Hammered Page 3

  The nearest betting shop to our house was about half a mile away. Kicking a football in the street had obviously improved my fitness and speed, but running as fast as I could to the betting shop to place Dad’s bet definitely enhanced my aerobic capacity. Many a time I’d been in the middle of a game in the street and be summoned by Dad to go to the bookies as fast as I could because he had a runner at Haydock Park or some other racecourse. Sometimes I’d only have 10 minutes to get there before the ‘off’ and then hope that I wouldn’t have to wait long for a punter to agree to my urgent request to put the bet on.

  Regulars in the bookies got to know me as Billy Ward’s lad, so it was never a problem sneaking inside the door. As soon as the bet was placed and I had the receipt slip in my hand, I’d run like the wind to get back and resume playing football in the street. Looking back, I think I ran faster than Dad’s bloody horses – he never gave me a winning ticket to take back to the shop! On the rare occasions that he did back a winner, I think he must have collected his own winnings and then headed straight off to the pub.

  The positive from my regular sprints to the bookies was the fact that, from a young age, I learned to run very fast over a fair distance. The downside was that my early introduction to the betting shop and horseracing probably led to my own gambling habit in later years.

  I admit, I did develop a big gambling problem in adult life – I’d say after I joined West Ham in 1985. It’s well documented that gambling was, and still is, a footballer’s disease and I’d agree with that because it goes with the territory. Then again, maybe I would still have gambled even if I hadn’t been asked to place Dad’s bets at the bookies.

  * * * *

  Junior football clubs started to develop around the area where we lived and I was soon signed up to play for a Sunday side called Whiston Cross – later re-named Whiston Juniors – who had, and still have, a big stronghold on all the best young players in the area. Steven Gerrard is their most famous graduate but I also came through the Whiston Juniors system, along with a dozen or so others who went on to make the professional grade, including Karl Connolly (Queens Park Rangers), Ryan McDowell (Manchester City) and John Murphy (Blackpool).

  We all owe so much to the managers who looked after the Whiston teams. In my time, without pioneers like Steve Hughes and Brian Lee giving up their spare time to run the clubs, a lot of us wouldn’t have developed into the players we became.

  I made more friends from other parts of Whiston and the surrounding areas because football brought us together. Even though we didn’t attend the same schools, we’d hang out together. One of my best mates – and he still is – was a goalkeeper called Kevin Hayes. We nicknamed him ‘The Egg’ because he was brilliant at finding birds’ nests and had a great egg collection. I still call him The Egg to this day.

  Peter McGuinness was our left-back with a great left foot. We became close friends and remain so to this day.

  Our Whiston Cross team was so successful that we were invited to play at Everton’s Bellefield training ground against the best kids on their books. It proved to be a big turning point in my life. Dad came along to watch but he wasn’t like all the other fathers. He wouldn’t go religiously every week to see me play, whereas some fathers would kick every ball for their boys from the sidelines.

  I reckon that Dad knew I had qualities, although he never, ever told me I was good. I’d score four or five goals in a game and dominate the opposition but he’d never tell me afterwards that I’d played well. It was only quite a bit later in my career, when I was at West Ham, that he ever lavished any praise on me. I’ll never forget it. We were sat together in a pub, on one of my home visits, when he suddenly commented I was a far better player than he ever was. I nearly fell off my chair in shock.

  Dad didn’t coach me and never told me to do this or that. He just let me develop in my own way. He knew my size would be an obstacle I had to overcome but he also knew I had the qualities of strength and speed that I’d inherited from him.

  That game against Everton’s kids was a real lesson. They murdered us 6-0 but – and don’t ask me how – some of our players still came out of the game with credit. Afterwards Everton youth coach Graham Smith approached my father and asked if it would be okay for me to go to Bellefield after school every Tuesday and Thursday night for proper coaching.

  Dad agreed and going home that night he told me to just go along and enjoy it. Kevin Hayes – ‘The Egg’ – was also invited back by Everton even though he’d conceded six. It still amazes me how they saw any positive play from me that day, because I hardly kicked the ball – Everton’s kids were that good. But Graham Smith said that it was my never-say-die attitude, even when we were being hopelessly outclassed, and the fact that I kept trying to do the right thing and never hid, that caught his eye.

  Dad presumably felt chuffed to see his lad attracting the attention of Everton – the club he’d supported all his life – but if he was, he never showed it.

  Training twice a week at Bellefield improved my technique and it was the first time I’d had the benefit of proper coaching. Playing for my school, then Whiston Cross on Sundays and the St Helens Schoolboys district side meant that hardly a day went by without me playing a game. I couldn’t get enough of it.

  My mate Colin Port and I would go to Goodison to watch Everton play one week and then see Liverpool at Anfield the next. I was brought up as an Evertonian while Colin was a Rednose.

  It was around this time that I was called in to see Ray Minshull, Everton’s youth development officer. I was concerned that I might have done something wrong but he counted out my expenses for travelling to training and they gave me a pair of brand new Adidas boots. They were size six, and a little big for me, but it was a wonderful gesture and made me feel good.

  Ray then asked if I’d like to become a ball-boy at Goodison for first team games. Wow! In those days it was every schoolboy’s dream to play for his hometown club and being a ball-boy provided a great opportunity to at least get onto the hallowed turf. The feeling I had while running out with the other nine ball-boys before the opening game of the 1974-75 season was magical. I remember the deafening noise from the crowd, the Z-Cars music and every hair on my body standing up as players such as Bob Latchford, Andy King, Mick Lyons, George Wood and Martin Dobson ran out of the tunnel. It wasn’t the greatest side in Everton’s history but it felt fantastic to be so close to the action and able to take it all in at the age of 11. I realised then, more than ever, that there was nothing I wanted more than to run out with the blue shirt on my back.

  Other clubs who showed interest in me included Blackburn Rovers, Manchester United and Liverpool. Jimmy Dewsnip, the local Liverpool scout, invited Dad and I to be Liverpool’s guests at Anfield, where I was dying to meet my idol Kevin Keegan. Even though I was an Evertonian, I loved to watch him play. I can’t remember much about the game itself but I was introduced to Kevin outside the changing rooms afterwards. I was a star-struck 15-year-old as the England star, wearing a vivid red polar neck jumper, shook my hand. The first Cup final I recall watching on telly as a kid was Liverpool’s 3-0 win over Newcastle in 1974, with Keegan scoring twice.

  Liverpool were definitely pushing the boat out in an effort to impress. Soon after our visit to Anfield they arranged for me to travel down to Wembley, with a number of other schoolboy players they had their sights on, to watch the 1977 FA Cup final. Liverpool lost 2-1 to Manchester United and the mood on the journey back to Merseyside was very glum, but Bob Paisley’s Reds were destined to lift the European Cup for the first time in Rome just four days later.

  Everton got word of my trip to Wembley with their Merseyside rivals and quickly offered me schoolboy forms, much to the annoyance of Jimmy Dewsnip who arrived at our house hoping he’d done enough to convince me to sign for the Reds. The truth is, I was never going to sign for any club other than Everton. I was determined to live my dream and playing for my club would mean everything to me.

  Although
football dominated my every waking hour, it was around this time that I started to become more aware of my parents’ badly deteriorating relationship. Dad was a proud man and he found it difficult to come to terms with being out of work and unable to provide properly for his family.

  He also had a terrible jealous streak where Mum was concerned. It’s so sad, but this was the main cause of their marriage problems.

  I couldn’t stop them from breaking up. All I could do was focus all my efforts on becoming a footballer. I lived and breathed the game and my burning desire was to play well enough to earn myself an apprenticeship at the club when I left school at 16. Bill Shankly famously said that football was more important than life or death. That’s how I felt too.

  2. JOY AND SORROW

  HOW ironic that my first-ever appearance as a player at Goodison Park, on September 12, 1978, was largely thanks to … Merseyside Police!

  The same constabulary whose officers arrested me in May 2005 were responsible for giving me and my team-mates at Whiston Cross (Juniors) the experience of a lifetime. Our local police force organised a five-a-side competition throughout Merseyside in the summer of ’78 – and the reward for reaching the finals was the opportunity to play at Goodison. It was a huge competition and winning it was no mean feat.

  Our team comprised goalkeeper Kevin Hayes (‘The Egg’), skipper Peter McGuinness, hatchet man Carl Thomas and the two playmakers, Andy Elliot and myself. Andy was the best player at our rival school St Edmund Arrowsmith and we became good pals. The early rounds of the competition were played locally and we comfortably swept through the games and advanced to the semi-finals at the police training grounds in Mather Avenue.

  Our journey by minibus to the semi-finals was one full of excitement and nervous expectation for our team of 15-year-olds. We’d all known each other from having played in school matches over the years and we were very confident of going all the way.

  I travelled to the game in a pair of bright red Kickers boots that Mum had bought me. Nobody else around our way had them at the time and I thought of myself as a bit of a trend-setter. Dad was none too pleased to see his son strutting around in red boots but I was very much my own man even in those days. Just because my family are all Bluenoses, it didn’t deter me from wearing what I wanted – even if they were in the colours of our big Mersey rivals. In fact, I wore those boots until they fell off my feet and was forever gluing the soles back on them. This was the era of baggy jeans and I must have looked ridiculous.

  My choice of music was different to that of my mates. I was influenced by my eldest sister Susan’s boyfriend at the time, Les Jones. He was into Earth Wind & Fire and I’d borrow his records and listen to this magnificent American R&B band. In later years I was lucky enough to see them perform live on two occasions.

  I also loved listening to Elvis Presley. Not too many lads my age would admit to admiring Elvis but he really was the king in my eyes. One Christmas Mum bought me the Elvis Greatest Hits double album and I wish I had a pound for every time I played it. I’ll never forget the day Elvis died – August 16, 1977 – because I was at the FA’s coaching headquarters at Lilleshall having trials for England Schoolboys. I was there for a few days and I recall coming down for breakfast that morning, picking up a newspaper and reading the shock front-page headline ‘Elvis is Dead’.

  Peter McGuinness and The Egg started to listen to Northern Soul and visited Wigan Casino, which was voted ‘Best Disco in the World’ by American music magazine Billboard in 1978 and was definitely the place to be seen. You had to be 16 to get in and, being five-feet nothing and baby-faced, I’d not plucked up the courage to try and sample the unbelievable atmosphere at this famous dance venue. I’d always thought it would be a wasted journey until my curiosity got the better of me one night and I jumped on the train for the short journey to Wigan.

  I’d borrowed a blue velvet jacket from an older lad called Brian McNamara. As I stood in front of him and tried it on, he said: ‘It’s a bit big for you but you’ll get in – no problem.’ But looking back on it, I must have looked pathetic. Brian was a lot bigger than me and his jacket probably looked like an overcoat.

  Stepping down from the train and walking to the dance venue, I started to have second thoughts. There was no way I looked 16. As we arrived I was amazed by the size of the queue – there seemed to be young girls and lads from all parts of England talking in different accents. I was in a gang of about 10 lads and as I neared the front of the queue, I was trying to remember my adopted false date of birth that would hopefully convince them that I really was old enough to be allowed in.

  Just as I approached the entrance, a big bouncer tugged at my arm and pulled me to one side. ‘Sorry, son, you have to be 16 to get in here – not 12.’ I turned red with embarrassment, as everybody heard his humiliating put-down.

  All the other lads entered the Casino okay, leaving me feeling gutted and alone outside. I was angry with myself for having believed that I might get in. I took off the oversized blue velvet jacket, tucked it under my arm and started the solitary journey back to Liverpool.

  These knock-backs were very common at the time. My diminutive size and youthfulness made it very difficult for me to socialise with my mates of the same age. Another similar example occurred one night at Prescot Cables FC, where they held very popular Saturday dance nights in the bar area known as Cromwells. The disco was organised by the Orr brothers – Robbie and John – who also ran the football team. The venue was just up the road from where I lived and all the lads of my age were flocking there every weekend.

  Peter McGuinness, who played for Prescot Cables, and The Egg were regulars and the stories they told of the girls they had pulled on their nights out there gave me the urge to join them. As I queued to get in, I was amazed by the quality of the local talent – the lads were bang on with their assessment. Standing between Peter and The Egg, I watched anxiously as Peter paid his 50p entry fee and as I went to give my coin to the bouncer, he said: ‘Sorry, no midgets tonight.’

  With a lot of sniggering from way back in the queue, once again I felt totally humiliated at this rejection. Only this felt even worse than being turned away from Wigan Casino, because Cromwells was in my own back yard.

  That night, Peter mentioned my problem to Robbie Orr, who said that if I approached him at the door the following week, he’d let me in. I didn’t really believe what Peter told me but there I was again the very next week, just hoping that Robbie would be on the door to let me in as promised. True to his word, after Peter introduced me to Robbie at the entrance, he just shook my hand and said ‘come in’. He never even charged me admission.

  It turned out the Orr brothers were both Evertonians. This was the first instance of me being given special treatment simply due to my association with Everton. Ironically, although I never had to pay whenever I went back there again, Peter and The Egg both continued to have to fork out 50p every week!

  At this time I’d been courting a girl from Whiston Higher Side school called Jane Spruce. She was two years younger than me and I was very keen on her. She wasn’t like the other girls her age – she was very confident and had an arrogance that attracted me to her.

  Jane and her friends would also go to Cromwells on Saturdays. Although she wasn’t from a wealthy family, Jane’s parents, Barbara and George, worked hard for a living and ensured their daughter had the best in clothes. Always immaculately dressed, Jane was despised by some of the other local girls, which I put down to jealously. She was always the girl I fancied more than any other but she was no push-over and I soon realised that we were both strong characters. I was eventually to fall madly in love with her.

  * * * *

  The five-a-side tournament semi-finals at the police training grounds reached a dramatic finale. The whistle blew at full-time and then the cruel reality hit both teams – the golden chance to progress to the final at Goodison all came down to a penalty shoot-out.

  Our manager Steve Hughes brought t
he lads together and told us not to worry about missing a penalty. In his eyes, we had already achieved great success just by getting this far.

  I took our first penalty and slotted it comfortably home. Every penalty hit the back of the net, so it was left to the keepers to decide it. The Egg stepped up to take his and blasted it past their keeper. One last save from The Egg and we’d be in the final. Their keeper struck his spot kick very hard and straight but The Egg had his measure and turned the ball around the post. We all ran to Kevin, lifted him off the ground and the feeling was one of unbelievable elation.

  On the way home in the minibus, Steve Hughes asked if any of us wanted a biscuit. But as he reached into his coat pocket, he suddenly laughed out loud. The digestives were no more. Steve had been so engrossed and stressed during the penalty shoot-out, he had crushed the whole packet of biscuits into tiny crumbs. The dream of stepping out onto the pitch at Everton meant as much to our manager as it did to his players.

  Tuesday, September 12, 1978 was my swansong playing with my mates in the final of the Merseyside Police five-a-side competition at Goodison. That night was special and I remember scoring a couple of goals in a 4-1 victory. Everyone in our team played brilliantly and it was the last trophy I won with the lads I’d grown up with. Soon after, I was offered a contract by Everton and signed as an apprentice professional in 1979.

  * * * *

  Billy Ward was a very proud Dad when he left our house in Whiston to accompany me on the bus to sign the paperwork at Goodison. Dad had been a massive Evertonian all his life. He’d tell me about greats like the ‘Golden Vision’ Alex Young, Alan Ball and the other stars of the 1970 championship-winning side.

  One of his big mates was Eddie Kavanagh, a legendary Evertonian who famously ran on to the Wembley pitch during the 1966 FA Cup final against Sheffield Wednesday and had to be wrestled to the ground by a number of coppers. They used to call Eddie ‘Tit Head’ because he took so many beatings in his time that one of the scars on his head looked like a nipple. Eddie ended up being a steward at Goodison.