Totally Frank: The Autobiography of Frank Lampard. Frank Lampard

a lot after that and when I broke into the first team properly at West Ham the next season, at age 18, I was capable of scoring ten goals due to making those runs. I was a different player. I wouldn’t get involved in play in the middle of the pitch the way I do now because I was trying to get on the end of those balls from a forward run.

      That came from a lot of hard graft doing weights to build up my legs and upper body strength. I was helped by some killer sessions with Paul Hilton who was the reserve team coach. He would make us lap the pitch in sixty seconds at three-quarter speed and then the next group would go and sixty seconds later you had to go again. We used to hate him for it though he was actually a good lad. Not that he seemed very nice when a lot of us were throwing up by the end and he would just stand over us, shouting. I could do that pretty easily now. It only makes me realize how far I have come physically in my career. It was a level I had to achieve before I could even think about making the first team.

      I see now that was what Dad had been aiming for through all the years of training, exercise, and routine after routine. It was also what Harry knew when he packed me off to Swansea. I wasn’t ready for West Ham then – not physically anyway, maybe not even mentally – and they recognized that. I didn’t see it of course. I couldn’t. As a young player you have a certain confidence about you that makes you think you are invincible. I wasn’t absolutely sure that I could perform for the first team but it didn’t stop me from believing I could.

      It was probably just as well since my debut came unexpectedly and as a substitute against Coventry City at Upton Park. Gordon Strachan and I came on at the same time. He was about 38 at the time and there was I, twenty years his junior and coming on for my team for the first time. Harry could sense my nerves. He put his arm around both of us and made a joke about the age difference. ‘Go easy on him!’ he said to Strachan. Given that we both played central midfield we were actually going head to head. Strachan might have been at the end of his career but it doesn’t stop you from thinking about what he had achieved. And there I was at the very start of mine and about to make my senior debut. I was excited – terrified actually. I watched my Dad play for West Ham, and Harry too. I had grown up listening to their memories of the good times and the bad. Both were there with me now: Dad in the dugout, smiling but looking just as nervous as me; Harry telling me what he wanted me to do when I got on there. I had dreamt of this moment so many times – as a child and a teenager. The numbers were held up indicating the players who were coming off and I heard the crowd roar as I crossed the white line for the first time.

      It was a great reception from the fans and it’s a good memory. Even now, looking back over my career – the different stages with West Ham, Chelsea and England, and the success that I have worked hard to achieve – it was a great feeling. I didn’t however do much in that game. Ran around for a few minutes and touched the ball a few times. The best thing was the applause I got and the feeling of excitement in the crowd about Frank Lampard’s son coming on. I felt that I had arrived but I knew for sure that I hadn’t made it.

      As expected, I was back on the bench for the next game. Making my debut was part of my development, another step on the long way up. Some players make an incredible impact in their first game. Wayne Rooney did it for England against Turkey but I was no Rooney. Mine was more a rite of passage than a ticket to the first team. I knew it would take a bit longer before I would be pushing my way on to the team sheet.

      The next time I played was against Stockport in the League Cup in the first leg at home. Someone got injured on the morning of the game – I think John Moncur had been sick – and I got a phone call from my Dad who was at the ground.

      ‘Frank. Get yourself down here,’ he said. ‘You’re playing.’

      I was actually in the park over the road from my parents’ house doing a warm-up, just some stretches and sprinting. It was still enough to panic me. I wondered if I had overdone it and how it might affect the way I would play in the match. I needn’t have worried too much. I did okay but the thing I remember most was how hard it felt athletically. I felt like a boy playing against men. It was a really hard contest which we ended up drawing 1-1. I had a chance to score and missed. I felt gutted afterwards and came away from the game feeling nauseous.

      The fans were turning on the team at that time. We had drawn at home and then lost away to Stockport and were struggling to score goals. Even the lads were a bit fractious in the dressing room as a result of all the pressure. I was a young kid coming into all that. I didn’t actually play a lot after that game. That season I made seven more appearances as sub and the Stockport game was the only one I started.

      Next season came round more quickly than I had wished for, but physically I felt stronger than ever after a hard pre-season in Scotland. Rio and I were the only two young players who were taken. It was pretty intense – especially with guys like Iain Dowie and Ian Bishop around. I enjoyed the stint and felt more comfortable than ever when we played a couple of warm-up games.

      We had a really tough opener away at Arsenal and I started but was taken off after seventy minutes. It was traditionally a hard place to go for West Ham, indeed for most teams. We lost 2-0. I was disappointed, for the team and myself. I really wanted to make an impact but it was Highbury and Arsenal were just beginning to look the part under Arsene Wenger who had taken charge the season before.

      I always put myself under pressure to perform but there was even more significance now because my contract was up for renewal. Now it was even more important for to me to show what I was capable of but I didn’t start any of the next seven games. Worse than that, I was beginning to take a bit of stick from the fans. I had been aware of it before then. Just a couple of games after my debut against Coventry there were a few instances when I heard fans shouting a bit of abuse at me. It turned really quickly and I couldn’t understand why. It probably didn’t help that I was on the bench because that was seen by some as a compromise. Being Frank Lampard’s son brought with it different rules than those which applied to every other player. If someone else was on the bench it was simple – they were recovering fitness or form or were seen as being able to make a difference if called upon. With regard to me, a section of the support believed that I wasn’t good enough for the starting line-up so I was put on the subs’ bench as some kind of favour. And they let me know this every time I moved to do a warm-up.

      Obviously, it subsided when I didn’t play but that 96/97 season I came on twice more after Arsenal but didn’t make much of an impression. I tried as hard as I could but once the New Year came in I was already looking towards the pre-season, devising ways of becoming a better player. I worked harder than ever before but apparently I still wasn’t quite ready for the first game of the 97/98 season when we played Barnsley away. I knew that I would be on the bench. It was both exciting and disappointing. I wanted to start but had to bide my time. I knew the script and until you got a chance to play the part you had to stick at being understudy.

      I’m not sure if that was an excuse for breaking the rules. I wasn’t the first and I won’t be the last but it was the first time for me. Dad always said never to go drinking on the Thursday night before a Saturday game. And, of course, I never did. Finny – who was youth team goalie and effectively number three – phoned me up and asked if I fancied going out for dinner. It was a Thursday night. We did, and we had a few beers. I turned up at training on Friday feeling very guilty. It got worse. I was told I would definitely be on the bench. It’s hard enough to feel physically and mentally attuned for a pre-season match. My body felt fine but there was a voice in my head telling me that I must be below par because I had been out for a few hours two nights before. It was Dad’s voice, and my own.

      It didn’t matter to me that it wasn’t a competitive game. Everything I had trained so hard for in my life was aimed at being the best I could be. Not just some of the time. All of the time. There wasn’t a lot I could do. I warmed up when told to and was soon wondering if I might get a chance to go on. On the pitch we were doing all right. The score was 1-1 and I wasn’t sure that I would get the call when, of course, I did. By this time I had managed to convince myself that everything would be fine. I briefly thought back to the Thursday night but knew there was nothing to do but just get stuck in there.

      So I did. Won a few tackles and when a chance came for me to shoot I let fly and