Читать книгу Goals to Gold - Lee Sandford - Страница 20

AS THE YOUNGEST member of England’s 1966 World Cup winning team, no one knew about the pressures on young footballers better than Alan Ball. He was in charge of Portsmouth’s youth team when I joined and he immediately became my mentor.

I’d known Alan for a while already by then. He would often come and watch the Portsmouth schoolboy training sessions and chat to my dad while I was training. He and dad got along great, which helped to reassure me as I adjusted to living away from home for the first time. My dad’s opinion was important to me, so it was natural for me to respect someone dad liked and respected too. I looked up to Alan and came to regard him as my football dad.

You never knew who you might meet when you were with Alan. Before I’d started my apprenticeship, when I was 15 and still at school, I’d been asked to play for the Portsmouth reserves a couple of times. If the squad was down a few players, due to injuries, one of the reserve team would go up to play for the first team, and then I got to play for the reserves. Even though I was 15 and still on a schoolboy contract, Alan believed I could hold my own against seasoned professionals. It was great experience.

On one occasion when they needed me to play, for some reason dad wasn’t able to get me there, so Alan offered to pick me up and bring me back after the game. He arrived at our house in his big fancy Mercedes. I remember sitting in the back and dreaming of owning one some day. I thought maybe if I stuck around Alan, some of his success might rub off on me.

The game went well that night. We must have won because I remember being in a great mood before we left. As we were getting in the car, Alan told me we had to drive over to the other side of the pitch before we set off home, because someone was waiting to talk to him. I could see this man in the distance but, at that point, I didn’t think much of it. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next!

We drove around the ground and pulled up where this man was standing. He got into the passenger seat next to Alan and turned around to say hello to me. I couldn’t believe my eyes – it was Bobby Moore! The captain of England’s 1966 World Cup winning team was sitting right in front of me; he was saying hello to me. Then Alan introduced us so now he knew my name. Bobby Moore knew my name! I was stunned.

I sat back in my seat as Alan and Bobby talked, thinking it must mean something that I was there. The three of us, Alan Ball, Bobby Moore and I, were sitting together in a Mercedes. In that moment, there was no doubt in my mind that I must be destined for some kind of greatness. Surely I would be playing for England one day. It had to be a sign!

On the apprenticeship at Portsmouth we had quite a gruelling daily schedule, but as far as I was concerned, I was living the life of Riley.

We started our day at 9am every morning doing our apprenticeship jobs. When the first team turned up an hour later, we would all start training. In those days, apprentices really earned their keep. We scrubbed the toilets, we painted the terraces, we cleaned the boots of the first team members, and we took pride in our work. No one ever complained; it was an honour to be there. I can’t imagine asking a 16 year-old member of a Premiership youth team to go and scrub the toilets these days.

It was exciting to be away from home, I’d been itching to leave and get out into the world, to explore a bit, and be myself. I suddenly felt like an adult; at home I’d always been a kid. Even so, I was very homesick and called home whenever I could. I would often sneak up to the press box when no one was around and use the phones in there. I’d call mum and dad, and my friends. I would never admit how much I missed my parents, but I’m sure mum could hear it in my voice. No one could actually admit to being homesick, but I have no doubt all the other young lads were feeling it too.

Luckily I was never away from home for too long because I went back every weekend. On Saturday dad would drive down and watch me in the morning’s youth team game and then we’d drive home. If the first team were playing a home game, we’d stay and watch that and drive home after.

I was always itching to go out with my mates as soon as I got home. My parents would be dying to hear all my news about how I was getting on and how training was going, but all I wanted to do was get out of the house as fast as possible and meet everyone in town. Looking back, I feel quite bad that I didn’t spend more time with them, especially now I have kids of my own and know how it feels to wish you could share every single moment of their lives. I’m sure all teenagers are the same though; I’d get in, bolt down my dinner, answer questions as quickly and briefly as possible, and then get ready to go out.

Getting ready was a process in itself. It was the big summer of 1984 and everyone had to look the part. Every girl had to dress like Madonna and every boy like George Michael. Madonna was Like a Virgin, Laura Branigan had no Self Control; we heard 99 Red Balloons, Time After Time, and Billy Ocean and Lionel Richie battled it out in the Top 10. If the Duran Duran Wild Boys got out of hand, who were you gonna call? Ghostbusters. I had my Simon Le Bon highlights and my Footloose moves. I had money in my pocket and was on my way to becoming a huge football star – as far as I was concerned, I was going to play for England one day. Life was great.

The gaffer (as football managers are called by players) instilled in us his philosophy of “you work hard so you can play hard.” While there was definitely a bit of a laddish culture – of going out, drinking and chatting up women – it was never done at the expense of training and playing our best.

Alan also taught us the great value of preparation. To this day, I can’t do anything unless I’m totally prepared. I have to complete my research and be satisfied I’ve practised hard enough, that everything is ready and in its place, or I can’t do my job – whatever it may be.

An essential part of pre-game preparation for a footballer is to have clean boots. You can’t start a game with old, hard mud caked on to your studs. As apprentices at PFC, we were all assigned pros and told we were responsible for keeping their boots clean. My pros were Mick Kennedy and Mick Tait. I made sure their boots were spotless every day. I was also in charge of cleaning the changing rooms of the away teams on a Saturday afternoon, which led to my next exciting encounter with a football legend.

It happened after a home game against Nottingham Forest. We’d beaten them and most of them had already sloped off, heads hung low, back to their coach. I went down to clean up their changing room before I headed home. It was cold, so I had my coat on, also ready for a quick getaway. I wasn’t cutting any corners though; that dressing room had to be spotless.

As I entered, mop and bucket in hand, I saw there were still two men sitting over in the corner. I soon recognised them as Brian Clough and Des Walker (the future England defender); they were having a post-match chat. Brian Clough was already something of a legend by then; well on his way to becoming known as “the greatest manager England never had.” I started mopping the floor.

After a couple of minutes, Brian Clough called over to me in his familiar Middlesbrough accent, “Hey, young man, young man,” he said. “You take your coat off while you’re doing the cleaning. Your mum and dad won’t appreciate it if you get it dirty. They spent a lot of money on that coat.” I can remember that moment like it was yesterday. But there was an even bigger moment about to happen.