Taking le Tiss Read online

  As apprentices we also had to work in various departments of the club to understand what everyone did, and how hard the staff worked. We also did one day a week at college, and the club placed great importance on that. With such a high percentage of youngsters failing to make the grade as players, they wanted to ensure that we all had qualifications to fall back on if necessary. I did a BTech in ‘Sports and Leisure Something Or Other’. I’ve no idea what it was because I didn’t finish the course. I signed as a pro in my second year as soon as I reached my eighteenth birthday.

  My first professional contract was worth £100 a week, rising to £120 in the second year. My negotiations with the manager Chris Nicholl consisted of him telling me what I would get and me saying, ‘Thanks very much.’ He was quite scary, as Mark Dennis found out. There were a lot of big names in the first-team squad including the likes of Peter Shilton, Jimmy Case and Mark Wright, and it was tough for Chris to impose his authority in his first major job in management. He hit the roof when he learned that Mark Dennis’s preparation for the home leg of the League Cup semi-final against Liverpool consisted of him playing snooker until 2am, so he decided to have it out with him in front of the rest of the lads.

  We were all listening outside the dressing room when it kicked off. Chris was absolutely boiling and hit out and cut Mark’s eye with a right-hander. He thought Mark was going to hit him, so he got his retaliation in first. Mark had pushed him to the limit and Chris snapped. He was a big man and I don’t think many people would have fancied their chances in a fist fight with this big, bruising ex-centre-half. Mark Wright took Mark Dennis to hospital for stitches, and typically Denno just wanted to come straight back and finish it off once he’d been patched up. He stormed back into the changing room to find Chris having a shower, naked in all his glory. Thankfully Mark Wright stepped in and calmed it down, which was unusual for him. As soon as he was dressed, Chris went up to see a senior club official and told him he had just punched Mark Dennis. ‘It’s about time somebody did,’ came the reply.

  4

  IT’S STUART PEARCE—‘OH…MY…GOD!’

  IT WAS LIKE ONE OF THOSE KIDS’ CARTOONS WHERE

  A FEARSOME BULL IS SNORTING STEAM AND PAWING

  THE GROUND BEFORE CHARGING.

  I got my proper first-team start—and I don’t mean as a sub—when I was 17, playing in a Division One (now the Premier League) game against Spurs. That was a big one. The team I’d supported as a boy. The team with Glenn Hoddle, my idol. He was everything I wanted to be. I was fascinated by what he could do with a ball and by his range of passing with both feet. He was a great vollier and scored some fantastic goals from outside the box. Everything he did I tried to emulate. I can’t put into words just how important he was to me.

  Things had been building up nicely because I’d already made my debut at St James’ Park—no, not Newcastle, Exeter—after I’d been included in the pre-season tour. I was still in my second year as an apprentice, and came on for the last 20 minutes of a 1-1 draw and was chuffed to read the write-up in the Southampton Echo which said I’d had a confident baptism and stole the show with some dazzling ball work. That gave me a real confidence boost because in those days I thought the press knew what they were talking about. I’d always read the papers if I had done OK but not if I’d had a stinker. I didn’t need some reporter rubbing it in, and if someone is slagging you off that’s not good for the confidence. I’d pick and choose when to read the papers, and I’d tell any young players to do the same.

  My first senior appearance at The Dell came a few weeks later as a sub in a 4-1 win against Benfica in a testimonial match for Nick Holmes, although I didn’t play very well. Then I was called in to the senior squad for a league game at Norwich on August 30, 1986. These days, with five or even seven subs, it’s easier for a youngster to get on the bench, but back then there was only one sub allowed so it was a big ask to give the number 12 shirt to a kid. We were 3-2 down when I was sent on for the last 15 minutes with instructions to change the game, and I did. We lost 4-3.

  First thing on the Monday morning I was summoned to Chris Nicholl’s office and I remember thinking I had only been on for 15 minutes so I couldn’t have had time to do that badly, but he wanted to let me know I’d be starting the following night. Giving me 24 hours’ notice was a brilliant decision. Normally he didn’t announce the team until the day of the match, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy for my family to get over from Guernsey. And he knew how important they were to me, so he gave me the nod which was a lovely touch. In the end 24 friends and family came over, although I have no idea how I managed to get them all tickets.

  It was fantastic just to be told I was starting, but even more special because it was against Spurs. The fact I had 24 hours’ notice meant I had plenty of time to get nervous, but I spent most of the build-up wondering whether my parents were going to get there. There was only one seat left on the plane so Mum told Dad to take it and promised she would get there somehow. She ended up getting a boat and a lift so it really was a case of trains, planes and automobiles. The butterflies grew as the match drew nearer and I was a bit worried about the physical side as I was just a skinny lad and didn’t know how to look after myself at that time—but that’s what Jimmy Case was there for! I got a lot of support from all of the lads who were really helpful.

  Bizarrely, I don’t remember too much about the game, which zipped by in a blur. I know I started on the right wing and that we won 2-0 with goals by Colin Clarke and Danny Wallace, and I played the full 90 minutes, which was a bit of a surprise. My big moment was when Mark Blake hit a ball out from the back. It was going over my shoulder but I produced a bit of great control, brought the ball down and cut inside Mitchell Thomas and slipped a reverse pass to Danny Wallace, putting him one-on-one. He rounded the keeper but slotted it into the side-netting just as I was ready to celebrate my first assist. I also remember Chris Waddle—CHRIS WADDLE of all people—got booked for a foul on me. Five minutes from time I got cramp in both hamstrings but no one noticed and I didn’t care because I was on such a high.

  My debut gave me a massive boost because I now knew I could play at that level and not look out of place. And of course the £35 win bonus came in very handy. That doesn’t sound much now, especially compared to the players’ huge salaries, but I have never been motivated by money. The biggest basic wage I ever earned was £3,950 per week. That was from the four-year contract I signed in July 1997. The first year I received £3,450 per week, the second I got £3,700 per week and in the third £3,950 per week. And the fourth year? £3,450, but that’s a chairman for you (thank you, Rupert Lowe).

  People always ask if I wish I was playing now with all that money in the game and my answer is always the same…

  Of course I bloody well do.

  Though I was never money-motivated, when I see very ordinary players getting 10 or even 20 times what I did, it does rankle. On the other hand I played in a fabulous era, the money was decent and you didn’t get the intrusive media. And I don’t think I’d have got away with eating the way I did, or playing with such freedom. I couldn’t have put up with that, not even for £60,000 a week. I certainly think I was good enough for the modern game but the big question is, would I have been given the chance? If I was coming through the ranks as a young lad now clubs would probably take one look at my work-rate and get rid of me.

  So what’s wrong with the modern game? Where shall I start?

  It’s taken much too seriously in every way, as a business, sports science, you name it.

  The players don’t look as though they enjoy it, like we did.

  There is too much pressure. It’s so serious.

  I’d love to see more home-grown players being brought through the system without all these big buys from abroad. Certain clubs develop their own talent but not enough.

  And the money is now quite staggering; clubs need to ask if they are getting value for the vast salaries they are paying out.

 
; Rant over. I was very grateful for that win bonus against Spurs. We were given the day off after the game and I spent most of it reading match reports. The Echo described me as a ‘mere slip of a lad’ for the first and only time in my career. We trained on the Thursday and the Friday and I kept my place for the Saturday home game against Nottingham Forest. I felt really confident as I lined up on the right wing and then I saw Forest’s left-back Stuart Pearce and just thought, ‘Oh…My…God!’ It was like one of those kids’ cartoons where a fearsome bull is snorting steam and pawing at the ground before charging.

  STUART WAS THE

  SCARIEST MAN I

  HAVE EVER

  PLAYED AGAINST,

  BY A MILE. ALL I

  CAN SAY IS IT IS A

  GOOD JOB

  SAINTS PLAYED

  IN DARK-COLOURED

  SHORTS.

  Stuart was the scariest man I have ever played against, by a mile. All I can say is it is a good job Saints played in dark-coloured shorts. I was terrified. His thighs were wider than my torso. I think I got three kicks in that first half, and all from him. The first time he clattered me it was like ‘Welcome to the First Division son.’ To be honest I didn’t even try and take him on. The look in his eyes was enough. It was a steep learning curve for me but I can’t have done too badly because I got seven out of 10 in the paper even though we lost 3-1. Colin Clarke brought us level at 1-1 with 16 minutes to go, but they won with two goals from Gary Birtles and one from Neil Webb. It’s just as well there was only one sub back then because otherwise I might well have been off.

  I found myself back on the bench after that and I was probably lucky not to be dropped altogether. In fact Chris Nicholl made a special point of kicking lumps out of me in training. I think he was trying to toughen me up and to get me used to facing players like Stuart Pearce. Chris had a real mean look in his eyes and you could tell he meant every kick, but I really believe he thought he was doing the best for me. After that I spent quite a lot of time on the bench, which was very frustrating. I think he was trying to protect me and bring me through slowly, just like Sir Alex Ferguson did with Ryan Giggs.

  I, of course, thought I was good enough to play every week and reckoned I’d tell Chris, really tell him, well, once I got a bit braver. He was scary, an old-fashioned tea-cup thrower. After a defeat he had a terrible habit of picking on one person, normally me because I was the youngster. Very few dared answer back but I remember one game at home to QPR when it was 1-1 with 15 minutes left and we lost 4-1. It was rare for us to be turned over at The Dell like that, and two of the goals came from outside the area. Tim Flowers was in goal and didn’t get anywhere near them.

  Chris stormed into the dressing room and slammed the door. No one dared make eye contact because we knew he’d be going for someone. Thankfully it was Tim. Chris yelled, ‘Goalie, you’ve let in two goals from outside the box and got nowhere near them. Have your eyes ever been checked?’ Tim couldn’t help himself and replied, ‘No, they have always been blue.’ How he wasn’t the second player to be punched by Chris I’ll never know. Chris was so stunned he didn’t know what to say.

  Tim always had a reply but even he was dumbfounded after one game when he was injured while conceding the second goal. We were 2-1 down at half-time and Tim hobbled off the pitch. The physio Don Taylor was checking his ankle in the dressing room and Chris was laying into him as he lay there in agony. Don eventually managed to get a word in edgeways and said Tim would have to be subbed and would need to go to hospital for an x-ray.

  Chris paused and then, in his distinctive northern accent, said, ‘If it’s broken, sorry. If not, W****R!’

  5

  I GET RON ATKINSON FIRED AND FERGIE HIRED

  ‘CHRIS NICHOLL WAS QUITE RELUCTANT TO GIVE ME

  A CHANCE IN MY EARLY DAYS BUT WHENEVER THE GAME

  WAS NOT GOING WELL, THE SAINTS FANS WOULD CHANT:

  “WE WANT LE TISSIER”. I WAS NEVER ONE FOR DOING

  MUCH WARMING UP BUT I KNEW IF I JOGGED UP THE

  TOUCHLINE THE CROWD WOULD START SINGING MY

  NAME—AND IT USED TO WIND UP THE MANAGER NO

  END—SO I DID IT EVEN MORE!’

  One of the great things about coming through the ranks was having a minder to look after me on the field. Jimmy Case took it upon himself to look after the young players. If anyone tried to kick us, he would note their number and give them a whack; anyone, that is, except Stuart Pearce. After 40 minutes of that game against Forest, I jogged inside and said, ‘Jim that’s three times he’s done me’. Jimmy just said, ‘Not today son!’

  I GREW UP

  WATCHING

  SHILTON PLAY

  FOR ENGLAND

  AND SUDDENLY I

  WAS A COCKY

  17-YEAR-OLD

  TRYING TO CHIP

  HIM IN

  TRAINING.

  It was brilliant having senior players like Jimmy Case, Mark Dennis and Joe Jordan as minders on the field and being able to work with them in training. Joe was so fit, one of the best trainers I worked with—not that I followed his example. It was quite daunting though to betraining alongside such big names as Peter Shilton. I grew up watching him play for England and suddenly I was a cocky 17-year-old trying to chip him in training. It felt quite bizarre. He was the greatest keeper I’d ever seen and there I was trying to take the mickey out of him. I very rarely succeeded, but when I did, he hated it. Back then there was no such thing as a goalkeeping coach so Shilts used to take the sessions for the keepers, working with Phil Kite and my old mate Keith Granger.

  There were times when Shilts would turn up for training looking a bit rough. We would go out and warm up then I would turn round after 20 minutes to see him walking off the field and heading for home. He was a law unto himself and just trained when he felt like it. For the majority of the time he trained like a Trojan and would really put himself and the others through a tough session. I really used to look forward to the times when he was on top form because it would be really difficult to get a shot past him and you got a real high if you did it. He hated being beaten, even in training.

  It took me two months to get off the mark but I’ll never forget my first goals, and nor will Ron Atkinson. They came in a Littlewoods Cup tie against Manchester United at The Dell on November 4, 1986. We were 2-0 up when I came off the bench to score twice in a 4-1 win. The referee, Lester Shapter, allowed my first despite a massive shout for offside. There was a long kick from the keeper, Colin Clarke challenged in the air but the ball actually came off their defender. If Colin had made contact then I’d have been offside but I ran on and chipped the keeper.

  I was so excited that I slid on both knees towards the fans at the Milton Road end of the ground—and then I saw the ref consulting the linesman. My heart sank because I thought I was going to look a complete arse if he disallowed it, but thankfully it stood. My second came from a Jimmy Case corner and I rose majestically (the only way to describe it!) to score with a downward header so my first two goals for Saints came, strangely, with my left foot and my head. Two days later Ron’s time was up and he was sacked. I didn’t feel guilty because it wasn’t down to that one result but it was definitely the final straw. I did think it was a shame that he lost his job because he was a good manager but, as it turned out, that was Fergie’s big chance. I hadn’t done the rest of the league any favours.

  Four days later I scored my first league goal but it counted for nothing as we got thumped 3-1 at Sheffield Wednesday. I was sent on when we were already 3-0 down so I was never likely to have much impact, but Jimmy Case chipped one through for me to run on to and lob over Martin Hodge. I was on a high. With three goals in four days I thought it was the start of something good but Chris didn’t put me in the team for the next game, home to Arsenal. Maybe he was trying to keep my feet on the ground, but I have always believed in picking your best players and the ones in form. In fact it was a good one to miss because we lost 4-0, but I got a big boost from an ar
ticle by Saints legend and record goalscorer Mike Channon who described me as the new Ian Rush. He called me deceptively quick and said my football brain would take me a long way and that Liverpool should try to sign me. So on the one hand my ego was soaring but on the other I spent a lot of that season on the bench, usually being sent on with the instruction to try and rescue the game. I very rarely got on when we were winning. But I do remember having fantastic support from the crowd. Whenever we were drawing the Milton Road end would start chanting ‘We want Le Tissier’. Chris Nicholl was quite stubborn; the more the fans chanted my name, the more reluctant he became to put me on. I was never one for doing much warming up but I knew if I jogged up the touchline the crowd would start singing my name—and it used to wind up the manager no end—so I did it even more!

  Chris thought I wasn’t physically developed enough to play 90 minutes. Looking back, I see he was trying to protect me a bit BUT in my opinion, and I have told him this, I think he went too far. He should have given me more starts. I proved I could last a full match when I scored my first senior hat trick. It came in the snow against Leicester in the first week of March. I put us 1-0 up at half-time when Mark Wright knocked the ball down in the box and I crashed it into the roof of the net with my left foot. I remember Chris Nicholl had to virtually force Mark Wright back onto the pitch after the interval—he was refusing to go because it was so cold. I’ve never seen anything like it. His ears had turned blue and he was determined to stay in the warmth of the dressing room. Danny Wallace set me up for my second, a tap-in at the far post from his cross from the left. And then, with eight minutes left, came the pièce de resistance. I picked the ball up just inside the Leicester half and set off on a mazy run. The pitch was heavy and sodden and the snow was swirling around and I got a bit lucky when Russell Osman came in to tackle me and the ball fell back into my path. The better you are, the luckier you get. My first shot was blocked by the goalkeeper Ian Andrews but it came back to me and I rammed it in.