"Have you ever thought about taking a course to become a decent football manager?"
I'm lucky to be here. I try not to think about it. On the night of June 30, 1990, a minibus in which I was travelling was involved in a head-on collision on a road near Latina, in the region of Lazio, near Rome. I was sleeping in a passenger seat and had no idea of the horror that had occurred. My friend, Brian Tiler, was killed. So were the three teenage Italian soldiers in the other car.I woke up in hospital with terrible injuries. Apparently, a sheet had been placed over my face at the scene of the accident with the presumption that I must be dead. Another friend, Michael Sinclair, the former chairman of York City, had pulled me clear of the wreckage — I was soaked in petrol, and he feared an explosion.I have no memory of it and am happy for it to stay that way. I went to sleep and the accident happened. I woke up in hospital. All I know is that I lost a wonderful pal in Brian, and a moment of recklessness cost three young men their lives. The accident happened on one of those three-lane carriageways that are commonplace in Europe: a lane for traffic north, another for traffic south, and one in the middle for whoever is brave enough.It was a bad road, notorious for accidents, and the three youngsters were on our side of it, attempting to overtake a vehicle at 90mph. Losing Brian really affected me. I have had good relationships with a number of my bosses at football clubs, but there was never anyone quite like him.He was Bournemouth’s chief executive and I liked his company. I miss our glasses of wine on a Friday night before the match. I couldn’t have had a better boss. I can’t remember whose idea it was to book a trip to the World Cup in Italy in 1990, but I wouldn’t call it work. It was the holiday of a lifetime, really. There was no way Bournemouth could afford any of the players on show.On the night of the crash we had seen Italy beat the Republic of Ireland and afterwards we stopped for a pizza at a little square around the corner from the Stadio Olimpico. Some Irish fans joined us and we struck up a conversation about Gerry Peyton, who was my goalkeeper and Ireland’s second choice behind Pat Bonner.Brian was anxious to go because we had to be up early the next morning to get to Naples, where England were playing Cameroon. I must have held us up about 10 minutes, chatting to these lads. I often think about those 10 minutes. If we had gone when Brian wanted, he would still be here today, and perhaps those kids would still be alive, too.I’m not saying I’m tortured. I wasn’t to know the consequences, I understand that. Yet when I play back what I remember of that night, there are so many little twists, things that were, quite literally, the difference between life and death.Brian nicked my seat. That was my punishment for keeping everybody hanging about. I usually took the aisle position, Brian sat by the window because I didn’t like the breeze. But when I got on board that night, he had switched spots.How fateful was that little wind-up? I just remember the hospital in Latina, coming around in bed two days later. I think it was about another two days on when I felt well enough to begin piecing it all together. That is when I found out Brian had died. I was told the whole bloody nightmare.The paramedics on the scene thought I was already dead. The doctors shared that opinion when I arrived at the hospital, too. Somebody certainly thought I wouldn’t be needing any money where I was going, as my valuables, including my watch, were never recovered. I had fractured my skull and many other bones, and suffered a horrific gash to my leg that still bears a scar. I don’t think my life was ever in danger but I have never regained my sense of smell, not a complete disadvantage in some dressing rooms. When I look at pictures of the accident scene I can hardly believe that any of us survived. I felt so desperately sad when I heard Brian was gone. So sad for Hazel, his wife, and his daughter, Michelle. We had been through a lot together at Bournemouth, shared some great times, had so many laughs. It was never quite the same at Bournemouth for me.
Your head looks like a scrotum. Discuss.
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Topic: questions to Harry Redknapp (Read 13558 times)
