Goals to Gold. Lee Sandford
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can I see how valuable such experiences are to a young person, how early disappointments can actually give you the tools you need in order to succeed in life. Moments like this helped me develop the skills I would one day need to become a disciplined and unemotional trader.
Turning pro
It wasn’t altogether a bad time. I had plenty of successes to take my mind off the England youth squad disappointment. It was the season that PFC got into the First Division (what is now called the Premier League), and I had recently been named as the FA’s Young Player of the Month, a very prestigious award for a young player. In my second season at PFC my wages had gone up to £35 a week. I thought I was rich, but I had no idea what was on the cards for me.
Most apprentices saw out their two years before signing professional forms, but before my two years were up, when I was only 17, I was offered a professional contract at £250 a week. In today’s terms that sounds like nothing, but imagine a pay rise of over seven times your current weekly salary! The money still meant nothing to me, I was just happy to be playing football every day, but I was able to start buying real, grown-up assets like stereos and cars... and eventually my first property.
My first game as a professional was at Millwall, ironically the closest league club to Elephant and Castle. I was on the bench initially, but soon after the start of the game Kenny Swain got injured and I went on. In those days there were high mesh fences all around the pitch because football hooliganism was a big problem. I was terrified as I ran out on to the pitch because I could see the Millwall fans pushing up against the fence.
They were like snarling tigers, eager to get out of their cage and tear apart their prey. I was still a victim of the 1980s and with my long, bleached-blonde Nik Kershaw hairstyle, I was a prime target for the Millwall fans. They started chanting and shouting abuse at me, spitting and calling me a “fucking Portsmouth poofter.” I desperately wanted to turn around and tell them that I was born up the road, that I was a local lad, just like them, but I knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. More importantly, I had to concentrate on my first professional game.
In the end, we beat the home team 4-0. It was such an impressive victory that some of the Millwall fans actually clapped us off the pitch. Even so, there were some very angry fans lining the street on the way back to the coach and I remember being quite scared, imagining they were going to drag me off and beat me to a pulp. Luckily Noel Blake pulled me out of harm’s way. At 6’2”, and with shoulders almost as wide, he was a force to be reckoned with and the angry fans backed off. Noel and I became great mates after that; it was the beginning of a lifelong friendship.
Alan Ball continued to be my mentor and my greatest inspiration as I rose through the ranks. He would give the most incredible pre-match motivational speeches. He could actually make you cry. I remember choking back tears several times at the end of some of his pep talks. He made you feel like the only thing that existed was the game you were about to play. To this day, I think he is the best motivator I have ever met. Of course, his influence didn’t end on the pitch. His “live hard, play hard” attitude encouraged us to enjoy ourselves to excess after the game. All the drinking and partying was fine as long as we’d worked hard out on the pitch.
Alan had a reputation for gathering up mavericks that other clubs had grown exasperated with and getting them focused. Perhaps it was because he allowed us to get away with so much partying off the pitch that we worked so hard in training and during the matches. We were known as “the gremlins” because we were never out of trouble, whether it was on the pitch or in the pub. After hours, it was a constant flow of booze and girls. There was a fantastic team spirit and I never questioned it for a moment. You couldn’t, you were part of a team; the peer pressure was huge.
First Division
Being promoted to the First Division in the 1986-87 season meant we would now be playing the country’s top clubs. In the mid-80s, the greatest club in the land was undoubtedly Liverpool.
In 1986, Liverpool was at the top of the top division and had held the title for three consecutive years shortly before that. In the season just before we were promoted they had won “the double” (the league and the FA Cup). They were untouchable. When I realised I was going to be playing at Anfield, I could hardly believe it. For years I’d been watching players like Ian Rush, Alan Hansen, Mark Lawrenson and my all-time favourite, Kenny Dalglish, playing on TV. These guys were my football heroes. Now I was going to be meeting them face-to-face. I had never felt so much pressure.
As I came down the steps in the tunnel and saw the famous This is Anfield sign for the first time, my knees were already shaking. As usual, we had arrived a couple of hours before the game and were headed out on to the pitch to do our pre-match warm up. At an hour and a half before kick off in most football clubs in England, you won’t find a soul in the stands. At Anfield, as we emerged from the tunnel to go and warm up, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Kop (the stand where Liverpool’s most passionate supporters congregate) was completely full.
Another distinctive thing about Liverpool fans is that they don’t boo the opposition, they whistle at them. In some ways it’s almost more unnerving. And I’m sure it contributed to creating what turned out to be the worst moment of my career to date.
I was marking the Australian midfielder, Craig Johnston (who went on to design the popular Predator football boot made by Adidas). He wasn’t that tall, but his mass of black curly hair made him seem taller and more threatening. He had an imposing presence about him. Looking back now, I can identify it as unshakeable confidence, something I sorely lacked as I waited for kick-off.
By the time the referee blew his whistle and the game got started, I was in a state of shock. I froze. I literally got stage fright. The next 90 minutes were a blur. I completely bottled it. I never went anywhere near the ball. I felt like I had lead boots on; it was a struggle to get one foot in front of the other.
Luckily, because we were getting so badly hammered by the home team, my abysmal performance wasn’t so noticeable, but I was shattered by it. I felt terrible. Any confidence I had ever possessed had disappeared and I was left with nothing but my fears. Play for England? Me? “Don’t be stupid,” my inner voice was saying. “You’re not even good enough to play at Anfield. Who do you think you are?”
Mental strength
For years I wondered what on earth happened at Anfield that day. What caused me to lose my nerve so completely? Whenever I had to approach events in life that scared me, I thought of that moment. Now, I realise I became overwhelmed by the pressure. In my mind I had this perception that I didn’t deserve to be out there, that I wasn’t good enough to be on the same pitch as my heroes, these giants of football.
This was my first lesson in understanding the concept of the mental game. You can be physically fit and prepared, and have all the best intentions in the world, but if on the day, in the moment, you listen to those voices of doubt, you’re doomed.
These days, most sports training programmes encompass an element of psychological preparation, but back then, apart from the pre-game pep talk, it was a fairly new concept. There were no sports psychologists helping you overcome mental blocks. There was a focus on the team spirit, of course, but there was no one to tell you what to do with your own individual fears; to teach you how to confront those voices that rise up in you at the worst moments, saying, “You’re going to fail, you can’t do this,” or, “You’re going to make a fool of yourself, everybody’s going to laugh at you.”
It was the only time in my football life that this happened to me, that I froze and was unable, on any level, to pull something out of the bag. It never happened again, but thinking back to that moment still gives me chills today.
The next time I experienced something close to that paralysing sensation of fear, I was older and in a different career. This time, it was a fear of public speaking. It was a strange concept, to be afraid of being in front of people, because I’d played football in front of thousands of people and I’d always enjoyed performing to a crowd. There’s