The Real Deal - Wembley Manuscript Chapters 1-10

Earlier today I received a telephone call from Tommy Sampson, the coach of Ryman League Division One South outfit Horsham YMCA.

Sampson has asked for “The Real Deal - the Wembley Manuscript“, which was EXCLUSIVELY published by www.kentishfootball.co.uk two years ago, to be published on the website again.

The Real Deal - Wembley Manuscript
by Tommy Sampson

Chapter 1
The Wembley Story
Saturday 6th May 2000

The dressing room was thankfully cool compared to the searing heat outside in the stadium.

It was 2.46 and according to the military style organisation we were due out into the tunnel to await our entrance onto the hallowed turf. We had gone through every details meticulously through: free kicks, corners and throw-ins as well as details about our Western League opponents Chippenham Town.

The camaraderie between the players and management manifested itself in ritual hugging, back slapping and handshakes as the moment came to leave the sanctuary of our dressing room.

We had met the previous morning at Dartford and driven in our own cars to the Burnham Beeches Hotel just north of Slough.

When Roy Smith, Deal Town's chairman and benefactor asked me to book the players’ accommodation for the weekend I immediately contacted Burnham Beeches because of its connection with the English national side and its reputation as a football hotel. Many Premiership teams had stayed there before F.A. Cup Final appearances.

We de-camped at our hotel around 11.30 on the Friday morning just in time for a light lunch at midday.

The highlight of our day was to be a tour of Wembley Stadium at 2.00pm - an experience everybody had been looking forward to.

Steve Forrest, who had previously played for me at Herne Bay and at Deal in my first season, was part of the squad, although now retired because of a persistent knee injury. I had included “Foggy” in the squad as a reward for all his playing efforts in those preceding years.

But within minutes of arriving at Burnham Beeches Steve received a phone call saying that his heavily pregnant wife Emma, who had given Steve permission to have this special weekend away, had suddenly gone into labour and “Foggy’s” backside was seen haring back down the M4 minutes after his arrival.

Emma gave birth the following day and little Hannah’s birthday is one I will always remember.

Our coach had met us at the hotel with our now favourite driver and talisman Bernie.

Some of the players felt Bernie bore a striking resemblance to me (couldn’t see it personally) and a lot of ribbing went on every time we were seen together.

With lunch finished we boarded our transport, looking resplendent in our designer tracksuits and headed down the M40 to Wembley.

I sat with Dave Dadd on the way there.

“Daddio” is one of God’s nice people, he’d had a humble playing career and years of involvement with Deal Town, serving in all guises from player to physio to reserve team manager and, until my appointment first team manager. He now had a place as a valued member of the Club, serving as stadium manager and once again physio.

The pair of us chatted about how far the Club had come and what we could achieve. There was not only the F.A. Vase to think about but also our battle with Dover District council over the Charles Sports Ground Lease. Roy Smith was trying to negotiate a favourable lease to fulfill his vision of a community facility.

The sound system was working overtime as Barry Lakin had got a CD mix of the theme to the Steve McQueen film “Great Escape”.

This had become our trademark theme song after we’d come back from 3-1 down to win 4-3 at Wessex League side Eastleigh back in October. Our first Vase game had looked like being our last until an incredible fight back saw us creep through with a couple of minutes to spare.

“That result has got Wembley written all over it” I proclaimed to Radio Kent in my after match interview. I’ve never been one to miss a soundbite although even in my wildest dreams I didn’t think it could happen.

We approached the Hangar Lane “gyratory” and, for the first time, in the distance standing almost aloof from their surroundings were the famous “twin towers” of Wembley Stadium.

After the actual playing surface, that now famous green lush turf, I suppose everybody sees Wembley as those two imposing towers rising up from the circular canopy.

From three miles away it is fascinating to a footballer. From three hundred yards away it provides an awesome, lump in the throat, spectacle and in our corner the realisation that tomorrow these two concrete landmarks would gaze down on Deal Town.

The Real Deal - Wembley Manuscript
by Tommy Sampson

Chapter 2

Chippenham Town had completed their visit and it was now our turn. We pulled up outside what looked like two oak doors to an old mansion. I caught sight of a friendly face as I got off the coach.

Mick Gadmore was part of the security set up at Wembley Stadium. I had often seen Mick flanking Kevin Keegan and Glen Hoddle during their England management days.

I knew Mick because he had been a well known local non-league goalkeeper playing for the likes of Ashford Town and Whitstable Town and his warm handshake and friendly smile made me feel immediately at ease.

Having posed for the obligatory photographs outside the doors we were finally allowed into the tunnel area and shown the dressing room area that Chippenham were to use the following day.

The other dressing room was being shown to tourists on the Wembley Tour and it was then that it hit alot of the players.. This wasn’t a tour with no end product, this was the overture to an opera to be played out in just over 24 hours on the World’s most famous football stage with ourselves as the stars.

The dressing rooms were old and the smell of plaster and concrete was prevalent. This was no state of the art, sanitised impersonal changing area, this was history.

To me this was, Matthews, Finney, Charlton, Moore , Greaves, Ramsey, to others it must have meant something similar.

I tended to stay in the company of the more senior players and in particular, Terry Martin and Steve Lovell.

Terry had played for me since 1992 covering Sheppey United, Herne Bay and now Deal Town. Steve was a Welsh international and his clubs had included Cyrstal Palace, Stockport County, Millwall and Gillingham.

When the time came to walk out onto the pitch the three of us held back a little to allow the rest to move to the front. I suppose we just wanted to savour the moment for as long as possible.

Moving up the slope towards the end of the tunnel you come to the concertinered canopy which narrows your walkway.

Steve, Terry and I were almost the last ones to reach the canopy and from there you have another 20 or so paces to go before entering into the daylight. Steve got very emotional, he had planned to retire after tomorrow’s game and 2 months short of his 40th birthday I don’t think that he could ever have dreamed his last ever game would be at Wembley.

Terry and I were always very close and whilst not so obviously caught up in the emotion Steve was feeling, we still struggled to stay dry-eyed. As the daylight hits you and you adjust your eyes, you can see the word W.E.M.B.L.E.Y displayed in the seating area at the opposite end.

The scoreboard said “Wembley welcome Deal Town” ........ just fantastic I thought. The pitch was immaculate and the players took photo’s while inspecting almost every blade of grass. I went to the dug-out area and sat down exactly where I knew I would sit tomorrow and pondered.

Would it go well? Would we get hammered? Would I enjoy it? How would I feel if we lost?

A couple of weeks earlier, Roly Graham, had scored his 100th goal under my management and, as a tribute, I had presented him with an engraved trophy on the pitch in front of the players and had said to him “I hope your 101st is here tomorrow”.

Before we left Steve Lovell and I were interviewed by Gerald Sindstadt for BBC’s Football Focus and I remember our Interviewer getting really annoyed because as he was trying to speak to me the groundsman kept driving past on this huge mower cutting the grass. Mr Singstadt was not best pleased and one or two expletives were drowned out by the mower’s engine!!

After an hour or so the players boarded the coach for the hotel and the excited chatter you could hear was similar to a party of nursery school children who had just made their first trip to a zoo.

Who could deny them their wanderlust about Wembley?

Later that evening I drove Roly and Paul Ribbens back to Wembley for a live TV broadcast with Meridian Tonight.

Iain McBride, the presenter, had been brilliant in covering Deal’s path to Wembley and it was good to see him at around 6.0pm behind the goal opposite the tunnel.

The three of us had decided to see how many song titles we could get into our answers (a game the England players had played during Euro 96).

Roly dried as soon as the first question hit him, I managed “Help”, “Here There and Everywhere” and “People” before Ribbo chattered on about “we’re gonna win big time!!” forgetting the challenge.

When we got back to the hotel we all ate together and after dinner I had to tell players their fates regarding selection for tomorrow’s game.

Phil Turner had run into some great form scoring a hat-trick in the Player Kent Senior Trophy Final two weeks before. Paul Roberts had battled back from an injury sustained at Christmas to play during the last month of the season. Jon Warden probably knew that his role was to be as a substitute fully expecting to play from an hour onwards. Ricky Bennett had proved his fitness over the last four meets and again knew he would be on the bench.

These four would be the subs at the start of the game. My big problem was who would be the substitute goalkeeper? I had foolishly promised Jamie Turner and Craig Tucker a game at Wembley in the immediate euphoria of beating Newcastle Town in the semi-final. My initial reaction was to give them a half each.

I knew this would be impractical the nearer we got to the final and had to own up to my own sentimental stupidity and select one or the other. I phoned both players on the Monday and explained that one of them would have to be a substitute and after apologising profusely asked them both one question.

“Are you prepared to sit on the bench?” and to their credit both said “yes!” Now came the decision, Jamie had joined in November and had injured his wrist before the 5th Round when I signed Craig to deputise.

Craig had played in the 5th, 6th and Semi-Final rounds whilst Jamie had played in all other games including the first Senior Trophy Final. They were both excellent keepers and whichever I chose I knew I couldn’t go far wrong.

However, being the type of game it was, I decided during the course of that week to seek the opinions of the senior members of the side and my management.

Colin Ford (coach) and Keith Lissenden (assistant manager) both gave their opinions as did, Terry Martin, Steve Lovell, Roly Graham, David Monteith, Jason Ash and Paul Roberts. Without divulging their views it came down almost 50-50 so it was left to me, and quite rightly so, to choose.

I sought out Jamie Turner first in his bedroom at about 10.30pm and gave him the bad news. I have never felt so angry with myself for letting the situation develop and Jamie despite being hugely disappointed accepted my decision gracefully. Craig was obviously delighted at the news but I know he felt for his goalkeeping counterpart.

So finally it was all done, Barry Lakin and Liam Fox were the unlucky ones not to get in the 16 but they would get the opportunity to change and warm up on the turf before the game.

I finally went to bed at around midnight wondering if it was possible to sleep but as it was my exertions of the day had left me exhausted and I drifted off like a baby for a full night’s rest.

Chapter 3

The sky was cloudless as the players mingled at breakfast. All the families were due at the hotel by coach at around 11.00am.

Roy Smith, the chairman, had laid on luxury transport for the players’ loved ones to meet us at the hotel before going on ahead to Wembley.

The grounds at Burnham Beeches are beautifully manicured and the players sat around reading papers and drinking tea, trying to relax before the off .

The coach carrying everyone turned up bang on time. Mums, dads, wives, girlfriends, brothers and sisters, they all embraced as if they hadn’t seen each other for ages.

The statutory photographs were taken and it was very moving to see the love and affection and particularly pride shown by all these people to one another.

At midday we had our final team meeting re-iterating all that had been said previously about our opponents. Each player was reminded of their responsibilities on the day.

Dressed like gangsters going to a ‘Mafioso’ wedding we filed on to the coach to head off for the greatest afternoon of our lives.

For the second time in 24 hours we were on our way to Wembley only this time we had a police escort.

The outrider agreed to fly a Deal flag and we followed him at breakneck speed through Saturday traffic avoiding all red lights and normal rules of the road. The journey took almost half the time it had the previous day.

As we approached at about 1.15pm we could see both sets of supporters mingling, blue and white scarves blending with our own black and white design, everybody waving and cheering and locals not having a clue who we were.

We got back to those oak doors at about 1.20pm, almost at exactly the same time as our opponents.

Their coach had pulled in just ahead of ours and they were getting off just as we were pulling in.

Both Clubs had received exact instructions about where to go, what time you were allowed into the arena, when you could warm-up and how long for, so everybody knew precisely what to expect.

The Carlsberg Pub final was taking place before our game and one of the teams comprised most of the Eastleigh side that played us in that near disastrous early fixture. Once we had collected our programmes from the dressing room we made our way to the tunnel and out on to the pitch.

The first thing that hit us was the heat. Without a breach of breeze the temperature was nearly 90 degrees and it was probably going to get even hotter by kick off time. There must have been around 3000-4000 people in the stadium and as players walked round the area outside the pitch everybody was signing autographs and posing for pictures.

I finally got round to the dug-out area and caught up with my managerial adversary Tommy Saunders. Saunders was only 28 years old and a larger than life character. We had become quite friendly during the build-up and we were both determined to make it a day to remember with no animosity. We chatted nervously about our choice of suits and he was still trying to second guess my team selection.

I had decided weeks before to let Tommy do all the talking and I would try to keep my own counsel. We shook hands, wished each other luck and went our separate ways desperately hoping that the other would need consoling at 4.45pm.

I am a very methodical manager and when it came to handing in our team sheets at 2.00pm I was ready. All my paperwork had been completed the night before, all neatly written and in a folder so I could present it in pristine condition.

I introduced myself to the match referee, Mr David Laws, and his assistants as well as Joe Guest the “head honcho” of all referees from the Premier League downwards.

At 2.05pm in rushed Tommy Saunders in full Chippenham Town playing kit sweating profusely with only half of his paperwork completed.

I looked on in amazement as Tommy gave his unfinished sheet to Joe Guest and asked him to copy from a bit of paper his list for the bench while he conducted other business with the referee. Nothing was said but eyebrows were raised all round as we left the referee’s room.

Fifteen minutes later the players were allowed onto the pitch to warm up. Colin Ford, my coach, was instructed to keep the physical stuff to a minimum because of the oppressive heat. We also asked him to pay particular care to our supporters.

It was agreed that every time the players came down in front of our supporters they would display the tattoo’s we had all had done before the final. This choreographed action went down a storm with the fans and lightened the players’ preparation for the game.

The players certainly deserved the adulation and were enjoying every moment. However, I was determined to have my special memory and at 2.30pm, when the players were on the other side of the pitch doing light exercised, I strolled out of the tunnel on to the emerald green turf. As the Deal supporters recognised me a round of applause spread along the packed terracing until the ovation reached a tumultuous crescendo and I bowed and paid homage back to our wonderful supporters. Those near enough to see could witness a grown man crying with happiness.

The dressing room was thankfully cool compared to the searing heat outside in the stadium. It was 2.46pm and according to the military style organisation we were due out into the tunnel to await our entrance onto the hallowed turf.

Chapter 4

The season had started well for us. An F.A. Cup replay, defeat in September at Ryman League outfit Worthing meant we didn’t have to play away to Chippenham Town in the next round!!!

The league programme had seen us win seven and draw two of our opening nine games and with the talent available in the squad I felt the league was there to win.

This was the season Roy Smith hoped to conclude his negotiations with Dover District Council for a satisfactory lease agreement that would enable him to go ahead with his plans for a 500 seater stand with bar, restaurant and gymnasium facilities and an outside astroturf pitch.

To this end Roy had initiated moving our pitch about 20 metres to the left leaving room to build when the old stand was demolished.

The ground itself was not good enough to pass a grading for promotion to the Eastern Division of the Southern League but on receiving the green light from the District Council, Roy would foot the price to make sure it was. The proviso - that my team could win the league.

Winning the Bass Brewers Kent League remained my priority and I had strengthened the squad with talented lads like Jamie Kempster from Greenwich Borough, Paul Roberts and Ricky Bennett from Erith & Belvedere.

I had also been chasing Phil Turner, an attacking midfield player from Greenwich and by the skin of mine and his teeth managed to get him to agree to sign just two days before he was due to play for his club against Chipstead in a F.A. Vase tie.

My final ultimatum to Phil was if you play for Greenwich in their Vase tie I would no longer be interested because he would be cup-tied. Suffice to say Phil didn’t play and signed for me the following week.

Our first F.A. Vase game at Eastleigh in October also provided our first ‘heart in the mouth’ experience. Arriving at 2.40pm we rushed on to the pitch unprepared and despite Paul Ribben giving us the lead early doors we proceeded to look like “ragbag rovers” for the rest of the first half. We were fortunate to go in only 1-3 down.

“If you think I am going out of this f****** competition in f****** October you’ve got another f****** thing coming” was my considered view.

Replacing the woeful Marc Seager and the even worse David Monteith with Phil Miles and Jamie Kempster I sent the boys out with the parting shot “and if you get beat don’t bother coming back”.

To their eternal credit they performed heroically and dug themselves out of the hole to win 4-3.

After the game I mended fences with Seags and Monty, who were both extremely pissed off with me. I also, to my chagrin, got awarded “the Jacket”. This was a double-breasted red and black cloth jacket with lapels like concorde wings that coach Colin Ford had bought from an Oxfam shop before the season.

The “Jacket” was awarded after each game to the person who the players felt deserved it for an outrageous moment during the game. It was awarded to me for and I quote “having no faith at half time” and I had to wear it for the rest of the day as well as to our next game.

The following day I flew out to Portugal for a few days’ golf in the Algarve courtesy of the Kent Messenger Group as a reward for winning their Sunshine Challenge Tournament in the summer.

I dined out on the Eastleigh comeback many times that week, full of my team’s fighting qualities and never-say-die commitment.

The next two rounds followed quickly and were comfortable victories. Sussex League East Preston were dispatched 3-0 on the day England beat Scotland in the Euro 2000 play offs at Hampden Park.

Most of the excitement that day came from Paul Scholes scoring England’s first goal rewarding the wager the first team had placed on him and netting us/them more than £200.

Third opponents Watton United, from the Eastern Counties League, held out until the last minute before Phil Turner scored our winner.

I was conducting a live radio interview with BBC Radio Kent’s Matt Davison at the very moment Phil scored and gave an animated commentary on Phil’s strike and celebrations. Having won through the first three rounds the competition was due to go national and we were all holding our breath wondering where we would play next.

Chapter 5

The one down-side to our progress was the loss of Phil Miles. Phil had played for me at Herne Bay and had followed me to Deal the previous year.

In boosting the squad I had made competition for places red hot and in Phil’s preferred position of central defender there were five players competing for three places. One of them, Jason Ash, had injured himself in August and was out for at least five months.

Phil had played his part in our dramatic comeback at Eastleigh in Round One after coming on as a substitute at half time. I had already had talks with Phil about his future and had tried to re-reasure him that I did not have any pre-conceived ideas about who would play. I just said I would pick who I thought fit for each particular game.

Things came to a head against East Preston when, having played the previous week against Cray Wanderers in the League Cup, Phil was left on the bench.

I knew before the game that this would provoke a reaction from Phil and that is exactly what I got when, after we had scored our third goal six minutes from time I asked Phil to get stripped. From his negative reaction I realised that he had made his mind up to leave and I told him to sit down.

The players closest to Phil all tried desperately to talk him round but to no avail. I spoke to Phil before he left the ground that night and reluctantly gave him my permission to do what he thought best regarding his future.

I knew Steve Hearn, the Chatham Town manager, had been interested in Phil’s situation for several weeks and phoned him to say that the player was available.

I next saw Phil the following day at Chatham’s F.A. Vase game with B.A.T. Sports.

I made one last attempt to change his mind in the bar after Chatham had been defeated but his mind was made up. I had known Phil for about seven years and he had always played a major part in my successes. I regret losing him, not only for his playing abilities but as a good friend.

I had always relied heavily on loyalty and had built my dressing room around that trait. Phil’s departure was a consequence of trying to ensure winning the league as well as having a crack at all the other domestic competitions.

Chapter 6

“Crook Town away” babbled Roy Smith down my mobile phone. I was on a golfing weekend with a small society with my coach Colin Ford and I had told Roy to ring me as soon as he knew our fourth round draw. Mobile phones are taboo on golf courses but on this one occasion I had it switched on in my bag.

Walking from the ninth green to the tenth tee at Barnham Brooms’ Golfing complex near Norwich I learnt of our fate.

“Crook” I immediately thought was a bloody long way and the logistics of watching them was my first concern.

It was early December and we had six weeks until the tie so we had plenty of time to organise ourselves.

Christmas came and went and I had added two more players to an already strong squad. The first, Barry Lakin, had arrived from Borehamwood.

“Bazze” had played Football League for Leyton Orient before moving on to Conference side Welling United where, after an excellent couple of years a persistent ankle injury had curtailed his progress.

Jon Warden had arrived form Ashford Town, who were experiencing severe financial difficulties and these two experienced lads would both be available for our long trip to the north coast.

I first went to watch Crook play Easington Colliery on a cold January afternoon, having stayed overnight in Bishop Auckland.

Crook Town had played at Wembley in the F.A. Amateur Cup during the sixties and black and white photo’s adorned their quaint old bar documenting that fact.

A 3-1 win for Crook saw me travelling home a bit nervous because they were big and whilst not a particularly good footballing side the mere fact that we were going to do all that travelling before actually playing the attitude had to be spot on to get a result.

Keith Lissenden made the long journey the following week and at about 2.30 that Saturday afternoon my assistant manager rang me in the dressing room at Slade Green to say that his game had just been postponed.

Whilst I was on the phone making sympathetic noises about his fruitless near 700 mile round trip, the lads in the dressing room were obviously getting wind of Keith’s unfortunate predicament and taking the piss.

Undaunted by his misfortune Keith was determined to achieve something and followed his opponents across the road form their ground to watch them train for an hour. Roy, the chairman, had booked two nights’ stay in the North East.

The night before the game and the night of the tie which was indicative of his commitment to the players. Roly Graham’s partner Stephanie was heavily pregnant so it was decided that all being well he would be driven up by Colin Ford early Saturday morning and driven home immediately after.

The game itself was played in a gale force wind and winning the toss was crucial. With the wind blowing straight down the pitch we could defend it while we were strong and have it at our backs later in the game.

I’d left Steve Lovell out for no other reason than I felt Phil Turner’s younger legs would carry us through the game better. Whilst not happy Steven remained the consummate professional, saying very little to upset anybody and offering encouragement to the guys who were playing.

Nil-nil at half time was an absolute dream, because in the second half Steve Marshall, Monteith and Graham ran them ragged and on an utterly cold afternoon we triumphed 3-0.

However, one incident eight minutes from the end caused me to see red. Having named my team and listed all the subs, I had, in accordance with the rules, given my paperwork to the referee thirty minutes before kick off. With twelve minutes remaining I wanted to introduce Liam Fox to the game from the benches. I filled in my card and went to the fourth official.

To my consternation the fourth official did not have Liam’s name on his pre-written card and would not let Liam onto the pitch. I berated the official for his incompetence and asked to see my paperwork because I knew Foxy’s name was there.

He told me that all that paperwork was locked in the dressing room and I had to produce my carbon copy to prove my case.

Hanging on at 1-0 up with a few minutes to go plus stoppage time I felt it was imperative to get Liam on the pitch. I shouted to Colin Adams, our fixture secretary, who was sat up in the back of the main stand to come down with the copy of my team sheet.

The wind was howling so strong that Colin could not hear me properly so I ran along to the stand entrance to climb the stairs.

Meanwhile, Colin had decided to come down to meet me so whilst I was running up the stand on one side Colin was coming down the other. Eventually we met and Colin produced the carbon copy which clearly sowed Liam Fox as one of the nominated subs.

It was apparent that the fourth official, for some inexplicable reason had not included Liam’s name on the list he had written. Finally, after six minutes of chasing around I showed the official his error and we eventually got Liam on the touchline ready to replace Barry Lakin.

I was not absolutely steaming thinking that if Crook had equalised whilst all these shenanigans were going on someone was to “cop it”. As it turned out before we could make the change Steve Marshall scored and all the panic was over. “Foxy” got on with five minutes to go and saw “expectant” father Roly add a third.

I went into the referee’s room not long after and the embarrassed fourth official apologised at length. I felt that with the result in the bag there was no point in making any more of it and accepted the apology graciously.

Chapter 7

Three weeks later we travelled to Met Police who we had already beaten 2-0 in the F.A. Cup back in September and won reasonably comfortably 5-2.

The day though was soured by an unfortunate situation involving Wayne Schweiso, which gained momentum during the game and continued afterwards in the bar.

Before I say anything else I have to state that “squeeze” was a great player and had played a massive part in the last few seasons. He was always one of the first names I put on any team sheet but he had been sent off in November at Beckenham Town and as a consequence had received a 30-day suspension. That meant him missing eight games over the Christmas period including our 4th round tie at Crook Town.

The week before our 5th round tie at Met Police we played a League Cup tie away to Whitstable Town. I felt with such an important game only seven days away I would not risk everybody, so left out about six players who I knew would start the following week. This gave me the chance to give Wayne his first game for six weeks.

Wayne always needed to train and play to maintain fitness and despite having put on a couple of extra pounds he played very well in a valuable 2-0 win.

I rang Wayne the following day and said how pleased I was to see him back and that I would certainly consider him over the next few days for a place in the side to play Met Police. The only selection problem I had was indeed Lakin or Schweiso in midfield.

Barry had replaced Wayne during his suspension and had not put a foot wrong. Normally Wayne would have always got the nod but I started to feel that one game for “squeeze” in seven weeks was too much of a gamble and on seeing Met Police’s pitch that morning absolutely saturated I decided to give the shirt to Barry.

I told Wayne this around 1.45pm and said that he wouldn’t be required as a sub as those places had been earmarked for certain roles should the need arise. I remember saying quite clearly that he shouldn’t worry I would soon get him back in.

I also recall seeing Wayne in the dressing room and had no inkling of the depth of his disappointment. The game won I waltzed into the bar feeling absolutely delighted with myself (had never progressed past the fifth round before) and sought out the company of my two closest friends, Graham Hall and Martin Farnie.

On getting a drink at a packed bar they both told me to steer clear of Wayne because his behaviour during the game had been a bit controversial. He wasn’t pleased with me and it was probably best to stay out of his way.

I wasn’t too concerned about it because players who are disappointed at being left out often say things they later regret to it was better not to be around to hear it.

However, as time went on players were telling me that Wayne was getting more and more involved, arguing with supporters, committee people and sadly even his own players.

Dave Dadd eventually came up to me to tell me they were trying to get Wayne out of the clubhouse on to the coach because the abusive nature of his comments and the personal remarks made to the chairman were completely over the top.

I tried to intervene but more than enough people told me that I was the last person Wayne should be confronted with as it would only fuel an already out of control fire.

That afternoon Wayne committed footballing suicide. His passionate belief that he should have played got the better of him. I consulted on the Sunday with the experienced lads, like Terry Martin, Steve Best and Roly Graham to decide how best to handle the situation.

That decision was taken out of my hands when a phone call from Roy Smith made it clear to me that Wayne’s position in the club had become untenable. The following day I rang Wayne and said I was having to decide what to do, when all I was really doing was buying a little time to see if I could keep him in the club.

I made one last appeal to Roy over Wayne’s future but he remained adamant that Saturday’s events had touched too many nerves and reluctantly I had to accept Roy’s directive and phoned Wayne to tell him I couldn’t keep him at the club.

Wayne did apologise to me for the situation as I did to him for not realising until too late the gravity of the day’s events. That Wayne missed an appearance at Wembley will always be a major disappointment to me.

I did phone to invite him to come to the game but not surprisingly he turned me down.

Chapter 8

We were now into uncharted territory. Neither I nor my players had been this far, the sixth round of the F.A. Vase.

Several of us had been involved in 1997 at Herne Bay when we were knocked out in the 5th round by Banstead Athletic.

I travelled to Anfield (Monday) for the draw staying overnight at Cannock near Birmingham. Also in the draw were Kent League rivals Ramsgate and the local media were already dreaming of an all-Kent Wembley final.

Jim Ward, the Ramsgate manager, had snatched the league title on the last day of last season and like myself was basking in the attention that was now coming both our ways.

We all assembled in the Carlsberg Suite, directors, managers, interested parties and F.A. officials to hear Gerard Houllier the Liverpool Manager decide our fate.

Sitting on a round table with all the Ramsgate contingent chatting away I first encountered the Chippenham Manager, Tommy Saunders.

Now in my part of the world I enjoy a certain reputation for being outspoken and a bit “full of myself”.

Well compared to my new west country cousin Saunders, I was probably no more than the shyest boy in the choir.

Tommy was forthcoming on all subject; players, money, chairman, opponents. No-one was spared his caustic and abrasive comments.

A big robust man of only 28 he was cocksure and very open to all discussions. Yet I detected a certain naive in his manner. Fair play to him though that was his way and no-one was going to change him.

Only nine teams remained in the draw. We all knew the numbers and I was praying for a home draw against a least fancied side. Unfortunately, I think Deal Town and Ramsgate were two of the outsiders left perhaps along with Chippenham Town.

We were number three and as soon as Mr Houllier pulled our number out of the bag first, I gulped thinking “great at home”. It then seemed an age as I considered everybody left in the draw.

They were: Bedlington Terriers last year’s beaten finalists; Taunton Town Wembley finalists previously and very much fancied; Vauxhall Motors, based in Ellesmere Park with a burgeoning reputation.

Could it be Ramsgate though? Three hundred miles all the way form East Kent to be drawn against a side eight miles down the road!

“Will play no 4” I fingered my information sheet feverishly trying to anticipate the announcement ......... “Mossley” came the response.

In that next couple of seconds I was trying to compute in my mind the consequences of the Liverpool manager’s actions.

I looked across at Jimmy Ward who gave me the thumbs up. That was me sorted and I was really hoping Jim would get his reward. Tommy Saunders, sitting on an adjacent table, visibly shuddered as his Chippenham charges drew the shortest straw in the bag, Bedlington Terriers!!

Ramsgate’s number then came out, a home draw I thought, Deal and Ramsgate at home on the same day, bloody hell!!!! Chasetown or Newcastle was the next sound heard. Again Jim and I exchanged glances for long enough that we didn’t hear Vauxhall and Taunton’s tie complete the draw.

So that was it, our fates sealed.

Excited chattering filled the room, people introducing themselves to their quarter-final opponents, exchanging fixtures before the upcoming tie. Tommy Saunders had regained his confident air.

“They’ll find it hard at our place, good draw for us, if your going to win it you/you’ve got to beat these type of teams”.

“Whistling in the dark” crossed my mind but I had a certain admiration for him and wished him well and said I hoped we would meet again at the semi-final draw.

Jim Ward and I conducted interviews down the phone and even had our photo’s taken with the Vase trophy itself although neither wanted to actually touch it because we both felt that the only time we wanted it in our hands was in the Royal Box at Wembley on May 6th.

Chapter 9

Mossley is just outside Manchester and I drove up to watch them play at home to Salford on a Tuesday evening late in February.

Manchester United were playing at home the same evening and I had a devil of a job finding a decent hotel. I eventually booked into one in Chester about fifty miles away.

Roy sanctioned all mine and Keith’s travel and accommodation enabling us to watch our opponents wherever they were in the country. I would normally go midweek and because of work commitments Keith would go on Saturdays.

This policy certainly went a long way to our eventual triumph because we made sure that nothing would surprise us

Roly Graham had been suffering with a bad toe injury and because of our heavy programme of matches I decided to cover myself by signing another midfielder. Tony Eeles was my target.

Tony was at Ashford Town from whom I had already signed Jon Warden. I knew they had financial difficulties so I chanced my arm with “Eelsey”.

Tony Reynolds, Ashford’s manager, reluctantly agreed to let me talk to Tony quickly because of the deadline for our quarter final tie against Mossley. Tony was a talented player, who had famously scored the goal that kept Gillingham in the Football League a few years earlier.

I met him in the Stakis Hotel, Maidstone, the afternoon after I had travelled to Manchester. We virtually agreed everything over a pot of tea and Tony was looking forward to joining our Wembley adventure.

I phoned Reynolds to tell him everything had gone through and all we needed to complete was the paperwork. The following morning I got a call from the Ashford manager, who sheepishly told me everything was ok bar one issue.

I listened open-mouthed as Tony informed me that his Chairman, who had agreed to release Eeles from his contract two days earlier, suddenly wanted £5,000 for his signature.

Tony Reynolds knew my answer without me uttering a word. He knew that with only six weeks of the season and Tony Eeles’s contract left it would be daft of me to carry on with the deal.

Luckily “Eelesy” not coming didn’t prove too costly as we managed to nurse Roly through but I have teased Tony every since over his non-appearance at Wembley.

Keith carried out the usual scouting reconnaissance and we both agreed that Mossley, from the North Western Trains League, would be our hardest test to date. Our progress would be decided by how well we could stand up for ourselves on the day.

By co-incidence Ramsgate had also drawn a team from the same league, Newcastle Town who had won through after a replay against Chasetown.

Jim Ward and I were taken out to lunch by local journalist Mark Stokes to chat about our prospective matches. It was the first time Kent had two teams into the last eight.

Jim’s superstition was to wear the same suit to all his games while mine was making sure I always carried photos of my late wife and mother. With Mark’s notebook full to the brim we shook hands and genuinely wished each other the best of luck. Each hoping we would meet again soon at Craven Cottage for Monday’s semi-final draw.

Close to 1,000 people watched us defeat our northern opponents 3-1 in a hard-fought but good quality football match.

Meridian TV covered the game with the local hacks being joined by gentlemen from the national press.

During the week I decided on an unusual method of relieving the nerves and tension before the game by making the players wear women’s underwear under their match day clothing.

Strangely enough the suggestion was met with more enthusiasm than I anticipated and after training on Thursday everybody left for home with other things on their mind rather than our North Western League opponents.

Come the Saturday both sets of players were inspecting the playing surface and I couldn't help raise a chuckle wondering what our opponents would think if they knew the attire my players were concealing.

The big moment came at 1.45pm when everybody assembled in the home team dressing room and ordered to strip at the same time revealing all.

The howls of laughter and derisive comments would have filtered through to the away teams dressing room and who knows what they were making of the din.

In front of me stood the team I was hoping would push us through to the FA Vase semi-finals dressed in an assortment of stockings, suspenders, tights, teddies, cami-knickers and the like, some looking like they were enjoying it and others uncomfortable.

My own thoughts were that no-one had "bottled" if and this was another indication of the camaraderie we had as well as their minds had been relieved for a short while of the tension brought on by such a big game.

My own regret is that there is no photographic record of the occasion.

I am sure I could have extorted money out of people like Steve Lovell, Steve Best, Jon Warden, Marc Seager and Colin Ford who all looked as they were enjoying it far too much!!!!

However, it was time for the fun to end and we turned our mind to the job in hand.

I burnt nervous energy by the truckload as the game tilted one way and then the other. We produced an outstanding first-half performance to lead 1-0 only to come out for the second half look as though we were afraid of winning.

Wave after wave of attacks saw us defend deeper and deeper until the inevitable happened and they scored. Fortunately for us the effort was disallowed for what looked like an imaginary foul on our goalkeeper Craig Tucker.

Soon after we secured a stronger foothold on the game and despite a last minute scare when they scored we just waltzed up the other end scoring again to ease ourselves into the semi-finals.

Scenes of joyous celebration followed as the realisation sunk in all around the ground and I embraced everybody and anybody who fancied being intimate.

“Taunton 1 Vauxhall Motors 5” blared out from the tannoy and despite my euphoria I was alert enough to appreciate the ramifications of one of the real favourites going out of the competition.

As the celebrations settled down someone in the dressing room asked “how did Ramsgate get on?”. Amazingly I had totally forgot about their game but suddenly it became imperative to find out how they were doing. With us already in the semis what price a two-legged tie with our East Kent rivals or perhaps we could do battle at Wembley?

I let my mind wonder a bit and the thought of Jim and I walking out together at Wembley appealed to me. Reaching the directors’ area, I avoided the bar because if I had gone in I probably wouldn’t have got out of there. I asked the same question that had been asked in our dressing room.

“Extra time” someone said; “nil-nil at ninety minutes” said another. I looked at my watch which said 5.20pm. Could it really have been half-an-hour since we had prevailed? I know the agonies you endure as a manager on days as special as this one and Jim was having his emotions stretched even further only a few miles down the road.

A mouthful of sandwich and one scotch and American later, the news came through. Ramsgate had lost. “1-0”, I heard someone say. “Is that right?” I enquired knowing that rogue results over phones are commonplace. “You sure they’re not still playing? Find out, ring the ground” I pushed.

As you can imagine Ramsgate’s phone was red hot so on-one could confirm the result one way or the other. Finally about 5.45pm confirmation came through, the result was correct, we were the only Kent team left. I made a conscious decision not to ring Jim that night. What could I say that would be of any consolation?

I know I would have tried to find a hole somewhere and buried myself away because this year of all years to get so close and to lose so narrowly would have really hurt. I got Jim the following day and we talked loosely about our games and he wished me well.

My sense of achievement at steering us to this vital stage was intensified in a strange way because of the depth and nature of Jim’s disappointment.

Chapter 10

The semi-final draw was to be held at Craven Cottage, the home of Fulham Football Club and the F.A. were going to put everybody up in a hotel at the back of their Lancaster Gate headquarters.

I made my own way there by car and met Roy who had brought the “entertainment” with him. Lyn and Donna Fox were secretary and treasurer respectively at Deal Town and were known for their outgoing feisty personalities. They were also becoming great favourites with the “old tie brigade” of the Football Association.

Both had travelled to previous draws and left an impression on everyone they had mixed with. Their “hospitality” and “people” skills were of the highest order and half-an-hour in their company left you breathless.

At this stage everybody who was there for the draw wore blazers, club badges and ties and at one time it looked like a crown green bowls convention.

I befriended Alvin McDonald, manager of Vauxhall Motors, who had enjoyed that magnificent result at Taunton two days earlier.

We sat and chatted, although what with his thick scouser’s accent and my cockney drawl I am not sure if we fully understood each other!!

Tommy Saunders didn’t come to the draw as his Chippenham side still had unfinished business with Bedlington Terriers after drawing in Wiltshire on Saturday. Also at the draw were representatives of Tiverton Town.

They didn’t compete in the competition after their elevation into the Dr Martens (Southern) League but attended all the various draws and functions bringing with them the trophy.

Fifteen months before “Tivvy” had knocked my Deal side out of the Vase and, as holders went on to retain the Vase against Bedlington.

Martyn Rogers, their manager, also came and during the evening I bent his ear about little things, such as preparations and psychology because here was a man who had won at Wembley not just once but twice. To miss the chance to pick his brains would have been a neglect of my duty as manager.

This was the last time the final was to be held at Wembley which I think concentrated people’s minds even more. I had gone to last year’s final when Tiverton had beaten Bedlington with an injury-time goal.

I sat transfixed with my friend Martin Farnie in the middle of all the west country supporters. You could not help but get caught up in the day from the players’ warm up and the interaction with the fans to the entrance of the two teams from the tunnel and the unadulterated hero worship shown to the “Tivvy” squared.

The game was a forgettable affair, nervy, bitty and devoid of adventure. Yet that moment when the goal went in and the volcanic eruption of hysteria which followed moved me to join in as if I, too, was a fervent west country supporter.

The celebrations after were over the top but who could deny goalkeeper Paul Edwards, dyed yellow hair and all, his cartwheeling extravaganza.

I looked at Martin and said “I’ve got to have some of this”. The coach arrived at 7.00pm to take us across West London to Craven Cottage. Peter Shilton was doing the honours while Match of the Day television pundit Mark Lawrenson was there to perform the Carlsberg Pub Cup draw.

We took our seats and twiddled our thumbs while John Christopher, the chairman of the Vase committee, conducted proceedings running through all the formalities until finally the draw was about to be made.

Sat immediately in front of me was the Newcastle Town manager and his assistant. Manager Roy Walker had played at Port Vale for many years and was frequently tagged the “Glenn Hoddle” of the lower divisions. Martin Smith, his assistant, was as I was to discover later a surly character. Newcastle, of course, had beaten Jim Ward’s Ramsgate only two days before.

Again the information pack given to us gave us number three in the draw just as at Liverpool. I am never sure if the likes of Peter Shilton, an England international and veteran of many Wembley appearances fully appreciated what it means to us non-league people to play there.

The other sides in the draw were Chippenham or Bedlington, Vauxhall Motors, Newcastle Town and of course ourselves.

A two-legged semi-final means you really want to hear someone else’s number first because you want to play the second and usually deciding leg at home.

We only had a fortnight to go until the first leg and wouldn’t have had enough time to install temporary seating to accommodate all the people who would want to see the game. We had nearly 1,000 for the Mossley game and you couldn’t have got many more in the he ground safely. So there was also a practical reason for our wish to be away first.

I didn’t hear the number, all I heard was “Newcastle Town”. I circled their name on my info sheet. I knew they didn’t want Vauxhall Motors out of their own North Western Trains League. Deal Town came the next voice. I immediately looked to my right to see Roy’s reaction “Yyessss” he said clenching his fist. I was hoping that our now confirmed opponents hadn’t heard because I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.

Preoccupied I missed the remainder of the announcement but heard confirmation of the semi-final draw as “Newcastle Town v Deal Town” “Vauxhall Motors v Chippenham Town or Bedlington Terriers”.

“Ties to be played on Saturday the 18th and 25th March.”

Everybody broke off for the buffet and I tried to engage Ray Walker and Martin Smith, Newcastle’s management duo in conversation. Understandably it was a bit awkward and after a few short minutes we sought other people’s company.

On returning to the hotel we sought out a local pub and spending time in the company of the Tiverton officials was very enlightening. I looked on like a wide-eyed schoolboy as they re-counted their Wembley experience covering administration, ticket sales, merchandising, press and television.

I started to realise how close we were and yet how far away it all looked. Wembley was still a dream and I wondered back to the hotel late that night thinking that whatever we would prepare in the most concentrated and thorough way. Nothing and no-one would stop us having the best possible crack at winning the ultimate prize ..... a final at Wembley.