To Cap It All. Kenny Sansom
lad who was soon to become ‘King Kenny’ of the Arsenal.
Ron Greenwood rated Kenny highly. He knew he had all the qualities needed to be a part of the England squad. Everyone in the world of football has great affection for him.
But life is a funny old thing, as is the world of the footballer. Their career is a marathon – not a sprint. Staying power is an important ingredient in the psyche of a footballer. Yet throughout this long-distance run there are times when the player finds himself in a lonely place with time on his hands, and he can get lost in those moments.
I know Kenny gave 110 per cent to his work. But off the pitch, away from the glare of centre-stage, he was struggling in silence with his addictions. I’ve seen it all before with greats like George Best and Gazza. George didn’t make it, Gazza is trying, and now Kenny is going to tell you how his biggest battle is being won.
Now he’s at a crossroads. If he is hungry enough and prepared to put in just a fraction of the hard work I’ve seen in the past, he has the world at his left foot. (The right one’s not up to much!).
In the 1986 World Cup, Kenny was involved in one of the greatest football dramas of all time. When Diego Maradona scored his infamous illegal goal against England – allegedly with a little help from Him upstairs – Kenny was in the middle of the chaos. I think you’ll enjoy reading his full and frank account of what really happened.
Kenny and his family have had a tough time of late, but he’s a steely character. You don’t get to be England’s number one unless you’re special. And Kenny Sansom is special all right.
I always advised him to keep something up his sleeve – to hold something in reserve. Thank God he listened!
Terry Venables
April 2008
I was born lucky. I can’t emphasise this fact enough. Although my dad left my mum and his children before I could even walk, I still consider my life to have been blessed. During the sixties my dad lived the life of Riley with the notorious gangsters in London’s East End, and his sudden departure was a terrible blow to my mum. Although not big in stature, Louise Rose had a sturdy backbone and a cracking personality a mix that stood her in great stead, and in turn ensured her ability to raise happy and confident kids who would have the chance to reach their potential.
During my teenage years my boss and mentor at Crystal Palace, Terry Venables, gave me untold amounts of solid advice, but the biggest nugget of wisdom he passed on to me was, ‘The harder you work, the luckier you become, Kenny.’
I kind of knew this already, so he simply confirmed my own beliefs. Mum had already taught me all about loyalty and trust. Loyalty was inbred in me, and I earned respect by giving my mum all her change back after going up the shop to buy her a loaf of bread. ‘You can keep that sixpence, son,’ she said, grinning. ‘That’s for being honest.’ I learned to love that warm feeling you get from pleasing someone you care about.
Good fortune guided me along the winding road that has taken me to the far corners of the world representing my country in the beautiful game. I suppose, in a sense, I’ve kept my lucky star in my pocket, waiting for a rainy day – and thank God for that, because let me tell you: when it finally rained, it bucketed down.
I bided my time till I was ready to share my story, because I didn’t want to pen a run-of-the-mill autobiography. It seemed as if suddenly anyone and everyone was writing their memoirs. Now I’m looking forward to telling you all about my life as a boy on the streets of London, close to where the Bow Bells chimed, and am excited about telling you previously unknown tales about legends I am proud to call friends – heroes, to name but a few, such as Kevin Keegan, Gary Lineker and Ray Wilkins. I can’t wait to get stuck into stories about my time at Highbury, and tell you all about great characters like Charlie Nicholas and Frank Stapleton and, later on, Paul Merson, Perry Groves and the man who succeeded me in captaining the mighty Arsenal – the one and only Tony Adams.
Over the years the media have caught hold of snippets of information about my lifestyle off the pitch and attempted to magnify them, but with no success. I have to thank my wife Elaine for quite literally shooing the intrusive press down our pathway. I think the closest I’ve come to being linked with another woman was when some jerk asked Elaine if she knew I was having an affair with Fatima Whitbread. I know, I know, it’s a long story – and I’ll tell you about it later.
I’m a simple guy with simple needs, but somewhere along the glitzy path of fame simplicity became something in the past, and everything seemed complicated and a terrible struggle.
Gambling and drinking are insidious habits that grow slowly into addiction. Along the way the illness tricks you into believing it’s your friend, and it’s only later, when your power is stolen and you’ve spiralled out of control, that you realise it’s your enemy. If you’re lucky you catch the devil in time. You’re damned if you don’t.
But, hey, as I said, I’m a lucky bugger.
Nowadays, the man in the street who still recognises me asks brightly for my autograph. ‘Hello, Kenny – how are you doing?’
I throw him a genuine smile and we have a brief chat. After I’ve written, ‘Be Lucky, Regards, Kenny Sansom – No. 3’, we go off in our different directions and he thinks he knows me. But he doesn’t. Football fans know Kenny the footballer; a handful of close friends are acquainted with the joker in me who enjoys entertaining and doing impersonations; but no one as yet knows the private man – the real me.
Here’s the story the tabloids once offered me a small fortune to tell. It’s been a long wait, but I think you’ll find it was worth it. I know I do.
Kenny Sansom – No. 3
My teenage heroes were Frank Spencer, Norman Wisdom, Steptoe and Son, Del Boy and Rodney. The closest I ever got to a copper was putting on a dirty old coat and impersonating Detective Columbo. There was never any chance I’d go down the same road as some of my relatives.
How many books begin with, ‘I was born and raised in a humble but happy environment’? Lots, thank goodness, and I’m glad to say I join the ranks of the lucky ones.
I came into the world on 26 September 1958 in my mum’s bedroom at 55 Jardin Street. There I joined my three sisters and a big brother in a small south London prefab – and, for those of you too young to know what a prefab is, it’s a kind of ‘bitsa’ home, made up of slabs of concrete. Home was small and crowded, but also warm and happy. In those days back doors were left wide open welcoming in neighbours for cups of tea and a slice of homemade cake, and all problems were shared and aired. We were of the fortunate generation, raised in an age of relative innocence where the worst local crime was to kick a ball through old Mrs Smith’s window and the most feared punishment of all was a clip round the ear.
The last child to be born into the family was my little brother David, and, shortly after that, my dad George left home to lead a more exciting life over in the East End, where he and his brothers chose to live on the wrong side of the law, rubbing shoulders with the Krays. It has been said that Ronnie and Reggie asked my dad to be their driver but that he turned them down. I find it hard to believe. Not that they asked him, but that he had the cheek to say, ‘No, thanks,’ and they didn’t shoot his kneecaps off. Everyone knows that what the Twins wanted the Twins generally got.
My dad was one of the original ‘spivs’ – always ducking