Read the Prologue
It was 24th October 1970. I was playing for Tottenham Hotspur against Stoke City at White Hart Lane. Up front, of course. A little over two years earlier I had suffered a career-threatening knee injury at the same ground and although I had been back in action for over 12 months, things hadn't been going well. Until that afternoon. For the first time since I had undergone surgery and worked through an excruciating recovery process, I felt I was playing well. Really well. During the first half, I made myself favourite to get to a loose ball on the halfway line. I shouldered Dennis Smith out of the way, something I thought would please Bill Nicholson, who had been looking for me to be a bit more aggressive on the pitch. That would show him.
With the ball at my feet, I headed towards the Paxton Road end. I knew Smith was chasing me, but I also knew he wasn't going to catch me. Not that day - I had already scored once. I was nearing the penalty area when I saw Gordon Banks coming out of his goal. I looked up and curved the ball right round him, planting it in the back of the net. Perfect. The crowd erupted and I put my hands up above my head to acknowledge their cheers. I never made a great fuss when I scored but this was special. I had proved my doubters wrong. What a feeling.
Coming off the field one or two players had come up and said, "Great goal Chiv, well done." I had used an aggression which Bill hadn't seen before and had cleared a lot of self-doubt away. At 23 I was in the prime of my football career, yet because of my terrible injury I had not been sure if my leg could sustain a heavy tackle. I needed to know - could I give someone a little nudge, could I use my weight, could I get involved in physical contact? I'd proved in that 45 minutes of football that I could and it gave me so much confidence. I came off the pitch really satisfied with myself. There was always a big teapot on a table in the middle of the dressing room so I got my usual cup and sat down. Straight away Bill began snapping at me in front of the whole team. "If you hadn't turned your back on the goalie for that goal kick you could have had a third goal." Not "Well done, Chiv" or "Great goal". Instead, he laid into me straight away. I thought, "Wait a minute. I have just scored two goals, one of them was fantastic, we are leading 3-0 and we are totally dominant: give us a break." After all, that goal I scored had been something special and everybody knew it.
I didn't say anything back to Bill, I just put my head down. I had never had this experience before. At Southampton Ted Bates would criticise me but he wouldn't hammer me straight away or criticise me in front of everyone else. I felt you should go round the team and tell people face-to-face. You certainly shouldn't single out someone who had just come back from injury and whose confidence is low. I thought, "What do I have to do to satisfy you?"
It was so hard to take. Alan Mullery was sitting to my right and suddenly he stood up. He was the captain and of all the people the captain was the one who could say something. He said, "Now come on Bill, look at him. Don't have a go at him; his head is down. Tell him what he has done well not what he has done wrong."
Bill just looked up and said, "What has it got to do with you? I'm the manager of this team." Alan said, "I know but he has just scored a fantastic goal out there."
"It has got nothing to do with you," Bill barked back. "I am dealing with this."
And from there the argument got more and more heated. As it did I slipped away to the toilets. That was my get-out. I didn't want to go to the toilet, I just wanted to get in a room away from Bill. Yet even in there, I could still hear the argument raging on. Mullers was shouting. "Just admit you are wrong, Bill, or I'm telling you, you will ruin this player." Bill kept saying, "I am the manager; this is my job; I know best." The rest of the players all had their heads down or were trying to ignore the argument.
Normally, if there was an argument in the dressing room, it was between the forwards and defence. Often we would come in at half time and if Bill started on at us as a team, the defence - Mike England, Phil Beal, Joe Kinnear, Cyril Knowles - would say, "Well, if those lazy bastards up front would do their bit it would be all right." We would come back with, "Well, if you give goals away like you are giving them away back there..."
There was always competition but this was different. This was Bill Nicholson, my manager, having a screaming match with Alan Mullery, my captain. When I came out of the toilet I saw Pat Jennings stand up and rush to get between Bill and Mullers. It honestly looked like the two men were going to start swapping punches. It was unbelievable and totally unexpected, especially when you consider that Bill's record buy is coming back to form and has just scored one of the best goals of his career. My captain and my manager were fighting and I was the cause of it all. I was devastated.
Finally the two men calmed down and we went out for the second half.
It was no surprise that nothing happened in that half. I don't even remember it. Who knows, if he had not spoilt it all for me I could have gone out and scored more. But I didn't. My head was down. It was the first time I realised that Bill was not going to allow my feet to come off the ground. Not by a long shot. Bill didn't want anybody to get above their station and he certainly achieved that on this day.
It was the start of a relationship that would be the most turbulent and volatile that I would ever know as a professional footballer. And I would not have missed it for the world.