Читать книгу To Cap It All - Kenny Sansom - Страница 28
ОглавлениеMy very first game for my country saw the Sansom clan in full swing as they hurried down Wembley Way towards the twin towers. Heading the way was my mum, closely followed by lots of other Sansoms and Culwicks.
I was 15 years old and our opponents were none other than Germany. The newspaper headlines read, ENGLAND SCHOOLBOY GOES TO WEMBLEY. Oh boy, were these ever brilliant times! It was 7 August 1975 and the prolific broadcaster Brian Moore was commentating on ITV. I could barely contain my excitement.
Mum led her family onto the terraces of glory like a mother duck followed by her offspring. My sister Maureen was clutching a mini-television because she wanted to watch the match on TV as well as live. My brother Peter was tuning his radio into the sports channel for some decent commentary. Many years later he was to tell me how he had cried buckets that day. ‘Seeing you standing out there on that pitch with the national anthem playing was too much. I melted. You looked so little – a dot in the distance. I have never been so proud of anyone – not before that day, nor since.’
Before the match we were all led out onto the Wembley turf to get the feel of the place. I felt something all right. I had never seen Wembley in real life, and the sheer size of it frightened the out life out of me. Most kids get scared about the big things in life – and flipping hell! – this pitch was very big.
I am trying hard to remember everything about that day, but some of it is a blur – like a dream. I do remember a boy called Peter Coyne. He played up front and scored three goals. Imagine that. Imagine scoring a hat-trick at Wembley as a schoolboy. It doesn’t get much better than that.
Mark Higgins was our centre-half, and he went on to play for Everton. I think I’m right in saying he played for England Schoolboys 2 years on the trot. He was a giant of a boy at over 6 foot (he certainly towered me), and in all honesty he was way ahead of his 15 years.
Germany had a winger who was also very tall and as quick as lightning. Whoosh, and he was gone. There was one horrible moment when he knocked the ball past me as if I weren’t there.
That was pretty devastating, especially knowing the whole nation was watching from its living room. ‘I can’t do any worse,’ I told myself. ‘I might as well just get on with it and hope for the best.’ I wish I could remember that winger’s name.
As soon as I relaxed I began to play well. I had a good game, and you could never begin to imagine the buzz I got when Jack Charlton singled me out and praised me, saying he predicted I would have a long and successful England football career.
After the match we celebrated with a smashing meal of fillet steak, mash and vegetables (sorry, no vegetables for me); I can still taste it now – it tasted of sweet success.
My sister and I sat down a little while ago to recall that extraspecial day. She reminded me that our Nanna Culwick (who is no longer with us) was led out onto the pitch for a treat and was completely overwhelmed by the occasion. We had a good old cry at that memory, I can tell you.
RON GREENWOOD
Ron Greenwood prepared me well for the 1980 European Championships by playing me as much as he could. I found myself at the core of a team that included Glenn Hoddle, Gary Lineker, Peter Shilton and others of that calibre.
Once again, I was blessed with being taught by a brilliant coach. First I had Terry Venables and then Ron Greenwood. It’s bloody marvellous when I think about it.
Ron had been West Ham’s gaffer from 1961 to 1974, and I’m not the only one who thinks he’s been one of the best England coaches ever – lots would agree. At club level (with the Hammers), he won both the FA Cup and European Cup Winners’ Cup. During his illustrious managerial career he developed the two 1966 World Cup heroes, Bobby Moore and Martin Peters. And, to cap it all, he then he took over the England job in 1977 – just in time to nurture me and jump-start me towards a record-breaking eighty-six caps.
I believe the reason I slotted in well with the legends that played for England in the late seventies and eighties was because we were similar characters. Like the above, I was well respected by peers and management alike. I played with strength and courage, but was also calm and had leadership qualities that were perfect to skipper teams. But I wouldn’t say I was fearless.
The reason why I’d worked so hard perfecting my skills with the ball was so I wouldn’t need to go in hard for a tackle. I didn’t like getting my shorts dirty any more than I liked to play dirty.
I guess I didn’t like getting into trouble with authority, either. Being told off still made me feel like a 5-year-old boy. So I played my heart out and did everything I possibly could to be the very best. Only then could I feel good.
IF THE CAP FITS: ENGLAND V WALES (23 MAY 1979)
My very first England match in the full squad was a home game at Wembley Stadium.
West Bromwich Albion’s Laurie Cunningham and I were the new faces in the squad that day for what was to be a difficult Home Championship match against the Welsh that ended in a nil–nil draw.
At the age of 23, Laurie was a couple of years older than I was, and a really nice guy. He had already gone into the record books as first ever black player to represent England when he gained Under-21 recognition in a match against Scotland, and now the winger who was born in Holloway was making his full England debut alongside me.
We began brightly. Kevin Keegan was, as usual, right on the ball. He really worked hard – always. Laurie had a fabulous start as well, demonstrating great flair. He was a flamboyant character and is probably remembered as much for being a member of West Bromwich Albion’s very own ‘Three Degrees’ as for his football skills. (the other ‘band’ members were Cyrille Regis and Brendon Batson – hilarious.)
Critics of the match said Wales deserved their point, but I beg to differ. Apparently, we didn’t finish terribly well, but I think luck went against us. Don’t forget I was a young and eager 21-year-old and always thought we were better than the other side.
During the first half Kevin almost scored twice, and when Terry McDermott shaved the outside of the Welsh goalpost the whole crowd gasped. Laurie hit a blistering shot that almost saw him score his first, but that too was tantalisingly close – unlucky or what?
We were solid at the back and really and, truthfully, I don’t think goalie Joe Corrigan was ever in danger of letting one in, and showed his usual confidence in saving a powerful long-range shot from John Toshack.
I learned a valuable lesson about how to behave in England matches compared with club games. I was getting a bit hot under the collar and at one point, when there was a throw-in in their half, I yelled over to Tony Currie, ‘Close them in. Don’t let them out.’
Well, he must have glared across at me for at least a full 10 seconds before he chose to turn his back and ignore me. I was astute enough to know that was not proper behaviour in the England setup.
With 20 minutes to go, Ron made a couple of inspired substitutes when he brought on Trevor Brooking and Steve Coppell. Their fresh legs made all the difference – fresh legs always make all the difference – and Steve also almost scored.
But we all know how useless it is to ‘almost score’ and that ‘winning is everything’, so we had to make do with a draw. Laurie had shown he had potential to enjoy a long career, but unfortunately he was dogged by injury for years before a tragedy in a car crash in Madrid, where he played for Real, robbed him of his life.
In June 1979 I was picked to play away for the England B team against Austria. These were exciting and educational times. The first team were due to play on the Wednesday night, but the game was abandoned in the first half due to a terrible storm with lightning that was frightening to watch at such close hand.
I roomed with Cyrille Regis – one of the ‘Three Degrees’, who was in no way, shape or form a woman. He was a giant of a man. The first time I met him I stood in awe as he removed his jacket. He just never stopped coming out of it. It was quite something.
Next we had to catch a train to where the first team were playing and most of the lads were drinking alcohol. Being teetotal, I stuck to my orange juice, and therefore remained sober while all around me were getting off their faces.
Russell Osmond had this joke pen with invisible ink and squirted it all over Big Joe Corrigan’s shirt. ‘What have you done?’ An over-the-top Joe ripped it off and threw it off the train. ‘Take your socks off everyone and throw them off the train.’ Everyone did it. Everyone did what Joe asked – I mean, demanded. He was far from being aggressive, though. Joe was known as the Gentle Giant. We referred to him as ‘Gentle Joe with a heart to show’. Mind you, if you chipped a ball over his head and scored during training, he’d run and give you a punch on the arm. It didn’t half bloody hurt. He could take it back, though – and in very good humour.
I remember another funny incident concerning Joe. We were at a PFA Awards dinner at the Hilton Hotel in London and everyone was having a good drink, when Steve Foster turned to him and asked him if wanted a small aperitif. Joe looked across menacingly and howled, ‘Now why would I want a small aperitif when I’ve got a bottle of champagne?’ So Steve throws back, ‘Not a small aperitif as in a drink Joe – I was wondering whether you’d like a smaller pair of teeth.’
Joe had little pearly teeth, you see. Funny bastards – funny times.
ENGLAND V BULGARIA
It was late November before I was selected to play my next match for my country, and again it was a home match.
For the first time ever, the game had to be postponed because of terrible dense fog and, although more than seventy thousand fans managed to make it for the match, the following day, poor old Kevin Keegan had to fly back to his Hamburg team for commitments over there. Norwich City’s Kevin Reeves was very happy though (one man’s misery is another man’s delight), since he got to win his first cap.
Ron revelled in giving new blood a chance, and his other choice that day was the man who was to become my ‘away’ roommate, Glenn Hoddle.
We were awesome from the first whistle – even if I say so myself. It took us 9 minutes to score. It came from a Tony Woodcock corner that was only half cleared from the edge of the box. Glenn curled the ball across to Dave Watson, who headed the ball home. Ray Clemence only had to make one save in the second half, whereas we kept the pressure on until our second, long-awaited goal came in the 70th minute when Glenn Hoddle side-footed the ball into the top corner from a 20-yard shot.
It had been a wonderful experience, and it was reported that all the other nations were taking note of our good form.
With the seventies coming to a close I had no doubt in my mind that I was going to win many more caps.
The seventies had been brilliant. Now what were the eighties going to bring?