plus he lives very locally in Worcester. I would love him to come and play for us.
That was the level of dress rehearsal Martin and I went through!
Martin thought this would be enough to get me sat down with the chairman so we could all talk about my potential future at Cheltenham. As I drove home that afternoon I had a little chuckle to myself about the plan.
The next day I went through the rigmarole of the ‘role-play’ and, to be fair, it went exactly as Martin had predicted. We did our pre-planned routine and had a short chat. I played my role of ‘Ben Smith’ brilliantly, although I was conscious of becoming typecast!
The first thing chairman Paul Baker asked me was why I’d turned him down to join Hereford. I was honest and told him I knew Graham Turner well and wanted to play for someone who knew my strengths and weaknesses. He went on to re-iterate that Martin was keen to sign me and wanted to know what sort of money I was looking for. I proposed £1,000 a week, with a view – a view I didn’t reveal – of taking no less than £900. Paul didn’t agree to it then and there, but he didn’t baulk at the figure either, which I took as a good sign.
On the Friday morning we trained at Gloucester University, doing some fitness testing before a friendly in the evening against local side Bishop’s Cleeve. Games like that can be a problem when you go somewhere on trial: the management are busy planning for the first proper match of the season so aren’t particularly bothered about the warm-up friendlies. However, when you are unsigned, you really need to impress. It isn’t good enough to be ‘OK’ – you need to stand out and be better than what they’ve already got.
I was back training on the Monday and, as I’d suspected, the promised offer hadn’t materialised. To make matters worse, Michael Pook, a central midfielder from Swindon Town, had also arrived on trial. The club wouldn’t sign both of us, I was certain of that.
The week dragged on and still nothing was mentioned regarding a contract. I persevered, but at the end of the week we had another friendly away to Weston-super-Mare that confirmed the inevitable. Martin played what was clearly his main team in the first half and I was not in it. To top it off, I came on in the second half with all the young professionals plus a lad who had won a competition! The lad tried his best but how was I supposed to impress when trying to anticipate Joe Bloggs’s runs? I’d had enough and went to see Martin straight after the game. He gave me the stock answer of money being tight and said he wouldn’t be able to offer me anything. If I’m being really honest, I didn’t do enough to impress him – but it would’ve been nice to get an opportunity to play with the senior players.
I’d known it was going to be tricky as I’d never produced my best form in the first month of pre-season, but, as my short spell at the club had progressed, I’d realised their style of play wasn’t right for me anyway. I would only have signed because of the location – although, having said all that, if an offer had materialised I would’ve taken it regardless.
So I was back to square one. The next day, with my tail very much between my legs, I texted Steve Evans at Crawley to see if the deal we’d previously discussed was still on the table. He replied that his budget had been spent but that he had money available for two more players if his chairman liked the look of them during a game.
What great negotiating on my part: I’d managed to turn a two-year deal into a trial!
Could things get any worse?
Yes they could…
I decided to send out my CV again. A couple of days later, Steve Guinan – who had just signed for Northampton Town – rang me to say his manager, Stuart Gray, had received my letter and was asking about me. He didn’t know his manager’s intentions but said to expect a call.
Sure enoug
h, Stuart called the next day and informed me that Northampton didn’t want to sign me. I tried my best to stay professional but what I was really thinking was why have you rung me then? I can only imagine he thought that if he didn’t let me know I was definitely surplus to his requirements, I would’ve turned up at Sixfields on Monday morning, pen in hand, expecting to sign a lucrative contract.
Talk about kicking a man when he’s down…
Things were getting so bad I was seriously considering a weekend of shopping in Birmingham with Emma. However, late on a Friday night in the middle of July, Steve Evans texted to see if I’d be interested in playing against a Chelsea XI the following day. I had nothing to lose, so I agreed.
I arrived and knew one familiar face: former Yeovil Town colleague Chris Giles (always nice when entering a new environment). I was named as a substitute but came on at half-time in a game we lost 2–1.
I managed to make an instant impact, however, and scored within ten minutes, via a rare header. I later read on the Crawley Town website that it came from a choreographed set-piece routine – I found this quite amusing because I had no idea where their training ground even was, let alone participated in any choreographed sessions. This was my first experience of Steve using creative licence.
I enjoyed the position I played in – just off the striker – and I was happy with my performance, even picking up the sponsor’s ‘Man of the Match’.
Even though we had competed admirably against a strong side, Steve was not happy. After the game he had a moan at left back Sam Rents about something I remember thinking at the time was really unjustified. He also said he needed more from me. I thought if he wasn’t impressed with that then he hadn’t seen anything yet – I could get a lot worse!