Hammered - I Played Football for West Ham, Man City and Everton… Then the Police Came Calling and My Life Fell Apart. Mark Ward
time to get there for the first race. Joe Royle had got word of our intentions and had deliberately prolonged the training session even more than usual. When it was finally over, the lads concerned raced off the pitch, dived into the shower and rushed to The Ambulance.
I jumped in the back while Darron got in the passenger seat. But before Mick could reverse his car, I leapt out to go back into the dressing room to retrieve the bag I’d forgotten, leaving the rear door of the car open behind me. Even so, Mick still decided he would turn the car around to save precious time. He was in the process of reversing the big Granada just as I stepped back outside onto the pavement, only to witness the metal crunching sound of the door being crushed against a concrete lamp post.
Mickey shot out of the driver’s seat while I apologised to him for leaving the door open. He told me to shut up and get in the back seat. But the door so badly buckled that it was impossible to close it. With all the strength he could muster, an angry Mick kicked the damaged door into submission until it was flush with the rest of the car. It still wouldn’t shut properly, though, so I was instructed to hold on to the door handle tight inside while seated in the back.
Mick drove like a raving lunatic, flying down the M62 and breaking all sorts of speed records to try and make it to Haydock in time for the first race. I used all the strength I had to hold on to the door, hoping it wouldn’t fly open on the motorway. Mick kept saying he had a ‘certainty’ in the first and that if it won, it would pay for the damage and a new door.
Arriving at the racecourse in record time, we were confronted by large queues to the car parks. ‘Wardy, we’re going to try and blag our way into the jockeys’ car park,’ announced Mick. ‘If anybody asks, you’re a jockey.’
Darron burst out laughing at the thought of me trying to pass myself off as the Tony McCoy of the ’80s but I had no choice but to agree to the scam as Mick was stopped at the entrance by the first car park attendant. Typically, Mick reeled off the patter.
‘Sorry, Guv, we’re in a mad rush.
‘I’ve got a jockey in the back. We’ve had a slight accident on the way and he’s riding in the first race.’
And off we went into the jockeys’ car park. I remember Mickey having £100 on the horse he fancied at odds of 5/1. It won pulling a train and not only did it pay for his car door to be fixed, it set us up for yet another great day of fun at Haydock Park.
* * * *
Although well established in the first team in my wide right position, I was still learning the game all the time. The older pros, especially Martin Buchan and Kenny Clements, looked after the younger players and would tell us to calm down if they thought we were getting out of hand. I had a lot of respect for them both.
Captain of Manchester United’s 1977 FA Cup-winning side against Liverpool and veteran of Scotland’s 1974 and ’78 World Cup finals adventures, Martin set the highest standards in every sense. I remember him interrupting one half-time team-talk to administer a dressing down to Jon Bowden, our young central midfield player. With Joe Royle in full flow, Martin stuck up his hand and asked the manager if he could interrupt him to say something.
Martin had noticed Jon spitting on the dressing room floor. He looked across and asked him: ‘If you were at home, would you spit on the floor?’ Jon seemed surprised by the nature and timing of this question and admitted that, of course, he wouldn’t do it at home.
‘Then don’t do it in here then,’ a furious Martin told him. ‘We have to walk across this floor and we don’t want to stand in your filthy mess.’
I thought it was great of Martin to address this disgusting habit. That’s what he was like – a man of few words but whenever he did open his mouth, he spoke intelligently and for the right reasons.
Sadly, Martin struggled with a bad thigh injury and decided to hang up his boots later that season. Before going on to briefly manage Burnley, he invited all the lads to join him for farewell drinks at his local wine bar in Manchester. I arrived with Mickey, Joe McBride, Andy Goram and Darron McDonough but all the other lads eventually turned up too.
To our amazement, we were greeted by Martin sat on a stool holding a guitar. He could play it too. The highlight of a wonderful evening was a duet between Martin, on guitar, and Mickey, on vocals, singing the Del Shannon hit Runaway. It was such a memorable performance that everyone in the bar was cheering at the end.
* * * *
By the end of season 1984-85, I’d managed to play in every competitive game in my two seasons with Oldham – 84 league and 12 cup matches. There were rumours that bigger clubs wanted to sign me but I was enjoying life with the Latics and also looking forward to the pre-season break and spending time in Spain with Jane and Melissa.
Once again, though, Joe Royle would surprise me with another phone call out of the blue before the start of the 1985-86 season.
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