The Second Half (16 page)

I said, ‘See you in my office.’

The two of us were shouting at each other, in the office. I think now that it would have been wise to have someone else present, if I thought there was going to be a confrontation, or a contract issue, or a player wanting to leave – someone to witness the conversation, all the ‘he said this, and I said that’.

I told Liam, ‘It’s no big deal.’

Other players had to stand on the sideline, to give another player a run out. That was all there was to it – as simple as that.

But Liam was going, ‘I’m not putting up with all this.’

It was a proper shouting match; it was more than that. It was intense. I think I might have grabbed him – there might have been a bit of grappling, when he started to leave the office. We were alone, but everyone in the other offices would have heard us.

But it was good. Everything had been going well; I’d had the full support of everyone. This was my first real confrontation. I loved it. I thought to myself, ‘I want more of this – one of these a day.’

I don’t really mean that, but it was good to let off some steam.

It didn’t exactly shock me, but I was surprised that Liam was so angry and that I was so angry. Up to now, whatever I’d said, people had done. This was the first time a lad had defied me – and in front of the other players. So I’d had to think fast.

‘How am I going to deal with this?’

Liam just lost his rag on the day; there was no bad blood between us. And I kind of admired him for standing up for himself. But, ironically – or maybe not so ironically – we got a call from Stoke the next morning; they wanted to know if Liam was available.

I said, ‘Yeah’ – but not because of the bust-up. As I’ve said, when you bring players in you have to let other lads go.

Liam came in just after the call and apologised.

‘I’m sorry about yesterday.’

I said, ‘No problem. But I’m just after getting a call from Stoke. Do you fancy it?’

He said, ‘All right.’

It suited everyone.

Our next game, a 2–2 draw away to Burnley, was a big turning point for us. We were 2–0 down and we were awful. Grant Leadbitter got one back for us, but then we equalised in injury time – Dave Connolly again. We came away with a point, but we could have been beaten five or six–nil.

Steve Cotterill was managing Burnley at the time. After a game, the tradition is you have a drink with the opposition manager, whether you won, lost or drew. Everybody puts on a front.

‘Well played.’

‘Who have you got next week?’

‘I thought you played well.’

I’d speak to the manager, the goalkeeping coach would speak to the goalkeeping coach. This time, we were a bit embarrassed going in. We’d got a point in the last kick of the game, and we hadn’t deserved it. We felt like we’d mugged them.

As we went in, Steve was going, ‘All right, lads? All right?’

Then he put his head on his desk, and went, ‘You fucking lucky bastards. You fucking lucky bastards robbed us.’

It was brilliant; he was being himself – honest. He wasn’t going, ‘Well done, lads, good game. Here’s a Diet Coke, Roy; well played.’ We all do it; we go, ‘The fucking bastards’, but only after the other team have got on their bus and gone home. But Steve did it in front of us.

We all relaxed; we were laughing.

Usually, when you go into another manager’s office nobody’s relaxed. Everyone’s acting; you can’t be yourself. If you’ve won the game, you’re buzzing. If you’ve lost, you’re pissed off. But you can’t express these feelings in front of the other team’s manager and staff. A year later, Blackburn came up to the Stadium of Light. Mark Hughes, who I’d played with at United, was managing Blackburn, and they beat us, 2–1 – they robbed us. Everyone was listening to the conversation between myself and Mark in my office after the game.

He asked me where I lived.

‘Durham.’

‘How long does it take you to get from Manchester to Durham?’

‘About two and a half hours.’

‘How many miles is it, door to door?’

I’m not knocking him – I’ve got time for Sparky. But we couldn’t be ourselves.

I answered him: ‘A hundred and thirty-eight’, I think it was.

When he left, my staff were going, ‘What the fuck was that about?’

But it was just awkward, and it was like that every week.

‘Who have you got next week?’

‘Where did you stay last night?’

But this – Steve losing his rag – was one of the highlights of the season. We’d shown another side of our team, the fighting side. We kept giving ourselves mountains to climb, but the players
were climbing them. We were fighting, and scrapping. We’d got a draw we hadn’t deserved; we’d scored in injury time, in front of our fans.

We showed a clip of the celebrations to the players, because it had been on the news, on television. Dave Connolly had jumped into the away stand, to celebrate with the Sunderland fans. One or two of the fans fell out of the stand – it was only a small drop but, still, they went head over heels on to the pitch. But it was creating a story, that we were all in this together, the players, the fans, the club – ‘We’re Sunderland and we never give up. We stay to the end.’

As the season went on, we got a lot of late goals – because the teams we were playing believed we’d get a late goal. It wasn’t about us believing; it was about them – dropping back and dropping back.

But it still hadn’t crossed my mind that we might get promoted. I just thought, ‘It’s been difficult, but we’re moving away from relegation.’

After the Burnley game I said that we weren’t ready for the play-offs yet, and that some of the players weren’t up to that challenge. I’d say something like that, occasionally, to test the players’ mentality, or as a message to Niall and the board, to bring them – and me – back down to reality. If the board were getting a bit giddy, and thinking that we had all the players we needed, I was reminding them that we needed a few more; the January transfer window was coming up. I wasn’t playing games with the board; we
did
need the players if we were going to go further. And, if we had a midweek game, there’d be four press conferences in the week – I had to say
something
to the media. There’d be a press conference on Friday, then again immediately after the match on Saturday. If we played on a Tuesday night, I had to talk
to the media on Monday, and after the match. It was boring – the same questions four times a week.

The Championship was full of big, historical names – Leeds, Derby, Leicester, Wolves, Sunderland. But I didn’t like that term ‘the sleeping giant’. That was why I thought that me going into Sunderland cold was a good thing; I didn’t care about the history, at first. The reality was: ‘This is where we are’, near the bottom of the Championship; let’s get the house in order. As I got a feel for the club, I began to appreciate the importance of history. I met some of the ex-players, including Charlie Hurley, who is a massive star in Sunderland, and Dennis Tueart, who’d been in the team that won the FA Cup in 1973. I started to get pictures up on the walls, in the dressing room and in the training ground. The training ground had the feel of a private hospital – brilliant facilities, but cold; the walls were bare. ‘Let’s get some pictures up.’ Bob Stokoe and the 1973 FA Cup, previous teams that had won promotion, and pictures of the fans.

I spoke to the staff about the need to dress well for match days. I was putting my marker down. Bill the masseur had a Sunderland tattoo down the side of his leg. I remember talking to him in my office.

I said, ‘I know on match days you wear short socks. Can you wear bigger socks? I’ve nothing against tattoos but I’m trying to send a message – we’re Sunderland now.’

It was a strange one. I kept reminding myself that I was speaking to a grown man.

But he said, ‘Yeah, I know where you’re coming from. Brilliant, gaffer – you’re dead right.’

Bill was a really good guy, a big Sunderland fan. He wasn’t going, ‘Who do you think you are? I’m proud of my tattoos.’ It was a chat that could have gone wrong. He took it in very good
spirit, and I think that summed up my time at the club. If I’d said to people, ‘Jump,’ they would have said, ‘How high?’

We were beaten by Crystal Palace, away, and then we beat Leeds, 2–0, at home on St Stephen’s Day – Boxing Day; Dave Connolly and Grant Leadbitter scored.

There were over 40,000 in the ground; the atmosphere was brilliant. Leeds brought a load of fans up with them, too, and there’s a lot of hatred between Leeds and Sunderland, going back to the 1973 FA Cup final. Dennis Wise was managing Leeds, and Gus Poyet was his assistant. We were attacking, and Gus got a ball from one of the ballboys. He kicked it out on to the pitch and stopped the game. He was sent to the stand. There was proper rivalry between the two teams, so it was a good win for us. Yorkie was starting to look sharper – considering he could have been on Bondi Beach, having his Christmas dinner.

We lost at home to Preston, 1–0. I’d sent ten players out on loan and I was regretting it now. I particularly regretted letting them play against us. The lad Tommy Miller played against us for Preston, and he played very well. I shouldn’t have let him play; it was a big mistake. The only loser was going to be me. If the player didn’t play well, it was almost irrelevant. But if he had a good game, it was going to be, ‘Why are you letting him play against us?’, or ‘Why is such a good player out on loan in the first place?’, because it was a guarantee that he’d have something to prove when he was out on the pitch. In my innocence I didn’t want to begrudge the lad a game. I was still learning not to think like a player, and to be a bit more ruthless.

At the end of 2006 we were twelfth in the league. We had thirty-seven points from twenty-six games, and we were ten points behind Preston, who were second in the table. Generally, if you
can average two points a game you’ll be promoted. We were well behind that.

Our first game of the new year was on 2 January, away to Leicester. Leicester were good but we won, 2–0. Dave Connolly scored again; he was doing the business for us and really proving his worth.

That was the day we took off. The day our surge to the top started – although we didn’t know it then. But I began to wonder if we could kick on and get into one of the play-off positions. A top-two place, and automatic promotion, seemed too far off. I didn’t think it would happen that year; it was too early. But the play-offs would be progress.

But we had – it’s the biggest word in football – momentum. It’s like a tidal wave. Southampton, away; we scored in the last minute. Burnley, at home, down 3–2; we scored with the last kick of the game. Derby, at home, it’s 1–1; Liam Millar scores the winner in injury time, with a header – and he’s the smallest man on the pitch. Momentum – we had it.

We brought in some players in January. Carlos Edwards, from Luton; Anthony Stokes, from Arsenal; and Jonny Evans – we got Jonny on loan from Manchester United. They were all good signings, brilliant, and just what we needed. One of the reasons they worked, I think, is because I knew a bit about them, beyond the stats – something about their personalities.

Carlos had played against us when we beat Luton earlier in the season, and I’d seen what a good player he was. He gave us a right-sided midfielder. He had pace, and he could get us up the pitch; we could counter-attack away from home.

Jonny was a centre-half. He had the qualities of a Manchester United player, and he was bringing them to Sunderland. For such a young man – he was nineteen – he was very mature, and a born leader. Jonny was unbelievable for us. He lived with his mam and
dad in Sale, near my home, so I picked him up there and brought him up to see the set-up at Sunderland. I knew I was on a winner; I knew him, and I knew what he was about. I remembered an incident when I was still at United; there’d been a fight in the canteen and Jonny had looked after himself well – I think he knocked the other lad out. I knew Jonny was tough.

Stokesy got us vital goals towards the end of the season. He was a good signing for us, because there’d been a lot of competition for him. Celtic and Charlton, who were still in the Premiership then, were after him. So signing Stokesy sent out another message: we could compete with other clubs. I spoke to Stokesy’s dad and, for some reason, he thought I’d be able to keep his son on the straight and narrow – because Stokesy was a bit of a boy.

I can’t think of a player who we brought in that season who disappointed. They all contributed. I’d brought in good players, to add to the good players we already had. Regardless of where we finished the season, these players would do a job for us for a good few years.

We were knocked out of the FA Cup in the third round, by Preston. That was a disappointment, because I’m a fan of the FA Cup. A run in the Cup would have been great; I would never have worried about a fixture pile-up. The financial incentives were there, too – a Cup run brings money into the club. But we played Preston three times over the season, and they definitely had an edge over us.

We beat Ipswich 1–0; Dave Connolly again. Then we beat Sheffield Wednesday away, 4–2. Yorkie scored a great goal, a nice little dink over the keeper. But we were 3–0 up and they came back to 3–2. I nearly had a fuckin’ heart attack.

That was the third time I lost my rag. Again, there was a message. Everyone in the dressing room was delighted. We’d won 4–2 – but we should never have let them come back. I told them
that it wasn’t good enough, and that there had to be consistent standards. They couldn’t let the other team back into the game; they might get away with it against Wednesday, but not against better teams. It’s not a bad idea to be critical of the players after they’ve won a match. They took the criticism, but they’d still won. And it’s not as if I’d lost my temper because we’d lost; that wasn’t the excuse, so they couldn’t dismiss it.

But the atmosphere among our fans at that game was fantastic. They started singing a version of ‘Hey, Jude’ – ‘na na na na-na-na-na – Keano’ – at half-time, and kept at it right through the second half. It carried on for the rest of the season. I took it with a pinch of salt, although I’d never heard supporters singing about a manager like that before. I should probably have appreciated it more. But I didn’t want to enjoy it too much, because it can all change so quickly. We were doing well but I knew that we’d eventually have a dip in form. Real Madrid and Manchester United have had dips. At Sunderland, we were going to have a big fuckin’ dip. And when that happens, who’s the first to get it? The manager. I wasn’t a messiah, and I didn’t want to be seen as one. Anyway, I’ve never been a big lover of that song. It might have been different if it had been a song I liked.