Читать книгу Mr Unbelievable - Chris Kamara - Страница 9

To the untrained eye of your girlfriend or granny, Soccer Saturday looks like a nuthouse in action. If you haven’t seen it, here’s the basic idea behind the show: four ex-professional footballers of varying repute – Phil Thompson (Liverpool fan club), Paul Merson (reformed gambler), Matt Le Tissier (saint) and Charlie Nicholas (playboy) – sit at a News at Ten style desk every Saturday afternoon and each watches one of four Premiership games on a row of tellies positioned in front them.

Over the course of 90 minutes, their job is to explain the action as it happens, usually through a series of shouts, groans and girly squeals. Meanwhile anchorman Jeff Stelling (or ‘Stelling, Jeff Stelling’, as he introduces himself to members of the opposite sex) delivers the news of every goal, booking and red card around the country via a vidiprinter that runs at the bottom of the screen. Even to the well-trained eye, Soccer Saturday looks like a loony bin.

My role in all of this is to act as a roving reporter. Every weekend, I’ll be sent to some far-flung corner of the country to report on a game from a TV gantry, whatever the weather. It’s a risky business. One day I’m standing in front of thousands of Pompey fans at Fratton Park in the pouring rain, the next I’m dangling under the roof at White Hart Lane. I bloody love it.

There are a lot of perks to being an intrepid touchline reporter with Soccer Saturday. For starters, I stay in some of the best hotels around the country and can eat as many motorway service station sarnies as I want. I also get a complimentary Sky Sports coat, which makes me look far more important than I am. When it comes to a Saturday afternoon, I watch some of the best footballers in the world strut their stuff, for free.

The biggest bonus as far as I’m concerned is that I’ve got the freedom of most of the stadiums in the Premiership. I can pop into the manager’s office at White Hart Lane or wander into the dressing-rooms at Sunderland without any hassle. I’ve sat in the stands with Arsène Wenger at the Emirates and made reports from the dugouts at Craven Cottage. I’ve even had a heated discussion with Gérard Houllier on the touchline at Anfield, though I always draw the line at taking liberties at Old Trafford. The thought of getting a Sir Fergie ‘hairdryer’ scares me, although I have to say I get on well with him these days.

Generally, I get a greater access to the inner workings of a football club than most other football reporters would because people know me from the telly. If I’m at Goodison Park or Stamford Bridge, I rarely have to flash a pass and I can sometimes have a free run of the stadium, which is a bit like getting the keys to Disneyland. It also helps that I’ve built up a level of trust among the boys in the game. Most managers know that I won’t take the mickey too much when I’m wandering around their ground with the cameras. Often they will tell me things over a cuppa that they wouldn’t tell another reporter (but only if we’re off air). They know I’m a football person and I’m not going to blab my mouth off for the viewers. Well, not all of the time.

Most of the Premier League managers and Football League managers look after me when I’m on the road. Harry Redknapp at Spurs is as good as gold. I’ll visit him before a game when I’m reporting at White Hart Lane and we’ll have a chinwag, usually about football and horses. We’ll watch the early kick-off together, then around ten to three he’ll kick me out: ‘All right, Kammy, off you pop, I’ve got a spot of work to do.’

Most of the gaffers will invite me in for a drink with them after the game. Sam Allardyce is good for a beer in his office. Alex McLeish at Birmingham, Steve Bruce at Sunderland and another old-school manager, Roy Hodgson, will always tell me to come into their offices for a bevy. I used to have a small shot of brandy with my old mate Gary Megson when he was in charge at Bolton. Once or twice it was before the match. Who can blame him? The abuse some of the fans were chucking his way at that time was unreal. They didn’t like the way Bolton were playing and would boo him, whatever the result. And I just needed it (hic!).

As a former manager myself, I know when I’m not wanted. If a mate’s team has lost or even drawn, I’ll always stay away from the office, unless I’m invited in. Losing is bad enough for a player, but I know from experience that losing as a gaffer is much, much worse. You feel a real pressure on your shoulders and Big Sam or Brucey wouldn’t want me sitting at their desk, taking the mickey with a complimentary bottle of lager, especially if they had been hammered at home.

I always used to love seeing Bobby Robson whenever I travelled around the North-east, because he was such a great man. He was always hospitable at Newcastle and he would talk your ears off about this player or that player. Sometimes he wanted to chat about a game he had watched on the telly, and it was always a joy because he was so knowledgeable. It was hard to see him as he fought cancer at the end of his life and he was being pushed around in a wheelchair. Bobby wasn’t the same person and it was heartbreaking.

It won’t come as a great shock to learn that I still feel intimidated when I bump into Sir Alex Ferguson. He has an attitude which makes you feel like you’re imposing on his time, wherever you are, but the little insights you get from him in interviews are always fascinating. In general, the managers from the likes of Arsenal, Liverpool and Chelsea have kept me at arm’s length, so far. I’ll always talk to Arsène Wenger when I’m at the Emirates, but I don’t go into his office, and Rafa Benitez has never invited me into the famous Liverpool boot room either.

The exception to that rule was José Mourinho. He was great with me when he was in charge at Chelsea. Well, he was for a while. It eventually turned sour with Sky and The Special One after an incident involving Chelsea midfielder Michael Essien, but we’ll come to that in a moment. We first met before a Carling Cup tie at Fulham and seemed to hit it off.

‘I like you very much,’ he said, shaking my hand. ‘I like listening to you and Andy Gray. You educate the public on the game.’

It was really uplifting hearing it from a football man like him. I could hardly get the headphones on my swelling bonce afterwards. We struck up a great friendship immediately and he always made me feel at home whenever I visited Stamford Bridge. José loved Soccer AM and its silly humour and I remember we really took the mickey on the show while he was serving a European touchline ban after an ugly bust-up with referee Anders Frisk.

It happened during a Champions League game with Barcelona in 2005–06. José had been unhappy with the way the game had been handled and made some derogatory comments about Frisk. UEFA were not happy and banned José from the touchline for two games. They even called him an ‘enemy of football’. The punishment also prevented him from having any contact with his players once they had arrived at the ground, which meant he effectively had to stay away from the game completely.

That didn’t stop José from influencing the match. On the evening of Chelsea’s next Champions League fixture, he sat at home (well, that’s what we were told). On the bench, his coaching staff were wearing woolly hats; it was cold, but not that cold. I watched the game on the telly and noticed that Steve Clarke, José’s assistant, was continually touching his ear and relaying information to the players immediately afterwards. I put two and two together and came up with a scam in which José was keeping touch with his staff via high-tech headsets. I wasn’t the only one with the same theory. It was also just the sort of clever stunt that José would pull. He denied the rumours when they were floated in the press the next day, but it looked so obvious. It was even suggested that José had been smuggled into the ground in a skip, to get as close to the action as possible, without being visible to UEFA. Nothing was actually proven and the club have never admitted it.

By luck I was at Chelsea the following weekend with Soccer AM, the Saturday-morning show then presented by Tim Lovejoy and Helen Chamberlain. José had given us permission to use the dressing-rooms for filming, as he always did, but I had a surprise up my sleeve. Chelsea’s kit man, Billy Blood, had given me an official woolly hat. I went into the home dugout to film a report, and the hat was pulled over my head but a mobile phone was stuck to the fabric with Sellotape, mimicking the antics from the week before. When our cameras went live, I could hardly stop laughing as I did an impression of Chelsea’s backroom staff that night. I heard José took it in good spirits, too.

Sadly, our relationship changed when Sky’s use of the action replay annoyed José. It happened during a Champions League game between Chelsea and Liverpool when Michael Essien clashed with Liverpool’s Dietmar Hamann at Stamford Bridge. It was an ugly tackle and it was shown over and over again on Sky Sports News. Once it was out there, UEFA had to act, and Essien was banned retrospectively. Because it was the Champions League, the incident was televised on different stations around the planet, but for some reason José personally blamed Sky for Essien’s suspension. He cooled noticeably whenever our cameras were on him and his attitude towards me changed. He wasn’t as friendly or welcoming as he had been in the past.

He was entitled to do whatever he wanted, of course, but the truth is, I was disappointed. José was a breath of fresh air when he first arrived from Porto and he was a joy to work with. I’ll be honest, I thought the sun shone out of his backside. The Michael Essien incident put a big, grey cloud in the way, which was a real shame.

A less imposing character was the former referee Paul Alcock. If that name rings bells it’s because he was the Premiership ref who was infamously pushed over by the former Sheffield Wednesday and West Ham hothead (and brilliant striker, it has to be said), Paolo Di Canio. It was a fiery situation. Paolo had been sent off during a game between Wednesday and Arsenal and he reacted to the red card by pushing the ref over. Alcock had barely been touched, but judging by his tumble, you’d have thought he’d been thumped by Mike Tyson. The fall was so exaggerated it was hilarious.

Our paths crossed for the first time several years later when Alcock was the referee’s assessor for an FA Cup tie between Southend and non-league Canvey Island. I was there as co-commentator for Sky Sports. It should have been a fairly run-of-the-mill evening, but trouble started as we waited for the teams to come out for the warm-up. I had spotted Alcock chatting to my colleague commentator Martin Tyler in the tunnel. When they’d finished I couldn’t help myself and I gave Alcock a little playful shove. I thought it was really funny, but he was stunned. He lost it.

‘You are a joke!’ he screamed, in a funny high-pitched squeal. ‘A chuffing disgrace’ (only he didn’t say ‘chuffing’).

Alcock then turned to John Smart, Sky’s senior floor manager (the grey-haired bloke you’ll always see at live games, sticking his thumb up on the touchline so the ref knows when to start a match). ‘I want him reported because that’s out of order,’ he shouted, not seeing the funny side. Thankfully, John ignored him and Alcock shuffled off to the referees’ room in a right strop. I turned to John, completely confused by the reaction.

‘What the hell was all that about?’ I asked. Before I could get an answer, the door to the referees’ room reopened. A red-faced Alcock emerged and kicked off again.

‘Four years ago that happened and I have been getting it in the neck ever since,’ he yelled, clearly upset.

I raised my hands in apology. ‘Paul, if it upset you, I’m sorry.’

‘Apology accepted,’ he said, sulking off to his room.

I couldn’t believe it. If anything, Alcock should have been dining out on the Di Canio incident. I obviously touched a raw nerve that night, but I’ll say one thing, he did well to stand on his feet in the Canvey tunnel because it was a fair push I gave him. Far harder than the one Di Canio dished out.

Paul Alcock wasn’t the only person I annoyed that night. Stan Collymore was also in the ground because he was hoping to make a comeback as a player-manager at Southend. Stan had played for Villa and Liverpool and was one hell of a striker in his day, but word from Roots Hall suggested a successful return to the game was unlikely. I told Sky Sports the sad news.

‘I’m not sure he is going to get the job,’ I said. ‘And it would be difficult for him to get back to being even half the player he was. Even then he looked bloated and overweight and I don’t know what Southend would be letting themselves in for.’

Stan was really annoyed by my analysis. My mobile bleeped shortly afterwards.

‘You’re out of order about my weight,’ read the text. ‘Thanks for your support. Stan.’

I sent a reply, telling Stan that I always said it as I saw it and that I hoped there were no hard feelings.

Gérard Houllier, the Liverpool boss between 1998 and 2004, was somebody I shared a prickly relationship with. It all started during Sheffield United’s memorable Worthington Cup run in 2003, when they were eventually tied with Liverpool in the semi-finals. In a lively first leg at Bramall Lane there was a spicy touchline spat with United gaffer Neil Warnock – a self-confessed trouble-starter – and Liverpool’s assistant manager (and Soccer Saturday panellist) Phil Thompson. Somehow, I got caught in the crossfire.

A row between those two was always on the cards. Neil is the first to admit that he thrives in an argument. Thommo, meanwhile, is a one-man office of the Liverpool Supporters’ Association (Sky Sports wing). Opposition fans used to sing ‘Sit down, Pinnochio’ whenever he raced out of the dugout, (a) because he liked to moan and (b) because he has a massive hooter.

My problems started when Gérard had given the details of the Liverpool line-up to Sky Sports commentator Ian Crocker in the build-up to the game. As I was the co-commentator for the game, Ian passed it on to me about four hours before the kick-off. This is common practice for companies who have the broadcasting rights for live matches. It’s also helpful inside information. It gives the commentators and support staff some time to prepare themselves on the players and tactics for the match. Importantly, there is also an agreement that this is confidential information which should never be revealed to the opposition manager.

When I saw Gérard by the side of the pitch before kick-off, I asked if I could go through Liverpool’s formation with him. He was as good as gold and willingly went through the team in detail. This is something I attempt to do with all the managers before a game. I want to be familiar with their systems, formations and teams. I don’t pretend to be a smart Alec. I would rather know exactly what a manager is thinking before the match. It also allows me to analyse any tactical changes as the game unfolds.

Despite Liverpool being the better team that night, two late goals from Michael Tonge meant Sheffield United took the home leg 2–1. Just before the final whistle Gérard and Thommo had a massive touchline bust-up with Warnock. It was all handbags stuff. Something must have been said, but it soured the mood between the two camps.

At the time, I remember, results weren’t good at Anfield. Gérard was being criticised for the team’s performance and the media were raising eyebrows at his work in the transfer market. It didn’t help that Soccer Saturday decided to put the boot in. The following weekend, the show ran an analytical piece on Liverpool, which basically asked the question, ‘Where are Liverpool going wrong?’

During the inquest, Gérard Houllier’s unsuccessful signings were listed on the screen (complete with transfer fees), and several angry fans were interviewed outside Anfield. To make matters worse, the programme was then watched by the Liverpool players and coaching staff as they ate their lunch before their evening game with Southampton.

Gérard was furious, but it was to get worse. I was then shown presenting Neil Warnock with the Scottish Mutual Performance of the Week Award in the United dressing-room immediately after the first-leg Worthington Cup win over Liverpool. The award was for their away win against Championship league leaders Portsmouth the week before. As the players celebrated their result over Liverpool, Neil and I were having a good laugh in front of the cameras. I was just doing my job and never considered for one minute this piece would cause me problems with anyone.

Gérard and Thommo didn’t see the funny side. They were still smarting from the Soccer Saturday criticism, especially Thommo, who had previously been a panellist and took the analysis very personally. He didn’t talk to Jeff for a while afterwards. They made up when he was invited back on to the show a year or so later, but at that point the Liverpool staff naturally put me and Neil Warnock together as mates.

Before the second leg at Anfield, Gérard refused to give details of the Liverpool team to Sky, and I heard I was getting the blame. Although I was advised against it, I went to look for him. I knew I’d find him by the side of the pitch, because that was always his pre-match ritual at Anfield. When I caught up with him I asked him what the problem was.

‘You are very friendly with Warnock,’ he said. ‘You will tell him my team line-up.’

Bearing in mind Neil Warnock was going to get the team shortly anyway (they have to be in one hour before kick-off, and this was 90 minutes before), I couldn’t really see the problem. Clearly he did.

‘I am very friendly with a lot of managers, Gérard,’ I said. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’ll go running to them with team news or bits of gossip. I’m employed by Sky, not Sheffield United. If I got the sack from Sky tomorrow do you really think Neil Warnock would give me a job just because I’ve given him your line-up and formation?’

He mulled it over for a bit. ‘I didn’t think about it like that,’ he said. He backed down and named his team for me, but it was a lesson. It emphasised how my role could be misinterpreted, or how my friendliness towards certain managers might be misconstrued. Without question, Gérard had overreacted. I was merely an innocent victim in the war of words between the two managers.

The good thing was that after winning the second leg and seeing off Sheffield United to reach the Worthington Cup final, Gérard invited me into the Anfield boot room, where I sat with him, Thommo and Sammy Lee. We had a drink and a laugh. As far as he was concerned the whole thing was forgotten. If only Paul Alcock could have been as forgiving.

UNBELIEVABLE, JEFF!

Three weeks after my disagreement with Gérard Houllier, Neil Warnock actually did offer me a job – he asked me to become part of the Bramall Lane coaching staff. Sheffield United were still in the FA Cup and on course for the play-off final. He thought my experience would be a valuable addition. After careful consideration and a visit to the bigwigs at Sky, I turned it down. I knew I could do the coaching job part time, but it meant I would have to give up commentating on the Championship games. I had to be impartial at Sky and that would have been impossible if I was working for Sheffield United. A missed opportunity? Maybe, but thank goodness Gérard Houllier hadn’t got wind of the job opportunity on offer. He really would have thought there was a conspiracy going on.