Читать книгу Hammered - I Played Football for West Ham, Man City and Everton… Then the Police Came Calling and My Life Fell Apart - Mark Ward - Страница 11

EVERTON became a poor team under manager Gordon Lee, who came in for plenty of stick from the press. I witnessed at first hand how he had lost the dressing room and failed to control certain players. Even at that young age I realised none of the senior pros respected him. And no-one undermined Lee’s authority more than Andy King, our prolific goal scoring midfielder, who really gave the beleaguered manager the run-around towards the end of his first spell at Goodison.

Looking back, Kingy was a total rebel and, as his apprentice and the one responsible for cleaning his boots, I had a bird’s eye view of his antics.

The other players would be halfway through their warm-up when you’d hear the screech of Kingy’s brakes as he belted in to Bellefield – late, as usual. And then, as he emerged from his car, I’d hear that familiar voice: ‘Wardy, come here.’ I’d jog towards him as he began to undress while walking from the car park to the changing rooms.

‘What’s going on? What’s being said?’ he’d ask me.

As usual, I’d ensure his kit was laid out neatly for him on arrival. Half the time he’d still be drunk from the night before but he wasn’t bothered. A very talented attacking midfielder who was once being touted for England honours, he knew that whatever he said around the club and no matter how badly he behaved by gambling and drinking too heavily, he was always going to keep his place in the first team. Everton’s squad was so small and p**s-poor back then that nobody could even get near to replacing him in the side – and Lee knew it, too.

After arriving late, Andy would often start to argue with Lee about one thing or another, even telling the manager to ‘f*** off’ before skulking off to train with the reserves and apprentices. Lee never ordered Kingy to train apart from the first team – it was the player’s choice. I can’t imagine any manager today tolerating this kind of petulance and blatant disrespect from any of his senior players.

The 1980-81 season was a mixed one for me. With a glut of midfield players at the club and first-teamers given priority when dropping down to play in the reserves, I was in and out of the second XI. Andy King left in September 1980 to join QPR in a £400,000 deal but returned to Everton, via West Bromwich Albion, two years later. Before I knew it, the season was over and it was D-Day – the moment I’d learn whether I would be offered another pro contract or be released. All the other young lads at the club were telling me not to worry, so convinced were they that Everton would give me another year, or maybe even two.

Dad saw me off to training, telling me not to worry but I was nervous. I sat quietly in the dressing room at Bellefield, waiting for the call summoning me to the manager’s office. It was like waiting to be sentenced – or reprieved – by a judge. My football future was in one man’s hands. After all my hard work in trying to make the grade, it all came down to his judgement.

Lee had hardly spoken a word to me in the previous two years – he showed no interest in the younger players. He was dour in both demeanour and words. As I nervously stepped inside his office, he told me to take a seat. I’ll remember his next words for as long as I live. He came straight to the point: ‘Mark, we believe you’re never going to be big enough, strong enough or quick enough to establish yourself at the highest level. There is no doubting your ability but we have decided to let you go.’

He didn’t even make eye contact as he delivered his damning verdict. A voice inside me kept saying: ‘Tell him he’s making the wrong decision. Tell him you’re getting stronger and that you will become quicker in time.’

But no words left my lips. I was stunned, in a state of deep shock.

I left Lee’s office and headed for the stairs, where I was met by my team-mates, Steve McMahon, Kevin Richardson, Gary Stevens, Dean Kelly and Brian Borrows, who were clearly upset for me. They were full of support and commiserations but, as I choked back the tears, I just wanted to get home.

Waiting for the No.75 bus on Eaton Road, I felt emotionally shattered. I paid my fare, made my way upstairs and sat on the empty top deck, where I cried. I was angry and frustrated with myself. I should have told Gordon Lee he was making a terrible mistake and that I’d prove him wrong.

My thoughts then turned to Dad, who was still struggling badly to come to terms with Mum having walked out on him. Now that his son had been dumped by his beloved Everton, it was another major body blow for him to handle. By the time I got home I felt more in control of my emotions. I stepped into the living room, where Dad looked up from his Daily Mirror. He knew my fate from the sadness written all over my face. And as he grabbed hold of me, I broke down in his arms.

He did his best to try and reassure me that Everton had made a big mistake in letting me go, and that he knew I was good enough, but his words were of no comfort to me at the time. We just sat together for a couple of hours drinking tea. He made me promise him one thing: not to give up on my dream of becoming a professional footballer. ‘Mark, you will get stronger and quicker,’ he reassured me. ‘By the time you’re 21 you’ll have these two ingredients to make you a better player. With your skill and the extra power you gain, you’ll become a footballer of some quality.’

I gathered myself together to reassure Dad that I was more determined than ever to prove Everton wrong.

A couple of hours later that afternoon we heard some amazing news on the radio.

Lee had been sacked.

Dad and I both looked at each other. We couldn’t believe that the man who had turned my world upside down just a few hours earlier, had now also been given the boot by Everton.

The sacking of the colourless Lee – appointed as Billy Bingham’s successor in January 1977 – had been on the cards for a good while. After a good start, the former Newcastle United manager had seen his Toffees team finish 19th and 15th in successive seasons before the Goodison board decided his time was up.

Little did the football world know then that Lee’s replacement, Howard Kendall, was about to revive Everton’s glory days and become the greatest manager in the club’s history.

Even though I was shown the door at Goodison in May 1981, Howard was to play a major part in my football development. In the short term, he threw me a lifeline I was determined to grab. Although the season had officially finished, there were still a couple of friendlies to be played. He wanted to see me play even though the decision had already been made to let me go, so I was given one half of a testimonial match against Halifax Town at The Shay in which to try and impress him. For Howard to offer me hope in this way, I was going to have to play the best 45 minutes ever. The pressure was enormous.

Alongside me in the team that day were seasoned senior pros including Bob Latchford, Asa Hartford and Mick Lyons. End-ofseason testimonials are never easy games to play in – players don’t want to risk injury and most are already thinking of lazing on a beach while knocking back the San Miguels.

For the first time nerves got the better of me. I was trying too hard and although I had some success against the Halifax full-back and managed to provide a few decent crosses, I sat in the dressing room afterwards knowing that I hadn’t done enough to excite Howard. On the team bus journey back to Liverpool, Bob Latchford and one or two other senior pros tried to lift my spirits by saying they thought I’d done enough to impress the new boss.

It wasn’t to be, though. My dream had been shattered. Lee’s sacking had come too late for me and I felt devastated that I was no longer an Everton player.

But Howard Kendall never forgot me.

Ironically, when he signed me from Manchester City 10 years later and brought me back to Goodison, I was amazed when he mentioned that nondescript game at Halifax. He had questioned the judgement of Lee and his coaches in their decision to release me. For Howard to remember a low-key testimonial match from a decade earlier, it just showed his fantastic knowledge of the game and the attention to detail he always brought to management.

Showing me the Goodison exit door would ultimately prove a costly decision for Everton, although, realistically, I accept that I was still some way off playing for the first team in that summer of ’81. Leaving the club I loved hurt very badly at the time but it was to be the making of me – as a player and as a man. I’d embark on a 10-year rollercoaster ride, a journey of blood, sweat and tears to get back to my club.