To Cap It All. Kenny Sansom
Peter and immediately wished I hadn’t, because he started blowing me kisses. Oh, my God! Where the hell were my mum and Elaine when I needed them the most?
I found a newspaper I had no interest in and hid behind it for the remainder of the long and painful journey, and was mightily relieved when it was time to alight. With internal dialogue like ‘Just keep yourself to yourself, Kenny boy,’ I checked into my room. But Peter was there again. ‘Who are you rooming with?’ he asked with that special glint he gets in his eye when he’s up to mischief.
‘Dave Swindlehurst,’ I gulped.
‘Lucky Dave,’ smiled Peter. ‘You know he’s gay, don’t you?’
I nearly fainted with shock and, as I didn’t drink in those days, there was no comfort or Dutch courage to be found in the bottom of a beer bottle. Then Dave ‘Swindles’ Swindlehurst came over to me and said chirpily, ‘Hi, Kenny. See you upstairs in a little while.’
I was waiting for them to laugh and tell me it was a wind-up, but it never happened. I wished I’d been able to be angry and say, ‘Hey! What the fuck’s going on?’ But the words got stuck in my throat.
Fortunately ‘words’ were the only thing to be caught in my throat that night, which is nothing short of a miracle, as, when I sheepishly peered around the door, I noticed the two single beds had been pushed together and Swindles was sitting up in bed reading a porno magazine. I didn’t sleep a bloody wink. It was not a good start to my Crystal Palace debut.
The next day Peter laughed and said I was gullible. Me? Gullible? I was mortified. I thought ‘gullible’ meant I ate too much. Was I letting my mum down by eating too much? This anxiety stayed with me for the whole weekend as I tried my hardest to conquer a knife and fork. Only later was it pointed out that ‘gullible’ meant I was young and daft, whereas ‘gluttony’ was the right word for being a pig.
I was about to play my first match as a professional footballer and here I was being tortured by a man who was better known for terrorising opposing defenders. Damn it, Peter – you were supposed to be on my side. As it happened, neither Peter nor Swindles batted for the other side. Bastards!
OH! WHAT A NIGHT! CRYSTAL PALACE V BURNLEY (1978–9 SEASON)
It was a very special night indeed at Selhurst Park. A massive crowd of 52,000 were anticipating a match where both sides’ prize for victory was top-flight football – something the Palace fans had been dreaming of for years. The noise on the terraces was as loud as I’d ever heard, and there is no doubt in my mind that anyone there that night still treasures the memory.
A goalless draw would have seen us promoted to the First Division after 6 years of exile to the lower ranks. But that wouldn’t have been good enough for us – we wanted to go up in style. We wanted a spectacular win.
We attacked without success during the first half. Then Vince Hillarie found the head of Ian Walsh from the wing and suddenly we were one up. The crowd went wild. You could smell victory in the air.
We attacked straightaway and almost scored another, but it floated just wide of the goal mouth. Burnley’s defenders were unable to clear the ball and then Jerry Murphy shot a cracking ball that flew agonisingly across the goal mouth. That bloody ball just didn’t want to go in.
Eventually, the winning goal came from a midfield break and seconds later Dave Swindlehurst had notched up yet another goal to his already brilliant tally.
Terry Venables was standing proudly in the wings, holding his arms aloft in triumph. My God, it was brilliant. I threw my shin pads into the crowd and other players stripped off their shirts and threw them.
Elaine and the rest of my family, who were in the stands, said they had never experienced anything like it. Fans rushed onto the pitch, but this was one invasion everyone welcomed; we were all in terrific spirits. As far as the fans were concerned, Terry Venables had brought success to their club and financially it had cost next to nothing.
We had won the Second Division championship in style and we were very happy. The Burnley players made a quick exit, just in time to escape the south London revellers.
We were going up, and were getting a bonus – we were glad all over.
I just have one more thing to say about this fantastic and historical night. I walked into a shop in Bromley many years later and the shop owner’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw me standing there. ‘Kenny? It is you, isn’t it? My God, it only is you. I’m a big Crystal Palace fan and I’ve got your shin pads at home.’
Now, even more years later, I’d like to know if he’s still got them. So if anyone reading this knows the bloke in Bromley who has got my shin pads, can you tell him I want them back now to sell on eBay, ’cos I’m a bit broke.
ELAINE AND TERRY
It was the award ceremony for Crystal Palace Player of the Year and Elaine was looking stunning in a beautiful cream dress. She didn’t feel stunning, though. She felt like a fish out of water and this made her temporarily lose her confidence.
We were both still very young and naïve and not yet used to being in the limelight at social functions. Elaine passed a programme round asking everyone to sign it so she could have a keepsake of this important night. When it came to Terry Venables’s turn he wrote ‘To Elaine, the belle of the ball. You are what you are. Never forget that you are as good as anyone else.’
Terry had offered her a word of advice in a fatherly way that meant a hell of a lot to a young girl in a world where you are mixing with people from all walks of life, and she still has the programme tucked safely away.
You see, Terry’s a very perceptive and intuitive man, and these are just two of the skills that make him an exceptional person as well as manager. If he comes across to the public like a lovable rogue – that’s because he is.
I remember that he was a great prankster, and poor old Ken Shellito (a great player but of the shy and retiring type) often bore the brunt of Terry’s wicked sense of humour.
Terry and Ken had been apprentices together at Chelsea and often travelled to and from training sessions on busy rush-hour trains. Terry used to get off the train two stops before Ken, and just as the train was pulling into his station he would stand up before bending down and planting a kiss full on Ken’s lips. Then, as camp as he could manage, he’d tell him he couldn’t wait to see him the next day, before leaping from the carriage and leaving a red-faced Ken sitting among the shocked commuters.
Remember, being openly gay today is accepted, but way back in the sixties, when Terry and Ken were apprentices, homosexuals had a tough time coming out.
It got so bad for Ken that he took to getting off at the same station as Terry just to avoid the embarrassment and then standing and waiting for the next train. Poor bugger.
CAR TROUBLE
By now Elaine and I were married and living in a lovely house in Epsom, Surrey. I was not a drinker yet and only had the occasional flutter on the horses; but these two insidious enemies were lurking in the shadows, ready to pretend to be my friend. But, for now, it was still orange juice and lemonade in the club bar, and bacon rolls and cups of tea in the wooden shed. After training we would head off to Solly’s café for, um, well, pork chops and chips!
There was this kid, an apprentice at Palace who used to eat at Solly’s, who was a bright little spark. I think he used to hero-worship me a bit – in a similar way to my hero-worshipping Peter Taylor.
I had been sponsored by Mitsubishi to drive a beautiful silver Colt, and this kid said to me, ‘If I beat you at pinball tomorrow will you let me drive your car?’ Cheeky bugger!
Anyway, I agreed to the deal, thinking he wouldn’t show up and that if he did he wouldn’t have a hope in hell of beating me – but I was wrong on both counts.