Taking le Tiss Read online

  I never actually played for the England Under-21 side, probably because I was picked for the England B-team instead. I made my debut for them against the Republic of Ireland on what appeared to be a potato field in Cork. It was an awful day. It hammered down with rain, again—to the disgust of the VIPs including Southampton manager Chris Nicholl because they all had to sit out in the open. And all the subs had to sit on a gym bench and got drenched. The only ones with any shelter were the press who were put in the Perspex team dug-outs. It could only happen in Ireland. I had a shocker, but then so did everyone else, and we lost 4-1.

  Now, under my Southampton manager Alan Ball I was playing the best football of my career, scoring and creating goals for fun and there was a growing campaign to get me in Terry Venables’ full England team. There was even a CD ‘Bring Him On For England’ by a Southampton band called the Valley Slags. When they mimed to it on the pitch at half-time during a home game against Leeds, the lead singer almost caused a riot by standing in front of the Leeds fans trying to get them to join in.

  Terry didn’t speak to me much but I enjoyed his coaching. The sessions were short and sharp with the emphasis on skill; on being comfortable on the ball. That’s what counted. I came on as a sub against Greece and Norway before I got my first start in a home friendly against Romania in October 1994. I played the full 90 minutes but had only a couple of half chances in a 1-1 draw. It was tight and scrappy and I had to fit into the formation, and that was never my strength. At times I really did think that some of the more established players (and NO, I won’t name names) saw me as a threat given their occasional reluctance to give me the ball.

  And what did the media say? Having campaigned to get me in the team they now had a go at me. I was a sub against Nigeria and then the Pro Tissier movement started up again. Terry was under a fair bit of pressure to play me, with many feeling he hadn’t given me a fair chance (it couldn’t possibly be because I’d turned him down at Spurs when he tried to buy me, could it?). So far I had figured mainly as a bit-part player. Then I was picked for that extraordinary infamous match against the Republic of Ireland in Dublin. Some reckoned he was actually setting me up to fail by picking me for a match against a team then noted for its physical approach and long-ball game. The pitch certainly wasn’t conducive to good football.

  HE ORDERED ME

  TO SEE A

  DIETICIAN. AND

  A FAT LOT OF

  GOOD THAT DID.

  But I wasn’t thinking about that at the time. I was just thrilled to get my second start and then it all went horribly wrong because the England fans went beserk and rioted. The flashpoint came when Ireland took the lead after 25 minutes, but the tension had been increasing for hours. We thought it was just routine crowd trouble, but then came the seats and missiles. People ask were you frightened and the answer is ‘WHAT D’YOU THINK?’ The game was cut short but Terry never picked me again. In fact, I was the only one dropped from his next squad but he did at least have the decency to phone and tell me, though he didn’t give a reason. And I was too stunned to ask. Instead he put his faith in Paul Gascoigne and probably felt he couldn’t play two ‘luxury’ players. To be fair Gazza was outstanding in Euro 96, but I don’t think I got a chance to prove I could be equally influential.

  When Terry was replaced by Glenn Hoddle, my schoolboy idol and another manager who had tried to buy me (when he was at Chelsea), I reckoned things were looking up. We were similar players and I hoped he’d give me a fair chance, especially when the media got going, but this time with a succession of scare stories that I might play for another country. Because I came from the Channel Islands I was eligible to play for any of the Home Countries. And because all my previous caps had been in friendlies, I could still opt to play for Ireland, Scotland or Wales. Well, in theory. But it was never on. My dream had always been to play for England, though that didn’t stop the Wales manager Bobby Gould saying he’d love to pick me. There was even a story linking me with France, which was bonkers. In fact, when I was in my early twenties my dad did get phone calls from the French FA asking about my availability. Michel Platini was the manager and his assistant, Gerard Houllier, kept ringing dad badgering him to talk to me. But it was never going to happen. The only good thing was that it increased the pressure on Glenn to play me in a competitive match so that I couldn’t play for another country, and that’s exactly what he did in his first match in charge, bringing me off the bench for NINE whole minutes in a World Cup qualifier away to Moldova when England were already 3-0 up and the game was stone dead. And then he had a go at my brother Carl.

  Glenn picked me for the vital World Cup qualifier against Italy at Wembley in February 1997 but it was overshadowed by a massive row because the team was leaked to the press. Glenn was furious and actually blamed my brother when another player had leaked the news because he had been dropped and he got the hump. Big time. Glenn hauled me in front of him that lunchtime and had a right go at me. That was the only one-to-one I ever had with him as England manager, and come to think of it I only had one when he was the manager at Southampton when he ordered me to see a dietician. And a fat lot of good that did, if you’ll pardon the pun.

  It wasn’t a great night against Italy. We lost 1-0 although I did go close to scoring with a header, but the press were out for me. What they didn’t know was that I was struggling with injuries. I needed a hernia operation and I’d also torn the tendon from my heel to my toe. It was horrible, and I was having to run on the outside of my foot but I had to keep playing because Saints were near the bottom of the table. I told Glenn I was OK to play for Southampton but I didn’t think I could do myself justice playing for England. He asked if I would mind going to see his faith healer Eileen Drewery because she might be able to help. I wasn’t rude but just said I’d prefer not to because that wasn’t my sort of thing. And that was the last full England squad I was in. Any connection? Ask Glenn.

  Glenn did pick me for an England B game against Russia at Loftus Road in April 1998, which was like a final trial match for the fringe players before the World Cup Finals in France 98. I was on a hot streak, pretty close to my best, and had scored seven goals in the last nine games of the season for Saints. A lot of people were pushing my claims, so Glenn put me in the B game. It was Last Chance Saloon. Peter Taylor took charge of the team and I was very impressed by his training and ideas. I knew I must be in with a shout of making the preliminary 30-man squad because Glenn was getting blood tests done for all the candidates, and I was one of only three (with Les Ferdinand and Darren Anderton) in the B team to be tested.

  The game couldn’t have gone any better. I know I’ve got a reputation for playing in fits and starts but this was one of my best ever 90 minutes. Everything went right. I scored a hat trick, hit the woodwork twice and ended up with the captain’s armband for the last 10 minutes of a 4-1 win. I was besieged by the media afterwards. They were taking it for granted that I’d get selected. I tried to play it down, at least in public; I didn’t want to appear arrogant or over-confident but inside I was BUBBLING. I walked away from the ground with my parents and Angela (now my wife) on a real high and I was pestering my mum to let me get a bag of chips but she told me I had to eat properly if I was going to the World Cup. And did Glenn pick me? No way. I only heard when my brother saw the news on Teletext and told me. It was like being punched in the stomach; I felt sick, bewildered and absolutely devastated. It was the most disappointing moment of my career.

  There was a widely held theory that Glenn had been hoping I’d fail in the Russia match, which would let him off the hook with the fans and the media. Then he tried making out that Russia weren’t very good—in which case why did he organize a match against them?—and while that’s true I did get a hat trick. You can only beat what’s in front of you. And if Russia were so weak, how come Darren Anderton and Les Ferdinand got in the squad? To make matters worse, Glenn rang a few people on the fringes of the squad to let them know they weren’t in it, but
he must have lost my number. I still have no idea why he made that decision. I shouldn’t think he regrets it though—people that arrogant are never wrong. To make matters worse, he didn’t take Paul Gascoigne either. I could just about have accepted it if he had thought that Gazza was better than me but he didn’t take a playmaker at all, which I found very strange.

  Or maybe we got on so badly because I didn’t sign for him at Chelsea. In fact, I didn’t even agree to speak to him. He must have rated me, though I think it was actually the director, the late Matthew Harding (who died in a helicopter crash), who wanted me. If I’d kicked up a stink and said I wanted to go then I think Saints would have sold me, but I said I was happy. I didn’t want to leave. I loved the club and the city and felt at home there, and that was always very important. A lot of people told me I was mad because Chelsea was a bigger club and it would have been a chance to play for Hoddle.

  My agent rang me and said Glenn still wanted to talk to me, even though I insisted I was staying put, but again I said ‘No’. I knew that if I did speak to him—and he was my idol—he might change my mind. All that happened three years before he said ‘No’ to me, dropping me from the 30-man squad. When I was growing up my uncle always said you should never meet your heroes because they always let you down. Bloody hell, he was right!

  After that I hastily booked a holiday to get away and watched the World Cup Finals on TV. I was never churlish enough to want England to fail just because I had been left out and I was gutted when England went out to Argentina. I was furious at the injustice when Sol Campbell had a perfectly good goal disallowed and was bitterly disappointed when we went out on penalties. I’d have given anything to be out there taking one.

  MY UNCLE

  ALWAYS SAID

  YOU SHOULD

  NEVER MEET

  YOUR HEROES

  BECAUSE THEY

  ALWAYS LET YOU

  DOWN. BLOODY

  HELL, HE WAS

  RIGHT!

  Looking back, being snubbed was a crushing blow and I wonder if it had a bigger impact on my career than I then realized, because I never reached the same heights again. It was as though the ultimate goal had been snatched away from me and my greatest incentive had gone. It had always been my ambition to play for England and now knew that was it.

  Glenn and I have since made up, although we will never be close friends. We were both staying in the same hotel on a golfing trip in Dubai in 2006 and I decided to clear the air. I walked in to breakfast one day and there he was, sitting on his own, so I went and sat with him. He looked surprised—and a bit wary. I think he wondered what was coming but I just said that life is too short for any bad feelings, and I wanted to sort things out. I admitted that I’d made mistakes while playing under him and I apologized, even though I actually felt he was far more in the wrong than me. I felt it was right to apologize and get the ball rolling. It was actually quite a hard thing to do and I got quite emotional because I really had idolized him. I told him that he’d been my hero. He was a fantastic footballer and someone I’ll admire for his skills. Always.

  It was equally tough because the rift and the not speaking to each other had gone on for so long, and here I was making the first move when I didn’t really think I had anything to be sorry for. But we cleared the air, shook hands and moved on. I bear no grudges and wish him all the best with his academy in Spain. It’s a terrific idea, taking on lads who have been released by clubs, working on their weaknesses and trying to get them back into professional football. Glenn will be good at that because he won’t have to manage players with massive opinions and the lads will be desperate to get back into football. They’ll take on board everything he says, no argument, so he’ll probably get on well with them. But I still find it sad he isn’t managing a top club and, if he does get the chance, I hope he’ll have learned from his mistakes. If he could get a semblance of man-management he’d be a huge asset to any club.

  2

  SOUTHAMPTON HERE I COME

  THE ENTIRE TOTTENHAM TEAM WATCHED OUR MATCH.

  I’D LIKE TO SAY I TURNED ON THE STYLE, BUT I MADE

  A COMPLETE IDIOT OF MYSELF…

  The stereotypical British pro footballer is said to be a gutsy, bust-a-gut, working-class northener. And me? I come from Guernsey, best known for its cows, in the Channel Islands, closer to France than England. And you can’t get more south than that.

  At school I was a good all-round sportsman, i.e. good at anything which involved a ball—tennis, squash, snooker, table tennis, hockey and particularly cricket. If I hadn’t made it as a footballer I’d have tried to become a professional cricketer because I was a pretty decent wicketkeeper, mainly because that was the only position which did not involve much running. I remember scoring 164 not out in a 20-over game, which is still a Guernsey record. And I was amazed, while researching this book, to find that I broke several school athletics records including the 75m, 55m hurdles and the 6 x 10m shuttle runs (when you sprint to the first marker, touch the ground, sprint back to the start and then run to the second marker, touch the ground, and so on). It is mind-boggling because I was always the first one to drop out when we had to do them at Southampton.

  To be fair, there was precious little else to do on Guernsey apart from going to the beach. So it was sport, Sport, SPORT. The island was obsessed with it, and I came from a very sporting family. I was born on October 14, 1968, the youngest of four boys, after Mark, Kevin and Carl. I turned up as an afterthought, or because my parents wanted a girl.

  My mum and dad (Ruth and Marcus) got married at 16 and had had three children by the time they were 19—and they are still happily together—despite the strain of looking after the four of us. They’ve been behind everything I have ever achieved, but the only principle I didn’t follow involved hard work. They grafted like mad when we were young, often holding down two jobs each to ensure we didn’t go without. We grew up on an estate and didn’t have a lot. It was a bit rough and ready but not a bad place, and when you are a kid you don’t really think about your surroundings, you just accept that’s how life is. And Guernsey was a fantastic place to grow up, with wonderful beaches close by. It was so safe. It really was the kind of place where people didn’t lock their front doors or their cars, and I must admit I’m quite pleased two of my kids are growing up there. The only thing people weren’t relaxed about was sport, particularly when it came to competing against Jersey.

  Both me and my brothers inherited our skill from our dad, who was good at softball, cricket and football and had trials with Arsenal. He was a lightning quick right-winger and I think the Gunners would have signed him but for a bad ankle injury. Mark was a solid defender and the only one of us ever to win Man of the Match in the annual Muratti game between Guernsey and Jersey. He was a decent player but not quite on a par with Kevin and Carl who could have both made it as pro footballers. In fact Kevin was a better finisher than me. He was an out and out centre-forward in the Alan Shearer mould and lethal in front of goal. He broke the Guernsey scoring record and averaged a goal a game over 20 years. Carl was a bit more like me and played deeper. He was skilful and creative and Guernsey’s leading midfield scorer.

  THE FACT THAT

  TWO OF MY

  BROTHERS HAD

  BEEN OFFERED

  TERMS SHOWED

  IT COULD BE

  DONE. IN FACT IT

  MADE ME MORE

  DETERMINED

  THAN EVER.

  Both had the chance to make it as pros but suffered from homesickness. Kevin had trials with Middlesbrough, who were keen to take him but they were close to going bust at the time. He went to Oxford United and did so well that they offered him a professional contract but he turned it down. I was gobsmacked. Even at 13 I knew all I wanted to be was a professional footballer. Carl had trials with Southampton who offered him an apprenticeship but, again, he didn’t want to leave Guernsey. That may seem bizarre but unless you have grown up there, you can’t understand what
a close-knit, insular place it is. But it did make me realize that being a professional footballer wasn’t a pipedream. The fact that two of my brothers had been offered terms showed it could be done. In fact it made me more determined than ever, and my parents started to take steps to ensure that I didn’t suffer from homesickness if and when I got the chance to go. They encouraged me to go on school trips and residential soccer schools to get me used to being away from home. I have no idea where they got the money from but, somehow, they managed to scrimp and save in order to get me off the island. So when the time came for me to go, I was up for it.

  For my thirteenth birthday I went away to a soccer skills week at Calshot Activity Centre near Southampton. I wouldn’t say it was done on the cheap but my prize for being Player of the Week was two photographs, one of Kevin Keegan and one of Lawrie McMenemy—both unsigned. The sad thing is I still have them, and they are still not autographed. By now I was starting to realize I was pretty good at football and was playing regularly against much older opposition without looking out of place. That was partly because I had three talented older brothers and because I had the ability to cope with it.

  The first sign of that came when I played in the final of the island’s Under-11 school tournament. I was just eight (and physically there’s a big difference between an eight-year old and a lad not quite 11) but I scored both goals to give my school, Mare de Carteret, a 2-0 win over Vale. It was my first ever medal and I remember thinking, ‘I’m bloody good at this!’ Even then I knew how to swear, although my vocabulary soon expanded as I learned to shout at referees.