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Published: Tuesday 30 Sep 2008
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First book extract - Fighting spirit a legacy of my Meir childhood
Second book extract - So close, yet so far as we are pipped for title
Denis Smith's columns

In the first of three extracts from his new book, Stoke City legend Denis Smith recalls some of the stories behind his tough guy image

WHEN Leeds tough guy Norman Hunter named me as the “hardest man in football” in the early 1970s, I thought he’d got a screw loose.

Don’t get me wrong, in many ways I took it as a compliment. To be considered his team’s most difficult opponent was quite an honour, but I never considered myself a hard man.

I was never nasty or snide in the way I played football. I offered full on commitment.

In my time, from the mid-sixties to the mid-eighties, that meant being physically tough.

There were plenty of self-styled hard men around. Chelsea’s Ron “Chopper” Harris, Manchester City’s Mike Doyle, Liverpool’s Tommy Smith and Norman himself. In fact my era was crammed full of those players who have gone down in folklore as hatchet men.

But I beg to differ. Yes we were hard as a breed, but we played within the existing rules of the time – mostly.

I’m sure the likes of Chopper, Smithy and Norman get as frustrated as I do at times to think that because of our physicality we have gone down in history as one-dimensional players, although to be fair someone like Ron features high on the list of those who have perpetuated that myth.

People think that’s all you could do. It wasn’t. We could play as well.

But it is also true that I relished my role in the Stoke City team of sorting out opponents who, shall we say, fancied themselves.

Malcolm Macdonald, better known as ‘SuperMac’, as he styled himself during his barnstorming and goal-packed career with the Magpies, Arsenal and England, was a very interesting case.

You could have great banter with Malcolm as he is a very intelligent man, as he has proved with his subsequent media career.

But my central defensive partner Alan ‘Bluto’ Bloor and I were always looking for a weakness in opponents and we used to talk to him all the time, wheedling away at his super confidence, which was the thing Malcolm really thrived on.

For example, if I won the ball in the air Bluto would loudly offer the opinion, “Denis, Malcolm can’t jump.” And then if the next ball was a through-ball, Bluto would get there first and I’d say, “Bluto, he can’t run either”. We’d just keep at it all game. Incessant; never stopping. “Malcolm, if you can’t jump and can’t run, what can you do?”

There wasn’t a lot of self-doubt in SuperMac’s mind. But we’d chip away and one day his fellow Newcastle striker John Tudor turned round to us and said, “why don’t you two leave him alone?” We knew we were on to a good thing then!

Manchester City’s barrel-chested forward Franny Lee was renowned in the game for winning penalties he shouldn’t have got. He would go over if a fly touched him and he was bloody good at making it look as if you’d brought him down.

I really didn’t like this reputation of his and took to telling him right to his face every time I played against him, “Look Franny. If you dive I am going to hurt you.” It did the trick. He never won a penalty against Stoke all the time I played against him. He knew that I would have carried out my threat if he’d cheated us.

Martin Chivers, was one player who found me quite intimidating. Martin was an integral part of the Spurs side which won the League Cup and the UEFA Cup in the early 1970s.

He was a good goalscorer, regularly netting in the top flight. But, for a big lad, he was a bit of a wimp. Bearing in mind he was an England striker, he would mostly be found hiding just behind his centre-half Mike England for protection when Tottenham visited the Victoria Ground.

He rarely gave me any problems, and the interesting thing is that wasn’t actually because of anything I ever did to him. I never needed to.

My reputation was enough and his team-mates would often have a go at him for steering clear of me during games.

One of the biggest characters and toughest strikers I faced was Wolves and Northern Ireland’s Derek Dougan. He was most certainly not someone who would ever let himself be intimidated or out-psyched by on-pitch chit-chat. The Doog was a legend in his own lunchtime. He could talk the talk, and to be fair he could walk the walk too.

His partnership with John Richards was prolific. Dougan was quick, strong, good in the air and arrogant with it.

Total self-belief, but you have to say he had good reason to be cocky.

He was a talismanic, goalscoring hero at Wolves. He was always one to up the pre-match ante a little with some paper talk and some blabbing before the game.

That wasn’t my style. On this particular occasion we faced Wolves at Molineux and just before the kick-off we had a little chat.

It went something like:
Me: “Afternoon Derek.”
Doog: “Hello Smithy, my boy.”
Me: “Going to be a difficult game today then.”
Doog: “Yes, yes, but I’ll sort you out early on, so I will.”
Well, that was it. Red rag to a bull. Wolves kicked off, played it back and launched it forwards towards the pair of us.

Derek leapt to head it on to John Richards and as he did I came clean through the back of him in mid-air and connected with my forehead right on the back of his head. Bang.
Dougan slumped to the floor in a heap. Out cold. He was carried off.

“That’s that sorted, then,” I thought. “Nice easy day.” I was quite pleased with myself.

That story nearly had a very different ending though. Dougan left the field of play, as I thought, very dramatically on a stretcher. Next thing we knew a substitute was on.

Doog must have been more hurt than I thought, so at half-time I inquired as to how he was doing, only to learn from one of the Wolves back-room staff that Dougan had still not yet come round.

Now I began to worry. Dougan was a tough character, although not beyond a bit of posturing to make me seem the villain of the piece.

But on this occasion I had gone too far and I was worried. Thankfully by the time we came off at full-time Dougan was up and about, gingerly wandering around. It was a massive relief.

I was a hard player, but I didn’t set out to harm anyone, only to win football matches.

Published by Know The Score Books, price £17.99. Available at all good book shops.

TOMORROW: So near, so far from elusive that first League title for the Potters.

DENIS Smith will be signing copies of his book at the Waterstone’s store in Tontine Square, Hanley, from noon until 2pm on Saturday.