Me, Family and the Making of a Footballer by Jamie Redknapp

Me, Family and the Making of a Footballer by Jamie Redknapp

Author:Jamie Redknapp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline Publisher


10

THE CONTRACT

Dad has not built this Bournemouth team to protect his son. He’s built it to stay in Division Two, to continue to beat the odds that say a club of this size shouldn’t be in the same league as teams like Leeds and West Ham and Newcastle and Leicester, to maybe even think about a pop at the play-offs should they get on a real run. But for a young kid looking up, dreaming of the next step, there are examples of the sweet science – Shaun Brooks, Ian Bishop – and there are the football bouncers, Paul Miller and Tony Pulis, and it’s Tony who is now forming a bond with Dad as assistant coach and occasional player that works for them and works for me.

Tony can’t believe how good Dad’s footballing memory is. They play a little game when they’re having a cup of tea in the office after training. Tony names a lower league player. Dad reels off their clubs, what their attributes are, where you can hurt them if you come up against them. Tony is 10 years younger than Dad, and he can’t work out how he can remember the name of everyone he’s ever met. Dad walks into a room and it’s ‘Alright, Steve,’ and ‘Wotcha, Dave,’ and Tony’s shaking hands and shaking his head too.

The two of them drive up to London after training to watch another game or do some scouting. Dad’s behind the wheel, Tony has got the Rothmans Football Yearbook out. It goes like this.

‘Tone, pick a player, any player in the league.’

‘Right. Mark Venus.’

‘Wolves. Defender. Started Hartlepool, gone to Leicester. Decent left-back, only about 22, ain’t he?’

‘Yeah. Correct, H. Gary Bennett.’

‘Do me a favour. Big lump, centre-half. Man City as a kid, then Cardiff, been at Sunderland ages. Good player for them. His brother’s the winger, Dave, won the Cup with Cov in ’87.’

For the second round he has to get within 50 games of their total league appearances. He rattles them off. Then the phone rings, a big brick of a carphone Dad’s had installed. It’s his bookie, and the next part of the journey begins.

‘Ali? Ali? What’s going in the first? You what? Okay. What’s going in the second?’

An hour of bets going on. Over to Millwall for an afternoon kick-off reserve game in the Football Combination, up against George Graham’s Arsenal, a few decent youngsters to watch and maybe think about bringing in. Over to Chelsea for their reserves kicking off at 7 pm, bad mood on the way because the bets from earlier haven’t come in, back on the phone to Ali to lump on for that night’s dogs at Walthamstow.

Tony is different to Dad but they’re mates, and he’s different to me as a player but a brilliant example. He’s so fit for a 32-year-old. The first team squad are training over at Salisbury, and I’m with them to bolster the numbers and get some extra work in. Tony takes me aside and starts talking.



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