~Returning the Glory to Anfield~
Chapter 1
1995, June 5th
Rockliffe Park, Middlesbrough FC training ground
As I penned my name on the pristine white paper, thoughts of fame, glory and money came pouring into my head. My first professional contract, with my hometown club, Boro. The words of the youth coach washed over me. “Listen lad, you're something special and you can go a long way in this game...”. Was I really that good? I’ve always put myself down a bit, played down my achievements and ability but maybe it’s time to change that and start to live up to what people are saying, fight for that spot on the team sheet that could be mine. Obviously if Brian Robson was offering me a contract (and a pretty decent one for just a kid too) then there was something in me, something that could take me places. I just need to work hard to unleash it.
1997, June 21st
Brrring, Brrrring, Brrrring. I picked up the phone.
“Congratulations Mr.Liddle, you have been chosen to receive the Premier League young player of the year award. There is a dinner on the evening of the 23rd in the VIP suite of Wembley stadium were the awards will be handed out, photos taken and that sort of thing. We would be delighted if you could attend, thank you.”. Young player of the year award?! I know that I’ve been earning praise from a lot of the managers and most of the pundits, but I never expected this! Jesus, I hadn’t even played 30 games and I was getting this? Things are going faster than I thought they were.
2006, 10th May
Philips Stadion, Eindhoven
Uefa Cup Final
4-0! 4-0! We’ve just beaten Seville 4-0 in European final! Obviously my shock was shared by my team mates as we walked into the dressing room beaming from ear to ear.
“ Who wants champaaaaaaaagne?!?!” Bellowed Hasselbaink, right before he blasted a bottle of it in my face. The cool liquid frothed over my head and shoulders and it seemed to clear my head, letting me realise what we had just done. My team mates seemed to be coming to terms with it too, and the party atmosphere descended completely when Viduka blasted out some tunes from his I-pod dock.
The Carling cup in 2004, the UEFA cup now, surely things could only get better?
2008, August 31st
Urgh, the club are stagnating I thought. This is the second year in a row we’ve almost been sucked into the relegation battle. As much as I love this club, my future lies elsewhere.
I flicked onto Sky Sports news to see my own face smiling back at me as the news reader announced I had signed for Spurs for £13 million and got the opinion of a few pundits who just happened to be hanging around the studio when the news broke. They were all saying that I would be a marvelous signing to help propel Tottenham onto Europe and that leaving the Boro was only good for my career. Maybe, but I was still in distraught when I left my boyhood club for good.
2008, December 20th
London General Hospital
“Mr. Liddle, can you hear me?”
I don’t know, can I? I open my eyes but the light hurts, so I keep them closed and tell the voice that I can hear him.
“Mr. Liddle, you are in London General Hospital because you sustain a head wound and a back injury during the football match against Stoke City. I’m afraid that because of the nature of your back injury, with it affecting so many vital nerves and arteries that you will not be able to play professional football again.” I felt despair and agony wash over me, and gave up on keeping a grasp on the voice, slumping into unconsciousness.
2 Days Later
Never. Play. Football. Again. I’d ran the words over and over in my head but they still wouldn’t sink in. And It had been going so well! Most assists in the league, becoming known as a Ronaldo-esque free kick taker and propelling Spurs to 3rd in the table. Gone. What the **** am I going to do with my life? The gaffer had been in the day before and told me I had his backing if I needed it. He also said that the way I talked to him, controlled the team and organised them showed some real tactical nous and tentatively recomended coaching or possibly even management, but to take my decision slowly. Hmm, I wonder...
Chapter 1
1995, June 5th
Rockliffe Park, Middlesbrough FC training ground
As I penned my name on the pristine white paper, thoughts of fame, glory and money came pouring into my head. My first professional contract, with my hometown club, Boro. The words of the youth coach washed over me. “Listen lad, you're something special and you can go a long way in this game...”. Was I really that good? I’ve always put myself down a bit, played down my achievements and ability but maybe it’s time to change that and start to live up to what people are saying, fight for that spot on the team sheet that could be mine. Obviously if Brian Robson was offering me a contract (and a pretty decent one for just a kid too) then there was something in me, something that could take me places. I just need to work hard to unleash it.
1997, June 21st
Brrring, Brrrring, Brrrring. I picked up the phone.
“Congratulations Mr.Liddle, you have been chosen to receive the Premier League young player of the year award. There is a dinner on the evening of the 23rd in the VIP suite of Wembley stadium were the awards will be handed out, photos taken and that sort of thing. We would be delighted if you could attend, thank you.”. Young player of the year award?! I know that I’ve been earning praise from a lot of the managers and most of the pundits, but I never expected this! Jesus, I hadn’t even played 30 games and I was getting this? Things are going faster than I thought they were.
2006, 10th May
Philips Stadion, Eindhoven
Uefa Cup Final
4-0! 4-0! We’ve just beaten Seville 4-0 in European final! Obviously my shock was shared by my team mates as we walked into the dressing room beaming from ear to ear.
“ Who wants champaaaaaaaagne?!?!” Bellowed Hasselbaink, right before he blasted a bottle of it in my face. The cool liquid frothed over my head and shoulders and it seemed to clear my head, letting me realise what we had just done. My team mates seemed to be coming to terms with it too, and the party atmosphere descended completely when Viduka blasted out some tunes from his I-pod dock.
The Carling cup in 2004, the UEFA cup now, surely things could only get better?
2008, August 31st
Urgh, the club are stagnating I thought. This is the second year in a row we’ve almost been sucked into the relegation battle. As much as I love this club, my future lies elsewhere.
I flicked onto Sky Sports news to see my own face smiling back at me as the news reader announced I had signed for Spurs for £13 million and got the opinion of a few pundits who just happened to be hanging around the studio when the news broke. They were all saying that I would be a marvelous signing to help propel Tottenham onto Europe and that leaving the Boro was only good for my career. Maybe, but I was still in distraught when I left my boyhood club for good.
2008, December 20th
London General Hospital
“Mr. Liddle, can you hear me?”
I don’t know, can I? I open my eyes but the light hurts, so I keep them closed and tell the voice that I can hear him.
“Mr. Liddle, you are in London General Hospital because you sustain a head wound and a back injury during the football match against Stoke City. I’m afraid that because of the nature of your back injury, with it affecting so many vital nerves and arteries that you will not be able to play professional football again.” I felt despair and agony wash over me, and gave up on keeping a grasp on the voice, slumping into unconsciousness.
2 Days Later
Never. Play. Football. Again. I’d ran the words over and over in my head but they still wouldn’t sink in. And It had been going so well! Most assists in the league, becoming known as a Ronaldo-esque free kick taker and propelling Spurs to 3rd in the table. Gone. What the **** am I going to do with my life? The gaffer had been in the day before and told me I had his backing if I needed it. He also said that the way I talked to him, controlled the team and organised them showed some real tactical nous and tentatively recomended coaching or possibly even management, but to take my decision slowly. Hmm, I wonder...
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