Budgie - The Autobiography Part 7

One thing I do owe Alex Miller a debt of grat.i.tude for is that he encouraged me to do my coaching badges. I started by doing my B badge, then A badge, advanced-A, and then full licence, and the Scottish Football a.s.sociation paid 75 per cent of the costs. He encouraged me to start my B licence in the summer of 1992, and I went to Largs and pa.s.sed it. Roy Aitken was also there, and we drove each other on, and I met a lot of other good friends there. Even after I left Hibs I would head up to Largs in the summer to continue working through my coaching qualifications. Persevering with the coaching badges got me to where I am now because if I hadn't gained those licences and qualifications, I wouldn't be doing the job that I'm doing at 58 years old. While I knew plenty about football, and understood the game, I learned more from teachers than coaches, because what I didn't know was to how to portray myself positively and speak confidently in public. I had left school with no qualifications and only knew day-to-day football. They taught me how to get my message over. All kinds of people went to Largs from all over the world. Jose Mourinho did his badges around the same time as me, but no one knew him because in those days he was just an interpreter for Bobby Robson. Everyone knew Budgie, though!

CHAPTER 20.

GOALIE FOR HIRE.

'I would turn up at Newcastle on a Friday not knowing what the weekend held for me or where I'd be going out on loan it was quite exciting.'

They say that variety is the spice of life and after I'd moved on from Hibs, things started to get really interesting. I already had a good career under my belt, and most people might just have considered calling it quits. After I'd been freed by Hibernian, I must admit I did think to myself: 'What the h.e.l.l am I going to do next at the age of 42?'

I had spent two or three days agonising over what I should do when the telephone rang, and it was Kevin Keegan, who had been a breath of fresh air as manager of Newcastle after a disastrous reign by Ardiles. 'Budgie? It's Kevin Keegan.' 'Hi Kev, what's on your mind? What can I do for you?' 'Budgie, I need a player-coach. I want you to train my goalkeepers.' And that was that. I was back in business!

Newcastle trained in Durham, where I lived, so I said I would come down and have a chat with him. Kevin and I had a good talk, and he asked if I was intending to play on. The more I thought about it, the more I realised there was no point kidding myself that I would be happy hanging up the gloves I still had that itch to play. 'Well, why don't you work with our goalkeepers here during the week and sit on the bench if we need you?' Kevin suggested.

At that time, Newcastle only had Pavel Srnicek and Mike Hooper as senior goalkeepers, with Steve Harper coming through the youth system, so I was third-choice goalkeeper. Kevin gave me a pretty good salary, with Premier League bonuses, so I was earning twice as much money as I had been at Hibernian and I didn't have to travel I could walk down and walk back to training every day. It was a b.l.o.o.d.y good deal, so I didn't hesitate and signed a three-year contract with Newcastle as player-goalkeeping coach. Arthur c.o.x was part of Kevin's backroom team, and although I still wasn't flavour of the month with him after our incident at Derby, most of the time we were both professional enough to get on with our jobs and not let it become a day-to-day problem.

I would take the goalkeepers out at 9am and train them until 10.30, and then we would join in with the rest of the team. Kevin's training most days was kept simple a warm-up, then straight into the five-a-sides. There was never a lot of technical stuff involved, just high-tempo five-a-sides, which the team thrived on. We had two matches on the go at the same time, so we needed four goalkeepers and that meant that I was in full-time training. I was also playing for the reserves during the week, so n.o.body could accuse me of taking a cushy little number it was much harder work than I thought it would be. I would train hard on a Monday, same on a Tuesday, then nine times out of 10 I would be playing for the reserves on a Wednesday. If it was a 7pm kick-off, often I wouldn't return to Newcastle until one in the morning, then I was up for training on Thursday and training again with the keepers on a Friday. Then on a Friday night I was away with the team, so Sunday was my only day off. The workload was very hard and it was a tough working week. I wasn't complaining though; it was well worth it. We had an excellent team and a great atmosphere, and I loved working under Kevin I thought he was fantastic.

I was enjoying the reserve games, but there's nothing like first-team football, and I was about get my fix through a series of loan deals. I just took it week by week, and at that stage I had no idea that I would end up more than doubling the number of clubs I had played for.

I was playing head tennis with Kevin and his a.s.sistant Terry McDermott on the training ground one Friday, when Arthur came out and told me a club had been on the phone wanting me to play the next day. First it was Scarborough, then it was Lincoln, and before I knew it I was turning out for a different club every month that's where most of my long list of clubs came from. I played for 14 clubs between 1993 and 1997.

It became common knowledge that I was available to help clubs out at short notice. Friends of Kevin or Arthur would call up and see if they could get me. Somewhere in Scotland or in the lower leagues a first-team keeper would break a thumb or twist an ankle, and a club would be desperate for an experienced goalkeeper at short notice. The deal was simple I would ask for a couple of thousand pounds and for Janet and me to be put up in a hotel. We used to make a weekend of it. If Newcastle didn't want me to sit on the bench, then I was free to sign short-term loan deals elsewhere. I would take a month's loan, and the club would have to pay me for that month. I used to really enjoy the change of scenery, driving down to Scarborough, or going to Aberdeen or Falkirk to play two or three games. But I would always go back to Newcastle.

I enjoyed my time up at Aberdeen especially. I wasn't there long, but I still had a good rapport with all the fans up there from my time at Hibs, and I got to play in some big matches against old sparring partners like Hearts and Rangers. Their Dutch keeper, Theo Snelders, was injured and Willie Miller knew what I was capable of from my spell at Easter Road, so didn't have any hesitation putting me straight in goal for the game against Rangers in front of 40,000 at Ibrox. I liked Aberdeen as a city too, although it did make me think once again what might have been had I chosen to go there earlier in my career instead of signing for Southampton.

I would turn up at Newcastle on a Friday not knowing what the weekend held for me or where I'd be going out on loan it was quite exciting. But never in my wildest dreams did I think Newcastle would let me go on loan to another Premier League team. Then one day I saw Arthur coming towards me, ready to send me on my travels again.

'What have you got for me this time, Arthur?' I asked. 'Manchester City want you to sit on the bench,' he told me. 'Andy Dibble's broken a finger.'

Francis Lee, the ex-England international, was the City chairman of the time like Kevin, he was a big horse-racing man and was very friendly with him. That's how he'd got wind of the fact I might be free to play for them. I went to Kevin and pointed out to him: 'This is Manchester City; they're in the Premier League...the same league as us.' But he just said: 'No problem Budgie, get your a.r.s.e down there.'

I was quite happy to go to Man City on loan, but from September to April I was just sitting on the bench, making up the numbers. Tony Coton was in goal and I was there as the back-up man. The way the arrangement worked, I would go down to Manchester on a Thursday night, train with City, then stay in the Copthorne Hotel. I enjoyed going to City's old Maine Road ground and putting on my strip. I think I drove them all nuts with my enthusiasm though I couldn't keep still in the dressing room, and I got a telling-off one week for diving about in the tunnel. I had all that natural energy pent up, and no proper way of releasing it. I pity whoever had to sit next to me on the bench as I fidgeted my way through 90 minutes.

City were in big relegation trouble during that 1994/95 season and we started to fear we might go down as we were sucked into the bottom four. Meanwhile Newcastle were flying and were going for a European place, but they too started dropping points at an alarming rate towards the business end of the season. It was a bizarre feeling, being torn between the two clubs, and I wanted them both to do as well as possible. I was only at Newcastle 75 per cent of the time, but would still train like a donkey and put in every effort I could when I was on the Newcastle training ground. I was working just as hard when I went down to City and that was no mean feat for a goalie of 43. The arrangement was working well, but then in April, an awkward situation arose when Newcastle were due to play City at Maine Road. Newcastle needed every point to nail down a European place and they had come down from being 19 points clear of their nearest challengers to five. I had a strange feeling about potentially stopping Newcastle winning points, even if it was highly unlikely I'd be playing, so I thought it was only right to go and see Kevin the Monday morning before the game.

'You know that we play City this week?' I said to Kevin. 'Yeah...' 'I'll be on the bench.' 'Yeah...' 'Funny things happen in football, Kevin, what if I have to play?' 'Budgie,' he said, 'it's a one-in-a-hundred chance that you'll come on and play.' I replied: 'If you want, I'll ask them to put a young boy on the bench because it would be terrible if I had to play.' But Kevin said: 'It's not a problem with me, Budgie.'

I trained all week with Newcastle and I went back to see him again on the Thursday and asked if he was sure he was okay with me playing. I think I was getting on his nerves, because he said 'Budgie, it's you that's got the f.u.c.kin' problem with it, not me.'

I got to Maine Road at 1pm, and when the Newcastle team bus arrived at 1.30 I went out to greet them. I had a bit of banter as I ushered them into Maine Road, like I owned the place, and they were all asking if I was playing and saying they hoped I got on. I went to the away dressing room and it was all very strange sitting having a cup of tea with the lads I had trained with all week, but who I'd be playing against, even if it was just to sit on the bench. I went back to the Manchester City dressing room and got myself ready. I was sitting next to Tony Coton and I said to him: 'You can come off in any other game, but don't come off here! I mean it!' He just started laughing and joking, thinking the same as me that there was no chance of it actually happening.

But as I sat watching the game, which was evenly balanced at 0-0, Tony started shouting over to the bench about 10 minutes before half-time. Tony was a bit of a character and enjoyed a p.i.s.s-take, so I a.s.sumed he was either pulling my leg or just wanted water or something. But then he hollered over: 'Budgie get warmed up, my knee's gone!' No way, I thought, he's taking the p.i.s.s. But then at the end of the first half he collapsed to the ground and was taken off on a stretcher. I looked at his knee and it was swollen up like a football. It was a really nasty one.

I was the natural replacement, so it was an unavoidable situation I had to play against the team who employed me and paid my salary. I was also about to become the oldest player ever to play in the Premier League at the tender age of 43 years, 4 months and 26 days. The scale of what was going on hit me at half-time. It was still 0-0 and Brian Horton, the City manager, said: 'C'mon Budgie, keep them out.' That was all I needed to hear. My compet.i.tive spirit kicked in.

As I've explained, me and Arthur c.o.x had a history he had never forgotten the time I'd climbed out of the window at Derby, and when I came to Newcastle he always reminded me of how much of a traitor I'd been and how I'd let him down. Incidents like that always come back to you in football. I was standing there waiting to be introduced to the crowd at Maine Road I was nearly 44 years old but I was buzzing so much I felt like I was 24 that day. There was a big crowd of around 30,000, so when the stadium announcer said 'Burridge on for Coton', I ran on, and Arthur c.o.x was shouting behind me: 'Hey you! Burridge! Cost us the game and we're sacking you!'

Well that fired me up. As I ran on, I shouted back to him: 'f.u.c.k off, I'm winning!' Kevin was standing there next to Arthur, and I could see the anger in his face. He was shifting from foot to foot and I could see he looked very uncomfortable with the situation. He knew questions would be asked if I had a good game and cost Newcastle any points. But I was determined not to let one in I owed it to Manchester City. I remember running on to the pitch and getting an unbelievable reception from the Newcastle supporters. I'd been a popular player and they knew I'd had a raw deal with Ossie, and they still held me high in their affections. I was getting great support from them and the same from the Manchester City fans, so the whole stadium was cheering for me with the exception of Arthur, who was still hopping mad on the sidelines, and Kevin, who was cursing the freakish 100-1 shot that had just come in. I didn't know whether to clap the Manchester City fans or clap the Newcastle fans so I just clapped them both.

The game restarted and I remember in the first five minutes Ruel Fox broke away, one-on-one with me. He was very quick, but I had the experience of playing against him every day in training and I knew what he was going to do he would feint to go left, and take it on the right side. So I went down, worked out what he was going to do and took it clean off his feet. The Man City fans went daft, rising to cheer me. Later in the game, David Ginola cut inside and shaped to shoot, but again I knew what he was going to do he'd come in from the left side and was going to try and bend it right-footed into my top-left-hand corner, so I antic.i.p.ated it and caught it. It was a spectacular save and again the City fans went wild. Then Shearer headed one and I kept it out. I made three or four unbelievable saves, and the game finished 0-0. All the Newcastle lads came up to me and said: 'Absolutely brilliant, Budgie.' They were really good sportsmen.

But Newcastle had dropped another two points against a team near the bottom of the table. Thanks to me, their European place was in jeopardy and I was worrying already what was going to be said. After all, one of Newcastle's own coaches had just cost the team two points. I'd been invited up to the press room to speak to journalists, who I knew would be desperate to speak to me as I was headline news on two counts the oldest man to have played in the Premier League and the man who'd just stiffed his employers!

Kevin Keegan comes across brilliantly to the press with his relaxed manner apart from that one time when he lost it live on Sky over Alex Ferguson's mind games but he's one of the worst losers you've ever seen in your life. I only have good things to say about Kevin, but that's just the way he is he hates losing. I know he hadn't lost that game, but he still had egg on his face for letting me play and I was expecting a rollicking from him. I had gone upstairs to the press room and when I stuck my head round the door Kevin was doing his media conference in front of about 50 press men. I thought 'I don't fancy this, I'm off' and was about to beat a hasty retreat down the stairs, when Kevin spotted me and said: 'Budgie, Budgie, come here.' He sat me down next to him in front of all the journalists and I was s.h.i.tting myself. But instead of giving me it with both barrels, Kevin started talking me up, saying he knew exactly how I'd perform having watched me every day in training working my backside off. He was saying all these wonderful things about me and using all his charm to handle an awkward situation. But I knew Kevin inside out, I saw him every day in the coaches' room. In front of the press and public he would be very careful with what he said, he was always politically correct, but in the coaches' room he would talk in industrial language and not hold back.

The outcome of it was that when I turned up on the Monday I was still feeling really uneasy and worried about how Kevin would react. When I walked into the training ground, all the Newcastle lads had something to say to me some saying 'well done', others saying I was a traitor it was a mixed bag. Ginola was saying to me in his broad French accent: 'Oooo Budgie, fantastique!' while others were not so kind, calling me 'Judas' and saying they should give me a kicking! I didn't know what the coaches were all going to say, so I stuck my head round the door and asked if I could come in. Kevin said: 'Come in and have a cup of tea.' I thought I would be okay, but you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. I don't know if it was my paranoia but it was all very uncomfortable. Kevin was getting a hard time in the local press, with the papers saying he'd been naive to let me play an experienced player who knew his opponents inside out. From that day, I was regarded as a bit of a traitor, because it was true if I hadn't played, Newcastle might have won that game one- or two-nil. It was a horrible feeling, and bad for Newcastle, but it was great for Manchester City. I said to Kevin: 'I'm sorry, but I did warn you that funny things happen in football.' When it started to get splashed all over the local papers it was getting even more embarra.s.sing, and I went to him and asked: 'Do want me to resign, Kevin?' He said: 'No way.'

Kevin was getting it in the neck for playing me, but the newspapers were full of kind words for my performance. In Newcastle, Simon Turnbull's report in the Northern Echo after the Manchester City game said: It boded ill for Newcastle United's European ambitions that the golden oldie who appeared for the second half ended the afternoon as the unchallenged star of the show. When Tony Coton limped off at half-time on Sat.u.r.day, the odd goalkeeping bird known as Budgie became, at 43, the oldest player to settle on a Premier League perch. That he did so as, simultaneously, City's third-choice goalkeeper and Newcastle's part-time goalkeeping coach made for the kind of human interest story Esther Rantzen might have featured, alongside the feathered, talking Budgies, on That's Life.

CHAPTER 21.

WONDERWALL.

'I couldn't fault Noel and Liam Gallagher; they were really nice. They were just grateful I had helped play a part in saving Manchester City from relegation.'

It was an uncomfortable time for me to be hanging around Newcastle after the 0-0 draw at Maine Road and I was quite happy when I got the chance again for my end-of-the-week escape to Manchester.

The point City had earned against had Newcastle had lifted them out of the bottom four and given the club a renewed sense of belief that they could beat the drop. Our next game was against Aston Villa, another one of my former clubs, and because Tony was in hospital and out for the season I was in line to play again.

Before we got on the coach down to Birmingham for the game, Francis Lee congratulated us on the point we had won against Newcastle on the Sat.u.r.day. He reminded us that if we won and Leeds beat Crystal Palace on the same night then we would stay up it would be mission accomplished. He pointed to a huge pile of boxes every one of them was full of champagne and he said that they would all be cracked open if we stayed in the Premier League. He gave a really pa.s.sionate talk and left us in no doubt that this was a ma.s.sive game for Manchester City and one we had to win. It was putting us under pressure, but he really roused us and we headed down there in a determined frame of mind.

I had played at Villa Park countless times before, but there were none of my old team-mates left from that era it was a completely different team. The players may have changed, but a lot of the Villa fans remembered me and they gave me a great reception, recognising that I had done well for the club. They were tense as well, because they were in relegation trouble too and just a couple of points above us.

I was buzzing for that game, and was taking my crosses well, kicking it well, handling it well just feeling great. My confidence soared again when Dean Saunders. .h.i.t a rasping shot and I tipped it over the bar. But we suffered a major setback when Villa took the lead in a goalmouth scramble. Ugo Ehiogu actually punched the ball into the net with his hand, but the referee hadn't seen it and he gave the goal. City didn't panic, though, and Uwe Rosler equalised just before half-time. Then, with 10 minutes left, Paul Walsh scored for us and we won it 2-1. We'd shown a lot of guts, and when we learned that Palace had been beaten 3-1 at Leeds, it was an absolutely brilliant feeling. We were staying in the Premiership, with two games to spare, and I'd played a part in it no matter how small. Francis came in with the champagne, as promised, and the celebrations began.

I played the two remaining City games that season. We lost 1-0 to Nottingham Forest at the City Ground, then 3-2 to QPR at Maine Road. As it turned out, it proved to be my last top-flight league game ever. The record stands to this day the oldest player to have played in the Premier League because when I faced QPR on 14 May, 1995, I was 43 and 162 days. There's been a few threatening to take the record over the years, Brad Friedel and David James especially, and I dare say it will tumble one day soon, but I'm proud it has lasted so long.

As I was driving home with Janet after that QPR game I made a snap decision and told her I was not going to play in the Premier League again. I didn't mind playing non-league or lower league football, or heading up to Scotland, but I didn't want to be in that situation again. I felt I'd upset Kevin and betrayed the Newcastle supporters.

I didn't regret a minute of my time at Manchester City though, and the club and the fans have been brilliant to me since that day I came on against Newcastle. About a year later, when I was playing for Queen of the South, I got home from a game in Dumfries and my daughter Katie, who was 14 at the time, came up to me and asked me if I still had any contacts at Manchester City. 'Why, what for?' I asked, like any suspicious parent would. She explained that she wanted tickets for Oasis at Maine Road, and asked me if I could help out because they were like gold dust. I hadn't even heard of Oasis back then. But I did remember a conversation I had had with Francis Lee on the bus back from the Nottingham Forest v City game. He had come over to me and said: 'Look, Budgie, we can't sign you. We owe you for helping us not go down, but we can't offer you a contract. But anything we can help you with in the future, don't hesitate to pick up the phone.'

I thought Katie might be looking for two or three tickets, but she asked for 14! 'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l,' I thought, but I didn't want to let my daughter down so I rang Francis Lee's secretary, thinking: 'nothing ventured, nothing gained.' Francis was out of the country, but his secretary promised to speak to him about it and get back to me. True to her word, she called me back the next day, but she said she was sorry, but I couldn't have the tickets because it was all sold out. I felt my heart sinking, but then she told me to bring all the girls down to the main entrance at the stadium and ask for Francis.

I hired a minibus and drove all these 14-year-old girls, with Oasis playing on the stereo the whole way from Durham. When I got near the ground, it was about five in the afternoon and I'd never seen so many people. When I drove into the car park, I kept being asked to show my tickets by some stewards, and started to panic a little bit, but when I got to the main entrance I saw one of the City officials that I knew and he told me and the girls to come in.

Francis came down to welcome us then took us to the directors' box and gave the girls some Coca-Colas. It was an amazing sight; the whole of Maine Road was full, including the pitch there must have been 80,000 people in there. Oasis were due on at 9, and at 7.30 Francis came in and told me and the girls to follow him. We wondered where he was taking us, and it soon became clear straight to the dressing rooms to meet Noel and Liam Gallagher. I couldn't fault them, they were really nice. They gave the girls T-shirts, signed everything, and it made me cry a little bit seeing my daughter so happy and being treated like royalty. The excitement wasn't over, though. When it got to 9 o'clock, Liam allowed the girls to come with him and sit to the front of the stage. He was so grateful I'd helped play a part in saving City from relegation and he even said during the gig: 'This is the daughter of the boy that helped save us from relegation John Burridge.' I was in tears; he was singing 'Wonderwall', and it was brilliant.

After the show we were taken to one of the lounges and Ryan Giggs and a few of the Manchester United players had come in. Unbeknown to me, there was a bit of history between Liam Gallagher and Ryan Giggs. A few years before Oasis had become famous, Liam used to work in a car wash. Apparently, Giggsy had driven into the car wash, and when Liam had told him to do one, a big row had broken out between them. So when Giggsy walked in, Liam who had knocked back a few drinks by this point started screaming 'Get that a.r.s.ehole out of here!' I didn't know there was bad blood between them, but I was laughing my head off. I thought it was just because he was a Man Utd player, but the other United players didn't have to leave, just Giggsy. Noel didn't like Giggsy much either, because he'd scored against City on his debut. The whole night was brilliant though and whenever I went back to Manchester City I was always treated like a king. They never forget you there. Maybe I couldn't do the somersaults any more at 43, but I did my best for them. I wish I'd been at City when I was a younger player because it was one of the best clubs I ever played for.

CHAPTER 22.

THE BOSS.

'It is exactly the same drain on your time and energy managing Blyth Spartans as it is managing Real Madrid the only difference is the number of noughts at the end of cheques.'

I knew from the age of 15 when I first went into football as a professional that one day I would be a manager or a coach. I also knew I'd be in football until the day I died. I really hope I die on the football field or the training ground although not just yet! I'm really in love with the game. Football makes me what I am; I'm not a person who's introvert and keeps myself to myself, football makes me happy. I like to see people play football with a smile on their face. I hate to see these people who go on to a football field all serious and nervous. I knew I could take that enjoyment into coaching and I'd always known I wanted to be in football until the day they put me in a box.

After my last game for Man City I was inundated with calls from so many teams Third Division, Fourth Division, Scottish league, all wanting me to play on it was incredible. I turned most of them down, but when I was approached by Blyth Spartans it was hard to resist they were only about 20 minutes' drive away from my house. They played in the Northern Premier League and were managed by Peter Harrison. We came to an arrangement where I was allowed to stay on and continue working at Newcastle, and by that time I had also started dividing my coaching time by taking the goalkeepers at Leeds United for a couple of days a week.

I didn't want to go back into league football, so the arrangement was perfect. I couldn't deny that I still wanted to play, because even though I was 47 I was as fit as a fiddle. I played a year with Blyth before they sacked Peter Harrison in March 1997. I was viewed as a big name locally, and it was well known that I had my coaching badges, so I was approached by their chairman who asked if I'd be interested in taking over from Peter. I pointed out to him that I had coaching commitments at Newcastle and Leeds, but he was happy to accommodate them. At the back of my mind I already knew my workload was heavy enough, but I couldn't resist the idea and said I would have a go at it. I'd had 30-odd years of being on the receiving end of managers' words, so I thought I'd try the boot on the other foot. But when you are a part-time manager it is far more difficult than being a full-time boss. My workload was already unbelievable at Newcastle, and that was made worse by the fact that I was driving down to Leeds twice a week to train the future England keepers Nigel Martyn and Paul Robinson, and then playing for Blyth on a Sat.u.r.day.

In management, the job never ever stops Arthur c.o.x and Kevin Keegan had always told me that was the case. It is exactly the same drain on your time and energy managing Blyth Spartans as it is managing Real Madrid the only difference is the number of noughts at the end of cheques. Kevin and Arthur warned me that I would be taking on an awful lot by getting into management and I soon realised they were right. The phone never stops, even at non-league level. You're constantly thinking about what you are going to do for training. I used to finish training at Leeds, drive all the way back up to Newcastle, then head straight to Blyth.

I used to make sure my players were paid 150 a week a big salary at the time in that league for part-time players, because all the other clubs were only paying their boys 50 a week. But it wasn't just a case of turning up and collecting a pay packet they had to work hard for it, and harder than anyone else in the league. I insisted that they had to train Monday, Tuesday and Thursday to earn their money. Under previous regimes they had expected to just come in on a Tuesday and Thursday, have a quick eight-a-side game and then go home. But it wasn't like that with Budgie, being the stickler that I am. We used to play on a Sat.u.r.day, then we would all be back in on a Monday in the gym at Gateshead Sports Centre. I'd make them do upper-body work and fitness routines. I'd do all the gym training with them, then we would head outside for a bit of cross-country to build up stamina, after that we'd go onto the track and do some short, sharp sprinting. They'd be knackered and moaned their heads off about it, but I'd quickly remind them that they could go and play for someone else for 50 a week. I was also quick to point out that it was making them all better players. I was only being professional in my approach and we were the fittest team in the league by far. I'd had my gripes about Ron Saunders and Alex Miller, but both were sticklers for players working hard at training and they taught me well in that respect.

On the Tuesday training nights we would work on tactics defensive duties then a game of five-a-side. On Thursday nights the emphasis would be on attacking, then another five-a-side. It was a full-time job really, but I made it that way for myself. The self-imposed workload was too much and it wore me out. I did two years of that and it started to take its toll. I was knackered at the end of each week. I was getting older, even if I wouldn't admit it to myself.

Football management is a business and, like any other business, you are called into boardrooms and expected to give your input. People would say: 'Budgie, we're 30,000 in debt, we've got VAT bills to pay what are we going to do about it?' Some people are oblivious to all that side of football they think it's just a case of turning up on a Sat.u.r.day and playing, but when you become a manager everything is heaped upon your shoulders. To sort out our financial problems, I arranged for Newcastle to bring their full team to Croft Park for a pre-season fund-raiser. Shearer, Ginola, Fox, Lee, Bracewell, Albert they all came and helped to pack the place out. We had 8,000 people in Croft Park and we raked in about 25,000 in gate receipts. With one gate, I'd paid off the VAT bill. I also asked Howard Wilkinson to bring Leeds United for another friendly, and they brought a team that included Viduka, Kewell, Ha.s.selbaink, Martyn, and all their stars. We pulled in another full house and another thirty grand, so I'd paid the wage bill and put money in the bank for the club. I was told in the boardroom: 'Budgie, you're a miracle worker, well done.' But I responded with: 'Yeah, thanks, but don't forget I might want a player out of that money.'

You were never able to switch off from the job. Every spare night I had I'd be watching a game, at Spennymoor or Bishop Auckland, or watching future opponents and trying to get a tactical edge over them. I would even go to watch pub teams on a Sunday just to see if there were quality players who had slipped the net and not come to anyone's attention. I would constantly be on the phone to Middlesbrough or Sunderland pestering them to see if they had any youngsters on the radar, or a club like Darlington and Hartlepool trying to get players to Blyth on loan. Bryan Robson would call me and tell me there was a player at Boro I should watch, and I would say: 'Put him in the reserves and I'll come and have a look at him tonight.' Before I knew it I'd be in the car driving to Manchester to watch a reserves game for a player who may or not be an a.s.set to my team, getting back late at night. It was an unbelievable workload, but you become blinded to how much you are doing. You become obsessed with wanting to make the team better. It was even worse for me because I was player-manager. I found it much harder to go out and concentrate on my game when I had the rest of the team to worry about, as well as tactics and subst.i.tutions as the game unfolded.

After two years, I went to the Blyth chairman and said: 'I can't do this any more. I can't continue like this I'm dying, it's killing me. I'm working my backside off at Newcastle and Leeds with my goalkeeping jobs. I really enjoy the management side of things but it's taking my life away.'

I was obviously getting more money for coaching at Newcastle and Leeds but it felt like I was doing 20 times the work at Blyth. It was a part-time job in name, but being a manager is a full-time job, it's 24 hours. I've seen strong characters like Kevin Keegan ground down by football management. I saw him come into Newcastle a relatively young man, joining in training every day and with a smile on his face, and then I saw him walk out of there years later with grey hair, looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It was gruelling work, but I had a fantastic time at Blyth. I took them through all the qualifying rounds for the FA Cup, and as we were listening to the draw on the team bus coming back from our final qualifying game, fate played its hand and drew my old club Blackpool out of the hat. I was a household name in Blackpool and in their Hall of Fame, so it was as big as it could get for me my old club at Bloomfield Road.

Because of my connection with Blackpool, the newspapers were really talking up the game. Tickets were selling like hot cakes and in the build-up to the match we even had a royal visit to the ground The Duke of York, Prince Andrew. The Journal newspaper reported: 'Self-confessed royalist "Budgie" Burridge said: "The Duke's knowledge of the game is fantastic, and he was very interested in the finances of the club. He wished us all the best for Sat.u.r.day and his visit has certainly helped our confidence."'

On the day of the match, the media hype cranked up another notch. The tie was generating unbelievable interest. Part of the broadcasting deal we had signed to generate some extra cash for the club gave the TV cameras access to our dressing room and let them film all of our behind-the-scenes preparations. That created a lot of extra exposure for us and took us way out of our regular routine. I was a firm believer in the Magic of the Cup, but as a manager I found it all a bit irritating. I didn't like that a lot of the focus was on me. I wanted it to be all about Blyth Spartans' day out, not me. I know it was unavoidable because I was a former Blackpool player, but this was one day that I could have done without being in the spotlight so much.

I had to get up much earlier than usual to do all the press and TV interviews, and by the time I went out to play I was totally and utterly drained, mentally and physically. I could really have done without all the added ha.s.sle, but I had to do right by the club because every penny counted. It was h.e.l.luva cup tie, and we didn't let anyone down with the performance we gave. You can still see the game on YouTube now it's a humdinger. We were 1-0 down within four minutes, and I can be seen having a little difference of opinion with my defenders, but the lads were magnificent and we went in 2-1 ahead at half-time and with a huge upset on the cards. I kept the boys calm during the interval, cracked a few jokes and told them just to continue with the gameplan and not let Blackpool frighten them, no matter how much pressure they applied. As expected, Blackpool threw everything at us in the second half and clawed their way into a 3-2 lead, before we got a late equaliser. It looked like we'd s.n.a.t.c.hed a replay, and with it a good few thousand pounds more for the club. But there was a sting in the tail for us, and they scored again in the last minute. It was a cla.s.sic FA Cup tie and even though we lost I was so proud of the lads and told every one of them that in the dressing room.

That was the undoubted pinnacle of my time as a manager, but the day-to-day stuff was hard going and you soon find that you can't be everyone's pal when you're the boss. Part-time players are notorious for going out for a couple of bevvies on a Friday night and I had to stop all that and threaten to sack people if they broke the code of discipline.

We had a lad called Keith Fletcher, a brilliant player who had international caps with Grenada in the Caribbean, but he was a laid-back character and a b.u.g.g.e.r for going out clubbing on a Friday night. I was paying him 150 a week and was hearing all these stories about him being out on the razz before games. I got sick of it and decided I couldn't just turn a blind eye to it. I asked the board if I could start putting them in a hotel the night before a game where I could keep an eye on them, but the club didn't have that kind of money to splash around, so I had to think of other ways to put a stop to the drinking culture. I used to have these little breathalyser bags on the coach and on Sat.u.r.day mornings, if I thought somebody was looking a bit groggy, I'd pull them into the corner and tell them to blow into the bag. If they'd had anything to drink on the Friday night it would show up straight away. I would fine them 50 on the spot and if I thought it was bad enough I wouldn't play them.

It's a notorious problem among part-time players because they've been working hard in their day jobs all week. I suppose that's why a lot of them are part-time players and not professionals. Certainly, a lot of them had the ability to go further in the game, but not the hunger to push themselves on. I used to get complaints all the time from the chairman about me being too harsh on the players. But the way I saw it, they were getting paid three times more than any other team in the league and I wasn't asking them too much, just to stay in one night of the week and rest up for the game; then post-match on a Sat.u.r.day they could do whatever they wanted.

Football was already heading into a new era of professionalism in the 1990s and in the top leagues the habit of playing together and drinking together was coming to an end. When I was playing you always used to get a few bevvies on the coach, especially if we'd won away from home. But I was used to travelling on professional coaches, and getting stuck into the drink was no longer the done thing. When I first arrived at Blyth we would stop at the first off-licence we saw, everybody would stick a tenner in and they'd have half-a-dozen beers on the way home, but times had changed. I viewed things exactly the same way as the professionals and I cut out the drinking. The chairman would be trying to fork out 100 to buy five or six cases of beer, but being the professional I was, I stopped it. I would have blazing arguments with the chairman, who would always side with the players. He'd say: 'C'mon, Budgie they've worked all week, they've stayed in on a Friday like you've asked them. Let them have a drink will you?' But I would stick to my guns, and say that once they were out of my sight they could do whatever they liked.

It was a sure-fire way to create bad feeling, I can see that now. The lads were p.i.s.sed off with me and I got myself a bit disliked. Looking back on it, I realise that I should have cut them a bit of slack and I was too harsh. They weren't professionals earning thousands of pounds a week, they were guys earning 150 a week on top of their weekly wage for their day job, and I took the discipline a bit too far by not allowing them to have a drink on the way home. I should have realised that, but at the time I wanted them to think like me. My strictness was more suited to a professional club than Blyth Spartans. My discipline and training regime was tough on them, no doubt about it. If I'd been at a professional club I'd have been even harsher though I'd have had players training twice a day, especially with the money they were on. I was prepared to put that level of dedication in myself so I suppose I expected it back from others who I worked with. With my outlook I probably shouldn't have operated at part-time level, because I asked too much of them, which wasn't fair. But you have to start somewhere.

I enjoyed being a manager, though, and I was a good organiser and good tactically. But the days of a player-manager are well and truly gone now. It was too tough for me then, and you don't see many managers nowadays trying to juggle the two roles. When I was in the middle of a game I'd be trying to concentrate on my own game, but if there was an injury or we needed a tactical reshuffle, my mind had to switch to becoming a manager again and I had to think quickly. It was difficult. But I loved the experience of managing and there were some good people at Blyth. The fans we took to Blackpool were tremendous. The pa.s.sion you find in non-league clubs is just the same as you would find at a Premier League club especially in the boardroom. If there are backers who have put hundreds of pounds into clubs then they want a say just the same as bigger fish in the professional leagues. Like I say, it's only the noughts at the end of the cheques that separates them. But in my case, I was constantly arguing with the board about money or arguing with them about the way I was treating the boys, so I thought 'I've had enough of this'. It eventually got under my skin when I heard people complaining about hard training, especially when I was working so hard myself, so I just had to get out of it.

CHAPTER 23.

STRESSED AND DEPRESSED.

'I had another major helping of grief to deal with when right out of the blue I was arrested.'

As the strain of managing Blyth started to get on top of me I was becoming narky and I wasn't myself at all. My job at Newcastle was bugging me too. I would see people getting paid twice as much money as me and doing five times less. I won't name names...no, sod it, this is my book, so I will name names! In my opinion, Kevin Keegan's a.s.sistant Terry McDermott did b.u.g.g.e.r all. I didn't really see what Arthur c.o.x and the reserve coach Jeff Clarke did a lot of the time either. I respected Arthur a lot for his dedication to football, even though our fall-out saw me crossed off his Christmas card list, but I sometimes thought they were just there because they were Kevin's friends. You would see them sitting have a cup of tea in the coaches' room or picking up cones on the training ground while I was busy working my b.o.l.l.o.c.ks off. The first team coach, Derek Fazackerley, used to take all the serious training, while Kevin did all the organising, so I never knew what Terry actually did. I'd go out on to the training ground in the p.i.s.sing rain, and I would see Terry and a couple of the others just sitting round drinking tea. They would then go out, have a laugh and pick up a few cones and b.a.l.l.s, then go back inside and have their dinner after training. They were getting big salaries and I felt they were hangers-on.

Football clubs always have people like Terry McDermott and Jeff Clarke and I came across plenty of them during my career. Sometimes it would make me mad, because I felt that certain coaches maybe didn't have the same knowledge and dedication as me, but had sneaked into top jobs largely because of their friends and connections. I think in my case people could be a bit frightened of my personality and that's why I was no stranger to friction and arguments. I would always fight my corner, and sometimes it would cost me my job. But I would rather stand up for my principles than become an a.r.s.e-kisser. There were Yes Men at Newcastle who would just say: 'Yes Kevin, that's right Kevin, anything you say Kevin.' To me, that was neglecting an important job within the football club, because on the odd occasion Kevin's judgment was maybe a bit out he could have benefited from a strong second opinion.

There was at least one occasion when I got a serious telling-off from Kevin and nearly got the sack over it. Our first-choice keeper, Pavel Srnicek, was not the bravest goalie in the world he was a fantastic shot-stopper and you couldn't get the ball past him in training, but when he had to come for crosses he had a tendency to shut his eyes and hope for the best. I'm not for a second here knocking Pav's ability, he was a cracking keeper for Newcastle, but in my eyes there was no excuse for him not being fully committed when he was involved in 50-50 challenges. I told him he shouldn't hold back if he got his teeth knocked out, it wouldn't be the end of the world. At least he would have stopped a goal and earned the respect of his team-mates. I was telling him to take one for the team and I would keep on at him in training. Kevin would say: 'Budgie, calm down' and I'd protest 'But Kev, he's behaving like a coward.' It definitely led to a bit of unease between us.

It came to a head when were away in Eastern Europe for a Uefa Cup tie. It was a horrible wet and windy night. Someone sent a cross in and I could see that Pavel was in two minds about whether to come for it. The ball held up in the wind and, as Pav stayed rooted to his line, I saw the centre-forward was h.e.l.l-bent on getting on the end of it. Pav hesitated and the forward got to it first and headed it in. Newcastle got a 1-1 draw, which wasn't a bad result, but when we were in the dressing room afterwards I just couldn't bite my lip and turn a blind eye to the goal we had lost. Kevin was going round telling the lads 'well done' and then he asked if anyone had anything to say. I couldn't help myself and chirped up: 'f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, Pav, you should have punched the forward's head off there.' Kevin wasn't happy with me and Pav got upset and went to see him about it later. Kevin hauled me into his office and said: 'Budgie, you shouldn't have said that in public.' But I wasn't in the mood for backing down and I pleaded: 'But Kev, I was only telling the truth he should have gone right through him.' Kevin basically gave me a yellow card, and told me the next time I opened my mouth in the dressing room and said something against Pavel I'd be sacked. I just had to take my medicine he was the boss but I thought to myself that the days of being able to say it is as it is, as long as it's constructive, were over. I prefer a bit of honesty. That's when I knew political correctness was starting to creep into football, which I hate.

My life was starting to unravel a bit, and it took a turn for the worse when I had my post at Leeds taken away from me too.

The job at Leeds had come about after they bought Nigel Martyn from Crystal Palace the first keeper in English football to be sold for 1 million. I'd known Nigel since he was a kid, so Howard Wilkinson called me up and asked if I could come down to Leeds and do a couple of days each week training with him and their young keeper Paul Robinson. I had to ask Kevin first, but he was great about it and said it would be no problem. We always had Monday off at Newcastle anyway and Wednesday was usually my day with the reserves, so I could just hook up with them later after spending a morning or afternoon down at Leeds' training ground. The arrangement worked very well at first, and I was able to juggle my Leeds commitments with my main job at Newcastle. But when Howard Wilkinson was sacked towards the end of 1996, I was left high and dry when they brought in George Graham.

He had done absolutely brilliant at a.r.s.enal, but he'd been out of football since he was sacked and banned for accepting a back-hander from an agent. He was back in the big time at Leeds, but there was bad blood between us from our time together at Crystal Palace, when I had booted him at half-time because I felt he wasn't trying hard enough. That incident was just one of those dressing room arguments that boiled over they're usually forgotten about within a day or two, but I never really did make my peace with George after it happened. George was coming to the end of his career when he played for Palace, and I had gone for him in this particular game because I felt he was just strutting around and spraying pa.s.ses when it took his fancy, rather than getting stuck in. We'd been losing at half-time, and I had laid the blame on him for posing around. He took exception to it, and the next thing we're rolling around on the dressing room floor trying to knock h.e.l.l out of each other. He'd been used to being the big cheese at a.r.s.enal and Manchester United and when he came to Palace, which was largely full of kids, I think he probably thought he could pretty much do as he pleased without anyone questioning him. He hadn't banked on me though, and if I thought someone wasn't pulling their weight as I did that day then I wasn't going to just sit there and say nothing, especially if I'd been sweating blood myself.

So I knew what was coming as soon as he walked through the door at Elland Road, because I was well aware that he didn't like me. He has a very strong personality, like me, and when we were in the same company we collided. You can't have two personalities like that at the same club. But he was the manager and I was only the part-time goalkeeping coach, so there was only going to be one winner at Leeds United and it wasn't going to be me. If it had been a fight I would have battered him, but this was different, this was politics within a football club, and he used his power and didn't waste much time in sacking me.

What really annoyed me was that he got Nigel Martyn to do his dirty work. He told poor Nigel: 'Either you tell Budgie that he's finished here or I will.' Nigel thought it would be a hundred times more tactful coming from him, as I regarded him as a friend, and was probably well aware that I would have smacked George on the chin, so he came up to me and said: 'Sorry, Budgie, this is the end. George says he doesn't want you here. I want you here, but it's not my call.' Nigel was a nice lad, so I slapped him on the back and told him not to worry about it. I wished him well in his career and promised to stay in touch, which I have done to this day. He had a good career too, and would have won more than his 23 caps for England if he'd stayed injury free. It was a pleasure to work with him.

My Leeds job was gone, then the Newcastle job went, and then I had another major helping of grief to deal with when right out of the blue I was arrested.

It all came about through my involvement with a couple of sports shops I ran with Janet in the North East. I had opened them as a business sideline, and as well as running the shops, Janet and I would set up market stalls and sell the stuff. We would sell all the usual branded sportswear and football shirts, plus a bit of designer gear too. Most of it was bankrupt stock or rejects that had slight imperfections, and we would flog them on at knock-down prices. We used to buy in lots from a warehouse in Manchester, and I would take carloads down to Leeds and sell a few things down there. We did okay out of it, and it gave us a nice boost to our income, but then one day it all came to an abrupt end. I got the dreaded knock at the door and the police came to the house and arrested me, accusing me of selling fake goods. It was a horrible experience, and it knocked me for six.

It turned out they had been acting on some kind of anonymous tip-off, and the trading standards officers had been tailing me and putting me under surveillance for weeks. They even had video footage of all the lads at Blyth kitted out in my gear when we went to play Blackpool in the FA Cup, so the tabloids were lapping it all up!

It was an honest mistake, though. We'd bought 20,000 worth of what we thought was legitimate reject stock, but the goods actually turned out to be fakes. The trading standards folk wanted to throw the book at me and they took me to the Magistrates Court. I was really bitter about it at the time because I knew for a fact that a big supermarket chain had bought 10 times the amount I had from the same supplier, but all they got was a slap on the wrist. It was only 20 grand's worth of stuff, which may sound a lot of money but it wasn't in terms of the business. The supermarket had bought a whole warehouse-worth and pretty much got off scot-free, while I was being treated like a criminal.