Free How NOT to be a Football Millionaire - Keith Gillespie My Autobiography by Keith Gillespie

with their own insults.
    It was all good natured. There were no cliques based on religion. Some of the boys came from areas that were heavily involved in the conflict. Phil Gray’s family hailed from the Shankill, while Jim Magilton came from the Andersonstown area, the opposite side of the tracks. And they were able to mix just fine, no problem at all. Football was the glue.
    There were few boundaries in our camp. On away trips, our fans could freely roam around the team hotel gathering autographs or having a chat. With such a small travelling support, it made no sense to isolate ourselves. It was the same with the press. To be honest, after matches, we’d come back to the hotel and have a few drinks with them to start off the night. There was only a small number of them and we knew they weren’t going to screw us over. That sort of interaction would sound crazy to an English player, but they wouldn’t relate to our tight-knit environment.
    A relaxed approach suited our circumstances. Given our size relative to other nations, the odds were stacked against us, and the players, media and fans were all in it together. I loved pulling on the shirt because of that togetherness and was determined to be there for my country, through good times and bad.
    My second campaign was a struggle. We paid for our missed opportunity in the Euro qualifiers, and landed a group with Germany, Portugal, and an emerging Ukrainian side. As low seeds, it was always the risk. Our home form killed us. Ukraine won in Belfast and another new nation, Armenia, took away a point. We never got going after that and finished fifth, miles off the pace.
    The IFA decided not to renew Bryan’s contract, believing that we had underachieved. He felt like he’d been stabbed in the back. I’d had a few disagreements with Bryan, but he was a good person, and was a source of support for me long after he left the job.
    History has judged his tenure kindly. Unfortunately, after his departure, a troubled period for Northern Irish football was looming over the horizon.

8
    £7m Man
    WHEN I travelled to Sheffield for an FA Cup tie on January 9, 1995, I was expecting it to be just another game in my football education. Instead, it was a night that would change my life for ever.
    There was a bug going around the camp and, after doing alright against Coventry, I was disappointed when the team was named at the hotel and I wasn’t even on the bench. But I’d been that soldier before so I got on with the normal routine, went to the ground, and was standing in my suit in the away dressing room while the lads were getting changed when the gaffer pulled me aside and said he wanted to have a word.
    We went into the toilets at Bramall Lane, and he cut to the chase.
    “I’ve put this bid in for an English striker with Newcastle, and the only way the deal will go through is if you go there. Do you want to think about it?”
    I just about managed to mutter a yes.
    “There’s no pressure. Just have a think and we’ll talk about it after the game.”
    I knew straight away that Andy Cole was the player involved. We had an idea the gaffer was looking for a striker and it was always likely to be an Englishman because of the UEFA criteria on foreign players. I just didn’t expect that I would somehow be involved. I walked out of the toilet and said nothing to the lads as they went out to take on Sheffield United. My head was spinning.
    I had no agent at the time, nobody on speed dial who handled this sort of thing. So, I was locked in my own world. I sat next to Ben Thornley during the game and hardly paid attention to events on the field. With all sorts of thoughts racing around my mind, I started picking Squeaky’s brain without telling him what was happening.
    Ben had actually been sitting next to me on the bench when Newcastle came to Old Trafford, and we had remarked on the noise from their fans. I casually brought up the subject again. “So what do you think about