I’ll never forget the first time I saw Terry Hurlock play. It was at Layer Road in Colchester, and when I saw him getting off the Brentford team bus before the game my instant reaction was that he looked like the Wild Man of Borneo.
He was wearing a massive loop earring, not something a lot of blokes did in those days, and he had this mass of hair you could get lost in for days. He always had the sort of hair that looked as though it had just had a bad perm, although Tel said it was natural and not down to a hairdresser. I for one wasn’t going to argue. As I watched him lumber down the steps and off the coach, there was something about him that made you think of the real Guv’nor – Lenny McLean, the bare-knuckle fighter from London’s East End.
I was a young apprentice at Colchester, and Brentford were in a different division at the time, so it must have been a Cup competition that brought the sides together – I’m pretty sure it was the Milk Cup. Stan Bowles was in the same team as Tel, although Tel was just starting his career and Stan was finishing his after playing for bigger clubs such as Manchester City and Nottingham Forest. But it was his seven seasons at QPR that he’ll always be remembered for, more so even than the five England caps he picked up along the way. Stan was recently voted the club’s Player of the Century so you could see how much they adored him in that part of West London. He was also one of the first players ever to go public with his compulsion for gambling, something I’ve seen enough of in the game since then. He managed three years with Brentford before calling it a day in 1984.
He still looked pretty fit, mind you, and even though he was past his best the skill level he showed was awesome. He played to the crowd during the game and when a pass didn’t find him would throw his arms up in the air as if to say, ‘What am I doing here?’ You couldn’t blame him really.
Tel didn’t have time for such showmanship. It wasn’t his style anyway. He was born in Hackney in 1958 and started out as a schoolboy with West Ham, where he played with Alan Curbishley and Alvin Martin. He later said his problem as a teenager there was that he ‘wanted to go out to pubs, clubs and dances’. That doesn’t make him a bad person.
After a spell as an apprentice at the Hammers, he dropped into non-league football, playing for Leytonstone, Ilford and Enfield while he laboured on building sites, worked as a coalman and painted the white lines in the middle of roads. Not something today’s Premiership players could even conceive of doing.
When he was 21, he signed for Brentford and he’d been there a couple of seasons when our paths crossed for the first time that day at Layer Road. I was just a kid and not in the first team yet, so I watched the game from the stands – thank God. It was obvious you didn’t mess with him in midfield. He was so tough that years later I noticed that he looked hard in skin-tight leather strides – and that takes some doing. His reputation had come before him and it really was like having a bare-knuckle fighter against you in midfield. I was expecting him to behave like a Neanderthal man and he did bully the midfield, but I was surprised at just how well he could play. He had this presence about him: sure, he could handle himself but he couldn’t half play too. I can’t remember the result, but I remember thinking how good he was.
Tel never was what you’d call a publicity-seeking hard man like, say, Vinny Jones. I know Vinny and I’m not knocking him, but he built up this image of a hard man for himself. Good luck to him – it worked for him on the field and it worked out well when he finished playing too, but Terry was never into that. When Wimbledon played Millwall or Southampton and the two of them were on the field against each other, Vinny had more sense than to go near him. Some players go round saying, ‘I’m going to break your leg,’ but Tel didn’t build himself up as an assassin – he just got on with it on the field where it counted.
Some players are famous for winning 50–50 balls: Tel would win 70–30 balls when he was the 30. He wouldn’t start the trouble but if it happened he would be the one who finished it. When he went into a tackle it was like watching a wildebeest emerging from a cloud of dust after fighting with a rival.
After that day at Layer Road, we played in different divisions, so I didn’t encounter him again for a few years. I’d been signed by Arsenal, while Tel had a brief spell at Reading before going to Millwall. But, by 1988/89, Millwall had somehow got into the old First Division for the first time in their 103-year history. I say ‘somehow’ but they actually had a good side, one of the best in their history. Up front they had a very young Teddy Sheringham and their main goalscorer was Tony Cascarino, who was Ireland’s centre-forward for years. They were even near the top of the table chasing Liverpool and Arsenal when they came to Highbury at the start of March – they eventually finished a very respectable tenth.
They brought a massive load of fans with them – the docks must have been shut for the day – and they hammered us. They played us off the park, yet the result was 0–0. The pitch that day was in a terrible state with more sand on it than in a circus ring. They had Les Briley in midfield alongside Tel. Les was running round topping everyone and Tel was running round smashing everyone. I was on the pitch from start to finish for once and normally if things were going quiet I’d start looking for the ball, wandering inside. But with Terry in the middle I thought discretion was the better part of valour and stayed out wide.
Les Briley then scored a perfectly good goal but for some reason the linesman had his flag up. No one knew why it was disallowed. I’m not sure even the ref did, but his linesman had flagged – I think because their winger Kevin O’Callaghan was standing alongside him – and that was that. No goal. But no way was he interfering with play. Their manager John Docherty said afterwards he had no idea who was offside, but whoever it was must have been on the pitch – at White Hart Lane.
The decision didn’t just cost Millwall maximum points: in a way it enabled Arsenal to win the league championship. It was nearing the end of the season and there wouldn’t have been too much time left for us to make up any ground we lost. We ended up winning the title at Anfield on the final day of the season on goals scored with virtually the same team who played against Millwall that day. So Briley’s disallowed goal would have made all the difference as we would have had one less point at the end of the season.
Early in his career Tel earned himself the nicknames of ‘Gypo’ – because of that earring – and ‘Animal’ – after the crazed drummer in The Muppet Show – because of the barnet. The Millwall fans decided to call him Terry Warlock and someone even wrote a poem about him. I won’t repeat it all, but the opening lines go:
‘They called him Gypo, I preferred God
Built like a labourer carrying a hod
But when he played, he gave it all
That’s Terry Hurlock, of Millwall.’
Yep, I know whoever wrote it won’t get the Poet Laureate job when it comes around again, but it just shows how much they loved him down at the old Den. He’s listed in their Hall of Fame on the official club website.
There’s even some footage of David Beckham playing against Terry when, as a youngster, Becks was loaned by Manchester United to Preston North End for a month to toughen him up. This is how he remembers it: ‘It was a month I look back on with good memories. I once scored from a corner and played against Terry Hurlock, which was quite interesting. I stayed away from him as much as possible.’ No fool Beckham, then.
In August 1990, at the age of 31, Terry went to Rangers for £300,000, joining the big English contingent that manager Graeme Souness had assembled there – Chris Woods, Terry Butcher, Gary Stevens, Trevor Steven, Mark Hateley, Nigel Spackman and Mark Walters. Tel was only in Scotland for about a year, but they loved him up there – he was their type of player. He was one of three Englishmen – Mark Hateley and Mark Walters were the others – who were sent off in one game against Celtic.
When we later ended up playing at Southampton together, Tel told me a story about his days up in Scotland. Although he was now playing on the south coast of England, he still had a home in Scotland – for the simple reason he couldn’t find anyone to buy it. ‘Bloodnut,’ he said – that was his name for me because of my red hair – ‘the estate agent has done me up like a French rat.’
It seems the house he and his wife Kath had been shown was lovely: four bedrooms, lots of space, fitted kitchen and bathrooms. In those days it would be like Beckingham Palace is now. They said yes on the spot, without looking in the garden. It was only after they moved in that they noticed a noise coming from there. When they looked out, all they could see was a big, fuck-off-sized electricity pylon going ‘zizz, zizz, zizz’.
‘No wonder the agent never opened the back door when he showed us around,’ Tel said.
When he invited people round he was worried that they might get some form of radiation sickness! He ended up selling it for about £30,000 less than he’d paid for it. He’s no Robbie Fowler, who ended up owning an entire street of houses.
It was during his three seasons at Southampton that I got to know Tel well.
Southampton people don’t like outsiders, especially London people. Even some of the local players were insular. That meant that me and Tel, both having London connections, sort of got together – that and the fact we both liked a sherbet.
The conversation would go something like: ‘Fancy a light ale, Bloodnut?’ and I would always answer, ‘Why not, big fella?’
We ended up living near each other in Chandler’s Ford, near Southampton. I spent most of my time at the club trying to recover from a bad injury and for a period he was injured too. At least that meant that we were free to get on with the drinking.
We’d meet up for a drink about 12.30pm at a pub in Chandler’s Ford and we’d tell our wives we’d be back a little later for some lunch. Later on we’d call to say we’d be back for tea and it usually ended around 9.15pm, having fish and chips back at his place. He’d say, ‘Do you fancy a bit of Elve?’ and start playing his Elvis Presley collection. That was all right by me – I’m an Elvis fan too.
During his time at Millwall, Terry had played three times for England B, against Switzerland, Iceland and Norway. He’d even got a goal in one of them. It might not be the greatest international career ever, but don’t say that to Tel. He is as proud as punch over those appearances.
When you play for England, you get a tracksuit and all the gear, and he would wear that tracksuit for training at Southampton. Now with some players you might think they were being flash bastards, but not Tel. He was just so proud of that tracksuit and what it represented. ‘Three lions, Bloodnut,’ he would say to me and point to them on his chest, ‘three lions.’ He really was proud to be English. He respected people like the Chelsea Pensioners, the old guys who’d fought for their country, and he admired passing-out parades. A lot of people sneer at events like that, but not Tel.
Most people who remember him think of him as a really large guy. But he is only 5ft 9in, average height really. It’s just that he was built like an outhouse door and, with his hair and the way he played, he somehow gave the impression he was a giant.
Tel is, in fact, a gentleman. He really is. He’s got this gypsy/Romany image but it was only when someone took what he would call ‘a diabolical liberty’ that he would act on it. Once you got to know him you couldn’t help but like him – he is very down to earth and one of the funniest men I’ve ever met. But it’s a mistake to get on the wrong side of him.
We used to go to a pub called the Captain’s Table for a drink. We were in there on a Tuesday when a big local hard man came in with his mates. He came up to Tel and said, ‘You’re Terry Hurlock, aren’t you?’
Terry said, ‘Yeah, chief, that’s me.’ I think Terry thought he just wanted a chat or something.
Then the guy said, ‘I hear you’re a bit of a nonce in the showers with the young boys.’
I just thought, Oh fuck, here we go. In Tel’s book that was the worst insult you could get. To be called a nonce, a man who’s got a thing about young boys, was as bad as it gets.
Tel just said, ‘What did you say?’
The guy repeated it, and Terry went to grab hold of him but somehow the landlord managed to split them up. Half of me was glad that he did, because who needs trouble when you’re having a drink? I’m a lover not a fighter. But the other half of me reckoned that the guy really needed teaching a lesson. Tel just turned to me and said, ‘Bloodnut, things like that I don’t let go.’
Now it so happened that we were playing my old club Arsenal at home that Saturday. I’d broken my toe and wasn’t fully recovered, so I was sub (there’s a shock). That meant I was heavily involved in sorting out the other players’ tickets for their guests, and Tel had about 20 he wanted handing out. That was a lot but, when I asked him why he needed so many, he just said, ‘I’ve got a bit of an entourage coming down.’
Stupid me – I thought that, as they were all Londoners, they probably wanted to watch the Arsenal.
Southampton managed to beat the Gunners 2–0 – thanks in part to the information I gave them about my old club’s tactics.
Paul Merson was playing and he had permission to stay down rather than go back with the team to London. That meant we’d be having a few sherbets after the game. ‘Where shall we go?’ I asked Tel.
‘I fancy a light ale in the Captain’s Table,’ he said. ‘A few of my mates are coming down.’
I should have suspected something there and then. By the time I got down to the pub there were a group of heavies in the corner. Half of them looked as though they’d done time and the other half looked as though they were on their way to doing some. Tel introduced me to them all and I said it was nice to meet them and so on.
Merse then came in but soon left with a bird from the office, so he was out of the way – and then two Southampton hard men came in, including the one who’d been out of order earlier in the week. Tel did say to me, ‘If you want to make yourself scarce…’ but I said, ‘No, in for a penny in for a pound.’
You could say there was a bit of an atmosphere – and then two more Southampton so-called tough guys turned up. The bolts went on the doors and within no time there were bodies everywhere. It was like a scene out of a Western. As a famous Norwegian commentator might have put it, ‘Southampton, England, your boys took one hell of a beating.’ Pretty soon there were sirens going as the police arrived, and a couple of Tel’s mates grabbed us and ushered us out and away from the police. Later on I met up with Merse in a nightclub called New York’s.
The next day there was a massive story in the papers about ‘Top England stars caught in bar-room brawl’ all over the front page. It named me and Tel, Merse and Nigel Winterburn. Well, two of us were there but Merse had left by the time the trouble started. And, as for Nigel Winterburn, he’d got straight on the team coach after the match and headed straight back to London, so he had a perfect alibi. It seems that one of Tel’s 17-stone mates had needed some hospital treatment and been asked his name. He just said, ‘Nigel Winterburn,’ and that’s how it got out.
Merse got it in the neck from George Graham but as always he got one more last chance. It was more of the ‘You and Perry Groves, when you two get together …’ But Merse and Nigel had the last laugh, as the paper had to pay damages to the pair of them, as they hadn’t been involved in a brawl at all. I guess it all went to show that it didn’t play to mess around with Terry Hurlock, the hardest man I ever met on the pitch – and pretty tasty off it too when pushed.
Tel had three seasons at Southampton before going to Fulham. During his time at Craven Cottage, Tel – who was continually booked and sent off seven times during his career – managed to amass a club record 62 disciplinary points in one season, so the flame still burned bright. But he broke a leg badly in a pre-season friendly against Brentford of all teams, and after that bad injury he decided to call it a day. ‘I’ll be 36 next year so I think it’s time to knock it on the head,’ he said. ‘The injury is taking a long time to mend. My contract runs out at the end of the season and I don’t think I’ll be staying in football, although I may play a few amateur games just to keep fit.’
The Times newspaper once published a list of the hardest men in football and Terry came in number 23. All I can say is, I’m glad I didn’t have to play against any of the other 22.