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F365 does derby day in Robbie Savage’s dressing room: Melees, penalties, and pride…

Ian Watson

In association with Planet Sport Bet, Robbie Savage invited us into his dressing room for Macclesfield FC’s big derby clash with Altrincham in the FA Trophy…

 

It’s 2:50pm on Saturday, and F365 is ready to run through a brick wall for Robbie Savage.

Frankly, it’s not a position we ever expected to find ourselves in. Certainly not on a dark and stormy afternoon that makes all the Manchester weather clichés seem woefully understated. But here we are, in the visitors’ dressing room at Altrincham, ready to go to war.

Mercifully for Macclesfield and their manager, they don’t need us to fight their FA Trophy battle today. We’re only there to sample a slice of life as one of Savage’s Silkmen on derby day. Spoiler alert: it’s a hell of a ride.


 

It begins shortly after 1pm. The Macc players, men in black, trickle in to the J. Davidson Stadium, looking the part in God Made hooded tracksuits that, apparently, retail at Harvey Nicks. We wouldn’t know, would we? But there is an unescapable JD Sports vibe to the dressing room playlist.

“Turn that s**** off.” What John McMahon says, the DJ does. It’s 1:30pm sharp, and time for Savage to say his piece and name his team.

It’s Savage’s second address of the day. He has already geed up the travelling Macc fans in the pub next door. You wouldn’t have blamed them for staying in that warm, cosy boozer, but 1032 of them, those fortunate to get a ticket before they sold out within 48 hours of going on sale, are psyching themselves for a couple of hours on an open terrace, staring directly into Storm Darragh.

Back in the dressing room, all eyes and ears are on Savage as he names his XI for what has been pinned by some as Macc’s ‘World Cup’. No sighing, no eye-rolling, just 18 steely stares in response to the news that there’s a single change to Savage’s starters.

That ‘World Cup’ quip is one of the themes in Savage’s team-talk. It is a big game, undeniably. A derby not staged for too long and maybe the biggest match for a few of these part-timers. But John Rooney has graced games ‘miles bigger than this’. D’Mani Mellor played in Europe for Manchester United. Neil Kengni faced Gareth Bale and hit the crossbar on BBC1 when Jose Mourinho’s Tottenham went to Marine in the FA Cup in 2021. The point being: embrace the occasion, but it deserves no trepidation.

Alty, one point off the National League play-offs and pushing for promotion to the EFL, are two divisions above Macc. But, as Savage has been at pains to point out, this squad – his squad – has been assembled to compete in the National League. This, as it was stated in no uncertain terms, is the players’ opportunity to prove once more that they deserve a national stage.

Once Savage has reinforced his belief in these players, the floor is McMahon’s to reiterate the tactical points covered in the week’s two training sessions. McMahon is a details man, but there’s nothing to be gained from getting too technical now. The preparation is already done so he centres on one brief theme in possession, one without, before issuing a calm warning in a gravelly Scouse accent: “Excuses are for the weak.”

There are plenty to choose from today, mind; the weather being the easiest reach. A good few players visit the shower, which for a couple of hours in this cosy changing room – designed long before squads numbered 20 and support staff were a thing – has become a makeshift kit-room, to grab extra layers for the warm-up. Not skipper Paul Dawson. For him, it’s short-sleeves and shorts though, if he could get away with it, he’d probably be in skins to show Darragh who he’s dealing with.

Despite the queue to Merrisa Heraldson’s physio couch, most players are kicking their heels while McMahon gives the countdown to go time. “Five minutes… two minutes… one and a half minutes.” There’s certainly no excuse for tardiness in here.

McMahon and Savage’s other lieutenant, Peter Band, lead the warm-up while Savage prowls. It is quickly evident that he struggles to stay still, always on the move, always engaging with someone, a bundle of nervous energy. If he doesn’t embrace every starter and most of the finishers, as he calls his substitutes, he can’t be far off. There’s even some advice for Max Dearnley, his favourite of the 21 goalkeepers Macc have used in recent seasons, who’s probably just relieved to take a brief break from guessing which gust might gather the crosses intended for his catching practice.

The wind is one of the topics up for discussion once the players are back in the warmth of the dressing room. Savage wants the players’ views: ‘If we win the toss, with the wind first or against it?’ It might sound Sunday League, but that’s not a steady breeze out there. It’s trampolines-in-trees time. And characterful though Alty’s home undoubtedly is, it isn’t a 50,000 bowl with stands grand enough to shield the pitch from Darragh the d***. The storm will play a part here, though McMahon dismisses the view that the conditions could be a leveller between two sides two divisions apart.

The referee’s hammering on the door fails to interrupt Savage and McMahon’s final words of affirmation. The message and the tone is consistent with that of just over an hour ago. The closing line: ‘Now let’s go win the f***** game!’ followed by the collective roar that grabs any footballer, from pub level to Premier League, firmly by the balls.

Savage follows his boys out and turns left to a bench he’ll barely bother with for the next 90 minutes. We emerge to what seems close to a full house, inevitably containing a few individuals who can’t resist the chance to have a pop at the Macc manager. Nothing – yet – though for Joe, Savage’s cam-clad confidante and minder-of-sorts, to pay much attention to.

After the match ball is blown off the plinth, and the plinth itself is sent crashing by the wind, Dawson does the business at the toss. Macc get their wish to go into the wind first, playing with it and towards their fans in the second half.

The conditions have a large hand in creating the first of what turn out to be few openings in the game. Dearnley goes short from a goal-kick passing the buck for blasting into the wind. Savage is seething as Alty charge down the belated attempt, prompting a scramble involving a fumbled cross and two blocks before Macc deflect a close-range effort wide of their target and into their fans.

Rather than return the ball, it goes backwards over the fence and over the road. Lovely.

Macc are following the manager’s plan to the letter, until the skipper forgets one of the very last instructions: “Be careful with your early challenges – discipline is key. We need 11 out there at all times.”

They have 11 for less than 25 minutes. Dawson wades into a row after James Edmondson’s tackle leaves an Alty player on the floor. It’s the type of head-on lunging challenge that Savage used to make in the garden with his kids but the sort, for better or worse, now gone from the game. Edmondson’s card is yellow but Dawson’s – delivered without delay from the referee – is red after sending a different opponent to the deck with a hefty shove.

Savage is still bristling from the perceived injustice around Edmondson when his captain compounds the manager’s despair. He knows immediately that Dawson has screwed up. Despite a quick glance towards a Alty supporter who’s run down seven rows to spew some venom, Savage gets started with the rejig, too busy right now to acknowledge Dawson, who reluctantly makes his exit.

Lewis Fensome is ordered to get stripped which today takes longer than usual, much to Savage’s irritation. Shedding layers becomes a three-man job. The substitute defender eventually replaces the unlucky Alex Curran, the recipient of a long bearhug from Savage as a token of apology.

Robbie Savage’s Diary: Why I became a boss | Stress and panenkas | Unacceptable abuse | Added-time delight

The rest of the half passes generally without incident. Which cannot be said of half-time…

Walking down the narrow tunnel towards the visitors’ dressing room on the right, a melee ensues behind. What starts it, we don’t know, but in no time, there’s a lot of noise and very little room for manoeuvre.

‘No one likes to see scenes like these’, we are always told. But we definitely do. It’s a biproduct of the emotion stirred by a derby. Honestly, we’re having a great time in the thick of it.

Really, it’s just jostling and posturing, the kind of testosterone-fuelled ruck kept rolling by most who would claim to be peacekeepers. It would have been long-since over had one of the high-viz-wearing security staff not grabbed a Macc man by the throat from behind, seemingly mistaking the Alty tunnel for the Royal Rumble.

That ratchets up the shouting and swaying once more, until lieutenant Band steams through the bundle of bodies, dispatching players from both sides to their respective dressing rooms. If Bandy says it’s finished, it’s finished. If Bandy says it’s Friday, it’s f***** Friday.

Savage is one of the last in, and after a quick inquest into what’s just occurred, the manager speaks.

It’s all love for most of the blue-aired three minutes that Savage holds court. The gist: “You’ve been magnificent… That’s my team, that’s what my team’s about… bravery, character… you’ve been outstanding all of you.”

Savage admits his emotions serve as both a strength and a weakness, but in this moment, it is definitely the former. There’s a public apology for Curran, but it’s while addressing Dawson, the skipper heading for the shower, that the emotion causes his voice to crack. Savage, quite reasonably, feels let down on behalf of his team but the captain, to his credit, takes his medicine. It was terribly-timed mis-step from Dawson but there are many good reasons why he has the armband. Savage knows his skipper is seething, so he stops before labouring the point, and refocuses on the positives prior to McMahon taking over to talk 4-4-1.

Savage remains restless, pacing while McMahon speaks, but it’s clear that the manager is in his element. After giving way to his assistant, Savage turns, catches F365’s eye and the grimace gives way to a big smile. This, amid the muck and bullets with a group united around him, is where he feels at home, not the boardroom or wherever a director of football might kill time, glad-handing during intervals.

The players have a few minutes to dry their kit as best they can – it’s a fool’s errand – before Savage and McMahon have the last word. The message is similar to the last, with Savage demonstrative, McMahon calm. It’s hardly yin and yang, but they dovetail really effectively in the limited time they have here to really influence the outcome.

Once the players go back over the white line, it’s over to them. And while Savage trusts his players, as he’s just reminded them in the clearest way possible, he’s clearly kicking every ball and making every tackle while confined to his technical area. If he ever strays, there is a helpful older lady sat just behind him reminding him to get back in his box. Every. Single. Time.

She is won over briefly when Savage holds up play to check on a youngster near his bench hit by an errant clearance. Another fella, though, descends a flight or two to scream at Savage seemingly for showing concern. You can’t please everyone.

Both sides make changes in an attempt to break the stalemate, which only ever looks under serious threat in the late stages. Macc give Alty one clear sight of goal, passed up by dangerman Alex Newby, while one of the many bodies thrown before Regan Linney in the final minute divert the ball on to the bar and away to safety. That close-call is almost too much for Savage, who is halfway down the tunnel, almost choking on his own heart, before turning on his heels to start planning for penalties.

Macc have been here before. They are here today because of a shoot-out win in the last round at Curzon Ashton. So there’s no need to remind his players of his no Panenka policy. Anyone attempting one today, shooting as they are into the wind, stands to gain notoriety as the first taker ever to send their penalty backwards.

Once orders are established, Savage is fidgety once more. He checks in with the Macc fans; sits on the bench; goes back to the line with his staff; then returns to the bench. Where, for the first time all afternoon, at the most tense moment, he’s still. Serene… almost.

From his seat in a sparse dugout, Savage sees Macc’s first penalty saved by Ethan Ross. Alty’s goes in off the underside of the bar. If that prompts any sense that this might not be Macc’s day, the sixth penalty, Alty’s third, compounds it.

Dearnley leaps to his left to get both hands around Banks’ effort. Somehow, though, the ball squeezes through, bounces off the giant keeper’s bonce, and bobbles agonisingly over the line.

When Macc’s next penalty crashes off the bar, the game is almost up. Their fate is sealed when Linney scores, but for nine kicks, Savage’s demeanour hasn’t changed.

Nor, since half-time, has his view of his side’s effort.

“I’m gutted, lads, to lose on penalties but I’m so proud of you all. And if you don’t believe now that you can play at this level, and you don’t see what a special group you’re a part of, you never will. So go out tonight, enjoy your night, look after each other like you did out there. Then let’s go and win the f***** league.”

The players evidently share that view. There’s disappointment at the outcome but no regret, no recrimination, just pride. The motivation to play and succeed for their manager and each other is clear, even to an outsider, and the craic is soon flying in the queue for the showers. It’s not often you can lose a derby and come away feeling uplifted. This is definitely one of those occasions.

F365 Features Robbie Savage