Journeyman

by Ben Smith

  Due to the bad weather this was also the first time I had seen the club’s training ground. Throughout the cold snap we had trained on an AstroTurf pitch, which was part of the local army barracks.

  I was really impressed with their facilities, it was a big area and a good surface. It was a lot better than what I had been used to at both Crawley and Hereford.

  Our next game was away to Macclesfield Town, which meant an overnight stay and the dreaded initiation song. As is the norm at a lot of clubs these days, a new player has to sing in front of the squad after dinner on their first away trip. On this occasion the club had seven new signings so first-team coach Matt Gray decided we would have an X Factor-style competition. I sang the 1980s classic ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ by Rick Astley.

  I would like to take this opportunity to publicly apologise to Rick. For some of the younger players it was the first time they had heard the song, and most probably the last after I murdered it twice having been voted in the bottom two by the audience.

  My first mistake was the song choice. I went for a pop tune but had no dance moves to accompany it. As a result I just stood on the stage looking like an awkward teenager at a house party.

  I then decided to give it a right go and, after initially forgetting the lyrics, I belted it out. What with the lads not knowing my sense of humour I was met by a combination of bewildered looks and stifled laughter. It was a painful situation for everyone involved.

  Josh Payne absolutely brought the house down with his rendition of Valerie and Guy Madjo thankfully pipped me to last place – although considering he sang in his second language I took no satisfaction in that feat whatsoever!

  Even though Darren Murphy got injured during that afternoon’s training session I still could not get myself into the team and was named as a substitute again. We ground out another 1–0 win but this time I managed to get on the left side of midfield for the last twenty minutes.

  Entering the field of play made me feel more a part of the team and I felt I made a positive contribution, being nice and composed when in possession of the ball.

  Southend United came to our place next. I was on the bench and, for the first time since I had been at the club, the lads put on a really dominant performance from start to finish to win 2–0. The whole team played excellently but Josh Payne in particular was on a different level to anyone else on the pitch. To me he looked like someone capable of playing at a much higher level.

  I made a ten-minute cameo.

  Aldershot had won three out of three since I joined and, with Barnet next on the agenda, I expected to be sat on the bench again. However, the day before the game, Josh Payne did not train. I assumed if he was out I would be a like-for-like replacement.

  Yet again I was wrong. To my amazement, I was still on the bench as Troy Brown, predominantly a centre half, was named in Josh’s place. By my reckoning this made me fifth choice central midfielder at best. Josh and Darren Murphy had started there upon my arrival, now they were both injured and had been replaced by Aaron Morris and Troy.

  I had nothing against these guys but I could not understand why any manager would want to bring in a loan player to be fifth choice?

  To add insult to injury the gaffer said to warm up on fifty-five minutes and I did not even get on. On the plus side, for the rest of the team anyway, we cantered to a 4–1 win.

  This was a strange feeling – I enjoyed being at Aldershot, I liked the lads and the training environment suited me, plus I was performing well day-to-day but I was constantly left frustrated by not being able to display that on a match day.

  I relayed all my concerns to Dean but all he would say was he ‘loved me to bits and that I would get game time’ – all well and good, but it did not exactly answer my question of why I was not being selected. I liked the gaffer as a person but his management style was not working for me.

  The good run continued as we defeated Morecambe at home to make it fifteen points out of fifteen. It was another solid, if unspectacular, performance but defensively we looked strong.

  I was still no closer to getting a starting berth and it began looking even less likely when we signed my former Crawley colleague Michael Doughty. He had been on loan from QPR and was now doing the same at Aldershot. He was a talented boy and someone who I believed would go on to have a good career, but he was another midfielder to contend against.

  Although I was frustrated and annoyed with this situation I knew I had to do everything I could, both while training with the team and working by myself, to ensure that I was ready to perform if I got the chance.

  The approach at Aldershot was totally different to the one I was used to at Crawley. Steve Evans, in case you had not already worked out, took a very dictatorial stance. He looked to be in charge of everything and his philosophy was ‘if you give a player an inch, he will take a mile’.

  While that rang true with certain individuals, I found this approach insulted my intelligence as I got older. Once, for example, Steve decided while we stayed at a hotel on a Friday night that we were not allowed to have breakfast the next morning. I had breakfast every Saturday and wanted to continue my normal routine.

  Aldershot was totally different – it was a lot more laid back. When we travelled to Torquay on a Monday before a Tuesday night game, we were allowed to go to a local pub and watch a televised game. We did not drink, of course, but it was refreshing to have a management team that treated players like adults.

  But even the novelty of that soon wore off as I sat on the bench for yet another ninety minutes while we lost our first game since I had joined. We were behind for the whole of the second half but I still did not get close to being involved. I freely admit I was never one of the most dynamic substitutes in the world, but if I was not going to get on in this type of scenario then when would I? To make matters worse Dean was now bringing the recovering players straight back into the fold.

  I sat on the coach during the long journey back from Devon stewing about how I would word my, now weekly, moan in the gaffer’s office when I received a text. It simply read: ‘You deserve a chance and will be playing Saturday.’

  About fucking time!

  We had a team meeting at the next training session and the gaffer moaned about a series of things, including players’ body fat. He explained that anyone over 12 per cent would not play, which had not been the case as there were players over that threshold.

  I was recorded at 7.9 per cent, which the manager seemed to be very impressed with, but it only further exasperated me. Surely being that lean aged thirty-three illustrated my professionalism? You do not get that kind of result by spending your afternoons sitting on the sofa eating custard creams and chocolate bourbons.

  I was not about to tell Dean that though because I was already preparing myself for our game at Northampton Town, the one I had been told I was definitely playing in.

  Matt Bishop took the Friday session as the boss was not in. At the end he took some players off to do some set-piece routines, while Matt Gray took a few others to work on throw-ins. Three players, including me, where just sent off to do some passing.

  My head was about to explode. If I was playing why was I not involved in the set pieces? It was either rank bad management, where it had not been discussed who was playing, or I was being left out again. Either way, it was rubbish preparation.

  Thankfully for my sanity Dean stuck to his word and I was in the team. Not only that, but I was to take all the set pieces, which made the last session seem even more shambolic. I was playing right midfield but I was not going to let that affect me.

  I started the game well and Ben Herd, who was playing right back, and I were linking up productively – by far and away our biggest attacking threat. Unfortunately we went 2–0 down before the break after not dealing with two long throws. Dean was not happy at half-time and was particularly critical of individual mistakes. He even kicked the flipchart but his aggression did not have much of an effect.

&
nbsp; Even though Northampton were comfortably the better side I was happy with the way I was playing. Early in the second half we gave away a penalty and we went 3–0 down. By fifty-eight minutes Michael Doughty was being primed to come on.

  I knew what was coming next – my number came up and I trudged off the pitch. I was severely pissed off and the gaffer was about to find that out. He tried to shake my hand as I walked past, so I held onto it and said: ‘What the fuck are you taking me off for?’

  ‘We had to change it,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, take someone off who fucking deserves it,’ was my particularly abrupt response.

  Matt Gray, as I went to sit in the dugout, put his hand out for a high five and I slapped it so hard that mine stung for about ten minutes. I was so angry. All the manager had spoke about during half-time was about people making individual errors yet, when he made his changes, he punished me for their mistakes. I would be the first to hold my hands up if I had a bad game but I also knew when I had played well and this was one of those occasions. Even after the game a couple of my teammates, unprompted, asked why I had been taken off.

  I cannot remember being so wound up after a game. I kept replaying it over in my head all weekend. Was I deluding myself perhaps? Maybe I had not played as well as I had thought.

  I was still brooding about it on Monday. I contemplated apologising to Dean for my reaction – not for what I said, as I stood by that, but my body language and aggressive nature was not very professional. However, in my opinion, he was in the wrong so I quickly dismissed that idea.

  We had a team meeting and were shown the goals again. They were crap from our perspective. The manager had every right to really dig a few people out but was almost apologetic as he talked about the errors. These lads were obviously not used to any criticism as, despite even a fairly tame appraisal of individual players’ performances, it all led to some very defensive reactions from certain people.

  Sometimes you have to take your medicine and that was one of those times. I know for a fact players would not have reacted like that if Steve Evans had been leading that debrief.

  Nothing was said about my reaction despite me half hoping it would be so I could discuss the reasoning behind it.

  Unfortunately our next game was away at Crawley so I was not allowed to play. Before the game I saw Gee, Steve Evans’ brother and Crawley’s chief scout. I was still bristling about the Northampton debacle and asked him if he had the scouting report for the game. He did and I was not deluding myself. It confirmed what I thought and said I had played well. The only criticism it had was that I overplayed at times – which, in my book, was a compliment.

  Aldershot ground out a creditable 2–2 draw, which gave the management an easy excuse to leave me out of the team again. The next three matches saw us win 1–0 against Bradford City, Southend United and Bristol Rovers, and I played a combined total of one minute. The normal stuff was happening, centre halves were coming on in midfield ahead of me along with players who had been injured for months.

  As the club was doing well we were treated to a two night break in Bournemouth. I was not particularly up for it but it turned out to be a good trip. The highlight was when Guy Madjo turned up at the village hotel in Farnborough, where we regularly trained at its gym, instead of the one in Bournemouth – only a footballer would do that.

  However, nothing fundamental was changing. I was counting down the days to the end of the season and most probably my career. By the start of April, even though I had no ambition to stay at Aldershot, I still wanted to know why I was not getting more opportunities.

  I went looking for Dean after one Tuesday training session but, as was often the case, he proved quite elusive. I was left with Matt Bishop to whinge at again. He sympathised without giving me any real answers. It was funny to watch his reaction when I said I knew our relationship was going to be coming to an end soon. He said nothing but I do not think he is much of a poker player.

  I finally managed to trap the manager in his office that Thursday and told him how I felt. He said he was trying to build a team that was not going to play attractive football. I had no problem with that inherently but, if it was always the plan, what was the point in me being there? He went on to say I was too much of a footballer and, in the same breath, I was to play against Port Vale on Good Friday.

  It was really weak management because I was sure I had just talked myself into the team. I wondered how many times other players had done the same thing. Being the person Dean is, he was too concerned with upsetting people rather than doing what was right for his team. I think he would have commanded a lot more respect from his players if he was just straight with them, rather than trying to please everyone.

  The Port Vale game panned out exactly as I expected. I started off in an attacking central midfield role, which we stuck with for about twenty minutes before the gaffer reverted to a 4–4–2, shunting me out to the left.

  I managed to last an extra three minutes overall this time and was replaced on sixty-one minutes. I had not been as effective as at Northampton but was still one of our more potent attackers. I have no doubt the substitution was planned before the game because it definitely was not decided on performance.

  There were no histrionics or words exchanged as I left the pitch this time but I was pretty sure Dean was aware of what I thought about his decision. We lost the game 2–1 and, while I could complain all I liked, ultimately we had lost both games I started.

  We were back in training on Easter Sunday before travelling down to Plymouth for a game on the Monday. To my surprise I actually retained my place in the team and, even more surprisingly, I was deployed in my preferred central midfield position.

  We lost 1–0 and I played crap.

  I found it hard to get on the ball and, when I did, my quality was rubbish. To confuse me further I stayed on the pitch longer (seventy-five minutes) than I had in either of my other two starts. The manager would have been well within his rights to drag me off earlier and I would have had no complaints.

  Whether it had meant to or not, that move dispirited me. I had played well twice without reward or recognition and now could not see how that was going to change. It was a strange feeling. I was playing on loan for a club where I had no future rather than playing for my parent club where I also had no future.

  News broke during that same day about Steve Evans leaving Crawley Town to join Rotherham United. I had no particularly strong feelings about it at the time because I did not think it would really affect my future.

  I was wrong, however.

  On the second of two days off, Dean called me and I assumed he wanted to speak about my underwhelming performance at Plymouth.

  ‘Alright, gaffer. How are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Not happy,’ came the reply.

  Oh shit, what have I done now?

  ‘Crawley want to recall you from your loan,’ he continued. ‘It is a blow.’

  It is a blow…?! Was it really, Dean? I mean, really?!

  Aldershot had played thirteen games while I was there and I had played in three, all defeats. I did not think the people of Aldershot were going to be crying into their beer when hearing this news.

  Dean wanted me to tell Craig Brewster, Crawley temporary manager, that I wanted to stay at Aldershot. The problem with that was I did not want to. Do not get me wrong, I was not doing cartwheels about being called back but I did not want to sit on the bench at Aldershot for the last month of the season either.

  CHAPTER 27

  COUNTING DOWN THE DAYS

  IT WAS A weird sensation – I had only been away from Crawley for just over two months but it felt like I was joining a new team. The management had totally changed with Craig Brewster in temporary charge and Steve Coppell brought in as Director of Football.

  Even though I did not agree with everything Steve Evans and Paul Raynor did, at least I knew what to expect from them. This felt like a step into the unknown. One thing I was looking f
orward to, though, was seeing how Steve Coppell worked.

  I felt a little nervous, which was strange as I had nothing to prove. Realistically whatever I did was not going to have any effect on my future.

  The whole vibe at the club had changed. Steve and Craig were not doing anything spectacular but what they were doing was treating players like adults. It led to a lot more relaxed feeling around the place.

  Every day when we were training and the lads were laughing I kept expecting to see Evo come roaring round the corner and start screaming obscenities at someone for having the audacity to misplace a pass – it felt like I had been institutionalised.

  Within a day of being back at the club I had a chat with Craig and Steve and they offered me the newly vacated Head of Youth role for next season. Simon Rusk, my former teammate, had moved on to Brighton & Hove Albion to run their youth team.

  It was a great opportunity and pretty well paid but I still felt I had the ability to play at a high level and did not want to stop playing. Also, to do the job properly, I would need to move to Crawley and I was not sure I wanted to relocate.

  I canvassed a few trusted people’s opinion and the general consensus was I should take the role. Perhaps I was not as good a player as I thought!

  I obviously did not take it and it turned out they were all right and I was most definitely wrong. It is a decision I regret to this day and I just hope I get another chance in a similar role because I think I could do a good job.

  As the month wore on, whether we achieved promotion or not was clearly going to go down to the wire. There were two reasons why I was desperate for this to happen. Firstly, I had a £5,000 promotion bonus in my contract. Admittedly I had not done much to earn that this season but I saw it is a retrospective bonus for my efforts in the Conference winning season.

  Secondly, I was desperate for the season to not be extended for another month via the play-offs. I just wanted to be put out of my misery.