Читать книгу Shirts, Shorts and Spurs - Roy Reyland - Страница 7

BY STEVE PERRYMAN, 2010

Having played 854 games for Tottenham Hotspur, I know more than anyone that there are ups and downs in football. But I also know that Tottenham is a club where everyone is important, from the very bottom of the ladder to the very top. It’s that old cliché you hear about tea ladies, but it’s true: in the good times everyone’s with you, but in football when you go through the rough times you need all those extra people, willing you on.

When the coach pulls out of Tottenham on the way up North to a grim away match, you need to know everyone is right behind you. And that’s why my old friend Roy Reyland was more than just a kit man to Spurs. He brought out the best in the team, win or lose. That’s why I love the club. So-called ‘non-playing staff’ are treated as well as the superstars, and they respond in kind. But mark my words, you’ve still got to be good at your job to survive at Spurs. No one gets along by being a nice fella, and, if there was a pair of boots missing at a big match, Roy would never have lasted his 29 years at the club.

You see, there’s an unwritten trust at Tottenham that everyone is trying their best to achieve: to do their own job to the best of their ability. From the coach driver to the centre half to the physio and kit man, when the shit hits the fan, everyone mucks in. And on a tough day you’d rather see a smiling face than a long face, and Roy would always have a joke in his locker, or a story to tell. Always.

People at Tottenham, backroom staff as well as players, are always being reminded by the fans of their responsibility of wearing that famous lily-white shirt. What that shirt stands for is important, more so than at any other club in the world. Tottenham people are proud of their history, they have a respect for the past and cherish those glorious memories and all that goes with it.

When I first got in the team, I inherited the number 11 shirt, just because it became available, from Roger Morgan, I think. When my place in the team became regular, I took the number 8 shirt from Jimmy Greaves, and, although I didn’t think about it at the time, I’d taken the shirt from one of the top goal scorers in the world. I quickly got a letter from a young Spurs fan, saying, ‘Do you realise you’ve got Jimmy Greaves’ shirt and you never have a shot at goal!’ So of course I felt much more comfortable finishing my career in the number 6 shirt, which I hope I made my own.

Speaking as a player who played so many times for Spurs, for me there was always a danger of things feeling like a routine. I used to like a change, particularly when we got a new style of shirt. If it were a new player, a new manager or even a new shirt, you’d go out desperate to have a good game. For that reason, I used to love going away and playing in the away strip. It just used to make me feel fresh and new.

In the old days we used to play in the classic white shirt, navy shorts, and navy socks. I used to like navy socks, and I especially hated when we played in white socks. I thought any light-coloured socks looked weak, especially white shorts with white socks. I owned sports shops from the age of 19, and we used to sell a white football shirt which with a different cloth badge could become England, Derby or Tottenham. But to me it only ever looked ‘right’ with the cockerel on the chest.

I remember getting obsessed with the different shades of blue in our kit. At one League Cup Final, they gave us a warm-up top each and I took one look and said, ‘Fuck me, that’s royal not navy, that’s not us at all.’ I thought, ‘Hold on, that’s Chelsea! I’m not wearing that!’

We were a bit upset about it, but I quickly realised that it wouldn’t make us win or lose. It’s what’s inside the shirt more than what is on it. It took me a while to learn this.

Roy will tell you that early on I used to be superstitious. I used to wear the same tie to every match. But as you go through your career, as you mature and get older, you work out it’s nothing to do with the tie. I used to like getting to the ground early, too, but I’ll tell you this, you had to get up pretty early in the morning to beat Roy to White Hart Lane. However early you were, he was there. And even if the gates were locked you’d find him in the café over the road. It’s that attitude, that unbending desire for the club to be successful that made Roy critically important to Spurs.

When I worked in Japan, football there made me realise how important what I call ‘shop-floor football’ is to a club. What I mean is that we learned our lessons at Spurs over the course of 100 years. In Japan, they only have ten years of history. When I was cleaning boots as an apprentice, there were three trainers – one of whom was Andy Thompson who was part of the 1921 Cup Final team – and their conversation would be: ‘Who was better, Burgess or Mackay?’ or ‘Who was our best ever captain?’ All the time, this was washing over you, the history seeping into your skin.

Having people like Roy around the club, someone with so many years of dedication to the club behind him, perpetuates the very history of the club. Through people like Roy Reyland, the legend of Tottenham Hotspur lives on.