We were on our way back to Swindon from St James’ Park, where we had just lost 7-1 to Newcastle, when our captain, Shaun Taylor, turned to me and said: “Well, Andy Cole didn’t score.” I shook my head and said: “Well, Shaun, every other Newcastle player did.”
Our manager during that 1993-94 Premier League season, John Gorman, loved the game – the good game, that is. Even after a defeat like that he would find some passages of play where we produced some “great passing”.
We conceded five goals against Liverpool. We bought another striker. We conceded five goals against Southampton. We bought another striker. Before the last game of the season we had conceded 95 goals. We played Leeds at home. All either team had to play for was honour. Of course we lost 5-0. Ladies and gentleman … our goal difference read: scored 47; conceded 100.
Arsenal scored 53. They were fourth. I loved the way we approached the Premier League. We had a go – big time. We scored goals for fun. We created chances. After a difficult start I scored from every cross, mostly from Nick Summerbee, the best crosser I have played with.
It was a team full of characters. Our midfielder Ross MacLaren was on a diet 24/7 … but never lost a pound. Our goalkeeper Fraser Digby conceded 100 goals and said after the season that one of those 100 was his mistake. Our Dutch hero Luc Nijholt had hair like a cartoon character and was my room-mate, smoking for fun and saying: “In the future I’m gonna relax on a beach selling and buying shares.”
And then there was, of course, our captain. Taylor shouted out his orders in the old-fashioned English way. The only problem was that because he was wearing a mouth guard, we could not understand a single thing. It did not stop him shouting, mind.
The fans loved the “Swindon Town on Premier League Tour” (although we sometimes defended as if we were on the “Magical Mystery Tour”). It did not matter. Everyone knew what they would get when they watched us play: goals – at both ends.
I should, of course, have been prepared for what kind of team I was joining in 1993. Just before I arrived Swindon were promoted to the Premier League after a dramatic play-off final. They were 3-0 up against Leicester with 33 minutes to go. Twelve minutes later the score was 3-3. In the end Paul Bodin kept his head and scored with a penalty to ensure Swindon were promoted to heaven, or the Premier League as some people call it.
So Swindon’s recent 5-5 draw in the play-off semi-final against Sheffield United, which set up Sunday’s final against Preston North End, was no surprise to me. I was back in Swindon a few weeks ago, for the second time in 21 years.
It is a shame I have not been back more often but I have always been the guy standing at the front of the ship looking forward instead of standing at the back looking backwards.
But I must admit it was brilliant visiting Swindon again. I brought my Dad and some friends and of course we had to drive through the Magic Roundabout. My friends were buying shirts for their kids and, when we got back to Norway, it was great to see them running around wearing Swindon shirts among all the other Champions League teams.
They have even named a restaurant after me at County Ground, “Fjortoft’s”. And I, who never drank alcohol when I played, loved it.
The game was not a classic. Yeovil won 1-0 and the only Swindon player scoring was … me … before the game … a penalty. The goalkeeper was Rockin’ Robin, the mascot. The penalty was bad but, having played for three years in Germany, I normally win on penalties these days.
Based on that game Swindon will not win the final against Preston but then I do have a feeling that the manager, Mark Cooper, has got everything under control. He seems a “clever” coach. He has to be by the way. He is the son of Terry Cooper, who played for the team I followed as a kid, Leeds United. I still have his football sticker.
Preston are coming to the final with a terrible play-off record. Their manager, Simon Grayson, will tell his players that “records are there to be broken” and maybe they will believe him.
But I am sorry, this will be Swindon’s day and in 20 years’ time we will look back at this final and say: “Do you remember when Swindon were losing 2-0 against Preston with three minutes remaining and still ended up winning in injury time with a deflected shot going in from 40 yards?”
Do you dare to bet against it?
