Some years ago, when I was walking across the concourse of Victoria railway station with the late football agent and broadcaster Eric Hall, three men came shooting across to us and in broken English said to Eric - “Eric will you be our agent. We’ve just arrived from France and we need you to help us get signed.” I was amazed that Eric Hall was so well known, particularly to foreign footballers, but it was an illustration of the importance of the agent in the modern game. That was about 2009.
In his book The Accidental Footballer, Chelsea, Everton and Scotland former footballer Pat Nevin writes about football in the 1980’s and 1990’s, the period where footballers were beginning to seek agents or being snapped up by agents, apart from him. Throughout his career he writes how he refused to have one, preferring to sort out his own contracts, transfers, pay deals, sponsorship deals and any other spin offs. From his description of the various boardroom negotiations he took part in, despite being well mannered and courteous, he comes across as someone who can well look after himself.
For example, the former owner of Chelsea Football Club, the giant character Ken Bates, asked Nevin at the end of a season, to go and see him in his office because he wanted to offer the player a new contract. When they met, Nevin asked Bates how much he was offering. Bates replied, “that’s not how it works – you have to make demands and then we can come to an agreement.” So, without an agent, and with little idea what other Chelsea stars were on, Nevin spoke to a few colleagues to get an idea, and wrote out on a piece of paper, his wish for a two year contract of £450 a week for the first year, £500 a week for year two, £5000 signing on fee per annum, 5 return flights to Scotland per season and a 20% increase in wages if I become a full Scottish international.” Nevin’s description of Bates’ reaction is wonderful and sums up the chairman's abrasive nature. Basically, he came in, didn’t say a word, read the paper, screwed it up, threw it in the bin, walked out, slamming the door, and left the ground! “Well, that didn’t go too well,” writes Nevin “he didn’t even say hello.” He realises that Bates’ reaction was to intimidate him and just a few days later, the chairman had agreed to the Chelsea Player of the Year’s demands. As a reader you do get the feeling that as well as having its advantages, being agent-less has its downside too. Towards the end of his career at Everton, it’s noticeable that there’s a shortage of clubs lining up to sign Nevin and he ends up, quite happily, at Tranmere Rovers. One thinks though - here’s a player still in his prime – shouldn’t he still be in the top division?
I’ve been a Chelsea football fan since the mid sixties. One of my childhood memories is my dad taking my younger brother and I to Stamford Bridge for a derby with Crystal Palace. We were in the Shed, and in those days it was terracing all round with the odd iron bar to lean against. You couldn’t see the bar, and you had to struggle to see where each concrete step started, it was so packed. My dad became quite concerned when the crowd started swaying in their excitement and I remember him turning round and at the top of his voice shouting, “will you stop swaying – I’ve two young children down here.” The immediate sway stopped for a short while, only to start up again minutes later. It made the match, which was of no interest to my dad, a worry. In those days the stewards were few and far between and if the sway had turned to a crush, my brother and I would have been squashed.
I was reminded of this while reading Pat Nevin’s memories of the Hillsborough disaster in the FA Cup semi final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest in 1989. He had left Chelsea by then and was playing for Everton and was playing in the other semi final against Norwich City, scoring the winner that put the Toffees in the final. Straight after that match he was lined up to be interviewed on BBC radio. He writes that interviewer Mike Ingham warned him before they went on air “something awful has happened at Hillsborough – the details are unclear but there are certainly dozens of dead Liverpool fans inside the ground.” Pat Nevin did the interview, but during it, realising the scale of the unfolding horror, tells how his voice changed from being happy to devastated within a few seconds and him ending the interview with “actually I really don’t want to talk about playing football right now – it feels totally wrong.” He paints a vivid picture how, while driving through Liverpool to training the next day, “there were so many people walking around aimlessly on their own, standing on bridges...at the side of the road...on waste ground...staring vacantly, desolately, at nothing.” It says something of the community of Liverpool and of football itself that rivalries were cast aside and the Everton players were put on rotas to attend the funerals of the Liverpool victims. “I was completely emotionally broken by the end of the week and I didn’t even know any of these kids personally.”
I’ve read a few stories about some footballers’ alcohol problems. Pat Nevin reveals that he’s never drunk beer in his life, though is partial to red wine and whisky but never before a match or if its going to affect his build up to a match. It’s shocking to read how while at Everton, the manager Howard Kendall “seemed perfectly happy” to see “many bottles of wine on the lads’ tables” the nights before away games. He reveals before a vital game against West Ham United at Upton Park, even the manager himself may have been the worse for wear “when he read out the team, he actually named the same player, Stuart McCall, at least twice in two different positions.” It’s clear that the drinking culture among footballers is awkward for Nevin. He writes that he uses the excuse of being on antibiotics for a bad foot to get out of a night’s drinking session.
He also talks about the availability of women to footballers. Good looking girls, he writes, were able to go to club Christmas parties for free while the players had to buy their tickets. But the players could be assured there were ten girls for each guy. Pat Nevin has nothing to do with the debauchery, writing “my trick was to bring my brother in law along to make sure nothing untoward happened with me or more importantly was said to have happened.” It makes me wonder how in these days of the Me Too movement whether the lad woman culture still exists. I’m also somewhat amazed that we don’t hear of more cases of past female abuse in football, although I guess that most women who partook, did it for money or with willing consent.
Pat Nevin describes himself as different in other ways to most other footballers. He reads the classics, he’s interested in a whole different culture rather than to just football the whole time, he likes long distance running and training by himself. He describes his physique as also different - small and lean rather than big and broad.
He was seen as being different by football fans too. Sometimes wrongly. West Ham United fans used to call him a “little Scotch poof,” just feet from where he was running up and down the wing. He brushed it off, sometimes blowing them kisses! He says fans often resorted to calling a footballer gay, if they sensed they were different from other footballers.
It leads Nevin into asking why, if between two and five per cent of men are gay or bisexual, why there are no openly gay footballers. He argues that in other professions being openly gay isn’t a problem, and reckons that in men’s football, “I am convinced that a top level gay player would not now have an insurmountable problem coming out in this country.” He reckons just as racists now know their stance is unacceptable, homophobes do too.
Nevin cites that in women’s professional football, there are many who are openly lesbian and do not receive abuse. He has a point but I wonder whether there are the number of gay footballers still in the closet as Nevin maintains. If one thinks of a man or woman with both masculinity and femininity within them, women’s professional football is par for the course. Football is essentially a game of masculine strength and stamina, things not comparable with one hundred per cent femininity and probably found most in women who have a strong masculine side to them. Likewise, men strongly in tune with their feminine sides are unlikely to be attracted to the masculinity of football, and therefore not play it in great numbers.
Pat Nevin’s writes about his love of what I would call mid to late eighties indie music. Each chapter of his book is named after a song title. In the chapter This Charming Man, there’s a very entertaining sequence where he writes about being invited around to Morrissey’s house, who happened to live in the very same street as one of his player colleagues Norman Whiteside. Nevin says Morrissey’s house was “ huge, imposing, turreted Victorian affair that his success with The Smiths had earned him.” There’s one room Morrissey doesn’t want Nevin to go in, but with some gentle persuasion allows him to see “the very last thing I expected to see: a fully kitted–out multi gym with all the most modern equipment.” Nevin says he likes a Morrissey “ a good deal... although nowadays we might not see eye to eye politically.”
Nevin also reveals how became a good friend of former Radio One veteran broadcaster John Peel, to the point where Peel would invite Nevin into his late night Radio 1 studio. Nevin says he never appeared on air nor was his name ever revealed on air by Peel. That feel for broadcasting probably gave him a good grounding for post playing work on radio.
Throughout his book, Pat Nevin comes across as a thoroughly decent man, someone who is not afraid to stand up and be counted for what he believes in, for fairness and for what is right; and someone who wants to continue living a life away from football while being a professional footballer. I wonder whether, at the top level, that is possible forty years on.