Anonymus - I Am the Secret Footballer: Lifting the Lid on the Beautiful Game

Published by Guardian Books 2012

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Copyright The Secret Footballer 2012

Every effort has been made to contact all copyright holders. If notified, the publisher will be pleased to rectify any errors or omissions at the earliest opportunity.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First published in Great Britain in 2012 by

Guardian Books

Kings Place, 90 York Way

London N1 9GU

www.guardianbooks.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9780852653104 (epub)

ISBN 9780852654613 (mobi)

Text design by seagulls.net

Cover design by Mark Ecob

Paul Johnson, Deputy Editor, Guardian News and Media

I am The Secret Footballer is both a declaration and a device. Since he wrote his first column for the Guardian 18 months ago, there has been a sustained effort to unmask The Secret Footballer. Jigsaw identification has been attempted through forensic analysis of his pieces using names, games, clubs and matches. Fans forums debate in a knowledgeable and thoughtful way. There is a dedicated website at whoisthesecretfootballer.co.uk. Dozens of players have been identified as him. According to those who think they have cracked a code, he plays for Blackburn, Sunderland, Fulham, Bolton, Wolves, Burnley, Newcastle, Leicester, Liverpool, West Ham, Everton, Spurs, Birmingham or Celtic. And a few others.

On his Wikipedia page the entry says he is English and has turned out for at least two Premier League clubs. The argument and search for clues are fun and understandable and it may be that some day he will decide to reveal himself as the author. But to write as he does, in such detail about the game and the people in it, would be impossible out in the open. His club(s) wouldnt like it, and would probably cite breach of contract. His agent wouldnt like it and his manager(s) would be somewhere on the other side of incandescent.

He tells us what it is like to score against Manchester United; about John Terry and his own reaction to being whacked in the face with an elbow: I kicked him as hard as I could across the back of the legs and he crumpled to the ground. He describes vividly the impact on life of a 1.4m-a-year contract (along with a 19,000-a-month mortgage) and how, in his words, it opens up a host of recreational possibilities. The sharks, the brown envelopes, the deals, the convoluted bonuses; malicious managers and understanding managers; supportive team-mates and those tortured and fearful of the end; the media, the women and the drink are all here, in a range that goes from the amusing to the terrifying.

But The Secret Footballer is different, and those differences which mark him out started early on in life. He describes his working-class background, playing in hand-me-down trainers. He came out of a loving and supportive family with his father encouraging him to read classics Shakespeare, Dickens, Joyce etc. He didnt get into football by the usual route and has struggled with the paradox of living a dream playing football but having to deal with the aggravations and frustrations off the pitch. The same tension shows with his continued determination not to leave his roots behind while developing a taste for fine wine, art and luxurious holidays. Those pressures built up to the point where he became insecure, reclusive and volatile; seeking help and put on medication after finding himself coming home from training and sitting in the same chair until it was time for bed. All of it is told as the reality of his life.

Some years ago, reading the FT at weekends, The Secret Footballer enjoyed a column written anonymously by an estate agent which opened up a world many buyers and sellers have extensive experience of, but which, to those in the know, is very different: far more complex, potentially dangerous and duplicitous. The comparisons with football were only too obvious. Football, a game watched by millions, is digested and dissected in fine detail in print, on the radio, on TV and on the web. Managers and players give interviews, ex-pros write columns. Tactics, personalities, money and motives are debated endlessly. And yet what do we really understand? The Secret Footballers answer to that is simple: not that much.

So he had the idea for a column. We (Ian Prior, the Guardians sports editor and myself) were approached and thought it had amazing potential. But we were worried: would he write honestly, what would he hold back, could he sustain themes, could he write at all? All those thoughts disappeared the moment the first piece arrived and he has got better and better ever since. This book was his idea. It is all his own words, his own experiences, his own thoughts, his own emotions. He is a remarkable man.

Paul Johnson

London, August 2012

When I started playing football for a living, I vowed that I would never turn out like the embittered older professionals that my new club seemed to have made a point of collecting. Far from offering any advice or guidance, they took every opportunity to rub my face in a mistake or faux pas. In those days I had no idea that footballers started training at 10am and finished at midday. I remember hanging around in the changing room after my first session waiting to be told that I could go home. Nobody sits you down with a how to guidebook and fills you in on football etiquette. Youre either what managers refer to as streetwise, or youre too naive for your own good. In my case, I was as raw as my football.

I still think that I am incredibly lucky never to have gone through the youth system, for two reasons. Firstly, I have always had huge problems with anyone in authority, especially if that authority is abused for the purpose of making the rulemaker feel more important than they actually are. Secondly, I much prefer to play what has become known as street football. You can spot a manufactured footballer a mile off but the players who are naturally gifted and are almost uncoachable nearly always offer the most excitement. For example, Lionel Messi and Wayne Rooney do not need to be coached: they play like they did in the street as 10-year-olds. Granted, they may need integrating into a style of play or formation but on the whole they are playing off the cuff. I am no Messi or Rooney lets make that absolutely clear but for the best part of my career I played as if I had nothing to lose. I loved going up against players who had been given everything on a plate, and walking off to collect a bottle of champagne for man of the match. Not because I like champagne it just felt like a victory for all the people back home who never made it to the big time.

As a newcomer, I immediately made a beeline for the corner of the dressing room, far enough away from the dominant players and close enough to keep my face in the managers eyeline. Unfortunately, on my first day as a professional, a Scandinavian player, who was one of the embittered old pros, took exception to my choice of seat and threw my clothes all over the changing room while I was having lunch. I came back to find my belongings strewn over the corridor and in the shower room. This was a shock for me: Id assumed that a team was exactly that a team, a group of people who looked out for each other, helped each other and fought as one. How wrong I was. If there is one thing that I have learned, it is that every single player in every single dressing room has an agenda. It doesnt matter if they are your closest friend or your sworn enemy everyone is in it for themselves. The realisation that some of these players were playing football because it paid the bills and, worse, that many of them were terrible, was an eye-opener for me. But at the same time it gave me the most enormous confidence boost.