I was covering for the first-choice right-back Davie Langan who was out injured but I must have impressed Jim Smith as I secured a starting place, although it was at right-and left-back, centre-half, sweeper and even the odd cameo performance in midfield. By now, I was getting on with Jim Smith, who had seemed to have taken to me and we got on well. He was not my idea of a good man-manager, but off the field he was a superb bloke and we had some good times together so I was sad when he and the club parted company.
It was a shock when the board appointed Ron Saunders to replace Smith, as he had only just walked out on local rivals Aston Villa some two weeks earlier. His first game in charge should have been against Villa, a game scheduled for the Saturday, but either he or the club bottled it as he took over formally as manager the following Monday after we had lost 1–0. I kept my place under Saunders and, although as a team we struggled and finished just above the drop zone, I was offered a new, improved contract and signed it without hesitation, partly because I was just happy to be playing and partly to repay the people at the club for helping me recover from the dreadful injury nightmare I had been through. Saunders was a decent manager and I thought the following season could be a great one for both myself and Birmingham City.
In reality, it was a bit of a non-event and we never really improved from the previous season; there were some highs and plenty of lows. I was dropped after the first five games when we contrived to concede 17 goals in just 4 of them and also missed a few games with an injury unrelated to my back problems. On my return, I scored my only goal for the Blues in the game against Arsenal at St Andrews, although it was a pity there were only 11,276 there to see it. I was playing in midfield and found myself in space when Kevin Dillon put a superb through-ball in behind their back four. I raced on to it and was one-on-one with the ’keeper and I shit myself. I had never been in this situation before so I simply put my head down, took the ball a few paces and smashed it as hard as I could with my right foot. It flew into the bottom corner and I was as shocked as everyone else. Arsenal went up other end and equalised but Dillon then got a second and we held on for a win.
I played quite a few games in midfield after the Arsenal game, one being a home fixture against Spurs. During the first half, I went in hard on Ozzie Ardiles and he was rolling around on the ground squealing like a baby. I stood over him and told him he was a whining Argie bastard and to get up. It was a comment that years later came back and bit me on the arse big time.
After the departure of Mark Dennis in the following close-season, the number 3 shirt was given to me but, after a good pre-season, any early optimism that we would do well was blown away with a 4–0 opening-day defeat by West Ham and we were right to fear the worst – that it would be a long, hard campaign.
Most things about this season were largely forgettable. I was an ever-present and we were not a bad side but lost too many games by the odd goal – an amazing14 in total. There were definitely worse teams than us in the division; Mick Harford was a quality striker, Tony Coton a top ’keeper, but it was another false dawn for the Blues and, despite a win against the Villa and closing the season with three draws, the trap-door opened and we again dropped to Division 2. I was as gutted as the rest of the lads but, at the time, did not know that I would be back in the top division sooner than I thought.
As soon as I arrived in Birmingham, I was put in digs with Paul Ivey and we were looked after by a nice elderly couple who we nicknamed George and Mildred. Both Paul and I found it hard – we were homesick and had little spare cash, I was so skint my parents used to send me money as well as food parcels, as I was not being fed as much as I was used to either.
George used to drive us round in his clapped-out, blue Robin Reliant; it was embarrassing but he was a top fella and he loved taking us to his friends’ houses as even though we were only apprentices he felt privileged as a Blues fan that he had potential first-team players living under his roof.
After training, Mark Dennis and I would meet up, have some dinner and drink endless pints of blackcurrant and lemonade while we took on all the other lads in darts competitions in Birmingham City’s sports club. We both became very good darts players and we began going into local pubs and playing regulars for money. With not drinking alcohol and practising every afternoon, we won more often than we lost before people began to suss us out and blokes stopped playing us. We had to start hanging around different pubs with a pint of beer in our hands before locals would take us on. It was a great way to top our apprentice money up.
I was a fit lad and found the training quite easy but, at times, it could get a little intimidating as there were fall-outs between so-called team-mates on a regular basis. One such occasion was when two centre-halves, Joe Gallagher and Pat Howard – whom we had just bought from Newcastle – squared up to each other. They were huge blokes compared to us kids and fell out over something or other and, as they were arguing, Joe headbutted Pat and broke his nose and they ended up having a quite serious punch-up. It wasn’t nice to see two team-mates fight like that as a young pro, but I soon got used to it.
There always seemed to be unrest where Joe Gallagher was concerned and I remember him having another fall-out with my pal Mark Dennis a few years later when Joe accused Mark of tipping off the press that Gallagher had set up a move to Aston Villa. It was a controversial topic – they were our hated rivals – and when it went pear-shaped, Joe blamed Mark for some reason. It was no surprise to anyone that when Alf Ramsey left, Gallagher was one of the players involved in the bust up.
The first two years were all about growing up and getting to know each other and then when we signed professionally we were allowed to find our own digs, so I moved in with a gentleman called Brian Rogers who was connected with the club and owned a huge house in which he let rooms to four or five of us. Unlike George and Mildred’s, which was more like a boarding school, this move gave us plenty of freedom, which was not a good thing in my case as I soon began making the most of it!
Brian was the manager of a nightclub called Faces and that was the turning point of my time at Birmingham as I began to hit the town. Most nights, I’d be in Faces and I soon got my confidence with the women as Brian knew everyone worth knowing. It was nothing mental – we used to have a few beers, chat the birds up and go for a curry, normal lads’ stuff. The problem was, I wasn’t an electrician or a student. I was now a professional footballer who had to train the following morning.
Brian was a great guy and loved the women; his wife was always in my ear trying to get me to grass him up and it was a great learning curve for me and I got to know how to duck and dive during my time with him. He sadly died from cancer when I was at the top of my game and I fondly remember him as someone who helped me along the way.
I eventually went to live with Kevin Dillon who had a house opposite one Mark Dennis had bought and, when he moved on, I bought it from him and joined Mark as a homeowner. Susan used to come up for the weekend but by now I had plenty of girls in tow in town and, more often than not, I’d leave her in Dill’s house while I went out with a local bird. Dill used to tell me I was bang out of order, which I was, but it made no difference and I carried on regardless.
I became a regular at Faces and got friendly with some lads called Alan and Peter McAteer, and another lad nicknamed Kimo, who I became best mates with. I was with some of the football lads one night at the club and, for some stupid reason, took my shirt off and was dancing around acting the fool when the bouncers came and told me to put it back on. Knowing Brian, I told them to fuck off, and they grabbed me and gave me a good old-fashioned leg and a wing, throwing me across the room head first. I landed on my chin, splitting it open.
I went home covered in blood, told the brothers,