Budgie - The Autobiography Part 2

LONG ROAD TO CUP GLORY.

'Brian Little scored in the last minute and to our great relief we'd finally won the cup.'

We started the 1976/77 campaign like a hurricane, opening with a 4-0 win at home to West Ham, and recording some big wins before Christmas 5-2 against Ipswich, including a hat-trick for Andy; 5-1 against a.r.s.enal; 3-2 against Man U and 5-1 against Liverpool. We had sent out a clear message that not only could we beat any team in the league on our day we could tear them apart.

We were also an incredibly fit team, which made me happy. I absolutely thrive on hard training, and though I haven't found many players willing to put in quite as much I do, Ron Saunders made sure no one was allowed to shirk away from hard work on the training ground. Most of our training was geared towards running. Saunders didn't get too heavily involved in the tactical side of football, and he was able to get successful results out of the team mainly by signing skilful players and then training them hard, to the point where they were fitter than any other club in the league. He would have us running in ploughed fields and up steep hills. There was plenty of moaning going on behind his back, because any footballer prefers to be training with a ball at his feet, but Saunders was a strict disciplinarian and wouldn't take any s.h.i.t. He was ex-Army and his orders were to be followed. Training was unbelievably hard, but the results on the pitch justified his methods.

While we were showing some impressive form in the league, it was an incredible run in the League Cup that defined our season.

We saw off Manchester City (3-0), Norwich (2-1), Wrexham (5-1) and Millwall (2-1), all at home to set up a semi-final, over two legs, against Queens Park Rangers. There were lots of great players in that QPR team Phil Parkes in goal, Frank McLintock, Dave Webb, Gerry Francis, Stan Bowles and Don Givens and they would be a tough nut to crack, having already beaten us in the league that season.

The manager kept putting serious pressure on us that we had to win something or we would be regarded as failures. It was his job that was on the line too, but whereas some managers are good at shouldering the pressure themselves and shielding their players so they don't feel edgy, Saunders never hesitated to share the pressure around. We would later lose out in the quarter-finals of the FA Cup to Manchester United, and while we were riding high in the table the t.i.tle looked out of our grasp, so he told us we simply had to win the League Cup to make sure we would qualify for Europe.

The first leg of the semi-final was on a frosty night at Loftus Road and it finished a 0-0 draw, which we were happy enough taking back to Villa Park. In the second leg, we were locked at 2-2 with about five minutes to go when QPR got a penalty. Don Givens, their star striker, ran up to take it, but I guessed right and stopped it. It was one of the most important saves of my career and I was c.o.c.k-a-hoop. Aston Villa later built a fantastic stand at the tunnel end, and after that save I used to call it the John Burridge Stand, because if that penalty had gone in they would not have had the money to build it the following year. After extra time, we could still not be separated, so at the end of the game everyone was looking at each other, thinking: 'What happens now?' We were eventually told that the chairmen of the two clubs were going to reach an agreement on a neutral venue for a replay to be held. Our chairman was Doug Ellis at the time and he went to thrash it out with their chairman Jim Gregory. It was decided that a spin of the coin would settle the venue for a neutral ground if it was tails, it would favour us, and the game would be played at Birmingham City's ground, if it was heads then it would favour QPR and the tie would be played in London at Highbury. Word filtered down to us that Deadly Doug had lost the toss and the replay would be settled at Highbury, but the popular story doing the rounds among the lads was that when the coin got thrown, it disappeared under a table with Jim Gregory scampering after it. When he re-emerged he was clutching the coin, shouting 'Heads'. n.o.body had seen the coin, or so it was claimed. Doug would have been in an impossible position he apparently asked for a re-throw, but Gregory wasn't having it and we were heading to Highbury.

As it turned out, it didn't matter where the game was played, because we blew them away. Brian Little was outstanding and finished off a hat-trick in the final few seconds, while I played my part and kept a clean sheet. We had cruised past them 3-0 and were heading for a League Cup final against Everton at Wembley.

The problem for me was that I was struggling to be fit for the biggest game of my life. Before the final, I had played in a 4-0 midweek win against Derby and taken a real crack on my kneecap. I had to sit out our match against Leicester the week before the final, and I was in doubt for my first game at Wembley. But while my knee was still agony, I thought to myself: 'I've got to play, it's a cup final for G.o.d's sake.' I kept the extent of the pain to myself, refused any further treatment, and declared myself fit to play. I wasn't nervous about the actual game at all, but I was more worried about my mum coming down safely on the train from Workington. When you were in a final at Wembley then, you were only given four complimentary tickets, but all my relations started to come out of the woodwork and were desperate to see me play my first game at Wembley. I had to get them for aunts and uncles, and by the time I had sorted them all out I had forked out for about 60 tickets myself! It was a far cry from a normal league game where you would get one or two people coming to see you. My mum was an old woman by then and I was worried sick about her making it all the way down from Workington because she didn't have too much experience of travelling. I needed something to relieve the tension and a practical joke in the team hotel was just the job. I was sharing a room with Andy, which was overlooking the car park. I had been looking out of the window when I noticed there was a big wedding party arriving. It didn't take much for me to get stupid ideas in my head back then, so I went to the bathroom and filled a bucket with water. Just as the bride and groom were coming I let fly with the bucket of water, tipping it over them. They were saturated. It was a horrible thing to do, I can see that now, but I was p.i.s.sing myself laughing. I had been in two minds whether to do it, but my partner in crime, Andy, was egging me on: 'Do it, do it.' After I'd done the dirty deed, we went down in the lift to check out the damage. The two of us were sitting in the foyer sn.i.g.g.e.ring away like schoolkids as they came in soaked and bewildered. I suppose we were still practically kids anyway. We were both working-cla.s.s boys and I think the excitement of being in a big five-star hotel just got the better of us. The two of us were used to playing practical jokes on the rest of the lads in the dressing room, but this was maybe taking it a step too far. The next morning at breakfast, Ron Saunders came down and looked me straight in the eye as he asked: 'Who threw water over the bride and groom yesterday?'

'It wasn't me, boss. I've been preparing for the game, you know I have,' I lied, trying to put on an unconvincing choirboy face. Having now got that confession off my chest, I'd like to offer my belated apologies to Mr and Mrs Soaking-Wet I hope your marriage has been a happy one since that day!

The final was played on 12 March, 1977 at Wembley and, as was the case for any cup final, it was a full house of 100,000. I remember meeting Princess Anne before the game. Chris Nicholl, our captain, was going along the line of players introducing us and when he came to me he said: 'This is John Burridge ma'am, the handsome one of the team.' She was married to Captain Mark Phillips at the time, so I gave her a cheeky look and said: 'h.e.l.lo love, how are you? I'm not as handsome as your new husband, though, am I?' She burst out laughing and had a big smile on her face. All the lads were wondering what I'd said to her, fearing that I'd overstepped the mark with royalty and said something a bit too risque that was going to get the club into trouble. Everyone else had been very straight-laced, keeping their responses to the standard 'Pleased to meet you ma'am.' I bet you she hadn't been counting on being confronted by a jacka.s.s like me!

It was a strange game, and almost entirely forgettable to be honest, and it finished in a drab 0-0 draw. It was a strange feeling at full-time because everything had been planned for us winning that cup, and here we were heading home empty-handed and with a replay to prepare for at Hillsborough four days later. It's a far better set-up today, finishing finals on the day with extra-time and penalties if they're needed.

When we got back to the hotel, the atmosphere was as dead as a doornail because nothing had happened one way or the other, and everyone's minds had already turned to the replay. I was in bed watching the highlights of the final on Match of the Day by 10.30 and any cup winner's party would have to wait.

We returned to Birmingham on the Sunday, before we then headed to Sheffield on the Monday. For the replay on the Wednesday it was a full house again, 55,000 this time, and we went one-up when Roger Kenyon scored an own goal. It was a c.r.a.p game, but it looked like we'd done enough until Bob Latchford equalised in the last minute to take it to a second replay.

The third game was to be played at Old Trafford, almost a month later. In a cup final you should be turning up expecting to win or lose, so it was strange when there was still nothing decided. A lot of tension was building up, with Ron Saunders so desperate to get us into Europe. He was uptight for every game leading up to the final, because it was hanging over us and was a bit unsettling.

We were a bit weakened for the final too Andy and John Gidman were out of the team injured. The first two matches against Everton had been pretty awful but the third clash was an absolute cla.s.sic. There were 55,000 inside Old Trafford, and although a couple of our key men were missing I think our fans could still sense it was going to be our night. I remember making a good stop from a Latchford header, but he still put them in front. Chris Nicholl hit an absolute corker from 35 yards to equalise in the second half, and when Brian Little scored a couple of minutes later I was thinking to myself that's got to be it all over. But again with one Villa hand seemingly on the trophy Everton forced it into extra-time when Mike Lyons scored after a goalmouth scramble. It didn't look like we would have a winner at the end of that 30 minutes either, but Brian scored in the last minute and to our great relief we'd finally won the cup.

As I went up the steps to get my medal, I gave a wink to my new royal pal Princess Anne, and then after a lap of honour on the Old Trafford pitch the jubilant Villa team headed for a well-earned knees-up. After all, that champagne had been on ice for a month!

CHAPTER 9.

THE DOUR RON RON.

'Saunders was putting so much pressure on me. I would have known how to handle it if I had been older.'

When I was at Blackpool the expectations weren't unbearably high, but at Aston Villa we were constantly under pressure to win something. It would have been exactly the same at Liverpool, Manchester United, Rangers or Celtic it's a good thing to have at a club when the fans demand success. But at Villa, in those days, it seemed a big ask. It had been great winning the League Cup, and all credit to Ron Saunders for the job he was doing, but I started to get irritated with the way he was treating me. He was always putting me down and that started to affect my confidence. I was in a very strong team at Aston Villa and we had players who were capable of beating anyone in that league. But I had been bought for almost a hundred grand and was expected to perform like a veteran something I was 10 years short of. I had a lot of experience for my age maybe, but I was a long way short of having the type of life experience needed to cope with the demands of the job. The pressure was really getting to me. I started to get irritable and was arguing with my wife when I got home. I was finding it harder and harder to put my football problems to one side, and it was all I thought about.

Saunders was putting so much pressure on me. I would have known how to handle that if I had been a bit older. But when you are in your early 20s, in goalkeeping terms you're still a bit of a baby. I needed an arm round my shoulder sometimes instead of being continually criticised. I was always a fighter though, whatever c.r.a.p was chucked at me, and I kept my place in the team throughout the League Cup-winning season because of my battling qualities.

Saunders had been an excellent striker for Portsmouth in his day and we would do a lot of crossing and volleying on the training ground, which he liked to join in. He could still hit the ball well and was a good header of the ball too and sometimes he and Andy would work as a pair, one on the near post and one on the back post. But whenever he scored a good goal, maybe one he'd hit it on the volley from seven or eight yards, he would be right over and in my face shouting 'You should have saved that!' It was getting to me. If I'd been older, I would have just laughed it off. But I had a notoriously short fuse and I ended up going for him...going for the MANAGER! Next ball that came over, I battered into him, but he still had the last laugh the ball ran through for Andy to score at the back post. It was confrontations like that that did me no favours at all, and if a player clashes with a manager, the odds are stacked against the player ever winning.

After a couple of years of him sniping it was getting to me I was getting increasingly unhappy and angry. I thought to myself 'I need to get away from this guy.' At first, Villa wouldn't contemplate letting me go because I was playing well. I would have loved to have gone on and had a long and happy spell at Villa, because they were an absolutely fantastic club, with great players Brian Little, Dennis Mortimer, Alex Cropley, Andy Gray, I could go right through that team. But it didn't really matter who my team-mates were, I found Ron Saunders unapproachable and difficult to get on with he was a very serious, dour person and if you're unhappy then there isn't much point hanging around.

I was flattered that he had signed me in the first place, but there was no way we were ever going to get on and our contrasting personalities (I had one, he didn't) clashed over and over again. To give you an example, we went away to Greece for an end of season break, just a bit of a p.i.s.s up for the lads and a bit of team bonding. We were all sitting round the pool, having a beer and chatting, when this poser in his tight Speedos at the other end of the pool started doing fancy flips off the diving board into the pool he was trying everything to impress the girls who were sunbathing by the side of the pool. He really fancied himself and was getting on all the lads' nerves, strutting like a peac.o.c.k and making a nuisance of himself with all his splashing about. They were egging me on to shut him up and put him in his place. I'd had a couple of beers, which I still wasn't able to handle very well, so without any further ado I flipped myself onto my hands and started walking round the pool upside down. Ron Saunders was watching me like a hawk as I walked on my hands past the poser, shuffled on to the diving board then jumped into the pool, a.r.s.e over t.i.t. 'How about THAT then, girls!' I shouted when I surfaced. The lads were hooting with laughter as the poser sloped away, his macho pride dented by the clown. It was just a bit of light-hearted fun, but Saunders didn't like that kind of thing. I had only done it for a bit of team spirit, but any showmanship seemed to make Ron bristle. Instead of turning a blind eye or trying to see the funny side, he just gave me that cold, steely look and told me to grow up.

Another time I really got under his skin was when we were coming back from a European game and were making our descent into Birmingham airport. Ron Saunders was the worst flyer you have ever seen in your life he was frightened to death. He used to down about six tranquilliser tablets and a bottle of whisky before he'd even set foot on a plane. He used to insist on taking the middle seat, with the trainer Roy McLaren beside him, and the club doctor on the other side. Unfortunately for him on that occasion, it was the 'bad boys' of Aston Villa that were sitting directly behind him. I had Andy on my left and John Gidman on my right, and the temptation to wind him up was too great for me to resist. Earlier in the journey, I had been chirping away behind him. As we were flying over a mountain range, I was loudly saying to Andy and John that if the weather turned bad, the plane might go down. I was taking great satisfaction from watching Ron squirming uneasily in his seat in front of me. It was a bit cruel, but I was fed up with all the shouting and screaming from him on the football field and training ground, so it was my little way of getting him back.

As we approached the runway at Birmingham, just a matter of feet from the ground the bit where everyone gets a little bit nervous and takes a deep breath I decided it was time to go in for the kill and sock it to him. I got hold of my sick bag from the back of his seat, blew it up as far as it would go, then made a knot in the end. I showed it to Andy and John Gidman, and, just as they were trying to say: 'No Budgie, don't do it...', I leant over him with my bag all pumped up like a crisp packet and smashed it right behind his ear. It went BANG and Saunders went sliding down to the floor screaming. Roy McLaren turned round and punched me right in the face. The doctor turned round and said: 'You idiot, you could have given him a heart attack!' I was full of adrenaline and started screaming back: 'I wish I had given him one!' The players were in uproar, everyone was p.i.s.sing themselves, and it was pandemonium as we came to a standstill on the runway. He never said a word to me when we got back to the airport terminal; he looked like he'd seen a ghost. I lost my place in the team for that stunt, he dropped me immediately.

After our League Cup-winning run and our qualification for Europe I had plenty of money tucked away in the bank Villa were a generous club and were quick to reward success. Life may have been good financially, but I was so young and the pressure from Saunders was mounting. I could see my days at Villa were numbered because I was becoming very unhappy and the spring had gone from my step. I was being well paid and we had a great team but I just could not take the pressure. It was too much for a lad of my age. If I had been playing under a manager who could have handled me properly and nursed me through the bad times a bit I would have stayed, but Saunders was a real bully boy.

I've never played for Alex Ferguson, and I know he has mellowed to an extent with age, but over the years he has struck me as being in a similar mould to Saunders. You can bully a midfield player or bully a defender or a forward, but you can't bully a goalkeeper. A goalkeeper needs to be full of confidence at all times. If a manager is slagging you off, then your confidence nosedives. If he's right up in your face giving you the hair-dryer treatment and most of them were a bit like that in those days it is the wrong thing to do when dealing with a young keeper. A midfielder can make a misplaced pa.s.s or a striker can miss an open goal but for a goalkeeper there is no hiding place. You don't get away with it. I don't care what anyone says, the most important position on the football field is the goalkeeper. You always get remembered for your mistakes, and Saunders made d.a.m.n sure I remembered all of mine. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I had it out with him in his office one day and he called me a 'p.u.s.s.y' maybe I was, but to play in goal for a club like Aston Villa at such a tender age, you had to be a certain type of person, mentally unbreakable. When I later went to Crystal Palace I always had Terry Venables telling me how good I was and that would fill me with confidence and I would take that on to the pitch. But man management wasn't Saunders' strong point. The records show he is a Villa legend, and one h.e.l.l of a manager in terms of success, but I never took to the man. After my own experiences, particularly with Saunders, I always put goalkeepers at ease when I coach them now, try and tell them they are the best even if they are not. If you hammer them it's the worst anyone can feel because I've been through it myself.

Even now when goalkeepers are blamed for goals, I always try to take the goalkeeper's side. Even though deep inside my heart I know they are to blame for the goal, I will always stick up for them.

It was clear that my relationship with Saunders had deteriorated to the point that I knew I had no future at Villa Park, so I slapped in a transfer request which was accepted in an instant by the manager. To speed up my departure, he signed a new goalkeeper not just to challenge me for the gloves, but to directly replace me. I was out on the training ground one morning and I saw the manager striding towards us with another goalkeeper by his side. I recognised him straight away I'd seen him before playing for Manchester United a few years before. It was Jimmy Rimmer, who he had bought at a knock-down price from a.r.s.enal reserves. He was a top-cla.s.s keeper, but Pat Jennings had been keeping him out of the first team and he was too good to be sitting in the reserves. Saunders pulled us all together and introduced him to the team. We all shook his hand and wished him all the best, but while I was putting a brave face on it, inside I felt a little bit p.i.s.sed off. Even though I had asked for a transfer and I knew I'd soon be heading to another club, I couldn't help feeling a bit jealous.

Jimmy was a good guy and a very good keeper, and I had nothing against him personally, but my pride was bruised and I was feeling like yesterday's man and I felt the need to lash out a bit. In one session, we were practising free kicks and corners, and Saunders ordered me to get out of the goal and told Jimmy to go in. It was a fair enough call, as he needed to work the man who would be playing on Sat.u.r.day, but he made me feel so insignificant that I was raging inside. The mistake he made, though, was putting me with the forwards for the training drill. I put on a bib and joined the attackers, and just before it was my turn to try to get on the end of a cross, Andy Gray came up behind me and said under his breath: 'Budgie, this is a golden opportunity for you. Dinnae hold back, f.u.c.kin' whack him.' That was all the encouragement I needed, and Andy the mischief-maker must have known that. So when ball got fired over, a low near-post ball, I came flying in on Jimmy and kneed him, sending him onto his a.r.s.e. Why I did it I'll never know. As I headed back to join the rest of the forwards at the halfway line, they were all laughing their heads off, especially Andy who had been the instigator. But he wasn't finished, and neither was I. 'Budgie, that was nothing, surely you can do better than that?' said Andy. So I tried the same again, except this time, Jimmy saw it coming and managed to ride the challenge a bit better. But Saunders wasn't going to let me crock his new keeper and hollered at me: 'That's enough!' He took the bib off me and, not to put too fine a point on it, told me to 'get the f.u.c.k off the training ground.' I didn't care, but I still wouldn't give in to him, I was way too stubborn just to head back to the changing rooms like a chided schoolboy. Instead, I went and stood behind the goals, mooching about for the rest of the session in a huff.

I was sent to play for the reserves and I hated it. I had been used to playing First Division football, and all of a sudden I found myself at places like Port Vale playing in front of three men and a dog. I thought 's.h.i.t, what's going on here?' I hadn't a clue how to handle the situation. I swallowed my pride one day and went to see Saunders. 'I'm finding it hard to play reserve team football,' I told him. 'Until a club comes in for me, can I go out on loan somewhere?' Give him his due, he was accommodating and said he would try his best and see what he could do for me. He was true to his word, and it was put in the papers that I was available for loan. About a week later, Southend United came in for me. I think it was fated that I would play for them one day, because a funny thing had happened to me a few years before when I was at Workington I'd had a strange dream about Southend. Before I had even set foot in Southend, I'd dreamt all about their ground, exactly how it looked, and even the correct score before we played them it would be Southend 1, Workington 1. When I went there on the bus with Workington, I turned to the manager Brian Doyle and said: 'I've been here before I've dreamt about it.' I think Brian just shrugged it off as me being a bit eccentric as usual, but I swear everything was exactly the way imagined it right down to the score, 1-1! So there was always something lingering in the back of my mind about Southend, and it was an easy choice to go out on loan to them. Without hesitation I said I would rather be playing for Southend than Aston Villa reserves. Okay, it was Fourth Division, but their manager Dave Smith was a cracking bloke and everyone at the club made me feel so welcome. Janet and I stayed in a nice boarding house right on the sea front, which reminded us of Blackpool, and I stayed on the same salary I was on at Villa.

Dave's enthusiasm for the game was infectious and he knew his football too. The club were going places under him, and it may have been the Fourth Division but they had to start somewhere. I played six games and we won them all. We beat Bournemouth, Sc.u.n.thorpe, Halifax and Southport at home, and beat Crewe and York away. I enjoyed the games, and with no disrespect to the players in the Fourth Division, found it easier to play against them after playing in the First Division. They weren't as sharp or quick to react, and as a goalkeeper I found I was able to read the game far, far easier at that level and although I let in one or two, my form held up very well.

Dave Smith was on at me to stay, telling me of his masterplan to bring Southend up the divisions, but I was always honest with him. I saw my future in the First Division, albeit not with Villa, or at least with a team in the Second Division that had realistic prospects of promotion. I was really enjoying my spell at Southend, and the sea air reinvigorated me. After being down in the dumps at Villa, I was back to my happy-go-lucky ways, and was enjoying life and football again. Southend was less than an hour's drive to London and I would hook up with a good friend I had there called Barry Silkman, who played for Crystal Palace. As fate would have it, he would be the key figure in finding me a permanent new club after Villa.

I had met Silky on holiday in Morocco and we had kept in touch. While I was at Southend, I would head across to London and together with the wives we would go to the pictures and have meals. One night, Silky who has become a successful football agent now dropped into the conversation that Palace might be looking for a keeper, and that he'd see what the lie of the land was. The wheels for a move to Palace were in motion.

Southend usually played on a Friday night to help swell their crowds, because a lot of local folk used to go off and watch one of the London teams on a Sat.u.r.day. So I took advantage of one free Sat.u.r.day and I went along to watch a Palace game. I liked the feel of Selhurst Park the moment I set foot inside. They were a huge club, and it took me a bit by surprise. The biggest draw though was their young up-and-coming manager Terry Venables. He was a breath of fresh air after Ron Saunders' bully boy tactics. An official approach was made to Villa, and though I felt bad about disappointing Dave Smith at Southend, it was no contest.

My short roller-coaster ride at Villa was at an end, but I couldn't resist one naughty parting shot at Saunders and his coaching team.

We all had club cars in those days. I had an Alfa Romeo, a neat little sporty number, and I was told it would be going to Roy McLaren, our trainer. It was a lovely car and I had kept it immaculate, but I didn't like the way I was told gruffly to return it p.r.o.nto or else so I thought I would leave them a little surprise. I was due to take the car back on a Monday morning, but before dropping it off at the stadium I took a detour to the local farm near my house, had a word with my farmer pal, chucked 10 chickens inside the car and let them do their worst! Can you imagine all the chicken s.h.i.t 10 of them could make in an enclosed s.p.a.ce? It wasn't a pretty sight...or smell.

I put a towel down on the driving seat to cover up the mess my feathered friends had made, and took it down to Villa and handed back the keys. Roy McLaren went striding outside thinking he was about to get himself a beautiful car, but when he looked inside all he saw was chicken s.h.i.t and feathers. The look on his face was perfect he was absolutely devastated. I was p.i.s.sing myself laughing. I went inside and told all the lads and they came out to see it. It was Budgie 1, Authority Figures 0!

So, it was farewell to Villa, and when they went on to conquer Europe not long after I left, with Jimmy Rimmer an absolute hero for them in goal, it was a strange feeling. Did I have any regrets and a sense of what might have been? h.e.l.l yes! I would have loved to have stuck around in that team that won the European Cup two years later, but I did the right thing at the time.

It worked out well for Villa too because they bought the perfect replacement for me. They were wise enough to go for someone like Jimmy Rimmer, who was a good bit older than me and had experience that money can't buy after his time at Manchester United and a.r.s.enal. To be brutally honest, and I like to think I'm man enough to admit it, if I had stayed and not asked for a transfer I don't think Aston Villa would have won the European Cup with me in goal. It's a long and arduous road to win a European trophy, there's an awful lot of mental pressure involved, and the way I was at that time I'm not sure I could have handled it. Jimmy did a great job of it, but he had the experience I was lacking, and dealt with whatever was thrown his way. The following year, my new club Crystal Palace drew Villa in the League Cup. It was a 0-0 draw at Selhurst Park and we went back to Villa for the replay. When you've left a club you are always a bit wary because sometimes it can be a bit of a grudge game, but in the replay the Villa fans were brilliant towards me. I played an absolute stormer, and we battled to a 1-1 draw. They were even more charitable towards me in the second replay, because they beat us 3-0!

CHAPTER 10.

CLOWN PRINCE OF THE PALACE.

'Terry Venables taught me more in six months than anyone else had taught me in 16 years.'

It's safe to say that Terry Venables created a very favourable impression on me from the first time we met. We concluded the signing talks in the Royal Lancaster Hotel, next to Hyde Park, and I warmed to his personality immediately. There was something about his c.o.c.kney accent that had me mesmerised. He knew how to make me feel at ease, laughing all the time but at the same time pa.s.sionate and deadly serious about his football.

Around the same time as my Palace move, Janet and I had some good news she was pregnant. It was a hurly-burly time for us in our lives. I had expected Selhurst Park to be small compared to Villa Park, but it was a huge cavern of a ground. Before I signed on the dotted line I was invited down to watch a youth team match against a.r.s.enal. Palace's youngsters were sensational and won 3-0. I couldn't believe it when I turned up at training and found that most of the kids I'd been watching in the youth game were also my new first-team team-mates. To emphasise what a good crop of youngsters they had coming through, they won the FA Youth Cup in 1977 and 1978, beating my old club Villa in the second final.

It was such a young side, but the spirit was fantastic. I was practically the old man of the team at 24, along with the centre-half Jim Cannon and Stevie Kember. There was so much talent in the team: Kenny Sansom, the left-back, was only 17 and absolutely magnificent; then there was Paul Hinshelwood at right-back; Vince Hilaire on the right wing; Jerry Murphy and Peter Nicholas the Irish and Welsh internationals in midfield; and Ian Walsh, another Wales cap, up front.

I felt at home right away. I loved going in to training, having a bacon sandwich and a laugh with the lads beforehand Crystal Palace was just one big happy family. I was well looked after. Terry always did everything with a smile on his face. His coaching was incredible. Terry Venables taught me more in six months than anyone else had taught me in 16 years. He knew how to dismantle a team, make it better, then put it back together again. No more running on ploughed fields, like I had done at Villa under Ron Saunders; this was cutting-edge training. Terry was way ahead of his time. He recognised that a footballer will only run 70 yards at one time. Most of the time was spent on technical play how to defend, when to defend, how to think outside the box, how to make runs from midfield. I really enjoyed the way Terry trained me and the goalkeepers, and how he involved the team in his way of thinking. I think a lot of that team benefited from how Terry involved them that way. At a lot of clubs, you just go out and do what you're told and you're none the wiser, but Terry would explain his reasoning behind a certain training drill or exercise, and I think all of us broadened our football knowledge working under him.

I had arrived towards the end of the 1977/78, initially on a loan agreement before a permanent contract could be signed, and we finished mid-table, but already full of hope and optimism for the following season, 1978/79. After a good pre-season, we started like a steam train, and the crowds were flocking in to see us. We got 30,000 for a 1-1 draw at home to West Ham, but our real arch-rivals at that time were Brighton and Hove Albion, and Selhurst Park was absolutely jammed for that one, there was a huge crowd in. It was starting to dawn on me that this could be a ma.s.sive club if managed properly and they certainly had the right manager sitting in the dugout.

The Brighton match would normally have been the type of game to make even a seasoned pro a little bit nervous, but these kids were oblivious to pressure and were totally fearless. Before the game, we were all sitting around in the players' lounge, with Kenny Sansom, who was a bit of a betting man, acting as the bookie and taking bets for the lads. It was such a relaxed atmosphere. They were all just sitting around eating Mars bars an hour before one of the biggest games of the season. Terry would come and round up the team about 2.15, and they would then just slip effortlessly into match mode. The dressing room was like a kids' playroom sometimes. For Palace fans at that time, beating Brighton meant everything, and we didn't let them down winning 3-1 thanks to a double from Vince Hilaire and one from Dave Swindlehurst. If the atmosphere had been good in the dressing room beforehand, it was absolutely jumping when we came in at the end of 90 minutes.

I started to really enjoy myself. Crowds at Selhurst Park kept getting bigger, and we were winning games for fun and keeping clean sheets along the way. Our brand of football was brilliant. Defensively we were tight, we were creative in the middle, and we had the killer instinct up front all the ingredients of a successful, well-balanced side. Kenny Sansom probably best typified what a confident, swashbuckling team we were. I remember the dying seconds of one game, where I picked the ball up and was getting ready to hoof it upfield to waste some seconds and close out the game. Kenny was having none of it, and was screaming at me to give the ball to him wide on the left. When I looked over and saw he had a marker lurking 10 yards away from him, I told him to get up to the halfway line. I ignored his pleas and punted the ball up the middle of the park, but their centre-half won it and it came right back to me. Again, there was Kenny bellowing at me like he had before to give him the ball. Reluctantly, this time I did. He controlled the ball in the left-back position, played a one-two with Jerry Murphy, carried it another 30 yards, played another one-two with Dave Swindlehurst, then swung a lovely ball in for Ian Walsh to stick in the back of the net. Kenny wasn't done though he ran the length of the pitch, heading straight for me, and shouted: 'THAT'S why you should give me the f.u.c.king ball!' I just shrugged my shoulders and said 'Hey, okay son. If you can do that you can have the ball anytime!'

It didn't surprise me in the slightest that Kenny went on to become such a star for a.r.s.enal and England. He just oozed confidence and was built like a brick s.h.i.thouse. He was tiny, but strong and barrel-chested, and his control, timing and skill were remarkable for a full-back. I hardly ever kicked a ball out from hand after that at Crystal Palace. I would throw it out most of the time to let Kenny and the others do their thing. Terry preferred it that way anyway building from the back and he would always encourage slick, pa.s.sing football.

There was so much enthusiasm coursing through the side and the fans fed off it. It was November before we lost our first game in the Second Division. We only lost four games out of 42 league matches all season. We lost to Fulham at home 1-0, Bristol Rovers, Burnley and Sheffield United. It was cast-iron promotion form. The football side of my move was going absolutely brilliant, while off the pitch it was working out well too. When we first arrived at Palace, it had all been a bit of a rush trying to find somewhere to stay, so the club had found us a flat in Brixton. It was a bit of a scary street and the smell of weed was overpowering in our stairwell, but I actually liked the cosmopolitan feel of the place. I always embraced new places and new cultures, probably because I came from a mining village and realised that the rest of the world could teach me a lot. But after moving out of our Brixton billet, Janet and I had settled into a lovely townhouse in Surrey and had adapted well to the good life in London. We would go out in the West End, to the pictures or to have a bite to eat. I may have had a few misgivings about London when I was living in the north, but I really enjoyed it there. There were so many things to do to take your mind off football and it felt a privilege to be living there and playing for such a great manager and great club, even if they were Second Division.

But sometimes, just as you think life is pretty much perfect, it has a habit of kicking you right in the teeth, and our world took a serious jolt when Janet ran into trouble with the baby. I got a call when I was at the training ground saying I had to get home right away as Janet was in terrible pain. I drove there in five minutes flat and was by her side as we rushed to the hospital, gripped with fear. Janet had only been seven months pregnant, and was about to go into premature labour. The doctors warned me that there may be something wrong with the baby. I'm not a deeply religious man by any means, but I got right down on my knees and prayed that Janet and the baby would be okay. The hospital staff did all they possibly could, but we lost our first baby. It was a little boy, and he only weighed 2lbs. He was alive for 20 minutes, but we had lost our first child. We hadn't named him, but he will always be in our thoughts. I still went in to training the next day, in a complete daze, and when I returned to the hospital to see Janet, she was absolutely devastated with our loss. It was one of the most horrible days of our lives. Her mum and dad came down from Blackpool to be with her, and I tried to take my mind off it the only way I could training hard and playing football. It never put me off my game, and I shut it away at the back of my mind. Thankfully, with time Janet recovered, and happily we would later go on to have a family. Our son Thomas arrived in September 1979 and our daughter Katie was born in May 1982.

Palace's winning run showed no sign of slowing down, and we were sitting proudly on top of the league. But another problem was just round the corner for me this one physical. We were playing Bristol Rovers at home on Boxing Day at Selhurst Park. I remember a ball being played into the box and as I went in to make a challenge, their striker Bruce Bannister collided with me and knocked my left shoulder out. It was an absolute mess I had torn ligaments and dislocated it. To rub salt into the wounds, he scored and we lost the game 1-0, only our second League defeat of the season.

As soon as I came off the field I knew my shoulder was badly injured and that there would be no quick fix. A few days later we were due to play Leyton Orient at home. I was really struggling to move my shoulder, but Terry was saying: 'Budgie, we need you, you've got to play.' So from Boxing Day onwards that season, I was basically playing with only one good shoulder. I used to see the club doctor and get cortisone injections before each game to help numb the pain. You are only really meant to get one, but sometimes I would be getting three before the game and three at half-time just to get me through the 90 minutes. For the rest of the week, in between matches, I wouldn't be able to train properly. I would just do lots of running and some stomach exercises to keep up my basic fitness. I found that incredibly frustrating because I used to love diving about in the mud all week and doing all my weight training, but because of the state my shoulder was in, anything too strenuous was impossible. I was suffering a bit, but I had a bit of good news at home to help me grit my teeth and get through it Janet was pregnant again, with Thomas on the way.

I may have been patched up for every game, but I was still playing well. The buzz created by my team-mates was just as good as any injection. The whole place had a feelgood factor, and we had a steely determination to not only win promotion to the First Division but to win the championship and go up in style. Sore shoulder or not, I very much wanted to play and be part of that. A lot of teams would try to shut up shop against us, and although one or two of them succeeded, we never panicked. Even the odd game where we did not play particularly well, Terry was crafty enough and tactically shrewd enough to ensure we took something out of the match. If we kept it tight at the back and had a bad day in front of goal, then a 0-0 draw and a point would be no disaster as they were all adding up to consolidate our place at the top of the table.

It was a thrilling t.i.tle race, probably one of the most open and exciting there has ever been in English football, and I think everyone sensed that it was going to go right down to the wire. There were five very good teams in the Second Division, all worthy of making the step up West Ham, Sunderland, Stoke, us and our big rivals Brighton. We'd wobbled a bit in April, drawing with Oldham and Cambridge and losing up at Newcastle. With six games to go, we were sitting fourth our lowest league position since August. With just a couple of points separating the big five, we felt we needed to win all six matches to secure the t.i.tle, and maybe four or five to clinch one of the three promotion spots. First up, we won 1-0 at Bristol Rovers, then we did the same at home to Charlton. The following week, we were losing 1-0 at Leicester but fought back to salvage a point, although that kept us in fourth and just outside the promotion spots. Some wrote off our t.i.tle chances at that some stage, but it was still incredibly tight at the top, and we felt if we could win our last three games anything was possible. We set about the challenge with relish we beat Notts County, who were sixth, 2-0, then pipped Orient 1-0 in a tense game to keep our dream alive. The weird thing about that match was that it should have been our last game of the season but we'd had a match with Burnley postponed during the winter, so while everyone else had played their 42 games, we had one still to play. We would face Burnley the following Friday in a win or bust game at Selhurst Park. West Ham had faded out of the equation, but on the same day that we'd won at Orient, our other three remaining promotion rivals Brighton, Stoke and Sunderland had all won too, so we were still frustratingly in fourth spot yet a tantalising one win away from s.n.a.t.c.hing the league at the death.

The top of the table before that final nail-biting game read: It was an unbelievable scenario. If we lost, we would stay fourth and miss out on promotion. If we drew, we would sneak into third place. If we won, and took the two points (as it was for a win back then) we would be champions at the expense of our biggest rivals that season Brighton. A draw or a win for us would deny Sunderland promotion and, even more importantly to the Palace fans, s.n.a.t.c.h the t.i.tle away from Brighton. Burnley were comfortably mid-table, but were aware that the rest of the league would be rooting for them to spoil our party, and there was no way on earth they were going to do us any favours and take it easy. Plus, they had been the first team to beat us in the league that season, back in November, so that added to the jitters too because we knew they were an awkward and well-organised side to play against. They certainly wouldn't have been our choice of opposition for such a crucial match.

Pld W.

D.

L.

F.

A.

PTS.

GD.

1 Brighton

42.

23.

10.

9.

72.

39.