crazyvols@comca

Christmas Day. Early in the evening, the goose – the turkey, rather – long since done and cleared away, an old man gathers his grandchildren around, and as they arranged themselves at his feet, asked them which story they wanted. He always liked to ask, though they never asked for anything different, and they knew every word.

“Real! Real! Real!”

Now, in many places in Canada, hearing a small group of children pronouncing that in the Spanish way might have sounded very odd indeed.

“No,” said the old man, “Surely not this time. How about Man United? That was later the same year, you see, and we’d already been-”

“GRAMPA DEREK!!!”

He was drowned out with cries of dismay, and pretended to be angry for a moment, but then softened and agreed.

“Alright, alright, then, settle yourselves down. I’ll tell the Real story again.”

From the kitchen, a woman of equal age looked fondly at him, and he cocked an eyebrow at her in acknowledgement. She knew as well as the children that this was his favourite story just as much as theirs.

crazyvols@comca

This is going to be a short story. Any inaccuracies in the recall of Derek Riordan about his youth and times in Scotland should be put down to the fading memories of an old man...

crazyvols@comca

“It was a long, long time ago, and it was far across the ocean, in a country that used to be part of the United Kingdom then, under the-”

“-hated British!” came the chorus.

“Oh? You want to tell this story, then?”

Abashed looks accompanied the sudden silence, and he continued.

“In-” he stopped and looked around suddenly, and they giggled and hushed one another – “In Scotland, then, in a city called Edinburgh I was born. And when I was a wee tyke, my father gave me a football – that’s a round white ball, not the pointy brown one you know with the white stripe – he gave me a football, and I learned to play with it. I loved it, and I played morning and night, before school, and after school, and sometimes…” he looked around conspiratorially, and lowered his voice. “Sometimes even =instead= of school.”

Again, the children giggled, and as quickly turned to shushing one another.

“When I got older, I was so happy to go to games of the local professional club”

“HIBERNIANS!”

“Yes, that’s right, Hibs. I’d go to their home games, and when they’d score, we’d sing, and when the other team scored, we’d boo and hiss and shout =terrible= words at the opposite team. And when the other team was our most hated rivals”

“HEARTS!”

“Yes, Hearts. When it was Hearts, we would use our most nasty, awful words, for a local derby, we thought, was the most intense game you could have.

“Well, time went by, and I grew to be a man, and I played and played, and eventually, I was signed by”

“HIBERNIANS!”

“Now, are you kids going to interrupt me every time I come to the name of the club?”

His angry show was as much a part of the story as the names of the goalscorers, and they didn’t blink in the face of it, but shouted “YES!”

“Oh. Oh, very well then.”

He blinked twice, and then started in again.

“Well, I played for Hibernians’ youth side, and then their Reserves, and then the day came when I made my debut. And lo and behold, it was a derby match!”

“HIBS VEE HEARTS! HIBS VEE HEARTS!”

“Alright, alright, yes, it was, it was Hibs against Hearts, only this time I would be going out onto the pitch wearing my Hibs jersey, not just sitting with my father. I was so nervous I thought I might throw up. When I looked across the tunnel as we came onto the pitch, a gigantic centre back looked back at me and practically snarled. I’d been about to offer him my hand, show him that even though I’d been a Hibbees man all my life, there were no hard feelings. I didn’t – I worried he’d”

“Bite it off!” He gnashed his teeth at them, snarling.

“That’s right! Well, we played that game, and I played pretty poorly for a while. Then that big centre back, he chopped me down outside the area. The skipper came over, said he was going to take it, but I pushed him aside, and struck the ball quickly, hooking it into the far corner. I was so thrilled, I ran to the crowd, and I threw my arms in the air” and he did “and screamed out loud!”

“AAAAAGGHHHHHH!!” said all the kids, bringing cries of complaint from the kitchen.

He brought a finger to his lips, and shushed them all. “Do you want to hear the story or no?”

“Now, we won that game, but that push was going to cost me. The skipper was an older player, who’d been around the game a long time, and he was livid with me.

“’If you ever show me up like that again, lad, so help me you’ll never play in the same as I do again. Clear?’

“I was just a kid, and I nodded quietly, but I was secretly sure I had done the right thing.”

crazyvols@comca

“Unfortunately, he was more right than I was. The gaffer was pretty upset, too. I couldn’t understand it – I’d won the game, hadn’t I?

“I ended up being loaned out to a tiny side called”

“COWDENBEATH!”

“Yes, that’s right. I did so well, they called me right back: I scored a hat trick in my second game.

“I never did settle in at Hibs, though. I think the pressure was just too high, on my hometown club, and I just couldn’t really do much to let it off. Everywhere I went, I was the kid who’d scored the stunner against Hearts, and there was so much expectation after that.

“After three years, I moved on to Portsmouth, down in England, about as far from Edinburgh as I could get and still stay in Britain. I didn’t fit in well there, didn’t make many friends, and soon ended up playing regularly in the reserves.

“Well, I thought I was worth more than that. After all, hadn’t I been hounded out of Scotland by the pressure of being the kid who scored that stunner? Surely they had to give me a chance.

“They didn’t. They just let me play in the reserves.

“Then the manager of Tottenham Hotspur came along, or rather his scouts did. And they liked what they saw, and so the manager tried to buy me. In those days, in”

”HATED BRITAIN!”

“In Britain, yes, people who played football could be bought and sold, like slaves. Portsmouth said they didn’t want to sell me. Tottenham tried and tried, but Portsmouth wouldn’t sell.

“The next summer came, though, and they finally decided they didn’t want me that much. Just before the last day they could do so, they finally said to Tottenham, ‘Give us five million pounds’ – that’s a kind of money they had then – ‘and we’ll give you Riordan.’”

“Well, Tottenham said they would do that, and so I signed my new contract, and I was playing for Spurs.”

retired_brittni10

I like the style, nice start

retired_bbcarr

kick at riordan til he bleeds :thup:

but i like the story so far

crazyvols@comca

“Now, our season started slowly. The team had already lost a few games, and after a seventh-place finish the year before, they were expected to at least do that or better this time, and this season they had the added pressure of the UEFA Cup.

“The gaffer – Martin Jol – he told me that I was being brought in, frankly, as cover; they’d lost Robbie Keane the day before to Liverpool, and I was to be the fourth man on the list. I wasn’t going to get a lot of games, but I was to be fit when I was needed, and give them goals as a substitute or perhaps starting to rest one of the main men.

“It was clear and honest, and I answered that I could do that. More than ever, I wanted to be professional. I started training the next day, and worked harder than I ever had before.

“My first game was against Charlton Athletic, at home. I was just as nervous that day as I had been as a kid at Easter Road. I didn’t do very well, I thought, but when I came off as a sub, the skipper – Ledley King, a great big tall centre back like the one who’d snarled at me so long before – said I’d done just great.

“Well, wouldn’t you know, it was Boxing Day when I scored my first. Derby County were in town, just promoted, and the gaffer gave me a run out. I’d been a bit down on myself, and he just told me to go out and play my game, go where it felt good. They weren’t likely to give us much opposition, as the team was rolling, and Scotty Parker and Pedro Mendes in the midfield were giving the opposition fits. Another Scots lad, Stephen Pearson, had come in from Celtic a few weeks before I had, and we’d become fast friends. He was playing out on the right flank that day – he switched from side to side as they needed him – in place of Simon Davies.

“Late in the first half, Stevie broke away down the right on a ball from the French fullback, Pamarot, and seeing it, I told Fredi (Kanoute, the other striker) that I’d go to the back post. Stevie must’ve heard me, because I faked left, saw the defender go for it, and turned back to have the ball nail me square in the forehead, and glance into the net.

“The place went mad. Kanoute ran and lifted me in the air, and I whuffed the air out, and he said something to me, but it was so loud I couldn’t hear a word. Didn’t matter, his English was terrible anyway, and his smile said it all.

“Things contined to improve. We had bought another striker, because Fredi was moving on a Bosman at the end of the season, so Akin Serhat was now ahead of me in the order, too. It was getting pretty crowded.

“Lucky for me, and unlucky for him, Stefan Moore – who’d been ahead of me all year –“

“BROKE HIS LEG!”

“Now, it’s not nice to laugh and cheer at that, you lot. Stef was a decent enough fellow.”

“The team was doing very well, and we breezed past Benfica in the First Knockout Round, 4-2 in Lisbon, where I had one, and then back to”

“WHITE HART LANE!”

“White Hart Lane. We beat them 4-0 there, and that was Fredi’s day – three goals, to make it 8-2 on aggregate, and we were moving on.

“The next day, we all watched the draw on a television at the stadium after training. We were really worried – some very good teams had fallen into the UEFA Cup that year, and we were hoping for some more easy going. As it turned out, it could have been worse: Villarreal, of Spain.

“Fredi set me up for two in the first leg in Spain, and I set him up for another. Back at the Lane, we won it 2-1, Scotty and Pedro each making and scoring one for the easy win.

“Once again, the draw. This time we were feeling confident. We’d disposed of two good European teams with relative ease, and we knew we were on a good roll.

“Inter Milan came out first, and then Dortmund. Whew. Two tough ones off our plates. Besiktas next – we thought we could take them, but it was Chelsea next out of the drum. Then out came the one marked Tottenham. We all drew a big breath. And the next name out of the drum was…?”

“REAL MADRID! REAL MADRID! REAL MADRID!”

crazyvols@comca

Thanks, lads.

“Now we were really concerned. These were the giants of Europe, the so-called galacticos. The winger Joaquin – Morientes and Raul up front – Totti, Beckham, Casillas, Samuel, Guti, even the aging Figo. How could we hope to go up against these, these, worldclass legends?

“We were certain we were doomed. The skipper got up and said,

‘Well, lads, you saw it. We’re playing Real. They’re going to be tough. Let’s go out and win some League matches between now and then, and if we go down, we go down, but let’s go out fighting. We’ve come too far to give up now.’

“Now, as speeches go, it wasn’t the greatest. He wasn’t ranting and roaring, just speaking calmly in his deep, quiet voice. But it made an impression, I’ll tell you. Backs straightened, chins up, and the whole room went sort of quiet.

“Well, we didn’t win those games. We drew Everton 2-2 at the Lane, and then we went to Anfield and lost 4-0. And then to Ashburton Grove, and we lost 4-1.

“The dressing room was downbeat. We could hardly look each other in the eyes.

“Thursday came. Training had been quiet on Wednesday, and as always, the first 18 didn’t train on Thursday. At the end of training Wednesday, the gaffer put the names down on the team sheet, and we knew who was going to play tomorrow. It was hard to know whether you wanted your name to be there or not.

“The bookies were listing us as 7-2 shots to win, in our own stadium. The newspapers were all over us, saying we didn’t have a ghost of a chance.

“I went down the list. I didn’t really expect to be on it, except maybe as the last sub. So I looked down to the subs list first.

“Davidovitch. The Israeli keeper, tall, funny, handy lad with a pair of juggling balls. So Robbo got the start in goal, no surprise.

“Tony Gardner and Rents Ziegler were next, the two defensive subs. With Matty Upson still recovering from his torn-up knee, that meant Calum Davenport was in the middle of the defense with King.

“Rohan Ricketts was next, the left winger, and Pedro Mendes, who’d taken a hard knock in the Arsenal match was still not fully fit.

“I looked down to what should have been the forward subs, expecting, maybe even hoping, to see my name, but it wasn’t there. I was stunned – Liam Miller and Stuart Lewis. Miller was a right winger, and Lewis another midfielder! No forward subs? I wasn’t good enough to prevent the call for four midfielders?

“I said something to the skipper, and he looked puzzled.

‘What do you mean, you’re not in the team, kid? Didn’t you read it?’

“I went back to the list, and looked again. No, not on the subs bench. Could it possibly be? Could I be…?”

“WHA-HAY!”

He beamed down at the kids’ imitation of his accent, and their little arms waving in the air to celebrate the moment with him.

“I was starting, against Real Madrid. I had eight goals in fifteen games, plus eleven more as a sub, and felt I’d done well, but couldn’t have imagined a start.

“I went to the gaffer. When I opened his door, he laughed at the look on my face.

‘Of course, kid, you’re going to start. Fredi’s got the flue, Stef’s still out with the leg, and Akin’s ineligible – he played all those games for Fenerbahce, right? So you’re in. You’ll play with Jermaine.’

“Well, now, that wasn’t the best news. I’d developed a real understanding with Fredi, and with Akin, because they were both big men, and I was good at reading their flicks and moving onto them. Jermaine Defoe was a totally different kind of player. I hoped I’d gel with him quickly.

“I had lunch with Jermaine that day, and we talked about movement off the ball, and set up some simple ideas of how to work together. He was only three months older than me, but he’d been playing at the top level for so long now, even playing regularly (and scoring well) for England.

“When the game started, I felt much more confident. I was determined we weren’t going to lose this game, not if I had anything to say about it.”

crazyvols@comca

“The stadium was pulsing. They’d put in 5000 more seats in the summer, and every single one was sold, the whole place a sea of white: both teams wore white as their home uniform.

“The weather was cool, fans wearing pullovers and all kinds of things to keep them warm on an unusually cold day. Real came out in their away black strip, all black, while we wore all-white, changing our dark shorts at the referee’s request.

“The lineups were-“

“Robinson-Hutton, Davenport-King, Edman-on-the-left,
Stevie and Scotty and Redknapp and Si,
Defoe to the left, and RIORDAN ON THE RIGHT!”

He smiled broadly. They knew it as a song, as much as anything. He remembered them: nervous Alan Hutton, another Scots lad, just 22 and already a full international. Smooth Edman, the left back, calm in the tunnel before the game like always. Stevie Pearson with a smile and a wink, Scotty looking like the face of death. Simon Davies, cracking terrible jokes in his lilting accent.

“And the galacticos, looking untouched by the cold, untouched by the noise:”

“Casseylass, Salga-do, Samyel, So-laree
Hel-ger-ra, Jo-a-queen, DaveyBecks and Guti
On the left, the dancin’ Czech,
Ma-rek Jank-oo-lof-ski
Standing at the front of things
Ra-ool and Mo-ree-enties.”

“’Glory, glory’ went the song around the stands, and we kicked off. It was only ten minutes into the game that we got the ball into the net. Stevie took a throw-in on the left – he could throw the ball =so= far – and found Redknapp at the corner of the box. Redknapp was covered, Guti right on his back. He laid it off for Scotty.

“Scotty looked up and saw space. I was calling at the back post, but he never wavered – straight at Salgado he ran, and pulled the ball through his legs. Solari next, but he dipped his head to the left, shimmied right, and then lashed a shot just inside the far post.

“One-NIL!”

“The place erupted. The noise practically took our heads off, and we could hardly hear it for our own shouting. We were one to the good – now they couldn’t sit back and just take the pressure, they had to open up and bring the game to us some.

“Well, wouldn’t you know it? Seven minutes later, a throw-in, same place. Once again, it went straight to Redknapp, only this time it’s Edman throwing. Redknapp turned his back to goal, looked up, and saw Stevie running across the top of the box. Dropping it, he dashed towards the near post. Stevie took two steps, and chipped a soft pass over the defense, landing it beautifully for Redknapp to tap in the open side. Casillas started to scream at his defenders, who gave it back wholehearted.

“TWO-nil!”

“Two minutes later, flying high and not concentrating, we learned the price of not paying attention. From the kickoff, Guti took the backpass and dribbled past tackles from Scotty and Redknapp. When Davenport left Raul to take on Guti, the crafty midfielder laid off to the now-unmarked forward, who took one step and smashed the ball into the top corner.

“The only sound in the stadium came from the delighted Real fans, a small contingent in one corner.

“About ten minutes later, I was glad I’d had lunch with Jermaine. Calum knocked a ball long with a clearing kick, and I met it just past the halfway line. We’d agreed that as the taller, I’d go up for the headers, and he would run straight down the centre of the park, trying to split the defenders. Simple, and we worked it a dream. Salgado was marking me. We both went up hard for it. I got an elbow in the chops for my troubles, but I won the ball, and the French referee yelled ‘Play on!’ over the roar of the crowd, and it floated straight at Jermaine. He chested it down perfectly, turned, and slammed a shot from between Helguera and Samuel past Casillas.”

“THREE-ONE!”

“Will you keep it down in there?” He shushed them again, with a grin this time, knowing it was futile.

“When we went off at halftime, the gaffer was pretty happy with us. We’d put aside our nerves, and played an excellent first half. He reminded us there were 45 minutes to go, and that there were a whole scary ninety coming at the Bernabeu in a week. That sobered us, and we went back out determined to get more.”

crazyvols@comca

“Twenty minutes into the second half, I was getting nervous. I knew the boss didn’t have any other forwards, but I was sure he was going to pull me for a midfielder. I saw Liam and Pedro warming up.

“Once more, we got a throw-in on the left, and once more Edman went to take it. He found Stevie Pearson, who raced away down the left. I went to the back post, and my man left me when he saw that Stevie had slipped Salgado. He went between Joaquin and Helguera, vaulting a leg left in by the defender, and Casillas saw he was going to have to come for it. Out came the keeper. I slipped in behind him, careful to stay onside. I whistled, and somehow, in all the frantic noise and excitement, he heard me, and rolled me the easiest tap-in I’d ever had.”

“FOUR-ONE! GRAMPA GRAMPA GRAMPA!”

“Shhh….shh…yes, it was four to one. Stevie knocked me down when he hugged me, yelled in my ear that he’d heard me whistle. I heard someone say there was a sub coming.

“I looked to the bench. Having scored, I figured the gaffer would think I’d done my job, and bring me off, but he called Redknapp. Jamie got a big hand, he’d played very well, and on came Pedro. The gaffer gave me a thumbs-up, so I went back to centre to ready for the kickoff.

“Fifteen minutes later, just ten minutes remained. I was feeling pretty wiped out by now, but the boss wanted me out there, so I wasn’t going to call for the off.

“Again, the ball was on the far side of the field. After the last goal, Jermaine and I switched sides, just to confuse the defenders a little more. They were arguing, and we wanted to do everything we could to make their lives more difficult.

“Pedro nicked the ball off Totti with a hard tackle, and skipped over the Italian’s leg when he scythed it around. ‘Play on’ once more from the referee, and he rolled it out to Si Davies, rushing away down the right. When he did, the Real defense once again rolled away from me, as Solari went to Davies, and Salgado left me alone to watch Jermaine. Once more I whistled, and once more the ball flew, an incredible rainbow cross, over the stretching, leaping arms of Casillas, and right to my chest. I let it drop, and hammered it low over the line to make it”

“FIVE-ONE! FIVE-ONE! FIVE-ONE!”

“That’s how it finished. After the game, the skipper and the boss came in, and brought me the game ball. I’d been named Man of the Match, they said, and they wanted to show how proud they were of me in front of everyone.

“Now. Off you all go to brush your teeth, and I’ll tell you of the second leg when you’re tucked up in bed. Go! No, no, on ye go, now, on ye go.”