I ROCKED UP AT WRONG CLUB...
TIME was running out for me at Birmingham City. I’d exhausted everyone’s patience – they wanted to loan me out.
I’d turned down a move to Watford – I said the shirt colour clashed with my hair – but not Millwall. I loved Millwall.
I could relate to the fans and their manager, Mick Mccarthy (below), was a top bloke. I was sure I could indulge my habit in London, too.
I wasn’t fit enough to play – I was building up to it.
But there was a problem – I had an infection I needed to sort out.
I told Mick on the Tuesday. I’d had one a few months previously that I’d had sorted out at a clinic in Birmingham.
He agreed to let me have it done back in Brum and said he would see me on Thursday morning.
Nudging
I went home – I ignored the clinic. I was straight out.
The next thing I knew I was being woken up. I was sat next to a guy who was nudging me saying: “It’s your shot,”and he’s handing me a pool cue. I was on another planet.
I look up and there’s two girls standing holding their cues at the pool table.
I said: “What city am I in?”
He said: “Birmingham – you’re in the Mercat.”it was a market traders’ pub in the centre of the city, next to the markets. It opens about 2am. It’s 7am by this stage.
I said: “Who are these two?”
He said: “I dunno. You came in with them about half-an-hour
ago.”i said: “What day is it?’ He went: “Thursday.”.i’d been out for 36 hours solid. I thought: “S**t, I need to go training.”
I darted out to find a taxi back to my house in Solihull.
I grab my wash bag, I’m thinking to myself that I can have a good wash, get my head straight and still be OK. I did it regularly.
No problem. I turn up at the training ground at 8.30am.
An apprentice comes up to me and asks how it’s going at Millwall.
It suddenly dawned on me. I’m at the wrong training ground – I’m about 120 miles away from where I actually need to be.
The taxi is still waiting. I go home. By this time, Mick’s leaving messages on my answerphone asking where I am. Karren Brady then orders me to St Andrew’s.
The co-owner, David Sullivan, wants a word. I’m obviously in a world of trouble.
He’s sat in the boardroom behind a massive desk. He’s beyond furious.
He pulled open his drawer and I thought he was getting out a gun.
Honestly, it crossed my mind. Angry? He was absolutely steaming.
He pulled out something and threw it at me saying: “And you, you dirty little b ***** d – that’s twice in four months, what are you playing at?”
I ducked. The object missed me. I looked down. It was a packet of condoms.
Millwall immediately cancelled the loan. I was sent back to Birmingham. Did I care?
Not one bit. As far as I was concerned it was just a green light to carry on as I had been.