The most dedicated player in the world

Been with the club this long..

On this wage...

Hope he doesn't have a family to support!

LOL

He's just waiting for his chance to PROVE himself...

you are in championship give him more wage,he don't have what to eat i think for 5p/w,he is so dedicated,he have to get more for what! such a loyal member...

That's real sweet.

Here's his real-life journeyman counterpart:

Eyre's life short on graces

By Robert Philip

Published: 12:01AM BST 20 Apr 2005

When Manchester City were casting round for a sufficiently towering figure to act as host in the Legends' Lounge of their magnificent new stadium, there was really only one candidate to consider. Allow me to introduce Fred Eyre.

Our hero, it must be said, never played in an FA Cup final with a broken neck like Bert Trautmann, nor did he win 48 caps, as did Billy Meredith in an era when 'international' football comprised the Home Internationals. He did not go on to become European Footballer of the Year like Denis Law, or win a championship medal like Francis Lee, Colin Bell and Mike Summerbee, but he is a legend nonetheless.

Just as Maine Road was bulldozed after the club's move to the City of Manchester Stadium, so Fred's football career lies before him as a pile of rubble; a wasteland of broken dreams. It began promisingly enough when he joined his beloved Man City as an apprentice, devotedly polishing the boots of his twin heroes, Trautmann and Law, and ended 40 years later on an unexpected high note in 1998 as assistant manager of FA Cup semi-finalists Sheffield United.

It is what happened in the intervening four decades, however, that has made Fred a football icon. Given rapid-fire free transfers by Manchester City, Lincoln City and Huddersfield Town before the age of 21, he then embarked on a B-road mystery tour of non-League outposts - Oswestry to Rossendale to New Brighton to Ellesmere Port to Radcliffe to Chadderton - ultimately playing for (and being released by) 20 clubs under 112 managers and coaches.

Somewhere along the way, Fred, now 61, built up one of the most successful office supply companies in the land, launched himself on an unsuspecting public as an after-dinner speaker, and became a best-selling author by turning the low lights of his career into a sometimes poignant, frequently hilarious, autobiography. First published in 1981 and reprinted 39 times, Kicked Into Touch has sold over a million copies, inspiring Fred to pen a newly-revised, extended and updated version.

As he surveyed the next generation of local Shaun Wright-Phillips wannabes honing their ball skills on the Astroturf pitch of the club's youth academy (under the watchful eye of his son, Steve, incidentally), Fred reflected on his ascent to legend status. "Being given a free transfer by Man City scarred me for life. It was a bit easier by the 20th time I was ditched right enough, but the first one was heartbreaking. In those days you were sent a letter which began 'Dear Sir . . .' I suppose the writing had been on the wall but you seldom linger long enough to read your own graffiti.''

And so, after four years at the club but without a single first-team appearance on his CV, it was time to collect his boots and begin his travels. "As I walked slowly along the corridor, I somehow managed to force a smile of bravado when my pal Jimmy from the main office popped his head out to say goodbye.

" 'Of all the lads, we were hoping you would get another season to prove yourself'," said Jimmy. " 'It's been heart-breaking watching you battle the way you have, but you didn't even achieve a near miss'."

" 'What do you mean'?"

"Jimmy glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening. 'Here, read this,' he whispered, handing me my assessment from reserve team coach Johnny Hart to the manager, Les McDowell.

''On the slip of paper were written three words: NOT FOR ME. Not 'a good passer but . . .', not 'an excellent trainer but . . .' not even 'a lovely lad but . . .' For as long as I could remember I'd worked and thought about nothing else but playing for City and at the very end I was worth precisely three words. I wasn't to know that at many clubs in the future the message would be reduced even further to just two words."

First stop Sincil Bank, home of Fourth Division Lincoln City, where manager Bill Anderson appeared keen on his new recruit but Sandy the labrador less so. "Unknown to me, Sandy was not only inseparable from his master but was also the most influential individual at the club. The lads firmly believed Sandy drew up the retained list at the end of the season, helped select the team and was even in the official team photograph, proudly perched at the end of the front row grinning like Huckleberry Hound.''

An old-fashioned wing-half - "a position which, just like most of the clubs I played for, is now extinct" - this time Eyre did read the writing on the wall, or at least in the local paper. "Will Lincoln be at full strength today, or will Eyre play?" pondered one scribe, while another opined: "The manager has switched Eyre from right-half to left-half to make room for the return of Murray; it will make no difference to the two-footed Eyre, who can play equally badly on either side."

Another new season, another new club and another new coach with whom to wage hostilities. ''I want you to play like you've never played before, I want you to play well,' one encouraged me. Another had a stammer. 'If y-you f-fancy signing, g-give m-me a r-ring at home and if n-nobody answers, that w-will be m-me.' " At Oswestry Town, Fred came under the influence of Alan Ball Snr. "He used to bring his famous son to some of our games. After one match at New Brighton I was driving home when my car broke down in the Mersey Tunnel. The two Alans who were in the car behind offered to give me a tow, an offer I declined. I didn't want people saying I'd been dragged out the Mersey Tunnel by the Balls."

When one long-suffering manager decided Fred could no longer last the full game and substituted him after 70 minutes in six consecutive matches, it was time for extreme measures. "Just before we left the dressing room at the start of the second half, I nicked the No 3 card from his box of numbers and hid it in the toilet. I thoroughly enjoyed myself after the interval, until I spotted the familiar sight of our trainer standing on the touchline 20 minutes from the end. He was holding the white coloured inside of an Elastoplast box with a large '3' scribbled in Biro. When they want you off that badly you just have to go as gracefully as possible."

Clearly, Fred learned something about the manager's role because he, himself, enjoyed a highly successful if fleeting reign as caretaker at Wigan in 1981 during which the Latics beat Mansfield 2-0 and drew 0-0 at Bury.

It was while on his way to Bury that Fred discovered via the radio that Larry Lloyd had been appointed Wigan manager from the following week. "I handed over with a record which should ensure me a place in the Guinness Book or Records as the only Football League manager never to lose a game or even concede a goal in his entire management career and still lose his job. I was at least hoping to win a half bottle of whisky by being voted Bell's Manager of the Fortnight."

But it is as a player that Fred won the affection if not the admiration of all. The highlight, if it can be called that, of Eyre's playing days came when he was selected ("don't ask me how") to represent Northern Internationals against Southern Internationals in front of 10,000 spectators at Selhurst Park.

''There were some great players, they had Greavsie, we had Bobby Charlton, and I played in the back four shoulder to shoulder with John Charles. I'd had better nights and at the end of the game when we were sitting side by side in the dressing room, John put his hand on my knee - and, remember, he'd played with Sivori, Boniperti, the very, very best - and said: 'You know what, Fred? You must be the worst ******* player I've ever played with in my ******* life'.

He's earned a testimonial after playing zero league games. That's amazing.

Yeah he remembers the good ol' carefree days back in the BSS.