Roy of the Rovers - Total Football - Part 4

Roy of the Rovers – Total Football

Part 4

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Sat side by in the directors box of Mel Park were two former great Melchester Rovers players; ‘The King’ Roy Race and his son-in-law Declan McKaffree. Race was smarting at Seegrun’s stubborn approach to his youngest daughter’s husband, in his educated opinion, Dec’s performances since re-signing from Glenrath Celtic were worthy of a generous new contract. However the Dutch manager had withdrawn the two year deal planned by Roy, instead offering just one year at a reduced wage. Quite rightly Declan had not signed the deal, he was not short of offers, but at this stage of his career money was not the biggest issue, it was security and location that mattered most.

Despite the opening day defeat at the hands of new promoted Castleton, scores of fans surrounded the box to worship their heroes of past and present. After signing dozens of autographs and posing for selfie after selfie, Roy and Declan went straight back to the Race mansion to spend some time with Mel and her son little Roy. Dec had some big news that he knew would break the young child’s heart. Mel still did not allow her son to attend football matches, secretly she hoped he would fall out of love with the game as she had done. But so far the youngest Roy Race was infatuated with Melchester Rovers and in particular his Uncle Dec, who he insisted was Rovers’ best player, ever.

Roy had called the family meeting especially to support his grandson, the others already knew what the announcement was, but the kid was fragile and very emotional. As the men arrived young Roy raced out in full Rovers kit to greet them in the driveway. Dec picked him up and swung him around, placing the boy carefully back on his feet. The Irishman, as always, gave his biggest fan a match programme. He flicked straight to the centre page, where Marco De Loon was this week’s poster boy, “It’s signed by De Loon! Look Mum! Look! De Loon he signed it!” The boy charged around the front garden as the sun set. “Come inside little man, I’ve got to tell you something.”

The family gathered in the comfortable sitting room around the coffee table. Roy turned the TV onto Orbital Sports to catch the day’s goals, but Mel grabbed the remote and swiftly switched it to mute. Diana held Dec’s hand, the footballer was shaking a little, he was dreading telling his nephew that he was no longer a Melchester Rovers player. In fact he could not get the words out. So his wife took over, “Roy, Uncle Dec and I, we’re moving,” the boy did not react, “We’re moving to London,” still nothing, “Uncle Dec is going to play for Walford.” Young Roy quivered and looked around, “Walford? Grandad played for Walford, I know that and now you’re going to play for them!” He took off his Melchester shirt and folded it neatly, then his shorts and socks. Standing in his pants, in front of his bewildered family, the boy spoke, “I’m going to support Walford then! If Uncle Dec plays for Walford then I don’t like Melchester anymore!”

The group broke into fits of laughter, they could never have predicted such a reaction. It was comedy gold and although changing the team you support was not considered a traditional part of football in the Race family, it was for a good reason. While drinks were poured, young Roy disappeared, when he emerged he was clad in full England kit, Race – 9, on his back. Relief filled the room, “London at last, Diana!” Mel said freely, “I know, it’s going to be amazing, I’ve already got my eye on a little shop off the King’s Road. I’ll have two shops then; I’ll keep the one here, but have the headquarters in London.” Diana’s passion for fashion had already coast Declan hundreds of thousands of pounds, but he could afford it and it made her so happy. After years of misery in Scotland he owed her a lifetime of happiness, at least that’s what she would say.

Now able to discuss the move without any fear of upsetting young Roy, old Roy was interested in Dec’s choice of club, “F.A. Cup holders, Europa League football, Walford are certainly on the up. What’s the manager like?” Kenny Davenport, the former Scotland striker had played for Walford in the late 80s and early 90s, he had a reputation as a tough, no nonsense character, “He talks a good game. His sides play good, attacking football.” Roy still wanted some answers, “He plays 3-5-2, well he did for most of last season, where do you fit into that system, I thought your days as a centre-

forward were behind you?” It was a good point, one of the reasons Seegrun saw McKaffree as disposable was his inability to play as a wing-back. “Davenport is changing style a bit. He’s let Jorge Caceres go, he wants me to be the link between Nicky Morris up front and Ross Warren in midfield. Caceres was the target man, the boss believes that to keep progressing they need to evolve in style and play a more adaptive game. I’m sure you’d agree with that!”

Roy did and he was impressed; Morris and Warren were both regulars in the England squad, young too, with Declan to guild them Walford could really push on. “Please, Roy, can you make sure that the nipper gets to come up to London to watch us? I’m going to miss him loads. I know Mel won’t bring him, but you’re always welcome at Walford, they still love you. Some of the fans I’ve met are expecting me to do what you did there. I’ll give it a crack, but I’m no Roy Race!”

“Don’t sell yourself short. If I was still in charge here, you’d be in the first-team every week. To be honest I’m not impressed with Johan at all. His ideas may sound modern and progressive in English football, but in world football they’re dated. If an English manager tried to force Melchester Rovers to play the way we did in the mid-70s they’d be sectioned. We’re still so far behind the best teams in Europe, even with so many foreign managers and players; we still rely on huff and puff. You’ve never been about that, you’ve always had skill and technical skills beyond most men, even when you were a kid!”

Roy glanced quickly at the television set, “Wow! A couple of shock results today, look at those scores! Kelburn trashed at Melborough, Tynecaster beaten easily at North Vale! Our little blip at home to Castleton won’t even register with those results! It’s a funny old game!”

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Salares seemed even quieter than usual as John Rogers walked home from the small Coviran store, the only shop in the village. It may have been the tremendous sense of relief that he felt after the events of the previous week, or that the temperatures of thirty-seven degrees were keeping residents off the streets. But Rogers, in spite of his limp, almost skipped up the hill that led to his

house, opening a can of San Miguel as he strode. John had spent the past seven days checking social media, his name had not come up at all. He was certain that the Melchester Rovers fans who had spotted him had not revealed their discovery. After a week and not even a single mention on Twitter, he was determined to celebrate. The fact that he had no friends, other than his three cats, was of no concern, he would enjoy a bottle of cava all the same.

John had brushed aside the bloody details of the previous weekend’s accident. The village had been swamped with British media after the tragedy, albeit for only two days. The revelations that both drivers had been significantly over the drink drive limit sapped the British public’s sympathy. Miraculously all the children had survived, orphaned, but alive. This pleased John.

He followed the story closely, on television and on the internet, choosing to stay indoors to prevent any chance of being recognised. As the public reaction back in the UK turned from grief to rage, the reporters and news teams dispersed. An event that began the week as Britain’s top story was quickly hidden. The irresponsible holiday drinking of British parents had led to a tragic loss of life. Such stories did not sell newspapers, they painted the whole country in an ugly colour. But John’s plan had worked perfectly, his guilt had already passed. This would worry any normal man, but Rogers had set off on this path many years ago, what seemed horrific to Joe Bloggs was run of the mill for John Rogers. So life went on.

John thought this would be a good time to continue with the decoration of his living room. He pulled a sealed cardboard box in from the wood shed in the back yard, it contained his football memorabilia. He thumbed through looking for the folder a friend had given him before he left England. He lifted out an England shirt, 1990 West Germany World Cup shirt, signed by Karl Bruckner and an Alkhoven shirt from the late 70s. There it was, a red plastic folder, with “John Rogers” scrawled in biro on a sticky label on the front. In it was an article from John Rogers’ only international appearance, a European Championship match against Denmark in 1983.

ENGLAND SAVAGED BY GREAT DANES

Further progress in Europe now unlikely

This was without doubt England’s worst-ever performance at Wembley.

Defeat by these now talented Danes is no longer in itself an insult, but England’s lack of pride and spirit brought shame upon the nation that invented the game.

Apart, possibly, from the 1950 World Cup defeat at the hands of the U.S.A., this was England’s most inept display in 111 years of international conflict.

Even though the tie was decided by a penalty – and a very doubtful one at that – I heard not a single word of complaint against the referee’s decision from the 82,050 spectators.

Denmark, like England, had only one shot on target all night – apart from the penalty – but at least they stirred the imagination with several delightful individual performances and a few flashed on scintillating team work.

Olaf Olsen, who snatched Denmark’s late equaliser in the first game in Copenhagen, probed and teased with some magical moments of pure footballing skills.

And Peter Hansen may now be an ageing star, but some of his passing took the crowd’s breath away.

For the past five years or so, we have watched in admiration how Denmark have been developing their attacking prowess.

But until this night, their defence had usually been suspect to the point where we had felt that even if they did score two or three goals, England – with the skills of players like Steve Marks, Geoff Giles and Kevin Taylor – could always bank upon scoring at least one more.

Not any more! And it was the excellent defensive play of the Danish side that probably shocked England and hypnotised the side into almost complete surrender.

Denmark should have taken the lead within the first minute, when the much vaunted Olsen was clean through with only Andy Watson to beat. A snap shot would have done the trick.

But, once the wily old Watson had been given seconds to compose himself, he forced the Danish forward out to his left and his eventual shot hit the side-net.

That miss seemed to inspire Olsen, who had a sparkling game.

Denmark had the game well in control by the time the penalty incident occurred, John Rogers, being challenged closely by Ericksen, was falling as he tried to clear the ball, which appeared accidently to hit his hand.

But the referee was excellently placed to judge, and he had no hesitation in awarding the spot-kick. The great Olsen was thus given the opportunity to seal a famous win for Denmark.

ENGLAND – Watson 7, Churchill 6, Dexter 6, Thompson 6, Duke 6; Hunt 5, Giles 6, Martin 5 (Shields); Marks 6, Taylor 5, Rogers 3 (Johnson). Subs not used: Knight, Baxter, Barret.

This was one of the kinder reports published in the press the day after the defeat. Other journalists had slaughtered Rogers’ performance; perhaps such a reaction had influenced Bobby Robson, who never picked him again. John Rogers was a “one-cap wonder” and often appeared in lists of worst ever England players. It was slightly unfair, Rogers had earned his call-up, his partnership with Raich Williams had won Eastgate promotion back to the First Division in 1981/82 and both managed twenty plus goals in the 1982/83 season as Eastgate finished fifth. Maybe if Williams had not withdrawn from the England squad with injury they could have replicated their success against Denmark.

The folder contained many other articles on the career of John Rogers, most detailed hat-tricks or key moments in the history of Eastgate. It was the perfect summary of the footballer’s career. John placed the article back inside its plastic protection. He’d re-read the others later. Now it was time for the cava, John popped the top, allowing the cork to fly off into the ceiling. He took a long swig from the frothy bottle, before filling a champagne flute. “To John Rogers, England international and Eastgate legend!” he said aloud, draining the glass, “What’s on the box?”

Storky Knight

NEXT – Dec’s Walford debut and Seegrun aims for improvement