Back in my day

                                                            Back in my day



'I'm been treated like a slave,' the Portuguese sensation Ronaldo told the papers. A man who reportedly earns over a hundred grand a week is complaining which I really fail to comprehend. He probably has a few houses, staff, and a few of the latest sports cars, not forgetting all the parties and film premières that he's invited to. A football career can be cut short in a second, one missed timed tackle on you or even by you. But players of today are insured for millions, if there career as a footballer is over both there club and the player don't lose out. So how is that been treated like a slave?

        There's no longer apprenticeships where young players clean the first team players boots, clean the changing rooms and generally find out how a football club is run. Theses days the youngsters are wrapped in cotton wool. They tell there club what they want not the other way round and yet I was always told no player is bigger than the club. If they don't get what they want they ask for a transfer, which in itself earns them more money. I cleaned the boots of the great Gordon Ramsgate, one of the greatest centre forwards that ever lived and a a Gentleman both on and off the field. If he went to a function representing the club he would be dressed in a suit, none of this designer tee shirts and ripped jeans like today, and he paid for his own suits, he didn't have designers coming up to him and asking him to wear there brand.

    When I was playing you never, and I mean never questioned the boss, what the gaffa told you to do you done! Now they either whine to the national press or they go to there agent, if me or any of my team-mates done that we'd be shot! Gone are the days when players wanted to play for a club because they loved it, now its 'how much am I worth?' and worse still they don't ask that question, its there agents. Surely these players went to school and they know how to add up and read and write and that's what a contract is all about. I heard a rumour about one player who couldn't even open his own post, probably scared he may break a finger!

            I played along side Mark 'bomber' Atkins and Bobby Campbell or as he was known 'the wizard', two great players for two different reasons. When 'bomber' tackled you, there was one of two results, you either lost the ball or felt pain. In my entire career I think I saw 'bomber' lose six tackles and that was only because the players he was against were to fast for him and knew of his reputation. ''Bomber' was built like a tank, I don't think there was an inch of fat on the man. Even in training most of the players bounced off him and I've never met or known a fitter man. If you where lucky enough to get past him you preyed your legs were quick or they were gone, he wasn't malicious or nasty it was just the way he played the game. Some people may call him a thug in the modern game but I admired his tackling, his timing wasn't always the best but he went in one hundred per cent to win the ball, if you got hurt it was part of the game. As for 'the wizard' I've never seen a man run with a ball at such speed and yet still have such control. He made some of the best defenders in the country look silly, he'd be past them before they could blink, but he took his fare share of tackles. Most of the time he took them, picked himself up and dusted himself off, shook hands and got on with the game. In one game he was taken down and landed hard, the ground was tough as it hadn't rained in weeks and there wasn't even that much grass on the pitch. He winced in pain as he moved his arm, the one and only time I ever saw 'the wizard' complain and it wasn't to the opposing player who tackled him, it was about the state of the pitch. After the game he went to hospital and even then he had to be persuaded, the great man had broken his arm and yet he played an hour and didn't complain once, I really can't see any of today's players even thinking about playing on. There was no such thing as a substitute in them days, the same eleven players that started the game finished the game. It was simple really, if you weren't in the first eleven you weren't playing and if you didn't like it, tough.

    I was born in London in 1943, my Father was in the army and my Mother was a nurse. They were killed in a house fire when I was just five and I was adopted by William and Eileen Wilmington who lived in Liverpool. They loved me as there own, William was even told on more than one occasion how much I looked like him and we were very close. I was spotted playing at  county level, a scout was watching me play and apparently he liked what he saw in me, he talked to my teacher who in turn talked to my adoptive parents and then they told me. I was asked to trail for Accrington Stanley Football Club and all my mates were dead jealous. On the day of the trail I was as nervous as hell, my legs felt like jelly and even my breathing was fast and I hadn't even got on the pitch yet. In the first half I couldn't get into the game, it was a mixture of nerves and not knowing the players around me. I made one tackle and touched the ball only three times in the first forty five minutes, it was my worst nightmare. At half time we all sat round in the centre circle and a man called Edward Couplet-Jones talked to all of us, words of encouragement and advice, everyone of us listened. At the end of his pep talk to all of us he whispered in my ear, “I know you can own this midfield, now show me you can!” I had a great second half, even scoring a goal at the death which felt great.

            Six long weeks past and we heard nothing, my Mother even suggested giving up on the idea, but I wasn't giving up so easily. Forty three days after my trail we received a letter asking me to take an apprenticeship and yes, I counted the days. It was a boyhood dream and I was living it, boy was I in for a shock!

    Far from playing football we scrubbed boots and they were checked and double checked, even the slightest bit of mud and I mean a trace we had to start all over again with no moaning, it took me a while to get used to the idea of not moaning and I really couldn't see the point but it so worked on me later in my career. I made my début at the age of nineteen against Preston North End, the game ended in a two two draw and I felt like I'd been in a war. I was involved in plenty of wars and personnel battles but the friends I made in the game back then are still close friends today though there are less and less of them. We went for a pint afterwards and chatted about the game, everything forgotten, all friendly banter, it was a game of football, not life or death.

          The problem with today's game as I see it, its ruled by money. I played for the same club for sixteen years, it was a sad day when they dropped out of the League but I'm glad to say there back now where they belong. I remember the good times, the fun on the away trips, the comradeship, the crowd singing your name, 'One Johnny Ainsworth, there's only one Johnny Ainsworth', it was such a buzz.

      I was very lucky with a God given talent to play football, I played with a passion in my heart, it wasn't about the money, it was about going out with ten other men and working as a team. If I could change anything it would be my neck muscles, the footballs of today are so light that even children can head the ball, back in my day heading that strong heavy leather ball wasn't my favourite part of the game but I never moaned, if I did all I could think of was muddy boots!