Sid Lambert takes us back 20 years to the 2004/05 season, when Alan Pardew’s Hammers secured a rollercoaster return to the Premier League...
Alan Pardew bounced into December 2004 with a little extra pep in his step. Two wins on the bounce had helped to quell the rumours about his managerial demise. Now he was back in business – the business of getting West Ham United back into the Premier League.
For once, the relentless fixture list of the second tier was in his favour. There were two highly winnable games in the immediate future – against struggling Leeds and mid-table Preston.
In the past a home fixture against Leeds would have set alarm bells ringing. During my fandom to date I’d seen us square off against the Yorkshiremen 25 times. We’d won twice. Twice. That’s marginally above the sort of success rate the Titanic has against icebergs.
My first memory was a fixture early in the Lou Macari era. An injury crisis meant that we played centre-back Colin Foster as an emergency striker. Big Fozzie had the height, but sadly not the movement to succeed as a forward. Frankly, he could have been man-marked by a fridge freezer that day. We were rubbish, and Vinnie Jones scuffed home the winner in a dreadful game that proved ominous for Macari’s future.
Things didn’t improve much during the 90s. No matter how badly the Whites were playing, we made them look like Real Madrid. A rotating cast of forwards enjoyed many a fruitful afternoon against us. Whether it was Rod Wallace, Tony Yeboah, or Jimmy-Floyd Hasselbaink, the West Ham defence was only too happy to help you bolster your goal tally.
Then one night in 1998, on a spring evening at Upton Park, I witnessed a miracle. A humbling of our tormentors. Every West Ham fan has their own treasured memories of supporting the Club. Mine was seeing Samassi Abou slotting home and celebrating in front of the irate away support as we stuffed them 3-0. In that moment he became a hero in my household.
Six years on and, sadly, Abou was nowhere to be seen. But there were reasons to be cheerful. This was not the Leeds of old. Financial mismanagement had pushed them to the brink of oblivion. Budgets had been slashed. Players sold. And the Elland Road outfit were mired in the lower reaches of the Coca-Cola Championship.
But in the first half we showed some familiar failings. On-loan Darren Powell fluffed a back pass and let in former Hammers front man Brian Deane, who hit the bar. Then Powell, seemingly having some sort of identity crisis in his new club colours, gifted a chance to David Healy who was denied by Steve Bywater.
Change was needed. At half-time Pards summoned veteran Teddy Sheringham from the comfort of his hot water bottle and blanket on the bench. Immediately we were a more dangerous outfit. Luke Chadwick pounced on a defensive error to put us ahead. Our confidence grew. Steve Lomas was put through one-on-one with the goalkeeper, and duly produced the sort of finish you’d expect from Steve Lomas one-on-one with a goalkeeper. ‘Shaggy’ was not to be messed with in the middle of the park. But him in front of goal and he had the composure of a rabbit crossing the M25.
Harewood and Sheringham went close too as we turned up the pressure. Then, in the 89th minute, Healy dived in the penalty area and the referee pointed to the spot. Pardew was apoplectic on the bench – and understandably so. It was a dreadful, dreadful decision. To rub salt in the wounds, Healy sprung back to his feet and scored an undeserved equaliser.
It felt like a huge missed opportunity. Despite our inconsistent form, a win would have put us within touching distance of the automatic promotion spots. A win at Preston became all the more important.
Games at Deepdale are like gut-checks for professional footballers. Yes, our squad had eyes on the glitz and glamour of the Premier League. But to get there, we had to go to spit-and-sawdust places like Preston and get a result. The question was: who in our team had the intestinal fortitude to get the job done?
After 45 minutes, we had our answer: nobody.
First, Lomas fluffed a clearance that led to Eddie Lewis putting the home side ahead. Then, on the stroke of half-time, Tommy Repka – whose finger had been hovering over the self-destruct button all game – played a dreadful pass to gift Preston another. We were two down and it was all our own fault.
This was now the prevailing narrative of the whole season. Just when we looked like we were gaining some consistency, we would load up the proverbial shotgun and aim it squarely at our own feet. It was infuriating.
Week after week, error upon error from players who should know better. Lomas and Repka were important characters for club and country. But send them to Deepdale in a West Ham shirt and they inexplicably morphed into the Chuckle Brothers.
There was little laughter at the final whistle. Even though Nigel Reo-Coker had halved the deficit, we never really threatened to steal a point. Boos rang out from the travelling contingent.
Now over halfway through the season, we were eight points off the top two and clinging onto a place in the top six. We were under no illusions of the task ahead. The dream of going up as champions was long gone. The lottery of Play-Off football was our only hope.
Sid has a new book out: ‘Highs, Lows and Di Canios: The Fans’ Guide to West Ham United in the 90s’. Visit www.thewesthamway.com, or head into the official West Ham store for a rollercoaster ride through one of the most turbulent decades in Claret & Blue history.
*The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of West Ham United.
