Read Online How NOT to be a Football Millionaire - Keith Gillespie My Autobiography by Keith Gillespie - Free Book Online
Authors: Keith Gillespie
Tags: Gambling, Horse Racing, Northern Ireland, Newcastle United FC, Sheffield UnitedFC, Blackburn Rovers FC, ManchesterUnited FC, Leicester City FC, Bradford City FC
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immediately took me under their wing.
From my days in the under-age set-up, I had an idea what Northern Ireland teams were about. The dressing room was a communal environment, albeit with terms and conditions attached. You had to be able to cope with the banter and the slagging. And you had to be able to drink. That was the culture. Win or lose, we were on the booze. At that point in time, it was a mantra that applied to most teams in our part of the world. We just lived it better than most.
There were plenty of experienced figures knocking around at the time, really big characters. Guys like Alan McDonald, Jimmy Quinn, Gerry Taggart, Kevin Wilson, Nigel Worthington, Iain Dowie, Jim Magilton, even Steve Lomas, who was only a year older than me but always had a bit of presence about him. It was a solid bunch and, while Bryan had big shoes to fill, he almost brought us to a major tournament in his first campaign.
My debut started with a near miss, a sign of things to come. We lost narrowly to the Portuguese. I did ok, nothing too spectacular. With so many friends and family there, it was a relief to get through it without any big mishaps. The reviews were generally positive.
A month later, we travelled to Vienna to take on a decent Austria side. That was my real initiation.
The key to those games was silencing the home crowd and, within three minutes, I turned down the volume at the Ernst Happel Stadium. Iain Dowie flicked a throw-in over his head at the edge of the box, right into my direction. I caught it on the volley, sweet as you like, and it flew into the top corner. One of my best ever goals. They equalised shortly after, but one of the lads I already knew in the camp, Phil Gray, put us back ahead before half-time and we held on for the win.
It was the prelude to an incredible night. All I remember is the lads in a bar in Vienna, up dancing on the tables and revelling in the moment. There’s no better feeling in football than heading out after a hard-fought victory. Everyone was a part of it.
From that high we slumped to a shattering low a month later when the Republic of Ireland came to Belfast. Expectations were high in the wake of the Austria win, and this game meant everything to our fans.
The Republic were a good side who had just been to the World Cup. We came in full of confidence and got wiped off the park by our neighbours. 4-0. A humiliation. I missed my flight to Manchester the next morning. Not because I was out on the beer. I’d gone home to Bangor and slept in. I didn’t want to get out of bed. One of the lads back in Manchester wondered if I’d thrown myself in a river.
We had until March, and the return in Dublin, to stew over that one. Bryan decided to have all the preparations in Dublin so we gathered there on the Saturday night ahead of a Wednesday encounter. By this time I was a more experienced player, with a higher profile and stronger stomach. After a few beverages in the hotel bar, we headed to the nightclub next door where a couple of lads decided to test my drinking resolution. Steve Morrow, then of Arsenal, was the ringleader. We worked away along the optics of the bar, going through all the spirits until we were necking Green Chartreuse, a 55 per cent strength recipe for disaster. I remained upright; Steve required assistance from the assistant manager, Gerry Armstrong, to get up the stairs. He was telling Gerry how they’d stitched me up. “Really”, said Gerry, “then why is Keith still standing at the bar then?”
Those exertions didn’t hinder the outcome. We were under the cosh for long periods at Lansdowne Road, and trailed to a Niall Quinn goal. But we had a serious resilience on our travels, and I managed to stick in a cross that Dowie converted to take away a draw.
Next up was a jaunt to Latvia, where the same toughness was evident. We were short of a few bodies and Barry Hunter and Kevin Horlock, from Wrexham and Swindon respectively, were thrown in for their
From my days in the under-age set-up, I had an idea what Northern Ireland teams were about. The dressing room was a communal environment, albeit with terms and conditions attached. You had to be able to cope with the banter and the slagging. And you had to be able to drink. That was the culture. Win or lose, we were on the booze. At that point in time, it was a mantra that applied to most teams in our part of the world. We just lived it better than most.
There were plenty of experienced figures knocking around at the time, really big characters. Guys like Alan McDonald, Jimmy Quinn, Gerry Taggart, Kevin Wilson, Nigel Worthington, Iain Dowie, Jim Magilton, even Steve Lomas, who was only a year older than me but always had a bit of presence about him. It was a solid bunch and, while Bryan had big shoes to fill, he almost brought us to a major tournament in his first campaign.
My debut started with a near miss, a sign of things to come. We lost narrowly to the Portuguese. I did ok, nothing too spectacular. With so many friends and family there, it was a relief to get through it without any big mishaps. The reviews were generally positive.
A month later, we travelled to Vienna to take on a decent Austria side. That was my real initiation.
The key to those games was silencing the home crowd and, within three minutes, I turned down the volume at the Ernst Happel Stadium. Iain Dowie flicked a throw-in over his head at the edge of the box, right into my direction. I caught it on the volley, sweet as you like, and it flew into the top corner. One of my best ever goals. They equalised shortly after, but one of the lads I already knew in the camp, Phil Gray, put us back ahead before half-time and we held on for the win.
It was the prelude to an incredible night. All I remember is the lads in a bar in Vienna, up dancing on the tables and revelling in the moment. There’s no better feeling in football than heading out after a hard-fought victory. Everyone was a part of it.
From that high we slumped to a shattering low a month later when the Republic of Ireland came to Belfast. Expectations were high in the wake of the Austria win, and this game meant everything to our fans.
The Republic were a good side who had just been to the World Cup. We came in full of confidence and got wiped off the park by our neighbours. 4-0. A humiliation. I missed my flight to Manchester the next morning. Not because I was out on the beer. I’d gone home to Bangor and slept in. I didn’t want to get out of bed. One of the lads back in Manchester wondered if I’d thrown myself in a river.
We had until March, and the return in Dublin, to stew over that one. Bryan decided to have all the preparations in Dublin so we gathered there on the Saturday night ahead of a Wednesday encounter. By this time I was a more experienced player, with a higher profile and stronger stomach. After a few beverages in the hotel bar, we headed to the nightclub next door where a couple of lads decided to test my drinking resolution. Steve Morrow, then of Arsenal, was the ringleader. We worked away along the optics of the bar, going through all the spirits until we were necking Green Chartreuse, a 55 per cent strength recipe for disaster. I remained upright; Steve required assistance from the assistant manager, Gerry Armstrong, to get up the stairs. He was telling Gerry how they’d stitched me up. “Really”, said Gerry, “then why is Keith still standing at the bar then?”
Those exertions didn’t hinder the outcome. We were under the cosh for long periods at Lansdowne Road, and trailed to a Niall Quinn goal. But we had a serious resilience on our travels, and I managed to stick in a cross that Dowie converted to take away a draw.
Next up was a jaunt to Latvia, where the same toughness was evident. We were short of a few bodies and Barry Hunter and Kevin Horlock, from Wrexham and Swindon respectively, were thrown in for their
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