Don’t blame Dier, he’s only human
THE final game of the 2010-11 season was an unremarkable affair. Tottenham played Birmingham at White Hart Lane and we won 2-1 thanks to a last-minute goal from Roman Pavlyuchenko.
I remember the day so vividly, however, because of an incident during our lap of honour. There was a part of the stadium where I had one fan — a term I use loosely — who made himself heard at most games. As the squad strolled around for one last time, he came to my attention again.
‘Oi! Crouch! You f***ing c***! Why don’t you f*** off! Crouch!’ he squawked.
He had used that kind of language to me all season, every time I was within earshot. When he started on me again, enough was enough. You’re supposed to bite your lip as a professional footballer but I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer.
‘What’s your problem?’ I asked him. ‘everyone else here is a fan, so what are you?’ His reply took me by surprise.
‘You seem OK,’ he said. ‘ Apart from your football — your football is s***!’
The case you saw with eric Dier on Wednesday could easily have happened that afternoon. I was so angry that I wanted to get into the crowd and — for want of a better phrase — lamp this guy. There is only so much you can take as a footballer before the tipping point arrives.
I should make it clear that my particular story is not about criticising Tottenham fans as a whole. I had a fantastic rapport with the majority of supporters at White Hart Lane and loved my two years at the club but, unfortunately, a village always produces an idiot.
Some people will dismiss this as an ex-pro sticking up for one of his union, but there are compelling reasons why I won’t aim one word of criticism at Dier. I know from experience what his brother would have experienced on Wednesday and the pain it can cause.
Playing football is the best job in the world but, from early on in my career, I was left in no doubt as to how vicious the abuse can be and the impact it has on your family. My dad, Bruce, used to sit in stands and hear people shouting ‘freak show’ and ‘go back to the circus’ at me.
eventually, he could not tolerate it any longer. There was a game at Gillingham when I played for QPR, when I walked towards the tunnel at half-time to see my dad in the middle of a full-blown dust-up in the stands after he had snapped.
Dad can handle himself but if I’d had a younger brother who was being pushed around, I’d say the chances are I would have gone up to join in and protect him. Why should Dier be in trouble for wanting to defend his family? It’s nonsense.
As a footballer you are conditioned to put up with abuse, but I don’t think it ever gets easy for those closest to you. My mum, Jayne, used to be left in tears by some of the things she heard during the early part of my career and she stopped going to see me play for a good number of years.
Meals after matches would be ruined if my parents had been affected by something inside a stadium, often sitting at the table in silence.
You might feel shouting at a footballer is fair game but, really, you don’t understand the impact of what you are saying.
You can deal with opposition fans targeting you and put up with their chants but, honestly, nothing upsets a player more than when the abuse comes from your own supporters. I couldn’t believe it when I saw Dier vault the advertising hoardings but, at the same time, I wasn’t surprised.
Words hurt and words can be a trigger. Just because you wear a pair of football boots, it doesn’t make you immune to feelings or stop you wanting to look after your family. Dier crossed the line. Plenty of others — me included — have wanted to do it before.