Big Ron didn’t realise his front tooth had been knocked out after a fight in the bar. We were all on our hands and knees looking for it!

AFTER Dave Bassett was sacked at Nottingham Forest, I thought I would be on my way out too, but I stayed put and worked with one of football’s true characters – big Ron Atkinson.

I was sad to see “Harry” leave. He had taken me to the City Ground, but Ron was everything I thought he would be.

He was funny, flamboyant and a great motivator. It’s no act.

Looking back, I am glad that I didn’t leave the club with Harry (right) – because I would have missed one of the funniest pre-match episodes of my career.

And Ron, being Ron, oh it could only happen to him. This is the background. The players eat an evening meal and go to bed. The staff normally stay on in the bar and have a drink. It is normally nothing heavy. This particular time, we were playing Charlton Athletic, at The Valley, and we were staying in a hotel close to the Dartford Tunnel.

We enjoyed a nice meal and sank a bottle of wine between us after the players were sent to their rooms.

From the restaurant, we walked to the bar where the staff were having a quiz. Ron wanted to join in. There were about eight lads, builders by the looks of their clothes.

They were having a few drinks and a laugh. It was a good atmosphere, drink was flowing and everyone was in good spirits. The pianist was playing Frank Sinatra numbers. Ron loved. it.

The builders noticed him and one lad made his way over.

“Ron,” he said, “I’m a big fan of yours. Lovely to meet you. Can I tell you a joke?”

Forest’s manager did not even acknowledge him. He did not even look at him. Ron said: “Look, son, we’re having a pleasant evening. We’re having a quiz. I’m enjoying the music. Tell your joke, by all means, then if you’d go back to your friends, we’d be grateful.”

The chap told his joke. I can’t remember it, but it wasn’t bad. Ron was stoney-faced. I like jokes and it was a good ’un. The boss wasn’t having it. At all.

“OK, son, you’ve told your joke,” he said. “It wasn’t funny. Leave us be.’

The fella headed back to his mates, who were all laughing at him. Ten minutes passed by, then he returned with another gag.

Same result. Incredibly, he came back for a third dose of humiliation – and Ron told him where to go. This time, the fella went back to his mates, who were all taking the mickey. They remained at the bar. An hour or so later, the quiz finished and Ron decided to go to bed. But to reach the lift to his room, he had to walk past these lads. By now, they had been drinking all night. As Ron got up, I could see them all, nudging each other. In my mind’s eye, I can still see it playing out – even now. Ron had to walk up these steps and, as he headed past the lads, it all kicked off. It happened in slow motion. All of a sudden, I thought to myself, “The manager’s in a fight”. In fairness, Ron gave as good as he got. He’s a big bloke, Ron, and he wasn’t taking a step backwards. There were a few punches thrown by both sides. Eventually, it was split up. Ron came back down to where we were all sitting and said: “I sorted him out”.

Only I was looking at him while he said it and I suddenly realised that his front tooth was missing.

“Er, gaffer, one of your teeth is missing.”

“You what?” He felt around his mouth. “Oh no! We’ve got to find it.” “Eh, what do you mean?” I asked. So, every single one of Forest’s backroom staff were on their hands and knees in between the feet of these lads looking for big Ron’s tooth.

After a minute or so, one of the builders shouted in triumph, “Here it is!”. Ron thanked him and disappeared to bed.

The next morning we needed to find a dentist. Only Ron couldn’t find one he trusted to do the repair work. We played the match and it ended in a goalless draw.

One of the Sunday newspapers had a picture of Ron standing on the sidelines and the caption underneath it read, “Big Ron in pensive mood”.

What he was doing was holding his tooth in with his hand.