Mr Unbelievable. Chris Kamara

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СКАЧАТЬ of the suites, pointing out the fact that it was a bedroom as well as a corporate hotspot where you could watch the game and enjoy a meal beforehand. A straightforward guided tour would have been boring, so without telling the lads and ladettes in the studio, Lovejoy had hired a sexy glamour model called April to spice things up. When the cameras panned around the room, our busty lass emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but some rather unflattering underwear – pink bra and black knickers (my type of girl, I have to say). April gave me a saucy look.

      ‘Chris, are you coming back in?’ she cooed.

      ‘April,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen you before in my life.’

      Helen shouted down the line ‘How do you know her name if you’ve never seen her before in your life!’

      Suddenly, the phone in the room began to ring. I stared at it in panic. A phone call to the room wasn’t part of the gag. Quick as a flash, I picked it up, and I could tell it was someone else having some fun. In fact it was the stadium manager at Upton Park, who had worked out which room we were in and had dialled the number for a laugh.

      ‘It’s my boss, Vic Wakeling from Sky,’ I said to the camera, and then, into the phone, ‘What do you mean I’m sacked?’

      Vic told me later he was sat at home, bent up with laughter. He even sent a note to Soccer AM saying, ‘A bit near the knuckle but absolute quality,’ which is much better than a P45. April was a really good sport and that was the closest I ever came to scoring at Upton Park!

      It’s usually the managers who get the rough end of the stick when I’m causing trouble on Soccer AM, as Harry Redknapp found out to his cost. One Saturday morning, when he was manager at Portsmouth, Harry gave me complete access to the ground, even though it was only one hour until his 12.30 kick-off against Leicester City.

      ‘Go anywhere, Kammy,’ he said. ‘It’s not a problem.’

      This was a big mistake. When we went live at Fratton Park, I decided the first port of call would be the manager’s office – after all, Harry had said it was access all areas, so I figured, why not?

      At that time his office was also home to his assistant manager, Jim Smith. Outside there was a sign which quite clearly stated, ‘Do not enter unless you knock.’ After one bang with the knuckles, I was in, though in hindsight I should have waited for an answer. As I burst through the doors – complete with a cameraman – I caught Harry and Jim both engrossed in reading the Racing Post. I couldn’t believe my luck. Kick-off was only hours away and outside on the pitch Pompey defender Arjen de Zeeuw was working through a late fitness test. In the meantime Harry and Jim were both checking the form guides. What made the moment even funnier was that Soccer AM was playing on their telly in the corner, but the sound had been turned down. They had no idea I was about to pay them a visit.

      ‘I thought you were supposed to be discussing today’s important issues?’ I said.

      ‘We are,’ replied Jim, nonchalantly peering out from the top of his paper. This relaxed attitude was typical of them both, as they looked up laughing to see themselves onscreen.

      Harry is a proper wind-up merchant. When he was the manager at West Ham, he invited me to play in a training session with the first team. I took the cameras down and Harry just said, ‘Come on in, Chris, the training ground is yours. Do whatever you want.’ This was brilliant, I had a great day and we even had a small-sided game. What I didn’t realise was that Harry and his assistant, Frank Lampard Snr, had told their Israeli midfielder, Eyal Berkovic, that I was going to kick him during the practice match, and clearly it had scared him. I was playing on Frank Lampard Jnr’s team. Berkovic lined up for the other side and, sure enough, just before we kicked off, Harry and Frank apparently warned him to keep away from me.

      ‘He’s going to kick you, be careful,’ said Harry. I still hadn’t a clue what was going on. Berkovic then jogged towards me.

      ‘You play with us, that’s OK,’ he said. ‘But no kicking.’

      I looked over at Harry on the touchline – he was laughing his head off. As it turned out, though, Eyal had nothing to worry about. I was too old to catch someone as nifty as he was, never mind give him a whack. I just thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t lined up against John Hartson. Come to think of it, I bet Eyal wished he never had been been either.

      After Harry closed the session, the squad disappeared to get some lunch. Well, everyone except Paolo Di Canio, who changed into his running gear. While the rest of us ate in the club café, Di Canio was outside in his running shoes, sprinting and jogging, performing all sorts of exercises. It was pretty impressive stuff. You could tell why Harry regarded him so highly.

      ‘You don’t coach him,’ he told me that day. ‘You don’t need to say to him, “You have to do this”, or “You have to do that”, like you do with the English lads. He just does it. He’s a fantastic example for my young players.’

      As if to prove Harry’s point, during that same visit to West Ham, Rio Ferdinand’s mum rang in to say he was ill. He wouldn’t be coming in to train that day.

      ‘See what I have to put up with, Chris?’ said Harry, as he put the phone down. ‘Who’d be a manager, eh?’

      I presume Harry got another call from Rio’s mum months later to say her son wouldn’t be in for training again because he’d buggered off to Leeds United.

      

      I’m surprised that Micky Adams, the former Leicester City gaffer, talks to me at all these days, especially after I stitched him up at Filbert Street one morning. Leicester were playing Birmingham. It was a midday kick-off and Micky invited me into his office for bacon sarnies in the morning. He even agreed to give us access to the changing-rooms, complete with an interview alongside his striker Marcus Bent, when we went on air after 11 a.m. His only condition was that we didn’t reveal the team line-up by revealing the names on the backs of the shirts that were hanging in the dressing-room.

      When we went inside, Marcus Bent was sitting there alongside Micky Adams, good as gold. But when the camera lights came on and we linked up with Tim and Helen in the studio, Micky decided to do a runner. He flew out of the dressing-room and refused to be interviewed. He’d obviously decided to stitch me up, so I decided to pay him back.

      ‘As you can see, it’s two hours before kick-off,’ I said. ‘Ricky Scimeca sitting down there, Marcus Bent as well. Tony Adams… I mean Micky Adams has told us not to reveal who’s playing today [I then turned a shirt over to reveal SCIMECA 21], but seeing as the lads are here, we can show one or two [I turn another: STEWART 11], can’t we? Micky’s only in the other room, he’s bottled coming out so … [another and another: FERDINAND 9, DAVIDSON 14]. If he wants to tell me off, sorry Micky.’

      Micky, who had headed back to his office to watch the programme, could do nothing to stop me.

      ‘Look, Steve Bruce,’ I shouted down the camera, ‘Scowcroft’s playing. So is Isset, and Marcus will be starting up front.’

      Moments later I bumped into Micky’s goalkeeping coach, Tim Flowers, a Premiership winner with Blackburn Rovers and another former team-mate of mine from Swindon. We had a quick chat for the camera (after he’d almost dropped a ball I’d thrown at his midriff to test his reflexes), and I dropped him in it too.

      To camera I said, ‘One of the best goalkeepers I ever played with…’

      ‘You lying git,’ he СКАЧАТЬ