Jules Hornbrook - After Dario: In the Footsteps of a Legend

After Dario

In the footsteps of a legend

Jules Hornbrook

Copyright Jules Hornbrook

Published in the United Kingdom in July 2014

Cover design by Glen Battams

Cover photo of Steve Davis courtesy of Ian Cooper

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Every effort has been made to contact present copyright owners to any photographs that appear in this book which are not properly credited. We will do our utmost to include any acknowledgments to all parties and amend any errors or facts that are not correct, in subsequent reprints of this book.

Foreword

In November 2011, following three frantic months of planning, writing and editing, I published She Wore A Scarlet Ribbon , effectively a biographical journey charting my years as a Crewe Alexandra supporter. It was an unusual cut-off point, although I justified the timing as the club was in freefall, potentially en route to non-league football for the first time in a colourful history that spanned over 134 years when the presses rolled. The thought of documenting such demise filled me with dread. My time with Mistress Alexandra would have ended in heartache. I didnt want that. So while Dario Gradi was still at the helm, having stepped back into the firing line yet again, I had to wrap things up while there was still hope.

I read the final chapter Just Good Friends as I contemplated this project. It was a downbeat passage, as I was struggling with football in general; from the pricing and scheduling, to the apparent total disregard of supporters opinions. The wider game was bad enough, but a number of incidents at Gresty Road had also seen me lose the loving feeling that Id harboured since I was a kid. As someone who has written about the club extensively - online, in the printed press and within the pages of several books - I have witnessed much more than just results. Thats been the problem. Interviewing players and staff over the years has taken me too close, revealed many unusual facets of football life and shattered some of the myths that otherwise lure dreamy schoolboys into perpetual fanaticism. There was no way that I could ever sever the ties, and the closing notes of She Wore A Scarlet Ribbon suggested that Id always be there, unable to shake the habit. That continues to be the case.

So After Dario documents the immediate years that followed the first handover, through to the successful transition to Steve Davis. That appointment finally allowed Gradi to step back into the shadows. In reality the great man continues apace at the Reaseheath training ground, and is also part of decision-making at board level. The following pages are therapy for a hopeless football romantic as Crewe Alexandra realigns itself, finds its feet, and carefully plots a new path. Davis is a lucky man in that the Gresty Road foundations are substantial, and yet he must follow in the footsteps of a legend as he tries to establish himself on the managerial circuit.

Doldrums

The ninety minutes were up. It was a cold, grey Saturday afternoon in late October 2011, and Macclesfield Town were about to make mine a very miserable weekend. I wasnt in a good mood. They were winning 1-0. Mates Ray, Andy and Paul were heading down the steps, disgruntled with the action and facing lengthy journeys home as they contemplated the slide down the league table. I didnt blame them. For me, there was a twenty-minute walk across Crewe to mull over the dross we had just witnessed.

This was one of those footballing low points that most fans experience at one time or another. There had been worse performances that season, and most feared that there was more pain to come. But losing to the Silkmen brought back unwanted memories. Chester, for example, played at their ground, Moss Rose, for a few years during the 1990s, and those messy encounters always seemed to involve a few Macc Lads looking to get one over the Crewe fans. So there was always a grudge in the background somewhere. That was water under the bridge, but we should not have been losing to a clu b with an average crowd half our own. Throw in the outstanding Alex academy, the incredible infrastructure built up by Dario Gradi, John Bowler et al, and there were no excuses to lose at home to Macclesfield.

The rot, however, went much deeper than just one dreary performance. It had been a shocking campaign with zero consistency either home or away. The Alex lost the first five games, had a mini-revival in early September, and then yo-yoed with scrappy wins, unsatisfactory draws and further defeats. Losing to some of the clubs in League Two was now unacceptable. Some might scoff at that assertion; that the Alex are somehow superior to certain sides. But a couple of seasons earlier, anyone suggesting that Dagenham & Redbridge and Burton would turn us over would have been dangled off Rail House roof.

Even the battle with Port Vale - on and off the pitch - was a let-down. Violence along Mill Street before kick-off set the tone, and seven players entered the referees notebook as tempers flared. As that cauldron looked set to boil over Byron Moore so nearly secured three very sweet points, but former Alex hitman Tom Pope kicked us in the nuts with an equaliser two minutes later. Nothing was going our way that season.

Macclesfield was a chance to turn things around. They were no great shakes, winning just five league games before they came to Crewe. Add to that the fact that wed beaten them just two weeks earlier (away) in the Johnstones Paint Trophy, so falling to a single goal on home soil was a real sickener.

I flicked another despairing glance at the Railway End clock. Gresty Roads towering floodlights cast eerie shadows by now, and distorted shapes twisted and pulled in all directions as players dashed to and fro. It was tense and frantic in the artificial light. Dotted across the main stand the home crowd was restless; on the Popside around 400 opposition fans started to party. This was a Cheshire derby. It mattered. The season was just three months old, and yet it had been chaotic, unpredictable and disappointing. Beating local rivals promised a fresh start, a marker and the opportunity to kick on. The Macc lads hadnt read the script.

The referee checked his watch, threatening to dash any lingering hopes harboured by the more optimistic Alex supporters still urging the side on. Im one of the worst, refusing to concede defeat until its all over. The man in the middle was ready for home, but several injuries, three bookings and a single goal meant there were stoppages to consider. He jogged on, focused and prepared to keep tabs on increasingly desperate men. Tackles were flying in. Possession was all and we didnt have it. Below us Gradi stepped into the technical area, barking final orders as the fourth official indicated three additional minutes. There was still time. Those who had left seats to make a sharp exit lingered in the corner, reluctant to miss any last-ditch comeback. Harry Davis pressed, Antoni Sarcevic fired high and wide, Matt Tootle skimmed the post, Shaun Miller was flagged offside, and then Ashley Westwood watched a hopeful cross plucked from the air by a safe pair of hands. Just the kitchen sink was missing. The Alex lads gave it a go, fought valiantly for a point that would have softened the blow. But it was too late.

BEATEN AGAIN!

The whistle sounded; a shrill blast that carried deep into the South Cheshire gloom. I paused for a few moments of contemplation, remaining seated just like those sorry souls picked up by the cameras after televised games. It wasnt quite a head-in-hands moment, and there were no dramatic tears, but the future looked bleak. The tannoy pumped music, the Macclesfield fans sang along and I joined the slow shuffle down the dull concrete steps. Barbed comments were tossed into the chilly early evening air, some harsher than others. The clubs long-serving, legendary manager was the target of the abuse.