Chapter 14. Those Attacks of Nerves - and the Cure

Surprises are part and parcel of football; to a considerable extent they are its lifeblood. They are always cropping up. The biggest surprise I ever got - off the field - during the whole course of my career was in the dressing-room at Wembley a few seconds before we were ready to step out to play in a Cup Final. That, of course, is the day of days for every real footballer; the day he dreams about, and looks forward to. A Cup-winners' medal is the most prized of all the possessions which can be won at the game. The fellows who get to Wembley are the envy of their contemporaries. Imagine my surprise therefore when, with our whole team just about to walk into the middle, one of the players came up to me with this plea: 'Don't give me the ball for the first quarter of an hour!' Imagine it, a fellow in a Cup Final who didn't want the ball for a sixth part of this match of matches!

I gave him a gentle kick on the seat of his shorts as I replied: 'I'll give you the ball in the first five seconds if I get the chance'. It was quite obvious why that player didn't want the ball in the early part of that Cup Final. He was scared stiff he would make a mess of it. He had a bad attack of the jitters. For all footballers there come the occasions when matches of special importance are on the programme. Nerves are an important, often a telling factor.

Many followers of the game will recall one of the most sensational Cup-tie results of the last thirty years. Arsenal were drawn to play at Walsall in the first round. In the Arsenal team for that match was a player named Walsh. New to the team, his hands were trembling as he got himself ready to go out for the kick-off. He was duly decked in shirt, shorts and football boots. The part of the equipment lacking was his football stockings. In his excitement, his state of nerves, he had forgotten to put them on. This player stood out in marked contrast to many I have known who certainly didn't forget their stockings: they put them on and took them off three or four times. The Arsenal player who had such a bad attack of nerves may have been partly responsible for the most sensational result, the defeat of the Cup-holders by 'unknown' Walsall.

This nervousness, this feeling of being so worked up that it is odds against giving of your best on the field, takes many different shapes. Incidentally, I am always a bit sceptical about the player who boasts that he takes every game, no matter how important, 'in his stride'. There aren't many players who can do that, even when they have had considerable experience. Players in the running for caps often fail to produce anything like their best if they have knowledge, in advance, that they are being watched by members of the International selection committee.

Part of the ordeal of the big Cup affairs lies in the period of waiting for the great day after the semi-finals have been won. Another part of the ordeal is the unusual two by two procession on to the field of play, the presentation to royalty before the ball is touched, and the rest of the ceremonial. The fellow who can stand up to all this without getting butterflies in his stomach is a better man than I am. Indeed, very few players can truthfully claim immunity from a certain amount of nervous tension. What is a fact - don't the stories of the biggest games of the past tell it plainly? - is that the side which most often wins is the one whose men come nearest to playing their natural game. And that, I think, should be the keynote for the preparation of the young players, as well as of players with wider experience.

Just because a match is of extra importance is no good reason for discussing it at twice the usual length, or for trying to bring into it all sorts of fancy new plans. I know why, in the various Cup competitions played up and down the country, there is such a high proportion of surprise results. It is because there has been developed, through the years, the idea that a different style of play is required in a knock-out tournament. That isn't so. The type of football which can win League matches is the type of football which can win Cup-ties. This idea that something different is required, some style of play to which the players are not fully accustomed, is the short cut to an attack of nerves. After all, it is the player who knows his job, who is confident that he can do it, who in the ordinary course of events is least likely to get the jitters. The player who is asked to do something different - well, he is not so confident that he can do it, and the nervous tension has its inevitable sequel.

To say to a young player stepping up into a higher class: 'Don't worry, just play your own game', is easy. What is more, the advice is quite sound, but it is more easily given than followed. There are other things which can and should be done to help the player to get over his attack of nerves. One is to trust him, at as early a stage as possible in the game, to cut loose with the ball. If there is a new and nervy goalkeeper in the side, don't wait for the other fellows to have a shot at him. Slip the ball back to him at the earliest opportunity, let him get the feel of it, and incidentally show that confidence is reposed in him. The same line can be taken with players in other positions. I recall a young full-back who got his first International cap not so long ago. He was a good full-back, but rather highly strung. It so happened that for the first five minutes of the match the side on which he was playing was on the attack. He didn't get a kick at the ball during that time. In due course, however, an attack by the other side developed along the flank where he was operating. The full-back, a bundle of nerves by this time, made a fatal blunder. The mistake added to his worry, and it is almost literally true to say that, good player though he was, he scarcely did the right thing for the first twenty minutes of that game. He would have got over his nervousness much more quickly, have forgotten all about it and gained confidence in himself, if some pal had given him the ball quite early on, in circumstances in which he could have cleared at his ease.

Other things being equal, I want in my team at least one player who, hardly knowing the meaning of the word nerves, has a lighthearted approach to the game. The humorist, the fellow who keeps the laughs going in those twenty minutes of preparation for the match is worth his weight in gold to any side. The trainer can also do much to ward off nerves, to persuade the players, in a roundabout way, that it is just another game they are getting ready to play.

The first time Arsenal went to the Cup Final, Manager Herbert Chapman took a portable gramophone to Wembley, with a selection of the cheeriest records he could lay his hands on. The music was started as the players began to strip, and so we had players whistling the popular tunes as they prepared for the big game. After that - in case the 'official' gramophone was forgotten on these occasions - I made a habit of taking my own portable to Wembley on Cup Final days. A writer who got to know of this said kind things about me; emphasizing how thoughtful it was of me to cheer up my colleagues in this way. That was a pat on the back I didn't really deserve. The main purpose was to cheer up myself.

In 1939 Portsmouth got through to the Cup Final. Their twelfth man on the trip to Wembley, and in the dressing-room, was a well-known comedian, whose sole purpose was to keep the minds of the players off the coming game. The then manager of Portsmouth, Mr. Jack Tinn, has told me that the comedian kept the jokes going at such a rate that there wasn't a mention of football during the whole time the players were dressing for the match. Between this performance and the result of the match there may have been no real connection. It is a fact, however, that straight from the kick-off those Portsmouth men gave such a fine, confident display that the Wolves, who were firm favourites, scarcely saw the way their opponents went. Portsmouth won by four goals to one. There is more in this approach to the game than is sometimes dreamt of in our philosophy. For instance, we are constantly being reminded, in football of all grades, of the advantage to a side of playing a match on its own ground. All sorts of reasons are given why home teams, in all sorts of football competitions, win the majority of the matches. We talk about the influence of the spectators, of familiarity with the surroundings, the size of the pitch, and so on. These things do have an effect on the results, there's no doubt about that. Much more important, however, and of greater effect, is the approach to a match. The fellows due to play a game on their own ground feel that they can win that game, and, approaching it confidently, they play to win. The approach to an away game is, all too frequently, very different. The advance decision is that the match must not be lost. Away from their own ground too many teams play not to lose, and playing not to lose is a very good way of losing.

A look at the League tables which show the records of the big clubs, provides the evidence of this difference between playing at home and playing away from home. In them can invariably be found some teams which repeatedly win games on their own ground, and just as regularly lose when playing away from home. They are the same footballers, but they play differently. A confident approach is among the foundations on which victories are built. Inspire the lads with confidence! That is part of the cure for nerves.

One other reason may be given for the failure of some teams to reproduce their best form when away from home. Surprising as it may be, it is a fact that there are players of first-class teams who, for some mysterious reason, leave all their fighting spirit at home. Perhaps it is a form of nerves, maybe the mental make-up of some players demands encouragement. They thrive on praise. What I want in my team are players who will put in all they have on those occasions, away from their own ground, when their best football is greeted with a chilly silence. To young players my plea is, resolve not to join the ranks of the 'own ground' army. There are enough of them knocking around.

Here it seems advisable to put in a word to those who select football teams, the selectors of the village team, as well as the selectors of a First Division side. 'Don't disturb a winning team' is a popular slogan. My view is that the slogan is overworked. Rather there is truth - slightly exaggerated - in the idea that it is safer to make a change here and there in a winning side than to play musical chairs with a losing side. A winning team, playing confidently, can 'carry' a new and young player to success, and the new player will be all the more likely to do himself justice - less likely to be a victim of nerves - in that side than in a losing one. There is an old story connected with a record which still stands in first-class football. In 1920 the Burnley club made a bad start. Several matches were lost. The supporters were downhearted, clamoured for wholesale changes in the side. The manager called together the players who had worn the club colours in those games which had been lost. 'Look here', he said. 'I know you haven't done well, but I have confidence in you; so much confidence that, unless there are injuries to upset the plan, I shall play the same eleven for the next six matches, win or lose'.

From that moment those Burnley players started on a run in which they were unbeaten in thirty successive First Division matches.

To the selectors of a football team, then, the advice is, make up your minds concerning the best eleven players available, and stick to them as far as possible. The show of confidence outside the team will be reflected in the confidence of the players on the field.

I am tempted to put in here a few words to the barrackers of football players. I shall resist the temptation. It's such a silly business, this barracking of a player or players of a side. The player who is being told, by the watchers, 'to go off and strengthen the team', is doing his best. He has the confidence of the selectors. He may have started on his football career without nerves. Severe criticism will turn him into a bundle of nerves. Why bother?