David Gardner - Jamie Vardys Having a Party: Leicester Citys Miracle Season

Even now there are moments when I shake myhead at the madness of it all going from the factory floor andplaying Sunday morning pub football with my mates, to scoring formy country against the World Cup winners in Berlin. Its the stuffof dreams. It hasnt always been an easy journey, some doubted thatI was capable, and at times I was probably guilty of not helpingmyself, but nobody can question my pas-sion for football or mycommitment once I set foot on the pitch. There is so much thatpeople dont know and I look forward to sharing all of that andmore in what I hope will be an entertaining and inspiring story.Jamie Vardy, My Story, 2016

Chat s*** get banged - Jamie Vardy, Facebook,September 28, 2011

lovin life, gettin paid, and gettin laid -Jamie Vardy, Facebook, September 17, 2007

Everything Im touching is going in. Long maythat continue, Jamie Vardy, November, 2015

INTRODUCTION - JAMIE VARDYS HAVING APARTY

There is something quintessentially Englishabout Jamie Vardy that allows us to forgive his transgressions andforget the fact that this blue collar sporting hero is earningdouble the money in one week that most families live on for anentire year.

His rise from non-league obscurity is oftencompared to Roy of the Rovers but Vardy, in truth, has little incommon with the teetotalling, scrupulously fair comic book captainwho would never question a referee, let alone wag an angry fingerin his face.

No, the reason why the great footballingpublic has taken Jamie Vardy to their hearts is that he is one oftheir own. He hasnt been cosseted and pampered like many modernday players more interested in tweeting about their cars thanearning their obscenely inflated salaries.

Vardy chases lost causes, he runs until hislegs give out, he scores, of course, and he appears to love everysingle minute hes out on the pitch.

We need to recognize ourselves in sport, evenif we know that in large part its an illusion.

Its why we can watch a man most of us hadnever heard of this time last year and will him to score for a teamwe never cared about.

The incredible story of Leicester Citysmiracle season under the charmingly effective Claudio Ranieri hasbeen a joy to behold. Their Premier League triumph will undoubtedlygo down as one of the greatest, if not the greatest, in the historyof team sports.

We can admire the tenacity of NGolo Kante,swoon at the silky skills of Riyad Mahrez and applaud the precisedistribution of Danny Drinkwater. But Jamie Vardy remains theenduring symbol of the little engine that could.

He, more than any of the others, battledseemingly insurmountable odds just to get to the Premier League.That he conquered it was as much a surprise to him as it was tous.

No wonder Leicesters fans have been singingall year that hes having a party.

His story offers hope to every Sunday leagueplayer turning out in the cow field behind the pub; for everydisillusioned youngster battling to be noticed by themercenary-funded top tier teams who prefer to look abroad than intheir own back yards; for every worker everywhere who pins theirhopes on hard work and commitment ahead of position andprivilege.

The Sheffield-born striker kept going throughthe muddy backwaters of English football, where crowds of a coupleof hundred constitute a big gate and a portaloo might double as achanging room. Why wouldnt he play his heart out on the statelygrounds of the Premier League?

With his 24 goals and 6 assists forLeicester, and another two strikes for England, Vardy proved allthe doubters wrong in a single season.

There is a darker side to Vardyspersonality, one perhaps more in step with many young men roustingabout on a Saturday night than we would care to think about. Hisdrinking habits got him into hot water with the law and his morerecent boorish behaviour, caught on camera at a casino, calling afellow gambler a Jap was unacceptable. He should be called toaccount for these indiscretions, especially now that impressionableyoung fans follow his every move. But his popularity in a meltingpot Leicester City dressing room tends to suggest something ratherdifferent.

On the Monday night when Leicester Citysseason was hanging in the balance, when Tottenham Hotspur still hadan opportunity to crash the party, most of the 1st team headed toVardys house to watch the game together.

Some confessed they were ready to go home athalf-time when home team Chelsea fell two be-hind and lookedunlikely to fight back for the draw that would guarantee Leicesterthe Premier League trophy.

But the hundreds of fans that gatheredoutside Vardys Leicestershire mansion wouldnt have approved.

The video footage published the next morningby defender Robert Fuchs showed just what a party at the Vardyscould be; wild scenes of celebration from players who really wantedto believe all sea-son long and now they truly could; LeicesterCity were the champions of England.

Jamie Partys having a party.

Yes indeed.

The striker with thescruffy mohawk had just scored his second for non-leagueStocksbridge Park Steels in the eighth tier of English football andlooked likely to hit a hatful more in the key away game when thecall came from the touchline.

Vardy, its time. The call boomed out fromthe touchline, partially lost in the clatter of pelting rain on thesolitary metal-roof terrace.

Jamie Vardy, then 23-years-old, raced off thepitch showing the blistering pace hed tantalized defenders withall that muddy Saturday afternoon in 2007. He didnt stop to talkto the coach but grabbed his kit bag from the makeshift changingroom at Belper Towns home ground in Derbyshire and ran for thefence, leaping through a gap in the rusty railings.

I kept him on probably a bit longer than Ishould, recalled former Stocksbridge manager Gary Morrow. His mumappeared, he came straight off, jumped over the fence and ran offin his kit and boots and everything.

Outside the ground, his crane worker dad,Phil, was sitting waiting in his car looking anxiously at hiswatch. The time was 4.15pm. He had been waiting for 15 minutes.

Throwing his dirty bag in the back seat,Vardy, still wearing his muddy boots, jumped in the passenger seat.Okay, lets gosorry Im late.

You were coming off after 60 minutes. PhilVardy was worried about the Saturday afternoon traffic on the M1back to Sheffield. We have to be back by 6pm. You know that. Thetraffics a mess.

Yeah but I got another goal. I thought Icould snatch a quick third.

It was always the same at away games, cuttingit so fine Vardy often had to sprint from the car into the familyhome with literally seconds to spare.

Father and son barely spoke during thejourney south. His wife Lisa was biting her nails, looking down ather watch every few minutes. The M1 was gridlocked.

Well make it fine, dad, dont worry. Vardypulled down his sock and scratched at the electron-ic braceletaround his ankle. Just one more month and we wont have to do thisany more.