Graeme Le Saux: Left Field. Graeme Saux Le

us had to leave in order to realize our potential.

      The reserve team did okay but the first team was struggling. A couple of months after I arrived, John Hollins began to come under serious pressure. He had fallen out with players like Speedie and Nigel Spackman and team spirit had disintegrated. One day in February 1988, Bobby Campbell suddenly turned up at training. I hadn’t been aware of speculation linking him with the job and he hadn’t been officially given it: he just loitered around a bit at Harlington, watching from the sidelines, that sort of thing. It was very odd. He was supposed to be John’s new assistant but it was obvious he was the manager-in-waiting. After a few days of that, John told him to get lost and that while he was still manager, Campbell wasn’t welcome. In March, John got the sack and Campbell took over.

      Campbell was a Scouser. He was flash, flash a bit like Ron-Manager. He wore a lot of gold. He had a Rolex that didn’t lock properly, which was something that he seemed to like. He used it as a kind of gimmick. Every time he clapped his hands, the strap would come undone and the watch would rattle and it would all draw attention to the fact that he was wearing a Rolex. He was a bit tougher than John and he brought in players like Graham Roberts, Peter Nicholas, Dennis Wise and Dave Beasant and they became powerful people within the club. The club was going through a stage where things were going to have to get worse before they got better and, at the end of the season, we were relegated from the top flight after losing a two-leg relegation play-off against Middlesbrough. To make things worse, there was crowd trouble after the game and an attempted pitch invasion. Chelsea were forced to close the terraces for six matches the following season as a punishment.

      It wasn’t a happy time to be involved at Stamford Bridge but the next season, Campbell did a great job. We were promoted at a canter with ninety-nine points, seventeen clear of our nearest rivals Manchester City, and when the Second Division championship was already won, I finally got my chance in the first team. I’d travelled with the first team a couple of times before that but I hadn’t made it to the bench. On the last day of the 1988/89 season, we were away to Portsmouth at Fratton Park, just like we had been for my reserve debut.

      When Campbell told me to warm up, I did about twenty sprints up and down the touchline. I was hyperactive; I was petrified; I was desperate to get on – all at the same time. I was so nervous, I kept checking to make sure I had my shirt on. Campbell beckoned me over with about fifteen minutes to go and sent me on for Steve Clarke. Tony Dorigo was in the team at left-back and Clive Wilson was playing leftmidfield. Dorigo was an England left-back and Wilson should have been – not much competition there then.

      The line-up that day, just to give an idea of the time warp between then and when I played my last game for Chelsea alongside men like Marcel Desailly and Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink, went like this: Dave Beasant; Steve Clarke, Joe McLaughlin, Graham Roberts (capt.), Tony Dorigo; Gareth Hall, Peter Nicholas, Kevin McAllister, Clive Wilson; Kevin Wilson, Kerry Dixon (Monkou).

      When I ran onto the pitch, I felt like I was starring in a movie about me. Everything had been building up to this point and now that I was living it, part of me wondered whether it was real. But I felt so alert, hypersensitive. It was as if everything around me had a different perspective. I was so wired that I was absorbing everything around me. I felt quicker than I had ever felt – I had so much energy I felt I could run past anybody. On an entirely different level, I also knew that if we beat Portsmouth, I’d get a win bonus that would pretty much double my salary for the month. It seemed like a vast amount of money to me at the time. We won 3–2 and I felt like I’d hit the jackpot. It was the only league game I ever played outside the top flight.

      I had moved from Burnt Oak by then. I was renting a room from a friend’s parents in Kingston-upon-Thames. John and Carole Denvir were antique clock dealers and they were wonderful people to stay with. Being with them gave me back my perspective when I got home from training and I felt they were a very positive part of my life, so when I had some spare time, I used to go up to Portobello Road and go to antiques fairs. I loved hearing about the history of something – where it had been made and who had owned it and the character of the carver or the manufacturer. I collected antique tins and old football boots. For a while, funded by the Professional Footballers Association, I even took an evening class in antiques in Oxford Street. Most of the people there had double-barrelled surnames and wanted to open their own antiques shop. I was the footballer at the back of the room. I’d also started a part-time degree in sociology and environmental studies at Kingston Poly, which took up another two nights a week, but I didn’t finish it. When I broke into the first team, I didn’t have the time any more.

      In 1989/90, I trained with the first team before the season began and then played in the reserves until Christmas. I got back into the first team for a game against Crystal Palace. Andy Gray, Palace’s midfielder, spat at me – which was nice. I shoved him and regretted it immediately. He was a scary guy. I spent the rest of the game thinking my life was probably in danger. We both got booked. Then, in the last minute, when we were 1–0 down, I scored an equalizer. For the first time, I felt like I really belonged with The Lads. They were so pleased in the dressing room afterwards and I had never seen that before. I suddenly felt…not popular, but part of it, and accepted more, because I had done something that had had an effect on them.

      It didn’t really last. There were still plenty of times when I felt like jacking it in. I felt intimidated by my own peers. Peter Nicholas was one. He was the club captain and he could be really sarcastic. Then there was Graham Roberts, the former Tottenham player, who would throw his weight around.

      I remember my full first-team debut in a Full Members Cup third-round tie against West Ham three days before Christmas 1989. There were 8,418 hardy souls there to see it. It was auspicious for me, but probably not for them, although we did win 4–3. But it was overshadowed by the behaviour of Roberts, who was captain at the time. As captain, it was his job to hand out the players’ complimentary tickets before each match. The rule was that each player got five tickets for a game he was playing in to hand out to friends and relatives. He only gave me two so I asked him where the rest were and he said he was taking those. I told him I had people coming to watch because it was my debut so I needed all of them. He kept saying he needed a couple of extras for himself and I kept telling him I needed my full allocation.