The fireworks of two decades covering Portsmouth - a remarkable football club with soul

It was March 2004, Southampton had been defeated 1-0 at Fratton Park, and, in the ugly aftermath, those purporting to be Pompey followers had trashed four police vehicles parked in the forecourt.

Suddenly, my lurking presence had been noticed. A Blues fan in the vicinity locked on me – and approached.

‘You write about Southampton, don’t you?’ he enquired.

‘Yes, but I’m a Villa fan,’ was the rapid response which thankfully appeased. We briefly chatted about the match, then I scurried away unscathed.

I have reported on 751 Pompey matches, watching them at 127 grounds, worked with 17 different managers and written four books.

Yet life at the Portsmouth News began 20 years ago today as their Southampton and Hampshire County Cricket Club correspondent.

I would graduate to focus on Pompey’s exploits and remain privileged. It’s a remarkable football club with soul.

In November 2000, I arrived on the south coast from Birmingham, replacing Simon Parker, who had been lured away to cover Premier League Bradford City on the Bradford Telegraph and Argus.

I settled into my Southsea shared house on bonfire night – and have witnessed a fair few fireworks since.

Although at least I never asked Erik Huseklepp if he celebrated bonfire night in Norway, following his double against Nottingham Forest in November 2011. The inquisitive national journo didn’t get the line they sought.

My Southampton responsibilities ended in July 2007, upon promotion to The News’ chief sports writer. However, before then, I was often called up for Pompey coverage when required.

When Harry Redknapp infamously hailed Stefani Miglioranzi as ‘Franz Beckenbauer’ it was to me, although I was instructed by my sports editor to hand over that golden copy to Mark Storey to write.

The next time I saw Miglioranzi was in the locker room at LA Galaxy. The press pack wanted to interview David Beckham, standing in his white pants, while my presence had been pre-arranged purely on the basis of interviewing the former Pompey midfielder.

Incidentally, I was banned from Fratton Park by Paul Hart at that time – yet the MLS club were most welcoming.

My predecessor as chief sports writer, Storey, took me to the HMS Collingwood training ground in my early days. He forewarned me that Linvoy Primus was the loveliest person you could meet.

I watched impressed as the pair exchanged music CDs in the sports ground’s car park and chatted away warmly. Storey was, of course, spot on.

Robert Prosinecki arrived the following season, in 2001-02, and I was instructed by our deputy editor, Mark Acheson, to head to the training ground with a photographer and collar him.

I was to turn up en spec to persuade the former Barcelona and Real Madrid genius to join me on a guided tour of the city that afternoon. Expenses were also handed to me from petty cash, perhaps buy him an ice cream.

When I dutifully approached Prosinecki after training for a chat, he muttered something about not understanding English and drove off. Who can blame him.

I later learnt Acheson had once told a reporter to get in touch with Clint Eastwood after the city mooted employing a mayor. Although, I must add, Mark was the acting editor who oversaw my appointment to chief sports writer.

That same season, I wrote off my company car on the M1 outside Loughborough on the way to cover the November 2001 clash at Sheffield Wednesday. A faulty oil light had failed to alert me.

I settled into my Hillsborough seat just in time to see Yoshi Kawaguchi concede 25 seconds into his debut after Milan Mandaric had forced manager Graham Rix to play him. Although Pompey won 3-2.

Talking of Yoshi, he was in tears addressing the Japanese journalists after the 4-1 FA Cup defeat to Leyton Orient later that season. It remains one of the worst Blues displays I have ever witnessed.

I was also present for the 2-0 win over Nottingham Forest on the opening day of the 2002-03 campaign – and we all know how that season gloriously ended.

Forest boss that afternoon was Paul Hart, who was obnoxious to the Nottingham Post’s reporter post match. Our paths, would of course, later cross as Pompey manager – and he would be similarly unpleasant. The worst manager I’ve dealt with.

There have been spats with bosses, it's natural. Andy Awford gave me yes and no answers in successive press gatherings because was upset over a factually correct article about reasons behind David Connolly’s first-team absence. He later apologised.

Steve Cotterill once erupted and called me ‘nosy’ in a post-match press conference because I was pressing for details on a mid-season team break. He rang me at 8am the next day to apologise.

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I genuinely loved dealing with the often explosive Cotterill. One time, following a particularly heated phone exchange with David Lampitt, I branded Pompey’s then chief executive a ‘liar’.

Within minutes, Cotterill rang. ‘Good lad, good lad,’ he said laughing. As ever, you can’t keep anything a secret around Pompey.

The pair couldn’t stand each other – those of us at The News shared the manager’s opinion.

Cotterill took us on two pre-season tours to America, although could be combustible. He once confronted me by a South Carolina hotel’s swimming pool after my match report referred to facing college kids and fringe players in a 2-2 behind-closed-doors draw with a Charleston Battery XI.

When I pointed out it was entirely accurate, he shouted: ‘I didn’t bring you on this trip to tell the truth’.

A few evenings later, we bumped into Hermann Hreidarsson in a Sticky Fingers ribhouse, across the road from the hotel, whose bar the players were instructed not to enter.

Hreidarrson, in his inimitable manner, uttered: ‘Tell me why Cotterill was shouting at you – or I’ll punch you in the head’.

When I explained, the left-back laughed – and bought me a drink. Later that evening he would be standing on the bar roaring Icelandic chants while Pompey fans cheered.

Also present that night was Dave Kitson, who told us a wonderful tale about how the pair had earlier played golf. According to the striker, he was attempting to take a shot while standing in a lake when they noticed a huge crocodile.

Coincidentally, there is a very similar story on page 114 of the book The Secret Footballer: What Goes On Tour.

Although I would refute the 2017 book’s next anecdote of how a baggage truck hit the plane while everyone was sitting on it waiting to return to England.

We hadn’t even boarded at that stage. I should know, I was travelling with them.

Pre-season tours always provide a fascinating insight into team dynamic. Paul Cook’s work hard, play hard mantra in Dublin in 2016 prompted Iain McInnes’ wife, Jane, to declare: ‘It’s like they’re on a stag do’. Inevitably, the gregarious chairman was among the thick of it.

That season reaped promotion to League One at Notts County, with the players returning to the Victory Lounge that evening to celebrate with supporters. I went along.

It culminated in Gary Roberts inviting some of the press pack to join the players for further festivities at Palmerston Road’s Drift bar.

I drove Paul Cook and his wife there and was greeted by a highly inebriated – and erratic – Michael Doyle swinging a scarf above his head. Most opted to avoid him that night, he was truly at his most scary.

Still, Harry Redknapp is surely indisputably the Blues’ finest manager since Division One double title-winning boss Bob Jackson departed in 1952.

On one occasion, Redknapp screamed down the phone at me over something inaccurate I had written. Hands up, he was correct.

As revenge, he outed me on Sky Sports as a Villa fan, believing it would get me into trouble with the Fratton faithful. It’s a threat he had jokingly dangled a few times.

Although, that irrefutable fact did save my skin – while standing beside that Shell petrol station in March 2004.

A message from the Editor, Mark Waldron

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