Totally Frank: The Autobiography of Frank Lampard. Frank Lampard

a hundred balls all I needed to do was imagine hitting one and picture it as it beat the keeper. I understand that this is quite a common exercise in sports psychology. But different players need different things. I would always opt for knowing that I had spent half an hour hitting the target with a ball than simply thinking about it. Doing it properly is my idea of positive thinking. It always has been. With younger players, Mourinho will be strict because they need to learn but he is very instinctive about what the senior players require and I never experienced that before working with him.

      Working with Dad and Harry was becoming more complicated. Life was getting harder instead of easier. Having a Dad-and-uncle management team was a unique scenario in English football. There were advantages and disadvantages to having them in charge and I think that during my time at West Ham I saw and felt them all, more than I care to remember. On the positive side I got extra time in coaching and as far as my development was concerned, having that close proximity was fantastic. Dad and Harry saw every strength and weakness in my game and so I was never short of people who mattered to me telling me what I needed to do.

      I was still young though and needed the off-the-pitch stuff like a hole in the head. Unfortunately I didn’t have the courage or knowledge to deal with certain things directly and so had to depend on others. One of the worst experiences I had was when I went to a Fans Forum. I was sitting on the podium with Iain Dowie and Marc Rieper, Peter Storey and Harry. No one wanted to know about me. I was just the young kid on the end and as is normal with these things, the questions were mostly about the price of season tickets or directed to the senior players about how the team was playing. I wasn’t even sure why I was there to be honest. They were handing out a bit of stick but I don’t think anyone had even noticed me. Then, one guy stands up and addresses Harry.

      ‘Frank Lampard isn’t good enough for West Ham,’ he announced.

      ‘Uh oh, here we go,’ I thought.

      ‘Why are you playing him? Is it because he’s your nephew?’

      I sat there thinking, ‘What the hell?’ The guy was entitled to his opinion even if I thought he was out of order; what really pissed me off was that not one other fan who was there said a thing to counter him. I had become sceptical about what was thought of me but I was still a West Ham player and deep down I believed we were all in this together – all fans. Surely I deserved more of a chance than this guy was willing to give? I was just a kid but already I wasn’t good enough. Strangely enough, it turned out that the guy asking the question was the uncle of another youth player who was older than me who hadn’t got a chance in the team. Again, this wasn’t my fault but somehow it had been turned into an issue because of who I was. I was devastated. It was a killer blow to my confidence, which was already fragile. I didn’t speak but Harry did and was calm about it.

      ‘Frank was one of only four young players to be called into the England squad under Terry Venables at Euro 96,’ he began. ‘Terry said that he is a great prospect and a future captain of his country. We are lucky to have a young player of Frank’s ability at West Ham and it doesn’t matter which family he comes from. He’s a great young player who will become even better. Just you wait and see.’

      I appreciated the support. I realized what Harry was doing. In short, it wasn’t just my uncle and my Dad who thought I was any good. Afterwards they said they would get the guy banned from West Ham but I never saw him again.

      I would love to see him now though. What a coward, standing up and attacking a kid in front of 300 people. That’s when it really started going against me at West Ham. That’s when I knew that Hodgey was right. I had to get out.

       CHAPTER 3 MAGIC MOMENTS

      MOVING out of Mum and Dad’s house was like being given the keys to a new world. I decided that I should be more independent. I could afford to buy a flat and when I found the right place I took the plunge. It was more a case of doing what I thought I should than what I really wanted. I was very comfortable at home. I enjoyed having my family around. Some of my mates were in their own place though and it seemed like the right thing to do. It was. Well, I thought it was. I quickly found that instead of gaining freedom I had a lot more time on my hands. I could do whatever I wanted. I just wasn’t sure what that was.

      At first, I did what I knew best and went back to Mum and Dad’s house. Ate there and hung out with my sisters. After a few weeks I actually moved back there for a few days because I was so lonely. Mum didn’t say anything. She knew what was going on and that I needed to get it out of my system. I drove back to the flat in Woodford Green and decided to get my mates round. I was bored. I didn’t really know why. Suddenly *** the restrictions which had governed my whole life didn’t exist. No more ‘Where ‘you going and what ‘you doing?’ I was a bit lost without Dad’s third degree every time I opened the door to go out.

      A lot of my mates lived close by: Sam – who we call Tel – Billy Jenkins, Alan (Alex), Finny, Banger (Mike), and HK (Sam). Good lads. Most of them went to a rival school but we had got together when we were about 15 and bonded. I phoned them and would get them round to watch the football on a Sunday. It was the natural thing to do. There was no one else there, I wanted company, and the lads were up for watching the game. It didn’t seem so bad then. We would have a laugh and muck around and for the first time in my life I was doing the things that most people my age were doing. I was having a life. A life outside of my job. Outside of football.

      In the evening we would pop down the pub and have a couple of drinks. The place was heaving with people squeezing the last out of their weekend. If there was no midweek game I would be off on Monday. Now and again I would feel like my weekend was still in full flow. So we would go to a club and have a few more beers, talk to some girls and stay out late.

      I never did it directly before a game. I was up for it but I wasn’t stupid. It was always Saturday after a game, or Sunday, or maybe early in the week. I think most young players go through it. I wouldn’t say it’s good for you but it’s necessary. It’s not until you realize you’re not training as well as you should be that the effect kicks in. You just can’t train to the same level if your body is tired and still trying to get rid of the booze from the night before. I don’t mind admitting it, I realize that it wasn’t the best idea for my career but for me it was something I had never had experience of. My childhood and youth were not the same as most people’s.

      Some go out with their mates when they are 15. They hang around a shopping centre or the local park and get a can of beer from somewhere and experiment with drinking. There were a couple of occasions when I did that towards the end of my schooldays but they were very rare. Mum and Dad were strict. They always wanted to know where I was going and why, and point out that I had training. I didn’t need the constant reminder. Some of my mates were going down the route of taking their social life seriously but I was already on the road to becoming a footballer and there was nothing I wanted more than that. That’s partly why it was such a liberating feeling to get my own place. No one to stop me going out or having my mates around me whenever I wanted.

      The lads could do whatever they pleased. As a footballer I couldn’t. But there were times when I would drink on a Sunday to blank out what had happened at the game the day before. It was a release for me, especially at times when I was taking so much stick and would be very down about West Ham. When the lads came round and had a drink I would be at ease again. We’d talk about everything and anything other than the game and I relaxed, de-stressed. I had to go through it and realize for myself that there are right times to do it and times that you don’t. I want to go out and I still do now. The difference is recognizing the right time to do it. You have to know your body.

      People remark that I’ve played 164 games consecutively and that I don’t rest for matches. How do I do it? I live well, I eat well, I rest well but I still like to go out for a few beers with the lads after a game or in a week when there’s no match. It’s about balance but sometimes to find the balance you have to overdo it and that’s what I did when I moved away from home.

      I went through the same thing as