‘HE’S SHORT, HE’S FAT, HE GETS THE BEST FROM MATT
—ALAN BALL, ALAN BALL’
It was a stroke of genius when Southampton appointed Alan Ball to succeed Ian Branfoot in January 1994. It saved the club and I had my best season, ever. It was a real gamble by the club because, with the best will in the world, Bally’s managerial career hadn’t been anything special. He’d been in charge of Exeter City and the only real success he’d enjoyed was at our bitter local rivals Portsmouth. But he was well loved at The Dell from his two stints as a player under Lawrie McMenemy, who remained as Director of Football. They made a good partnership and, despite the sometimes heated rows, they needed each other. Bally was fiery, impulsive, full of bubble and bounce and Lawrie was the voice of reason who kept him in check.
Lawrie had won Saints their only major silverware in 1976 when, as a Second Division side, they pulled off a major shock by beating Manchester United 1-0 at Wembley, so he was nearly a god. He understood the club and its traditions, and with his knowledge and experience it was great having him around. He did seem conspicuous by his absence after some heavy defeats but when we won you could be sure the big man was ready to give an interview. I have a lot of time for Lawrie. I enjoy his company and he is a great raconteur.
I didn’t know Alan Ball personally but I certainly knew all about him. As a kid growing up I had seen him play, and as a World Cup winner he had legendary status. Instant respect. He bounced in like a breath of fresh air, full of energy and enthusiasm. And right from the start it was clear he wanted to play football the way it should be played. No longer were we to knock the ball up the channels. He wanted a crisp, incisive passing game. And it got even better when he and Lawrie took their first training session and set up the side ready for the game at Newcastle. Bally and Lawrie set up the formation. They put three players at the back, four in midfield and two up front. I was left standing there. I hadn’t been picked and I remember my heart sank. I wasn’t going to be part of their plans, then I realized there were only nine outfield players. Bally walked over, put his hand on my shoulder and put me right in the middle of the lads. He said, ‘This is your best player and your best chance of getting out of trouble. I’m going to put him right in the middle of the pitch and whenever you have the chance to get the ball to his feet then you have to do it. If you get the ball ask yourself, “Can I get the ball to Tiss?” He will do the rest.’
A lot of players might have panicked at the responsibility and pressure. I felt I had grown four or five inches taller. I was so proud that Alan Ball was going to build a team around me. He was a World Cup winner but he rated me as his best player and I felt fantastic. I knew I was under pressure because the other lads would slaughter me if I failed to deliver. They didn’t say anything at the time but I knew they would resent me and stop giving me the ball, so I had to perform.
We went to Newcastle and set up exactly as Bally had said. I took a corner which Neil Maddison headed in to give us an early lead and something to hang on to. Andy Cole equalized just before half-time but we continued to cling on for a precious point until late on when I went on a crossfield run. I wasn’t really going anywhere and eventually, after I had been kicked three times, the referee gave us a free kick 25 yards out and towards the left of the penalty area. If I say so myself, it was a brilliant free kick. The wind was in the right direction and I hit it perfectly, right-footed over the wall and into the top left corner. Mike Hooper in goal never moved an inch. There were no away fans allowed because of redevelopment to the ground so there was this amazing deadly hush. I just ran to the dug-out to jump on top of Bally.
It was the start of a good run for me. We lost at Oldham in the next match but I scored and then we faced Liverpool at The Dell in what was Bally’s first home fixture in charge. There was a fantastic atmosphere around the ground. The game was live on Sky, it was snowing and it was Valentine’s Day, which was great because it meant I didn’t have to take the wife out for an over-priced meal. After 27 seconds we were in dreamland. I hit the cleanest half volley of my career and the ball went in like a rocket. It flew into Bruce Grobbelaar’s bottom left corner. New signing Craig Maskell put us 2-0 up after eight minutes and, just before half time, he was fouled by Julian Dicks to give us a penalty.
I had previously played on the same side as Bruce in a League representative game and I took a lot of penalties against him in training, and he saved virtually all of them. He kept guessing the right way so I knew I had to do something special. I hit it harder than normal and the ball went higher than usual. It flew into the top corner, in off a post and breathed a sigh of relief. We got another penalty in the second half when Mark Wright handled, and by then it was snowing really hard. I went to put the ball on the spot but couldn’t even see it. I was on a hat-trick and the last thing I wanted was a delay. The ref started to walk towards me so I just called out, ‘It’s OK I’ve found it. But in truth I just put the ball down anywhere in order to get on with it. I smashed it in and incredibly we were 4-0 up against Liverpool. They got a couple of late consolations but it meant we had got off to a great start under Alan Ball. We had a bit of impetus and a lot of belief—but we were still nineteenth out of 22.
The following week Paul Moody was transferred to Oxford, which was a huge weight off my mind, with my main rival now out the way. And that same week in training Lew Chatterley said he’d seen a free kick in Europe where the ball was rolled back and flicked up for a volley, so he suggested we should try it. We had just signed Jim Magilton from Oxford with the express purpose of getting the ball to me because he was such a good passer. He was a great lad, a real character and a good player, so we had a go. He rolled a few balls back for me to flick up and hit. Some went in the net, most went in the trees. We did that for about five minutes but thought nothing of it. It was just a bit of fun.
Next day we were home to Wimbledon. It was an absolutely dire match with very little excitement. I didn’t have a good game as Dean Blackwell followed me everywhere and I didn’t have the pace to get away from him. But with 16 minutes left we got a free kick 20 yards out in a central position. I set the ball up for a normal free kick but I knew it would be tight to get the ball over the wall and back down under the bar. Jim suggested trying what we had practised the previous day so I decided to give it a go. He rolled the ball back for me to flick up. In training, I had been flicking it quite high giving me time to steady myself, but I didn’t want to be closed down so I did not give it as much height and hit the volley sweet as you like. Hans Segers hadn’t a hope. Afterwards he said bitterly that it was the only thing I did all match, but I just told him to look at the score.
We had a bad Easter. We played three of our relegation rivals in the space of six days and lost the lot. We were beaten 3-1 at home by Oldham who eventually went down, lost 2-0 at Chelsea who stayed up, and then were home to Manchester City on Easter Monday. Bally tried to gee us up by telling the media that if we didn’t win this one then we were down. We lost 1-0 so the manager had to try and put the toothpaste back in the tube by insisting we could still stay up. But we were second from bottom with just six matches left, and only two of those were at home.
It was a real low point and we were in deep trouble when we went to Norwich and found ourselves 3-1 down with just over 30 minutes to go. At that point we were going down, no question, until I scored the only proper hat trick of my career—left foot, right foot, header. It was one of the most amazing games I ever played in. Just a couple of minutes after Chris Sutton had made it 3-1, I squeezed a left foot shot just inside the post from 18 yards. Bryan Gunn got a hand to it and should probably have saved it. Five minutes later Jeff Kenna was brought down and I scored the penalty to make it 3-3. Typically, within a minute we went behind again and things looked grim.
But with 18 minutes remaining Jeff crossed for me to head in. I say head in but actually I didn’t know anything about it. I wasn’t the best in the air and did have a tendency to close my eyes when I headed the ball. I wasn’t sure whether the defender was going to get there first so I closed my eyes, felt the ball hit my head and was absolutely amazed when I opened them to see the ball in the net for 4-4, and that was how it stayed until injury-time. We got a corner on the right and I knew I needed to put in a decent delivery. I floated the ball across and Ken Monkou rose to head in. I had the Saints fans right behind me and I remember Ken grabbed the ball out of the net, raced across to them and belted it into row Z. We needed the fans to keep hold of the ball because if we played any longer than another 30 seconds we would have conceded again. We hung on for a 5-4 win and walked off to be greeted on the touchline by Lawrie McMenemy, who appeared from nowhere to congratulate us all. Where would he have been if that last-gasp goal had been at the other end?
That was the win which gave us the impetus to stay up. The following week we were home to Blackburn who were going for the title, but we were buzzing and played really well. The Echo said we ‘served up a cocktail of Tizz Fizz, stout defending and a very large measure of spirit while Blackburn had a big whine.’ I set up Iain Dowie and then Paul Allen to gives us a 2-0 lead at half-time but Stuart Ripley pulled one back just after the break. Then Tim Sherwood handled to give us a penalty. I put the ball on the spot and Alan Shearer came up and stood in front of me before I took it. People have often asked me what he said, but I have never really told anyone until now.
Before the game he and Tim Flowers had been discussing what I’d do if we got a penalty because Tim used to save a lot from me in training. They reckoned that I’d do something completely different and hit it down the middle, gambling that Tim would know I always went for the corners. As I prepared to take this one, Alan came across and said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t hit it down the middle.’ I’m not sure if it was a double-bluff to try and tempt me to do that, or whether it was because he still had a lot of affection for Southampton and genuinely didn’t want us to go down. I suspect it was the latter.
As it happened, it never occurred to me to put it down the centre because I always fancied my chances if I put the ball in one of the corners. I was going to put it to Tim’s left, which was my favourite corner, but I kept an eye on him as I ran up. He moved a fraction early so I changed my mind and put it to his right, a sweet moment because Tim had always said I’d would never score past him. Normally when I scored a penalty I’d just salute the crowd and walk back to the centre circle—because I didn’t want to waste too much energy. But as this was such an important goal and Tim had been so gobby, I really celebrated and then waited for him outside the dressing rooms after we had won 3-1. I said, ‘Unlucky. I thought you said I would I never score past you?’ He looked at me and said, ‘Penalties don’t count.’ It was like being in the school playground, which was why I took such pleasure when I did it for real the following season with what turned out to be the BBC’s Goal of the Season.
To beat the title-challengers 3-1 was a huge boost but I was suspended for the next game at Spurs, where we lost 3-0. It was a horrible feeling not being able to help the lads and although that result knocked us back, I still felt we could get enough points to stay up. We had just three games left, and one was away to Manchester United, which basically meant we had to get maximum points from the other two. The first was our final home match against Aston Villa when I picked up the club’s Player of the Year award for the second time, having previously won it in 1990. We got off to a flyer when Jeff Kenna set me up for an easy tap-in and then Ken Monkou headed in my corner. Dean Saunders pulled one back before I got my second, which was a lot better than people think. Francis Benali hit a massive clearance—I think he was trying to trap the ball. My first touch was perfect and I controlled it on the drop with my right foot, rounded Nigel Spink and slotted in for 3-1. I scored two and made two that day as Neil Maddison headed in my corner for a 4-1 win. The atmosphere was amazing at the end and we really felt we could stay up.
We played well at Old Trafford in midweek and gave as good as we got but still got beaten 2-0. We certainly did not want to rely on other results going our way, with Sheffield United, Ipswich and Ever-ton also in the melting pot, and knew that a draw at West Ham on the final day should be enough to keep us up. And I stress ‘should be‘. It was the first time I had been through a last-day escape but I wasn’t nervous. That’s the surprising thing. Far from it. I actually remember relishing the occasion. I liked the pressure. I knew if I performed and scored I could be the hero. It wasn’t a good start because the team coach got held up in traffic. Upton Park is a horrible place to get to and Lew Chatterley actually had to get off the bus and run to the ground to hand in the team sheet on time. We were still half-asleep as the game kicked off and went 1-0 down early on, but just before half-time we got a free kick just outside the area. I think everyone in the ground knew I was going to score. I felt supremely confident and hit it very well. The keeper had no chance and it silenced the fans who had been chanting about the size of my nose.
It was a big moment and the first thing we did at half-time was check the other scores. We started the second half much more brightly, and went 2-1 up just after the break when I crossed for Neil Maddison to head home but, true to form, we quickly conceded another goal. But within three minutes we got a penalty when Iain Dowie was hauled down by Tony Gale, who is now a colleague of mine at Sky Sports. That was probably the most pressure I’ve ever felt taking a penalty because I knew exactly what was at stake, and the consequences of missing. I was glad it was in front of our fans and hit the ball a bit higher than normal, but it went in and we were still 3-2 up when the crowd invaded the pitch on 90 minutes, thinking that the final whistle had gone. Upton Park was about to be redeveloped and lose its terraces so the home fans were in party mood. The ref said there were still four minutes left so we had to go off while the pitch was cleared. We immediately listened to the other scores and knew we were safe unless we lost by two goals. At 3-2 up, even we were confident we could avoid that but, with our defence, you never knew.
When the game resumed, hundreds of fans were crouched on the running track behind the goals ready to run on at the end, and some were even spilling onto the pitch as the match restarted. That played a huge part in Ken Monkou bundling the ball into his own net to make it 3-3. The crowd ran on again but the ref had had enough, blew for full-time and legged it for the tunnel. The big worry was that the game might have to be replayed but, as it turned out, Sheffield United were relegated as they lost at Chelsea with the last kick of the season. It was the first time all afternoon that they had been in the bottom three—harsh! And Everton survived despite at one stage being 2-0 down at home to Wimbledon. My old mate Barry Horne had got their equalizer before Graham Stuart hit a tame low 18-yard drive which somehow evaded the dive of Hans Segers to give them an unlikely 3-2 win. A few question marks have since been raised about Wimble-don’s display that day. What do I think? With my innate belief in the importance of fair play, of course I refuse to think they’d cheat.
After our match, the lads celebrated in the bar but I went and sat on my own on the team bus to savour our achievement. I couldn’t have felt any more proud if we’d won the league. I was really chuffed at what we’d done. We were dead and buried on more than a couple of occasions that season and to stay up, against the odds, really felt as though we had won something. I thought, ‘Let’s have more last-day escapes.’ I loved the thrill, the excitement. And I felt a real personal sense of achievement. I’d scored 25 goals in 38 league games, 15 of them in 16 matches for Alan Ball, which wasn’t bad for a midfielder.
In the last five games I played that season we scored 15 goals. I got eight of them and set up six others, so I think I justified Bally’s decision to build the team around me. I know a few of the other players were peed off that I seemed to get preferential treatment and I can understand that. Maybe it was a bit over the top the way the manager treated me and praised me, but I helped keep Saints in the top division.