'Bullardinho' - My Story - The Prelude To An FM16 Story

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Bullardinho

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Synopsis

This is the story of Matt ‘Bullardinho’ Bullard, the English born, Spanish national who fought his way to the pinnacle of the footballing world, before retiring prematurely at the age for 27.

As he takes his first steps into management, we take a deeper look into his glittering career, we journey through the ups and downs, his struggles and his adulation, from the very beginning, to the day he was forced to finally retire and his career took a whole new direction.

This is the story of possibly the greatest footballer ever to grace our planet, will he be the greatest manager? Only time will tell..


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If you were to ask me when it was I first realised I wanted a career in football, I would tell you I was probably too young to remember. From the moment I was able to balance on my own two feet, I was kicking a ball. By the age of four, I didn’t have an interest in toys or watching television like other children were, I wanted to spend my childhood kicking my plastic ‘air floater’ Power Rangers ball around the back garden until the kitchen window opened and I was summoned in for ‘tea’ by my mother.
I was born on the 31st​ July 1988, I grew up in a purpose built council estate in suburban London, with hundreds of children, all of which went to the local recreational ground to play football most evenings, not that I was allowed to play with them at this point, the only time I got to see them play was when we drove past in the car on the way home from school, my mother would say “You’re too little to play football with them boys, once you’re old enough to cross the road on your own you can go”. So for now I would have to be content with my back garden.

I surrounded myself with football, everything I did revolved around the game, I would watch MOTD every Sunday Morning, the only game I would play on my Sega MegaDrive would be FIFA and I had reams of tapes, all recordings of FA Cup, UEFA Cup and Cup Winners Cup. My Favourite player at this time was Alan Shearer, naturally as he was a young English forward like I dreamed to be, he was scoring goals for fun at Blackburn, of course my mother went straight to our local sports shop and bought a Rovers shirt with Shearer on the back, I scored hundreds more goals then him in that shirt, in my back garden of course but still, one day I am going to be just like him.

 
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The day was finally here, after several test runs and my mother reminding me to look both ways before crossing at least a hundred times, I was finally allowed to go and play football with the ‘big boys’. My mother still walked me over for the first time, she had also bought me a new size 4 Mitre leather football and some fluorescent yellow Mizuno astro-turf trainers.

I arrived at the field and there must have been at least 14 or 15 older children, all aged between 10 and 14, they all stopped what they were doing and looked at me, my mother said in her gentle and kind voice, “This is Matthew, he would like to play football with you if that’s OK?”, to which one of the lads replied “Yeah ‘course. He can join your team your team Chris”, which was then followed by a series of moans and groans. With that I walked over to Chris, I looked at my mother, she smiled and then made her way home.



I spent much of my first hour running around, timidly calling for the ball to just be ignored. ‘I have had enough of this’ I thought, I waited until the opposing player nearest to me had the ball, I harassed him and won the ball with ease, with two touch’s I was around him, I looked up to some of the other boys on my team, they were all marked, ‘These boys have no idea what they are doing’ I said to myself, I put my head down and ran with the ball, with a few step-overs and the odd feint, a simple **** past the keeper and the ball and rolled past the keeper, between a pile of bags and a pile of coats, they could do nothing but look at me in astonishment.

From that moment I was known by every young lad on our estate, needless to say I was invited back, every day when I got in from school I would throw my uniform on the floor, get into my Blackburn ‘Shearer’ shirt and run over to the field, looking both ways before crossing the road of course. I was the first to be picked every time there was a team game and the last anyone wanted to face in a game of ‘knockout’. I was playing at a standard several levels above even the best 14 year olds on the field, I was the best there by far and I remained the king of the ‘Rec’ until I turned nine years old, my mother had recognised my talent and allowed me to sign up for my first ‘Sunday League’ football team.

 
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My mother handed over the signed forms, my £10 sign-up fee and my two passport photos and with that, I was officially a Crayford Arrows U-10’s player.
I was so excited I literally could not contain myself, I just wanted to play straight away. It was the pre-season, we trained on a Wednesday evening on a flood lit pitch, during which I would hear our manager Mick constantly talking about how good I was to the other parents, ‘We are going to walk the league with him in the team’ I would hear him say, he never said my name but I knew it was me he was discussing.

We played several friendlies against the local teams, all of which we won with ease and all of which I scored for fun, three, four, sometimes five goals a game. To give us a challenge we even played the Under -12 team of our local rivals Pheonix, I can’t remember the exact result but I remember people saying it was like a rugby score line. I was named captain for the new season, not because I was a leader or I was extremely vocal but because I was their star player.

But the time our first season had come to an end I had amassed a Bexley League record of 48 goals in 20 games, I won the Player of the Year in our end of season club award ceremony and I had been asked by several Kent League clubs if I would like to join them, to which I politely declined, we had won the league and I was playing football with my friends, why would I leave my friends?



 

Things carried on this way for a few seasons, each year we won the league without dropping a single point, each year I was scoring goals for fun and each year I was being asked to jump ship by clubs across Kent and the London Boroughs.
I had now reached the age of secondary school, I already knew half of the boys in our my year from Sunday football, so everyone already new how talented I was.
Word had spread to the staff at my new school, our Year 7 football coach had approached me within the first week, “I hope you will be playing football this year” he said, to which I smiled and replied with a definite “Yes”.

I was now training Tuesday evenings with my school as well as playing the odd midweek game and then training Wednesday evenings with Arrows and playing my regular Sunday football, still finding the time to play hundreds of hours a week over the old ‘Rec’ with my childhood friends. I was now playing teams spanning the whole of Kent and London, word had spread far and wide within the amateur football community that there was this young kid from Bexley that was something a bit special, with that interest was now starting to come in from bigger teams, professional teams.

 
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I was now nearly 13 years old, football was still my life, I hadn’t shown much of an aptitude for much else in school except football. My more academic teachers thought of me as the ‘class clown’, the ‘joker’, to be honest I was quite proud of that, my PE teachers however held me in high regard, they loved me, I was their prize possession in every school tournament going, something to brag about to other PE teachers in the opposing district’s schools.

I had a Kent Cup match coming up for the school on a Thursday, it was against one of our biggest rivals in the borough, they had some really good Kent League players within their year. We got taken out of school for a few hours at the end of the day for the big cup matches, natural everyone was buzzing on the coach all the way there.
I arrived to mother greeting me at the rival school’s grounds, she had taken the afternoon off work to come and watch, she was supportive like that. We went into the changing rooms to get ourselves ready and with that made our way out to the pitch.

We walked all over them, the game was ours from the get go, our main instruction from our Coach was ‘When you get the ball, look up for Matt, pass to him’, that was just the way it had been my entire life. I scored 4 goals in that match and at the final whistle everyone lifted my up above their heads and cheered “Bullardinhoooo, Bullardinhooo”, a nickname I had picked up due to my skill, technique and dribbling ability on the ball, much like the rising star at the time, PSG and Brazil forward Ronaldinho.

I noticed after the game my mother was speaking to a man I had never seen before, he looked like an average guy, he came on his own and just watched the match, they were looking directly at me for the duration of their chat. When I got home I asked my mother who the man was she was speaking to:

“His name was Brain Williams, he is a scout for MIllwall FC, he wanted to know if you would like to go along for trials for their under 16’s team?”
“Under 16? I’m not even 13 yet? They will kill me” I replied.
“I am sure they won’t kill you, he obviously thinks you are good enough otherwise he wouldn’t have asked me”, there was a long pause. “Well?”
“Well of course, I mean, it’s Millwall!”
“OK, I will call him tomorrow when I am at work. I am so proud of you Matt”, she smiled “or should I say ‘Bullardinho”.


 
After weeks of excitement it had finally be done, I had signed pre-contract with my first professional club, Millwall Football Club. There was a lot of excitement in the room, the club manager Mark McGhee had come over to watch my signing, along with a couple of the youth coaches, a journalist for the club magazine and my mother, who also needed to co-sign due to my age.


Shortly after I was taken over to the clubs training ground over at Calmont Road in Bromley, which is also where we would play our home matches. The pitches were immaculate, even for a training ground, a million miles away from the Sunday league and school pitches I had become so used to.

My first day’s training with the Youth Academy were incredible, I was so nervous but so excited, these lads were all much older, bigger and more confident in themselves then I was, I knew in myself though that they didn’t have what I had, a talent comparable too few in our age group, I was regarded by many of the staff at the club, as the future of Millwall FC and possibly English football.
 

I had now been in the Millwall youth set up for a month or so, I was still not a regular starter at this point, mainly due to the vast difference in the game and despite my obvious skill, I didn’t have the physicality to keep up with the 15 and 16 year old lads I was up against. I was given a strict regime of healthy eating and gym work, again this in small doses due to my age.
When I was finally given my chance, after a solid month of training drills and matches, I was told by our coach that I would be given the second half to show what I am made of, “Don’t be scared Matt, you have an incredible talent, from what I have seen in the past four weeks, you are ready for this”, he seemed so sure, it put me at ease.


We were losing 1-0 to a poor Brentford youth academy, they hadn’t really shown much at all but neither had we. We had a young African born London boy up front called Ikam, we was the quickest player I had ever seen and his pace had ruined their defence on a number of occasions, but he was lazy and wasn’t a great finisher.
Half time came, during the talk the coach gave his instruction “Ikam, good work that half, but I am gonna give Matt ago for the second half” he looked at me and smiled, I was so nervous I felt like feinting.
Five minutes or so passed without so much as a single touch, I wasn’t being involved in the game enough and I was getting frustrated. As the game come to a close, I had made a few good runs off the ball, my passing was 100% accurate and my touch was great.
With a few minutes to go and both teams starting to look fatigued, I saw an opportunity, I received the ball just outside the opposing 18-yard box, I heard a call to lay it off but I wanted to make a big impact. I turned a defender and made a yard of space, dropped my left shoulder and put my laces straight through the ball, the dipping effort skimmed the underside of the crossbar and rustled the back of the net, the elation I felt was incredible and with the celebration that followed, I really felt accepted, like I belonged.

 
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We was now coming to the end of the 2003/2004 season and I was approaching my 16th​ birthday and my first professional contract. Times had moved quickly at The Den, we had recently seen Mark McGhee’s tenure at the club come to an end after three forgettable years. The man the club had chosen to replace him was the former Chelsea legend Dennis Wise as a player manager, he was a funny man, I liked him a lot. He had come to watch the Under 16’s from time to time and always made the effort to come and speak with me, he would often tell me how much he admired my talent and divulged the plans he had for me, he even gave me the odd sub appearance in the first team for cup games to give me some experience, which all in all was very successful.

We had a huge game coming up, we managed to defy all odds that season and make it the FA Cup Final which was played at the Millennium Stadium against Manchester United, this was a major thing for MIllwall Football Club, we would be the first team outside the top tier of English football to reach the final since 1982. This in itself was a double achievement as Man U had already qualified for the Champions League, meaning Millwall would take a place in the UEFA Cup for the following season.

The week leading up to the match, Dennis visited me at my home, he had some pretty big news for me:

“Can I come in Matt? I have something I need to discuss with you”

“Have I done something wrong?”, I thought he was going to tell me I wasn’t going to be offered my contract at the end of the season.

“Nothing mate. As you know we are really suffering with injuries and to be honest my legs can’t cope as well as they used to. I am going to be putting you into the match day squad for the final, with the idea of bringing you on at some point”, to which my jaw dropped.

“Are you kidding me? I am going to play in the FA Cup Final?”

“Listen, you have come a long way in the past year I have been here, you have twice the ability I ever had and you have a chance to make a big name for yourself here. Between me and you, you are better than MIllwall, one day soon you are gonna be movin’ on, grab this chance. I have every faith in you mate”

With that he shook my hand and left, I watched him get in his car and drive away, I went back into my front room, sat on the sofa and just stared at the TV for what felt like a year before what just happened eventually sunk in. I was possibly going to be the youngest player to ever play in an FA Cup Final!

 

As I woke up on what was going to be the biggest and most exciting day of my short life so far, it still hadn’t sunk in. I am possibly going to be playing in the FA Cup Final today, against Manchester United, Scholes, Giggs, Van Nistelrooy, Roy Keane! This was crazy, I’ve only just finished my GCSE’s!

We flew in to Cardiff Airport early that morning and arrived at stadium a few hours before kick-off, the reception we received as we stepped of the coach was unbelievable, I even signed my first fan signature, people were asking for pictures, even though most still didn’t even know who I was. Frist thing we did after we dropped our stuff in the changing rooms was have a look at the pitch, ‘this stadium is ******* huge!’ I thought to myself, my heart was already racing, but I couldn’t wait.

The Stadium was packed for the kick-off, nearly 72,000 fans filled the ground, I was on the bench to start with as expected but the experience of that alone was such a buzz, the feeling was amazing and I told myself this is what I have been waiting for, I want to do this every day for the rest of my life.
We gave a good account of ourselves first half, most of the 45 minutes was spent in our own half and much of the possession was spent in their midfield, Scholes and Giggs were incredible, it was truly inspiring to watch them play. Unfortunately we were one-nil down at the half time whistle, Scholes had scored a poachers effort after Anders (Andy Marshall) had parried a goal bound header from Van Nistelrooy.


“Right boys, you have done ******* well to keep it to just one, this is one of the best teams in the world!” Wisey was shouting with immense pride.

“But I am ******, I can’t keep up with that little Ginger fella out there anymore, Matt, you’re coming on for me second half, Tim-o (Cahill) you drop into the middle and take my place, Matt you sit behind Neil (Harris) up to, don’t be afraid of Kean-o, I know he has got a reputation and he is probably gonna try and kick the **** out of ya, but he is a ***** cat really, just keep on your toes and you will be fine.”.

I pulled on the No. 11 shirt, sat down and took in the rest of the gaffers team talk, well at least I tried, all I could think about what was about to happen to me.

At just 15 years 294 days old, I was now officially the youngest player ever to play in an FA Cup Final, the sound when we walked back out was insane, it made every muscle and bone in my body shake.

I didn’t get much of the ball in the first 10 minutes or so, to be honest neither did anyone else in a blue shirt. It was at about 60 minutes when I finally got my first decent touch, it was a ball into my feet from Cahill, I knocked it round Keane who as expected clattered the back of my ankle and sent me crashing to the floor, the ref blew for a foul about 25 yards out. Roy came over to me and offered is hand out, “Don’t try’n make me look like a feckin i’diot kid” he said with smirk on his face.
Tim planted the ball down and looked up, I hadn’t exactly been gifted with height, so I just loitered around the right side on the edge of the box. I heard a call for my name, I looked up and before I knew it the ball was whizzed in at my feet, I hadn’t even had a chance to think, I flicked the ball up with my right foot and hooked the ball to the back post with my left, it was a point perfect cross straight on to Harris’s head for him to slot into the bottom left corner. The Crowd went absolutely crazy, everyone ran over and picked me up screaming ‘Bullardinhoooo, Bullardinhooo’ it reminded me of my Arrow’s days, the crowd were wide eyed and wide mouth screaming at me as my team mates held me out to them like Simba form Lion King.

From then on we had them on the back foot, we had been given a new lease of life and we were riding the wave for as long as possible. With a few minutes to go the ball was played in their box, Harris headed the ball back to me, I was 18 yards out with the ball at my feet, I looked up and see Howard off his line, I picked my spot and pulled my right foot back to strike the ball, the next thing I knew I had been kicked into orbit with a force so hard it was like a Bull had just ran through me. The blew his whistle and pointed to the spot, he called a Penalty all though personally I would have said I was just outside the white line.

The captain Cahill, picked up the ball and walked to the spot, on walk back for his run up seem to go forever, he was walking towards me, “Don’t panic Matt, put it straight down the middle, this is your moment kid!”
I didn’t know what to say, I was stunned, I didn’t say no, why? I walked up to the ball and looked at Tim Howard in the eyes, he had a steely determination in his eyes. I could see 15,000 odd Millwall fans glaring at me with bated breath.
I took a deep breath, took a step to the left and calmly put my foot through the ball straight down the middle.. It was saved off of Howards ankle, my heart literally sunk, that millisecond felt like a life time, but before I had a chance to contemplate what had just happened the ball had ricocheted upwards and back in my direction.. I jumped as high as I ever had and headed the ball back downwards.. I landed in a heap on the floor with my back to goal. Before I had even had a chance to turn round and look I knew it was in the net from the eruption of screams in the crowd, the referee blew his whistle and the goal was given.
The final minutes were tense and we had to hold on at times, but after 3 minutes of extra time the final whistle was finally blown. We had done it. We had won the FA Cup.

I had scored the winning goal in the FA Cup Final, The youngest to ever play and score in the final. My name was to now be known be every football fan up and down the country, it would be written in the history books for decades to come. I had instantly become a Millwall legend!
 
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Great pre-story mate. The updates gonna be this regular through till fm16?
 
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