Hammered - I Played Football for West Ham, Man City and Everton… Then the Police Came Calling and My Life Fell Apart. Mark Ward
of the game.
The lads tried to look after me on the pitch. The nasty injury I suffered against Barnet resulted from an horrendous tackle. Their cocky midfielder had been mouthing off all through the game, telling me what he was going to do to me.
And, true to his word, he topped me and I thought he’d broken my leg. I was in agony and as I waited to be attended to by the physio, I heard Kenny Jones arguing with Barnet’s hatchet man. I wanted my revenge but the blood was pumping from my leg wound and I was forced to leave the field.
Kenny told the beefy Cockney that he was a coward. The Barnet player replied: ‘F*** off, old man.’ I heard Kenny add: ‘I’ll show you how old I am in the bar afterwards …’
I thought nothing of this spat but these careless words from the mouthy Barnet player would soon backfire on him. I was bandaged up and limped into the players’ lounge after the game to have a beer. Tony Murphy whispered in my ear. ‘Watch what Kenny does when their players come in.’
I was intrigued. The Barnet players arrived in the bar to tuck into the customary sandwiches and a quick beer before their journey back to the smoke. The cocky b*****d who had nearly finished my career was laughing and full of himself as he got the beers in. To my delight, Kenny walked up to him and calmly said: ‘I’m the old man … remember me?’
The Barnet player had a nervous look of surprise on his face and the room suddenly went deathly quiet. ‘Look mate,’ the trembling Cockney blabbered. ‘The game’s over now, let’s forget what’s been said.’
Kenny wouldn’t let it go, though. He called him a cheat and a coward, and offered him outside. It made great viewing for me. This dirty b*****d had tried to break my leg – no doubt about it – and could easily have finished my career there and then. My captain had put him on the spot and he was now cowering in front of his own team-mates. His voice started to stutter and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes as the colour drained from his face.
Kenny made his point before rejoining his Northwich team-mates, while the Barnet players left our ground very quietly, with their tails between their legs.
I’ve always maintained Kenny was one of the best I’ve ever played with. He was the Bobby Moore of non-league football – no pace but read the game impeccably.
While I was recovering from that assault by the Barnet player, our new manager had been installed. It was John King, the 43-year-old ex-Tranmere Rovers boss who had also been a young player at Everton. It was a coup for Northwich to obtain the services of a well-respected manager of his calibre.
At this time, I was still relying on Tony Murphy to ferry me to and from home matches at Northwich and training on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. But if Tony had to work nights at Ford’s, it meant I couldn’t get to training.
John King’s appointment in October 1981 brought stability to the team. After three creditable draws I was fit enough to be selected. I was named substitute for an away fixture at the mighty Altrincham. I remember warming up constantly in the second half but the new boss didn’t put me on. I was fuming and feeling very frustrated. After another draw I knew I could hold the key to us getting a win, so I had to challenge the manager and let him know how I felt.
Straight after the game I approached him and told him I should be playing. John’s words rocked me back on my heels a little: ‘I’ve heard you can play a bit, son. But how can I play somebody who can’t be bothered to turn up for training?’
He had a very valid point. I cheekily warned him that if I did get to training on that Thursday, he’d better start me on Saturday. He just said: ‘We’ll see what happens.’
Although I’d promised to attend training, I found out to my dismay that Tony Murphy was working nights that week. On Thursday evenings we trained on a floodlit shale pitch at the Guinness factory in Runcorn. I explained my problem to Dad but he just said that I had to make it to training one way or another.
So I decided to run all the way there.
I realised Runcorn was a fair way from our home, so I gave myself two hours in which to jog the full distance. It was November 5 and, therefore, not the best night of the year to be inhaling the smoky night air. I don’t know if John King honestly expected to see me at training that night, once he knew Tony Murphy wouldn’t be around to give me a lift, but I was determined not to let him down. I took it easy, jogging at a steady pace, and eventually arrived in Runcorn after one-and-three-quarter hours.
The dressing room was full when I arrived, with the manager stood in the centre. I was soaking with sweat. ‘Well done, son,’ he said. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I ran,’ I replied.
I sat down to briefly rest my legs before training started. I managed to get through the two-hour session but felt so shattered afterwards there was no way I could run all the way back home – I was spent. Much to my relief, team-mate Graham Abel was willing to go out of his way and drive me all the way home to Prescot.
When we arrived back at my place, Graham clocked the distance in his car. It was 12 miles from door-to-door.
As I got out of his Ford Capri I told him that Johnny King had better start me on Saturday, or else I’d be off to another club.
Saturday arrived and Kingy was looking for his first win. We were playing A.P. Leamington, who were bottom of the league, and I was relieved to hear that I would be starting the game. We went 1-0 down but in the second half I found the net with the equaliser and then hit an unstoppable free-kick to seal the points.
After the game, the first he’d seen me play in, the manager took me to one side with some welcome words of encouragement: ‘You did very well today. And running to training this week showed a great attitude. Don’t lose the fire in your belly and hunger to succeed,’ he said.
Kingy was well known for his quotations and he’d talk about his great admiration for the legendary boss Bill Shankly. ‘Shanks’ had favourite sayings he would use to inspire his Liverpool players to greater heights and so did Johnny King, a real character. He used to say: ‘We are starting on a long boat trip and you all need to start rowing like f***.’
If you had a bad game, he’d stick with his nautical theme, point his finger at you and say: ‘You were busy being sick over the side.’ And he’d ask certain players who were off form: ‘Have you lost your oar?’ Another great quote came as we progressed further towards the FA Trophy final at Wembley in 1983. He’d keep saying: ‘We’re not far from Treasure Island!’
He was very infectious and enthusiastic about football. I look back and realise my decision to run 12 miles to training that bonfire night in ’81 was a very important one. If I’d not bothered to jog through the dark, misty streets from Prescot to Runcorn, my football career could well have petered out or ended there and then.
In later years, after John returned to Tranmere as manager and dragged them from the foot of the fourth division to the brink of the Premier League, he used me as an example of a young lad who ran 12 miles to training … just so that he could make the team for the next game.
King became an inspiration to me. A Londoner who grew up on Merseyside, he’d joined Everton as an apprentice and played 48 times for them in the late ’50s. Like me, he was small and could therefore relate to me very easily. He encouraged me to train hard and push myself to the limit to compensate for my lack of inches. After each training session he took me aside and put me through hell with sit-ups and strength exercises, plus plenty of sprints.
His interest and confidence in me fuelled my own self-belief. Before one game he told me I was playing in the centre of midfield. His instructions were to treat the game like a boxing match. He described it as a head-to-head between me and the opposing midfield player. In the first couple of minutes, he said: ‘Suss out his strengths and weaknesses and then dominate him.’ I took this advice literally.
Kingy’s words of wisdom were so true. Within the context of any match there are individual battles to be won: Centre-half against centre-forward; full-back versus winger,