Relegation and the one what-if of my career
With five minutes to go of the last game of the season, I knew we were relegated. Where we had longed to hear our fans burst into sporadic fits of cheering as a welcome goal went in at the opposite end of the country, we had instead heard the unmistakable sound of collective groaning.
As we slunk from the pitch, in the same way that relegated Queens Park Rangers or Bolton Wanderers players will do at about 5pm on Sunday, I remember taking a last look at our fans. I knew I wouldn’t see them again and they had been amazing to me. My contract, as was the case with many of the other players, was about to be cut in half and my assets, mainly property, bought on the back of a Premier League spending spree, were hopelessly exposed. In short, I could not afford to keep up the payments on any of it and as a result everything I owned would be at the mercy of the bank.
The first thing that came into my head when the referee blew his whistle, and for the last 10 minutes of that game if the truth be told, was that I would be moving to a club that I didn’t want to go to from a club that I desperately wanted to stay at, and for the worst possible reason: money. I’d gambled my family’s house, the university fund, our entire future, on staying in the Premier League. I wasn’t the first and I won’t be the last. Indeed, more savvy businessmen than me have brought down entire football clubs on the turn of that particular card.
My plan was to build up a portfolio of assets and, in the seasons afterwards, squirrel away a good percentage of my wages. I knew that I was good enough to be playing every week in the Premier League and at the start of the season I never thought for one second we’d get relegated.
No player ever does, of course, but for some there is a genuine concern that each season in the top flight may be their last for the simple fact that if the team are relegated then they will stay put, the best players will be sold and their replacements will be nothing like as good.
In the changing room afterwards there was little emotion. I had the overriding feeling that somebody was about to come in to say that there has been a mistake and that actually somebody else had been relegated. Not until I signed for my new club did that feeling begin to subside. Our manager had simply said after the game: “Thanks for your efforts this season, keep yourself in good shape and come back on 1 July ready to start again.” And then he shook everybody’s hand.
I knew I wouldn’t be seeing any of the players again but nobody ever says their goodbyes; that just isn’t the done thing in football. Everybody acts as if nothing has changed and that we will all see each other again and it will be just as it was. I didn’t leave the house for days. I simply didn’t know how I could go into town and face people. I honestly felt that despite our successes as a team, if I stepped foot outside I’d immediately be under siege from an angry mob. Worse than that, however, was that I actually felt hugely embarrassed. And I still do. That relegation should never have happened. I know we hear this a lot but the fact is that although that team was not too good to go down, it was more than good enough to stay up.
I won’t get in to the specifics of how we came to be in that position because I’d need the best part of the Guardian’s paper reserves just to scrape the surface. But I, and players from that team that I still speak to, always feel as if they could have done more in specific games. Moments stick in your mind, like the mistimed jump that I made that led to a headed clearance being volleyed in, or the poor goal-kick from our keeper that ended up with us needlessly conceding. In both games we lost by the odd goal. Even as I write this, I feel the frustration and anger washing over me again.
One of the saddest parts of relegation was that many of our friends lost their jobs, and that is a tough thing to be responsible for. People that had been at the club for years were unemployed because of us, not them. I do not expect any sympathy here but afterwards, when you are sat in a big house with nothing but your material possessions rubbing your face in it and having just been paid the best part of £100,000 for a month’s work that has ended in total failure, it is impossible to feel any more disgusted with yourself. It’s like a constant feeling of nausea brought on by overwhelming guilt.
It remains the one single regret in my life. Whenever anyone asks me if I could change one thing, and believe me I have done some crazy and stupid things so far, I always point to that relegation. But life must go on and, although I think about it every day, I did at least go on to play in the Premier League again, which was always my goal to begin with. I am a big believer that if you want to accomplish something in life it is far better to go for it and fail rather to never try at all (he said from his ivory tower).
But that said, I am left with this horrible nagging thought in my head. It’s the one feeling that I have always been at pains to avoid and something that people in football bribe your conscience with almost as soon as you’re old enough to kick a ball. It’s something that I always tell my friends whenever they come to me for advice when they’re at a juncture in their life: “Don’t end up like me,” I say, “don’t be the person that’s for ever walking around saying: ‘What if?’”
PAUL ROBINSON
Still not sure you will get much sympathy from some fans for revealing your earnings prior to relegation … tough sh*t will be the most common response … £100k a month? Poor soul … but, conversely, many will appreciate your candour in recalling how the demotion affected you personally … “What-If Syndrome” hit hard and, clearly, still does today … but I wd bet of the Wolves, Blackburn and Bolton players who now face life in the Championship, few will reflect too long on their fate beyond the initial sad soundbites … until they get their first wage packets next season
Are you ever clearly aware of other players in the squad who don’t have the same desire to please the fans? As a West Ham fan I’ve heard stories of certain members of the ‘Baby Bentley Brigade’ under Alan Curbishley who were supposedly poisonous in the dressing room. Have you encountered anything similar? Is there anything that can be done about disinterested colleagues?
There are players like this at every club. The way in which managers usually get rid of them is to banish them to train with the youth team and start bringing them in on their days off. But players have wised up to this tactic and are fully aware that our contracts state a player can only train if their are 7 professionals present, I have even seen managers give professional contracts to kids just so that their are 7 professional players present to train with.
This of course means that other players that haven’t done anything wrong also have to come in to train on their days off, which leads to resentment of the trouble maker. It is all designed to make the trouble maker feel as uncomfortable as possible until he can’t stand it any longer and leaves the club. Generally this player is treated by the others as if he has some kind of contagious disease.
I always said when i was a younger secret footballer that when my career was over i didn’t want any regrets and that i didn’t mind mistakes. My one real regret was funnily enough moving clubs to chase the premier league dream and also the financial reward. I knew after joining this particular club I had made a bad mistake and I regretted it from day one.
Football is generally about what-if’s and that’s true in management as well. When I finish my career no matter what people’s opinion of me as a player will be, I will be able to look in the mirror and say I gave my all and if-and-buts were out of my hands.