They were great times, for football as well as the social life I was discovering. We were 16 or 17 and we would play a game on Saturday mornings and then go for lunch at McDonald’s. Not quite the perfect after-match nutrition but we loved a burger and fries. Stan, who used to drive our minibus, would take us there and wait while we got our food and we would eat it in the van while we drove to Upton Park. Those were the best days, when West Ham were at home and we would get to the ground a couple of hours before kick-off.
As trainees we got to stroll around behind the scenes and I loved soaking up the excitement around the dressing room and tunnel during the build-up to the match. There might be jobs to do: the kit-man might need a hand or a message would need running. All the time the ground would be filling up and three o’clock was getting closer. There was such a buzz around the place and I fed off it. Watching the players pull on the jersey and then walk out on to the pitch as the crowd cheered and sang ‘I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles.’ I would drift into a daydream, picturing what it would be like to be one of the eleven about to start the game. Just the thought gave me goosebumps and made me nervous in my stomach.
I was quickly brought back to earth. If the team were losing at half-time or worse – had lost the match – you had to be careful what you said. Harry would be in a temper and if he caught any of us laughing at each other’s jokes as we hung around would shout ‘What the f*** are you smiling about?’ That usually had the desired effect of scaring us into silence. He would have the real hump but we were just young lads.
Harry doesn’t just love football – he lives it. He takes defeat very seriously and is not two-faced about his reaction whether you are in the first team or the youth team. It was just his instinct, then and now. I remember he came into the gym when we were playing D’s and having a laugh. He was in a foul mood about something and he banned us from our favourite game – picking on one of us in particular. ‘You should be out practising your f***ing heading instead of in here playing.’ We looked at our feet instinctively. He could be quite foreboding when he wanted to but in this case we knew he was right. D’s had become too much of a jokey culture with us. True, it was good for our skill development but we were neglecting other parts of our game which weren’t as much fun to improve.
Harry was very adept at calling situations like that. He has a sixth sense for certain things happening around his club which he develops through taking a keen interest in every level of how it operates. More important, he knows all of the people involved including the youth team. People say Harry is a players’ man but he’s also a man of the people. Whether you are first team, reserve, coaching staff or the laundry lady, Harry treats you the same and makes sure you know how important you are to the success of the club.
When he came down heavily on us we realized it was because he wanted the best for us, because he cared. He was very capable of taking the piss and having a laugh like he was one of us. As young lads we craved his attention, and even if that meant facing his wrath at least we were on his radar.
We didn’t know the pressure of playing in the first team – or managing it. After everything was cleared up and we had successfully stayed out of Harry’s way, we would all head home and get our best gear on to go out for the night. One of the good things about that youth team was we would all go out together. There were no cliques or splits. There was a spirit we shared, a bond that was quite unique. Only now do I realize that it was one of the happiest times of my career, a life without the constant pressure I would come to know later.
Rio was a year younger which meant he started YT in the year below me. For that, his antics around the training ground, and some of the outrageous gear he wore, he took a bit of stick. He deserved it. Never mind the fact that he was always the last to turn up on a Saturday night because he had to travel across town to Peckham and back.
It’s easy to feel nostalgia for certain times in our lives. Everyone has memories which can conjure up a certain feeling inside that enhances the mental image. For me, those Saturdays were very special. They still are. Can you imagine what it felt like to wake up knowing that you will play football for the club you love, then go watch the club you love play, and round the whole thing off with a night out with your best mates in the company of some gorgeous girls? Living the dream, that’s what I was doing, living the dream.
Our keeper was Neil Finn (Finny) and he, along with Hodgey and me, were the ringleaders. Finny and I are still close. He never quite broke into the first team but played one game. He was 17 and not ready for first team football. He travelled to Manchester City as back-up for Ludo Miklosko. Ludo pulled out the night before the match and Finny was thrown in. It was a great achievement to become the youngest player to appear in the Premier League at that time. I spoke to his Mum and Dad before the game and they were rightly very proud of their boy. I could understand how they felt, though I also wondered how nervous my goalie mate must have felt just before kick-off.
It was a fantastic moment for Finny and I was jealous, which means I still take the piss out of him even now because they lost 2-1 and Niall Quinn scored twice. Regrettably for Finny, he dived at his feet for the second but Niall just chipped it over his body. I reckon it was the only classy goal big Niall ever scored and I won’t let Finny forget it. He plays non-league now with Romford and hasn’t lost any of the cheek he had then. If I begin to cane him for his performance he just reminds me that at least he was there, in the first team.
I could give out a bit of stick but I was used to taking it as well, mostly behind my back, but it was probably inevitable given the fact that Dad and Harry were in positions of influence. I can’t say I was overly aware of it, more like I sensed it going on around me – just little episodes or the undercurrent of friction with some people at the club. I never really let it get to me or hamper how I thought I should be getting on but there were a few players who I know were funny about it.
My reaction? I just tried to win their respect for playing the way I could. Dad’s reaction was a bit different. He would have a few digs at me if the result hadn’t gone well just to make sure I wasn’t getting special treatment. I understood. And I was used to it.
My greatest concern was learning as much as I could and becoming a better player. Our youth team was good. Very good. We won the league and I scored twenty-five goals from midfield that first season. I felt comfortable. I have always played there even though it was commonplace for young players to try a few different positions. I was the exception to the rule though. I always played central midfield. Always. I remember Rio playing up front and in defence but I always stuck to what I knew and now I can feel the benefit of that early experience. Things were changing though.
Both physically and mentally I was becoming much more aware of football. I realized something very important at that time, that I wanted to be more than a little ball player who just got a hold of possession and then passed it on so someone else could do the next part. I wanted to dominate my position and get forward and score goals.
When I first joined as a trainee I found almost everything harder than I ever had before. The physical demands were greater and I needed to go to the gym to build a level of strength and stamina that would allow me to compete with my peers. Dad would drum into me all the time that I needed to do the basics of midfield as second nature. Learn the basics of your trade he would say, then add the rest. The beautiful side would come later. He was right. That’s partly why I feel comfortable whenever I have the ball. The ugly side of midfield – tracking runners and blocking play as well as tackling – I learned during that time and it was a while before I actually concentrated on practising shooting and started scoring goals. The nasty side of commanding the middle of the park was the foundation on which everything else would be built. I needed to be strong and to be mentally tough.
Training with the youth team is much more tedious than with the first team. I supplemented that with training on my own. I had routines which I practised off my own back. I would spend a lot of time banging the ball against the wall and forcing myself to control it and do the same thing over and over to improve my reaction time. I would vary the exercise and let the ball run behind me and sprint after it. Then I would start again and