The Second Half (25 page)

I didn’t like the attitude of two or three of the players, including Pablo, early on, which didn’t help the flow of my message. I don’t mind disagreements. I don’t have a problem with a player having a bad time, or playing badly. But the attitude to training, or the impression that the player is just there to pick up his wages – that’s what would get to me. Ben Thatcher, one of the senior players, seemed to have issues with me. I heard that Ben was commuting a good distance; he was coming to work from London.

I questioned him on that.

He was, like, ‘Ah, yeah, I stay the odd night.’

I could have accepted it if he and a few others had been coming in and training like madmen. I might have given them Mondays off, or some arrangement like that. Management is give and take. But I was looking and thinking, ‘You’re not really giving much.’

Ben came in three or four hours late one morning. There’d been a crash on the M25, or the M1, or something like that.

He was in my office. No apology.

It wasn’t as if they were important players to me; they weren’t. But it still created an atmosphere. The training ground is quite small, so there was a tension, even passing one of them in the corridor. You’re thinking, ‘You, yeh fucker’, and they’re thinking the same thing.

To the argument ‘If the player isn’t good enough, get rid of him,’ the reply is often, ‘Where?’

‘I want to move on.’

‘Well, I’d love to move you on, but there’ve been no calls for you.’

I liked Connor Wickham. He didn’t score loads of goals, but he was only sixteen or seventeen. He got kicked out of his digs one night. We’d a game; I think we were up at Scunthorpe. And I got a call. Connor had been evicted because he’d left his phone charger plugged in all night, without the phone connected to it. I had to meet the Academy manager, Sammy Morgan, a couple of days later. We discussed phone chargers for a few hours.

I had a go at him once or twice. Sometimes I didn’t like his attitude to training. But he was a nice kid, although he was six foot three – a big, strong boy. He shook your hand properly. I’d shake hands with all the players as they went out to the pitch – ‘Good luck, good luck’ – the usual. Sometimes I’d wonder what they were putting in my hand. But Connor would grab my hand, and I knew he’d have a go for me. He played in the toughest position, if you’re learning your trade in the Championship. He was a striker, and most of the centre-halves are big, experienced men and they’re going to leave their mark on you. But Connor would take it all day, and he’d be knocking lads over. He did well for me in some important games, and I like to see him scoring at Sunderland, where he is now.

The crowds, always around 20,000, were good, for a team that was lingering near the bottom. There were 25,000 there when we
beat QPR, 3–0. And the fans were decent to me. I could see the frustration, and understand it. But what helped, strangely, was the draws. It’s hard to hammer your team when they’re drawing all the time, not losing. We recovered quite well in the second part of the season. We won more games. We beat QPR, away, and Sheffield Wednesday, away. We beat Barnsley, we beat Reading. We won more games. We drew away to Newcastle.

The last game of the season, we lost 3–0 to Sheffield United, at Portman Road. There’s the tradition the players go back out on to the pitch and say goodbye and thanks to the fans. They often have their kids with them. Jon Walters was our captain, and he was organising it.

I made another mistake: I wouldn’t go out with them. We’d been beaten – we’d had a player sent off, which didn’t help. And we’d had a bad season. But I should have gone out. I should have stood with the players. If I’d been a player and the manager had said, ‘Ah, I’m too embarrassed to go out’, I think I’d have thought, ‘You cunt.’

I’m not that type of person – it’s not my form. But sometimes my actions are not what I would want. I should have gone, ‘I’ll go out with you, lads.’ I’d always been okay at facing the music.

I should have looked at the table at the end of the season – we finished fifteenth out of twenty-four – and said, ‘That’s not too bad.’ We were fourteen points from a play-off place, and nine from relegation.

I should have kept my head. I should have looked at the bigger picture.

I don’t think I’m a bad manager, but at Ipswich I managed badly. But all the people I’ve admired – they’ve all had difficult spells. So I probably learnt more at Ipswich than I did at Sunderland.

*

In the second season, ’10–’11, it was all about playing the younger players and getting the wages down. My job description had changed. It had been about promotion. Now it was about working within a much smaller budget.

During the summer I’d had the dreaded conversation with the owner, where I was sitting in my office discussing tactics with him. We had a tactics board with us. I should have known my days were numbered.

‘Well, why can’t he play there?’

‘Because he’s this and he’s not that.’

He said, ‘Let’s go with the young players.’

I said, ‘I don’t mind going with the young players but the Championship will eat them up.’

The Championship isn’t a league for young players. You need a mix of young players and experienced men. Every manager who’s been at Ipswich since – Paul Jewell, Mick McCarthy – they’ve gone for experienced players. The average age of a promoted team is twenty-eight or twenty-nine.

Kevin Kilbane came down for talks, and Shaun Derry – his contract was up at QPR.

Shaun said, ‘Roy, I’d love to be able to play for you.’

I said, ‘Shaun, I think I’ll only be able to give you a year, and the money wouldn’t be great.’

He said, ‘No, I’d like to come and play for you.’

This was at the end of the first season, and it would have been a great start to the new season, to have a good, experienced pro in the dressing room. But the club never offered him a deal.

I was on holiday with my family a week later, on safari in South Africa. I was looking at some elephants when I got a call from Shaun’s agent.

‘Your club’s not been in touch and offered a deal.’

I was embarrassed – I couldn’t believe it.

I rang Simon.

‘What’s happened with Shaun? He wants to sign. It’s only a one-year deal.’

He said, ‘No, we’re not going ahead with it.’

The warning signs were there.

Lee Carsley came, but the club wouldn’t offer him a contract. Kevin Kilbane, the same. These were good, experienced players, and good guys.

Kevin told me, ‘Roy, your club’s not even got back to me.’

I rang Simon, and he rang Kevin to apologise. This was a man who’d played more than a hundred times for his country, and they couldn’t even ring him to tell him they weren’t going to offer him a deal.

They would all have been free transfers.

So, I gave eight players from the academy their debut. Seven of them weren’t good enough. I got in one or two loan players.

We stayed local, pre-season. Our thinking was, we’d play weaker teams, win a few games, build up confidence, with a few harder games thrown in. So we played Histon, Great Yarmouth and Hadleigh United – and West Ham and PSV Eindhoven.

Charlie McParland had left, for family reasons; he’d been commuting from Nottingham. And I asked Gary Ablett to come in, as first-team coach. I’d played against Gary, and I’d met him when I was doing my Pro Licence. I liked him. He’d played at big clubs, Liverpool and Everton. He’d managed at Stockport, and he’d managed the younger players at Liverpool. He had the personality to go with the qualifications.

Gary arrived in time for the trip to PSV. We lost 1–0 – PSV were very good. I gave the lads a night out in Amsterdam. Two of them were late for the bus the next morning.

I’d warned them, ‘Lads, act like men tonight. If you’re having a few pints, make sure you can get up.’

But, of course, there were two stragglers. I fined them.

A club fine could be a few grand. But my fines would be smaller, three or four hundred quid, cash. And I explained to the players that the money was going into a kitty, for, say, the Christmas do or go-karting trips for the players or staff, or a few quid for the groundsmen. The lads were happy enough to pay the fines when they knew where the money was going.

The policy, staying local, except for the short trip to Holland, worked a treat. I went to watch our reserves play a Tottenham XI, at home. Pablo Couñago came on for ten minutes and he was fuckin’ awful. He should have passed the ball to a striker who was in a good position with about five minutes to go.

I went down to the dressing room after the game and had a go at him.

I said, ‘You should have fuckin’ passed it.’

And he went, ‘Well, how are we going to win anything with you as the manager?’

I nearly physically attacked him – but I didn’t.

Gary hadn’t felt well when we were in Holland, playing PSV.

I remember myself and the other staff getting into him.

‘Are you homesick for Liverpool, Gary? Are you missing all the burnt-out cars and shell suits?’

It was all friendly banter.

And Gary was, ‘Oh, I don’t feel too well.’

He didn’t come into work a few days. He got ill very, very quickly. He was staying in a hotel not far from where I lived, and we got the club doctor in to see him. Within a day or two, he was in the cancer ward, in the hospital in Cambridge. He had non-Hodgkin lymphoma, a form of blood cancer. He was fighting for his life. He never worked again.

Because he’d come in pre-season and there were still people on holiday, Gary’s contract hadn’t been finalised and signed, and although we’d agreed the package, the club wasn’t legally bound to do anything.

I rang the LMA – the League Managers’ Association – and said, ‘You’ll have to come and help one of my staff.’

But Gary wasn’t a member. But, still, they were brilliant. They made sure he got all his entitlements, and the club had to honour the deal.

I had a meeting with the staff, to explain how ill Gary was. I was very emotional. I remember thinking, ‘I’m not really ready for this.’ But who is? I don’t think I handled it very well, but I’m not sure that an older man would necessarily have handled it better.

Gary was in the process of writing a book – it’s very good – and he told me he was convinced that the pressures of football had taken their toll on him. He’d had a hard time at Stockport – financial problems, transfer embargoes. The stresses and strains had damaged him.

I’d drive down to Cambridge after training to see Gary. Eventually, he was moved up to Christie’s Hospital, in Manchester, so he could be nearer his family in Liverpool. I’d take my staff up to see him, or I’d see him at his house. He’d been planning to start giving talks, on his career and the pressures of the game. That was going to be his project, because getting back on the training pitch was going to be very difficult. But he never got the opportunity.

He died sixteen months after he’d been diagnosed. I was on holiday in Mauritius when I heard the news. I’d gone from Ipswich by then.

It was shocking.

*

We had a great start, three wins, against Middlesbrough, Palace and Bristol City, and two draws – Burnley and Portsmouth. We were third. I was delighted. We were taking off. We had a settled team. We were playing one up front, and hitting teams on the counter-attack. It had worked really well against Middlesbrough. A week later, mid-September, we were second, after we beat Cardiff City. But we’d lost three players.

I had a bust-up with Jon Walters.

He wanted to leave. We were four or five games into the season. He’d heard that Stoke were interested in him. Tony Pulis again – he hadn’t been in touch with me about the player.

I said, ‘Jon, I haven’t had a call from anybody.’

I couldn’t blame Jon for wanting to leave. He’d been a good player for us and he had a chance to go to the Premiership. But he did it the wrong way.

He came back a few days later.

‘They’re definitely after me.’

I said, ‘I’ve heard nothing. If there’s a bid, I’ll tell you. I’ve nothing to hide from you. You can ring the owner. I don’t do the business deals.’

‘I’m not having this.’

There was effing and blinding, a bit of shoving.

‘Why don’t you fuckin’ believe me?’

I didn’t begrudge him the move, although I was losing one of my better players – and maybe my job. I got carried away, and Jon got carried away. I dropped him for the next game, against Burnley. We were 1–0 up, but they scored in injury time. At the press conference after the game I said that Jon would never play for the club again. That was a big no-no. His value was down already.

He was sold to Stoke a week later. It could have gone better, but I played my part. We’ve shook hands since.

I came in one morning.

‘Where’s Jon Stead?’

‘Oh, he’s gone for talks – to Blackpool.’

Nobody had told me about it.

A week later, he was talking to Bristol City.

I rang Simon.

He said, ‘Oh, I wasn’t sure if I should tell you.’

So, Jon Walters, Jon Stead and Alex Bruce had left. Jon Walters, in particular, was a big loss. We’d a couple of injuries to important players – Gareth McAuley and David Norris. The players I’d wanted, Kilbane, Derry and Carsley, would have been vital to us now.

We got a keeper, Asmir Begović, on loan from Portsmouth, but only for six games. I hadn’t really seen him play but, just by the way he walked into the building, I liked him; he lifted the training ground. We were unbeaten in the six games he played, but Portsmouth called him back; I think David James was injured. Asmir’s at Stoke now, and he played for Bosnia and Herzegovina in the Brazil World Cup.

They let me bring in Márton Fülöp, another keeper, from Sunderland. I wanted to bring him in on loan.

I said, ‘A loan deal – a loan deal all day.’

But the owner rang and told me that they’d done a permanent deal – I think it was for £750,000.

I said, ‘You know why they did a permanent deal. They obviously wanted him out the door.’

I brought in Mark Kennedy, from Cardiff, but he was injured most of the time. Jason Scotland came in, from Wigan, but he didn’t pull up any trees. And he only arrived after Jon Walters and Jon Stead had left. He hadn’t been part of any plan for the season.