The games were coming thick and fast now. Four games in two weeks would test the younger players’ powers of recovery, but I was confident that we really did have what it takes. Walter took the heat off us in the media, so we could concentrate on training and playing.

  ‘We have a long way to go,’ he told the news stations. ‘We have had a really poor few games and have given all our rivals a big head-start. We are now playing catch-up, but these young lads we have brought in just want to play football, and that’s what we will do.’

  And we did exactly that. ‘Free Flowing Fun Football’ was the headline in the local paper after the Newford Celtic game. We had won 4-1 away, Monty and Zac getting their first goals, with an Arlo penalty and Mac’s towering header finishing them off. I had played particularly well without scoring, setting up the first two goals, and causing havoc against a usually secure defence.

  We struggled to get going on a cold Wednesday night in the capital against promotion rivals Park Lane. But once Dexter had headed in a second-half corner, we were off and running, finishing 3-1 winners. Park Lane was one of the more fancied sides to get promotion, so to win, and convincingly, again playing away from home, was a brilliant result.

  Back at the Accies stadium, I scored another brace of goals against Arlington, before hitting a late winner verses Oxfield the following week, which made me briefly the clubs’ top scorer (before Dexter hit a hat-trick in the next match). At 37-years old, Dexter was clearly loving having a bit of extra space in the Championship division, compared to the 100mph all-action Premier League. And whilst he was coming to the end of his career, his input to me personally was incredible.

  After no wins in seven matches, we had won the next seven on the bounce, scoring a magnificent 18 goals, with Lucas only conceding three. It was some turn around. We had been transformed from a beatable, weak, goal-shy team, to one that was exciting, aggressive, confident and goal-hungry.

  The intense nature of our all-action game plan did begin to take its toll though. First, we lost Zac to a leg injury. Then Monty, after a bad challenge right at the end of the Wimbledonians match. We had thought he had broken his leg initially, but luckily it was just bad bruising. Dexter, at his age, was beginning to struggle to play every game, and needed a rest, and with Harry George suspended after collecting five yellow cards, it was a much-changed side that ran out against Manford Rovers. Like us, Manford were one of the game’s great sides. European Royalty, they called themselves, having won the European Champions cup four times. They were on a similar downward path to us, after their billionaire owners had pulled out. It left the club in deep debt. They couldn’t afford to keep their big stars, and they fell into the Championship a couple of years before we did. After a poor season last time out, this season they had regrouped, restructured and brought in some very clever signings. They were certainly back with a bang, currently four points clear of Western Villa at the top of the table and scoring goals for fun, double the amount we had already.

  I was starting up front, virtually on my own. We were going to try and hit them with a counter-attack game. Suck them into our half, then once we had won the ball back, pounce hard and fast, using our strengths. But Manford had other ideas, and just didn’t give us a sniff.

  They dominated the ball everywhere, leaving us to chase shadows. It was no surprise to the neutrals really that they scored first. Fifteen minutes had passed when Antony Joseph, another of my academy pals, left a back pass horribly short, and the Manford winger was able to clip the ball past Lucas for 0-1. From their next attack they nearly scored again, this time Lucas - flying away to his left - palmed the ball over the bar for a corner. The crowd was on their feet. Lucas had made himself a hero almost as much as I had in our short time in the first team. Local boys playing their hearts out, and playing well, for a team they had supported all their lives; the fans loved it. But they didn’t love what happened next. An-swinging corner was won by a Manford player, and his header, on target, hit Arlo’s arm. The referee had no hesitation. Penalty. And a red card for poor Arlo!

  Arlo was gutted, as he trudged off with tears in his eyes. It was a complete accident, but as it stopped them scoring, the referee had no choice but to send him off. And as the ball flew in for 0-2 you could see a few heads drop; the crowd had gone silent after a typically noisy start. With just 20 minutes of the game gone, we were two nil down with only ten players.

  They battered us after that. I hardly had a kick. I was running in circles getting more and more frustrated. Somehow, we made it to half time without conceding another, but even though Walter told us we were still in it, I could see we’d already lost. My head was down, and after Manford scored again to make it 0-3 after an hour of the game, and having picked up a silly yellow card for kicking the ball away in frustration, I was taken off. I’d hardly had a touch in the second half, and I deserved to be hooked. It still hurt though. I tried to watch the rest of the match, but watching Lucas pick the ball out of his net twice more was too much to take.

  The away fans were singing ‘champions’ and ‘we’re gonna win the league’ quite clearly trying to wind up and annoy our fans, well at least those who had bothered to stay. The stands were emptying long before the final whistle, which couldn’t come soon enough. We’d come down after our fantastic run with a bump. All the earlier optimism had been sucked out of us, booing at the final whistle was something you did not hear from the Accies supporters, but we had deserved it. Whist we did not play well, our fans could usually accept that, but we stopped trying. We let them have the ball and didn’t fight hard enough. We deserved nothing from the game and fully deserved the criticism we received from the stands.

  The dressing room was a desperate sight. A mixture of sadness, embarrassment and anger. Some of the players refused to say a thing. Some couldn’t say enough, loudly. Walter didn’t say a thing. He didn’t need to. We knew we had let everyone down. The journey home was awful, and even though it took a little under 10 minutes, I felt every eye on me, and every step felt slow and difficult, like I was stepping in wet cement.

  The fallout from the Manford game was extreme. We were slated. The red card for Arlo was harsh, but in truth we were very poor, and losing a player did not change the way the game was going. I think we would have lost heavily anyway, even with all eleven players on the pitch. After all the good press I had received, I was also criticised heavily. It was not nice, and in training that week I was rubbish. I couldn’t shoot straight, I over-hit every pass, lost every tackle and was slow to react to everything. Mac had serious words with me.

  ‘Listen Jack, you need to sort yourself out,’ he said. ‘It’s just one game. We were all rubbish, not just you. Every time from now on you get praised remember this moment, and every time you get bad stuff said about you, you can remember all the goals you have scored.’

  He was right of course. It was just one bad performance in an otherwise great start to my professional career. I had been brilliant, so there was always going to be a game when things didn’t go well. I just wasn’t quite ready for the headlines in the papers saying I was too young, and that Walter should not have started me in that game as I wasn’t experienced enough.

  We again struggled to get going against Landon Borough in the next game, at least saving a draw this time. Fin scoring his first for the club, a lovely goal, beating two players before curling a beautiful shot into the bottom corner.

  I had been dropped for the Borough game. I couldn’t complain, my attitude sucked. Walter had hauled me into his office once already that week and today he had given me a proper dressing down.

  ‘Jack my lad, the Manford game, that’s a lesson for you right there, probably the most valuable one of the season. We keep going, we keep trying, no matter what. No matter how hard it is, or how desperate the situation: you never give up. Ever. Anything could have happened. But we will never know. Go home. Sulk if you need to, get over it. Come back Monday morning and train harder than ever. Win back your place in this team.’

  As always, Walter was right, and I did train hard. Walter wanted to prove a point to me by dropping me from the team, and he did also have Thiago back fit again. I would learn later that he always intended to give me a break, so I wouldn’t burn out. And this was the perfect time, he just didn’t tell me to keep me on my toes. He was a clever man, and a great coach. He always had a plan, even in the difficult days.

  We were sitting in a solid mid-table position with the halfway stage of the season approaching. The top two sides were promoted automatically, it looked very much like it was going to be two from Manford, Western Villa and Park Lane United, but the race for the play-offs (the teams who finished 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th) was wide open. Despite our shocking start, we were only 12 points away from sixth place. With just over half the season still to play, it was still very much game on.

  But we could put all that to one side. We had an FA Cup, third round match to prepare for.

  “Keep working hard, even when no one is watching.” (Dexter)

  The Accies had a great history in the FA Cup. First winning it in 1892 beating Old Corinthians 2-0 in the final. We had won it twelve times since, the third best record, just three wins behind the great Liverton side.

  In more recent times, the European challenge had become more important to those in charge of the club. Playing big foreign teams now felt bigger, better and more exciting. As well as giving the club bundles of money every time they played in the main tournaments! The best players wanted to play in it also, so not being in Europe was a big problem when trying to convince the best players from around the world to come. Competing to get into, and then playing in the European cup, or Champions League as it became known, was something the clubs’ owners had insisted on every season Walter in his first few seasons as manager, led the Accies to a semi-final, and the quarter-finals three times in four seasons. But that was now a distant memory, as we stepped out to a stadium that was expecting a five or six goal thumping of the minnows from Middlethian.

  I’d always liked the FA cup. I liked the fact that a tiny non-league team of amateur players could play against the best sides about. England internationals verses butchers and traffic wardens. David verses Goliath matches. The big sides nearly always won, but just occasionally there would be a shock, a big one, and now I was praying that the shock result of the round wouldn’t be us.

  We had been drawn against Middlethian United. A team whose home stadium was right on the border of England and Scotland. We were at home, which helped. But they had nothing to lose and had just seen us thumped 5-0 by Manford. They were an average side at best, even in their own division, and this season they were struggling to win a single match, even down in the fourth tier of English football. It looked to all who watched them that they may well drop into the amateur leagues at the end of this season.

  Walter rang the changes after the Manford demolition, recalling Harry George and Mac into the defence. Monty and Zac were back from their injuries too. Dexter sat this one out for me to return to partner Thiago up front, for the first time. Young Irish defender, Finlay Crane, came in for his debut to replace Arlo who was now suspended for a few games after his sending off. The mood was good, and the players looked relaxed and ready.

  We ran out to the usual cheer from the crowd. The chants of ‘Wembley, Wembley’ were a bit too soon I thought. Every team needs a bit of respect, and to sing a song like this before our first match, in only the third round, in what was the oldest cup competition in the world I thought was a little bit disrespectful, but they were happy and as the sun shone it felt like it was going to be a good day.

  We started off really well. The ball zipped around the pitch as we played with pace and confidence. The lower league side had started with five defenders and one of them was intent on hanging onto my shirt at every opportunity.

  Still, it didn’t seem to matter much, as after only five minutes Zac’s arrow like pass found me on the edge of the penalty area. I took it under control with my right foot and hit it first time with my left. It fizzed hard and low and into the corner GOAL! Another cracker. I was made up. That was for Manford, I thought. Wow that felt good.

  ‘Nice one Jack, that was some finish, but the pass was better huh!’ Zac joked, winking at me with a massive grin on his face. Middlethian had barely kicked off when J-D hammered into their central midfielder, the ball broke loose to an unmarked Monty who chipped the ball from midway inside their half. The keeper, hopelessly out of position, could only watch as it sailed over his head and into the net.

  It was 2-0 and we had only played seven minutes. This is going to be embarrassing for them I thought. I could get bundles of goals today.

  But try as we might, the third goal wouldn’t come. Some poor shooting, good goalkeeping and brave defending kept the score-line at 2-0 for the rest of the first half. We had our half-time drinks and snacks, relaxed and smiling. Harry G was cracking jokes and even Walter was laughing. No one had any idea what was about to happen.

  The second half started in the same way as the first, with us on the attack. Wave after wave, shot after shot. Their goal was living a charmed life and their keeper was certainly going to be making a name for himself. We had a golden chance to make three-nil when we won a penalty with just 15 minutes left. It was a soft one if I’m honest, a silly foul by their right back, but we didn’t mind. It was a chance to make the game totally safe. Thiago stepped up. He had been looking a bit jaded today, after his injury had meant he had not played for a while, but insisted he take it. As the senior striker, we let him, but then wished we hadn’t, as after sending the keeper the wrong way, he hit the post. The ball cannoned out straight to a defender who thumped it long and hard. Suddenly they were on the attack and Mac was left in a race with the Middlethian winger. Mac didn’t stand a chance as the delighted player burst away before slipping the ball under Lucas. 2-1.

  The crowd were silenced, at least for a few moments. We had dominated and were about to put the game to bed, and now – somehow - they were right back in it. I still thought we were more likely to score than them, but Walter decided to make a couple of changes anyway. Thiago who was clearly tiring badly came off, as did Mac who appeared to have pulled a muscle in his desperate foot-chase of the speedy Middlethian winger. But whatever Walter had done had no effect, other than to spur on the away team. There were five minutes to go, and they were the ones playing the ball round like champions. We were chasing shadows. We could feel the tension in the crowd growing and we began to make mistake after mistake. Even Lucas, who was usually so good with his feet, gave the ball away under no pressure, and then as the Middlethian forward pushed the ball back past him, in a desperate attempt to reach the ball, Lucas caught his legs and brought him down. Penalty.

  This was NOT happening. We were coasting. This should have been easy. The away fans were bouncing in their little section, and when their star player drilled the penalty kick into the top corner, they exploded with noise. Our supporters were deathly quiet. Somehow, we were going into extra time.

  Walter made more changes. He kept me on, but took off both Zac and Monty who had looked totally lost in the last ten minutes. They had quickly become good friends with Lucas and I, and I felt sorry for them, but we needed something to change, and quick.

  qIt didn’t work, as whilst we were defensively strong, we couldn’t find the killer goal. I was guilty of missing the best chance, blazing the ball over with only seconds of extra time remaining when I really should have at least hit the target.

  When the referee blew for full time in extra time, it was a relief. I presumed the game would now go to a replay, but walking back to our huddle on the halfway line I could see Walter scribbling down names.

  ‘Jack, you can have penalty number five, ok?’ he barked. He was clearly not happy, but was doing his best to remain calm.

  ‘Penalties? What? Yeah, ok. Sure,’ I said. But I wasn’t sure. I felt a bit scared of penalty shoot-outs. We had lost our last academy cup final on a penalty shoot-out and whilst I had scored my kick, this was a different matter entirely. This was the FA Cup.

  We had won the coin toss and Harry G (who had taken the captaincy for this game from Mac) had decided we were going first.

  Finbar was out front and marching towards the spot. Confident walk I thought. He’s definitely going to score. He did, no problem, as he calmly slotted it into the bottom corner. They scored 1-1, we scored again through Harry and again as Franco put us 3-2 up. Lucas got a big strong hand to their next one, but was so unlucky as it struck the post, then his shoulder and in, 3-3.

  Jamie Curry who had come on as a sub, made it 4-3 before they equalised once again.

  It was now my turn. I had expected Lucas to save at least one. He was so good, and he’d hardly had anything to do in the whole game. I walked towards the penalty spot. The goal began to look smaller and smaller, the keeper looked bigger and bigger. I placed the ball on the spot, but the referee insisted I move it more centrally. My hands were shaking as I placed the ball for a second time. I glanced up. The goal looked like a child’s training goal and the keeper looked like a giant. I had never been this nervous before.

  ‘Trust yourself’ I thought. ‘Trust yourself. Laces. Hit it hard with your laces’

  Which is what I did. I took a longer than usual run up and smashed the ball straight down the middle, the keeper looked beaten as he dived away to his left, but the ball struck his shins and flew back over my head. I was gutted and could hardly look up as the final Middlethian player walked past me. If he scored, we were out, and it would be a humiliation for the club, and for me.

  The competition I loved and respected, was about to give me my most painful memory.

  I slumped to the floor as I returned to my teammates on the half-way line. I couldn’t look.

  Lucas will save it, I prayed, he always saves one. Please.

 

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