''Hope You Die of Cancer"

Marvin Close

Description

A million miles away from the rich uplands of the Premier League lies the Poundland world of non-league football. A far grittier version of the beautiful game, it's a glorious ragbag of former EFL clubs on the down, impoverished minnows and ambitious outfits on the make, played by a mix of full-time, part-time and amateur performers. This is the inside story of life in the lower reaches of English football, seen through the eyes of a player with over a decade's experience in the Conference and National Leagues. Footballer X lifts the lid on never-before-told stories of dust-ups, bust-ups, backhanders and betting scandals, the players lucky enough to get contracts and the rest who live precariously from game to game. It's a story of constant financial struggle, big sacrifices and small victories for owners, fans and players alike. Our footballer is still playing, so the cloak of anonymity allows him to give us a true picture of what life is really like playing as a non-league footballer today.

Informations

• Publié par: Pitch Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 17 janvier 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781801502115
• Langue: English

Extrait

First published by Pitch Publishing, 2022
Pitch Publishing
A2 Yeoman Gate
Yeoman Way
Durrington
BN13 3QZ
www.pitchpublishing.co.uk
Marvin Closex, 2022
Every effort has been made to trace the copyright.
Any oversight will be rectified in future editions at the earliest opportunity by the publisher.
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A CIP catalogue record is available for this book from the British Library
Print ISBN 9781801500487
eBook ISBN 9781801502115
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Contents
Author s Note
Introduction
The Beginning
The Pyramid
The Dressing Room
Pre-Season
Players
Young Players
The Banter
Money
Grounds
Travel
Fans
Managers
Referees
Gamesmanship
Injuries
The Board
Agents
The Media
Betting and Bribes
Up for the Cup
The Non-League Lions
Covid
Part-Timers
The Future of Non-League Football
Appendix 1
Appendix 2
Appendix 3
Appendix 4
Appendix 5
Photos
Author s Note
THIS BOOK was put together from nearly 100 hours of interviews with our footballer. As a writer, I ve striven to fact check, corroborate and contextualise, and then added further research to explore and explain the wider world of non-league football, from the thoughts he s shared with me. Between us, we ve worked to give as honest a view as we can of what it s like to be a non-league footballer and the world in which they live. It s our hope that you ll constantly hear his voice above anything else that s been added in terms of putting the facts of his life into context.
Introduction
THIS BOOK S about what life s like for a footballer in non-league, so let s begin at the end. I ve been with my current club for 18 months. They play in football s eighth tier, the lowest rung on the ladder I ve ever played at and, bless them, the management here still see enough in my 36-year-old legs to have offered me another year s contract. I ve happily accepted, because playing here has been a joy. After many years playing as a full-time professional in the top tiers of non-league football, I m now most definitely a part-time pro. But they ve still offered me 300 a week, which is pretty good for this level.
Though you should never say never, I suspect this next season could be my swansong as a player. I still feel fit enough to play, not only at this level but in a couple of tiers above. I may be in my mid-thirties, but I still regularly come top of the bleep tests, beating players half my age. I still rack up regular man-of-the-match performances and try to keep my playing standards high. As I write, Kevin Ellison is still playing at League Two level, aged 42, so if I really wanted to, I know I m fit enough to push myself on for a few more seasons. But I won t for two reasons.
My first, a match I recently had at Kendal Town s Parklands Road. I d never played there before during my career and it caused me a great angst and anxiety I d never experienced before as a footballer. Don t get me wrong you Cumbrians. I ve nothing whatever against your esteemed club, but the day filled me with an unexpected dread.
The skies had blackened as we travelled over the Pennines and up towards the Lake District and I wasn t in the most positive of moods. I d had a bad day: stupid little life stuff, hassle with trying to change my phone provider, an annoying conversation with the bank over a standing order they d incorrectly charged me for twice. All dull, dumb and dreary but it had put me into a grumpy mood. The rain was pouring down as we arrived and a pre-match limbering-up session on the pitch soon turned into a spot-the-blade-of-grass contest, such was the mud heap we found ourselves skidding around on. I remember thinking that if this match had been in the National s top league, it would have been called off. But it wasn t.
Kendal s a lovely and historic town, the gateway to the Lakes no less. Some of its oldest structures include Kendal Castle and Abbot Hall - and the pokey little knackered corrugated iron-clad stand inside Parklands Road. I know there s little money at this level, but the place was falling to bits. In the dressing room, our toilet wouldn t flush, and the water was turned off. No benches for us to sit on, only a motley collection of highly uncomfortable splintered wooden chairs. It all served to take me into a very dark place. Instead of psyching myself up for the match ahead, all I could think was: I don t fancy this today. Why am I still playing?
I remembered running out at Wembley in front of 60,000 in an FA Trophy Final. The big non-league matches I d regularly been a part of, in front of six, seven, eight thousand fans in good, well-maintained grounds. And here I was about to play on a shit heap of a pitch in front of fewer than 150 shivering souls. The conditions reminded me of matches I d played as a young kid. But then I was on the way up and ever hopeful, so you didn t care. Here I was at 36, coming full circle and I didn t like it. Is this what my career s come to? Call it professional pride or just sheer self-pity but, frankly, I didn t want to be there.
I ve never been the most vocal in the dressing room, but I was apparently so quiet and withdrawn before the match that one of our younger players asked me whether I was okay. I said what all footballers reply when they re feeling vulnerable: Yeah, no problem. And I could hear myself echoing it in a more upbeat tone: No problem! Because you never want to show a weakness. That s not part of your job description.
But, unwittingly, he was totally galvanising. His innocent enquiry reminded me why I was there. The senior pro, the captain, the most experienced player at the club. As a role model, I had to set an example. I shook off my low mood and then gave my all in the match itself. I played out of my skin, so yes, I could still turn it on. But as we drove home, I questioned myself again and again. How many more times can I shake off experiences like this and still care enough about playing? And each time the answer was frustrating. I didn t know. I really didn t know.
I thought about the options. I knew for definite that I could never allow myself to become an older player who just goes through the motions. I ve played with and against enough of those to know what a bad look that is. More importantly, I couldn t live with myself. So, let s see what the rest of the season brings , I thought. As we drove, I reflected too on the delayed shock I was suddenly feeling about dropping further down the football pyramid. For most of my playing years, I d been a much-sought-after full-timer. I spent a lot of my career at non-league s biggest clubs in the National, and then into the National League North, but still being paid as a full-timer. But now?
The level I m currently playing at is like nothing I ve experienced before. There aren t as many members of staff, you wash your own training gear, and the clubs can t afford to lay on food during training, all things I d been used to for years. Where I am now there are no squad numbers, just 1 to 11, which feels amateurish somehow. In days gone by friends would ask me where I was playing at the weekend and I used to say York or Luton or Stockport, proper big clubs. Now when they ask, I say Corby or Leamington or Kendal. I feel almost embarrassed, like I m not a proper footballer anymore. Which I know is a terrible thing to say, because it sounds like I m dissing Corby, Leamington and Kendal, the last thing I want to do. It s not about them, it s about me.
As you drop down through the leagues the money goes down and that has an effect on you too. Not just in terms of sheer economics, but on your morale and self-worth. The players are worse, the grounds are worse and you re distinctly aware that you re part-time. This isn t where you expected to be when your footballing life began at a big professional club. Buddy, you re so on your way down.
What was happening in the world around me was having a massive impact too. Covid had a profound psychological effect on many of us, making us question who we are and what it is we do. Like most of us, I d hit some dark spots during lockdown, and that put me into a very reflective mood. So, the thought of a swansong began.
And as we drove home, I mulled over packing it in and began to think about the things I d miss most about playing. The answers surprised me. Very top would be knowing you ll never score a goal again in front of a big crowd. The hairs standing up on the back of your neck when you go to celebrate in front of the fans. I ll never forget scoring in front of my mum and dad, my family, my friends and the supporters, and I ll miss that a huge amount. But, and this may sound strange, I ll miss the training with team-mates more than the matches. That s where the sheer day-to-day joy of being a footballer lies for me and always has. I love the banter and having a laugh as we test one another out, learn how to play better together and try out new ideas. The daft challenges we set one another. Who can hit the crossbar from a standing start 25 yards out, five on the trot? Who can be the first to double nutmeg our big ugly centre-back? The joy of working on new moves and set pieces and getting them right. For years and years, people had paid me money to enjoy myself, doing what I d always dreamed to do. Yes, I ve been involved in spats and fall-outs on the training pitch, but most of