Totally Frank: The Autobiography of Frank Lampard

Gianfranco Zola used to hit more than a hundred balls every day after training was finished at Chelsea. When everyone else headed for the showers Franco stood in front of the goal and concentrated for a while longer. Bang, bang, bang. He was like a metronome. Even he, one of the most sublimely talented footballers I have ever played with, knew he needed to practise. It’s common among the elite and rare among the ordinary. Wayne Rooney does it when we are training with England. So do I.

Dad introduced me to that, was instrumental in instilling it, and it has been crucial to my development. Now I come across young kids who think because they have a contract with Chelsea they have made it. They drive nice cars and can’t wait to get into them and speed off after training. There are some good ones who will hang around and do a bit extra. I often stay on and practise shooting or free-kicks and one or two of the academy lads want to learn. They’ve got a chance of making it. I did my spikes and my agility training. I also practised in the park with the ball for hours.

Even before I signed for West Ham my Dad would take me to Chadwell Heath when the players had a day off and he would work on different aspects of my game. He would smash balls off the wall of the gym and make me stand with my back to the wall. I had to turn when I heard the ball rebound and react to whatever came my way. Dad knew that agility was a big part of succeeding in the middle of the park and I had to bring the ball under control. At times it was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially when it was freezing in the wind and miserable with rain. I still went though. He was obsessed with that kind of thing and in turn he made me obsessed. I was only 14 at the time.

I remember Tony Cottee was the man at West Ham then and Dad told me that Tony’s Dad had brought him to the ground and done the same thing that we were doing. It was his way of goading me into trying even harder, a sort of ‘He did it and look where he is’ kind of thing. I remember thinking that if Tony Cottee did it then I wanted to do it. It wasn’t usual to do that kind of work with a 14-year-old and I realized even then that my life was different from other kids. Most boys that age would never take up that kind of training but I was fortunate that Dad saw weaknesses before they were even there.

He was ahead of the game for that reason. He had a vision of how football was going and where it would eventually end up. When he played in the seventies, the game was much slower and less technical, athletic and competitive. It was completely different. Teams are tactically more aware now as well as physically stronger and my Dad, unlike a lot of others, saw that coming. He told me I had to increase my pace and strength. He would go on and on at me and I got fed up and angry with the constant nagging. When I was eleven I played in a game which hadn’t gone well. Dad was angry with me but I didn’t know what I had done wrong. He sat me down and got a pen and paper and explained to me how important it was when you played in midfield to cover runners. Before then, if someone played a one-two around me I would try to intercept the ball and the guy running would get played in behind me.

It’s the kind of thing that most kids don’t get coached on until youth level and there I was having it drilled in to me aged eleven. Covering runners is not fun and was probably the last thing I wanted to do. I was like every other kid who just wanted to get the ball and play without thinking about the consequences of the guy running in behind me. As you get older though, you realize their importance defensively and it gave me a head start.

I was already a very competitive child. Hardly surprising given my Dad’s career though my Mum was always the one who encouraged me to keep going and do better. Right from the start Dad was great at identifying the things I should work on and needed to improve but it was Mum who told me I should do it for myself. There is a photograph from that time which was taken at one of the summer schools. Even now Mum reminds me of it. I was not a good-looking child by any stretch and there’s me with my chubby little face and geeky teeth. ‘Who would have thought that you would be the one who ended up playing for Chelsea and England?’ she likes to say.

I am not alone in our family in having the honour to have played for my country. Dad played for England as did my cousin Jamie. When we were growing up, I can’t say that it felt unusual to be surrounded by people who were so immersed in football. How could it be? It was mostly all I had known and I just assumed that every family was like mine. I was wrong.

Bobby Moore used to come to our house to see Dad. I would walk into the lounge and the two of them would be there chatting about West Ham and football, with Mum fussing around with tea and biscuits. It never occurred to me that the man who had lifted the World Cup as captain of England was sitting on my couch.

Even when we went to Uncle Harry’s it didn’t really register that there was something very different, very special about my family. It was just us. I used to go to their house in Bournemouth on holiday every year and it was like going to the beach. My cousin Mark was also a very good footballer but his career was cut short by a bad knee injury. Whenever we all got together we talked about football. There were exceptions but not many.

Summer down at the Redknapps was a great season and they had a big party for Jamie’s birthday. The whole thing was over two days and when I turned up I was star struck. A few of the Liverpool boys were there, including Robbie Fowler. Trevor Sinclair was there too, though there was no doubt who the stars of the day were. It was the time of the infamous ‘spice boys’ and the lads had turned out in force. Jamie was very trendy and always first with new fashions. Quite a few times I got back from Bournemouth and told Mum what she needed to be buying to make me look good. On this particular occasion the lads were in Ralph Lauren shirts and tailored jeans.

There was a big barbeque in the garden of the house and it was crazy. There were gorgeous girls everywhere and, of course, Jamie was the king, the one they all wanted to talk to. It was an incredible sight. Jamie was cruising around with his mates, talking to everyone. I, on the other hand, felt a bit self-conscious. I was a lot younger and would not have blamed Jamie if he hadn’t even noticed that I’d turned up. Thing is, though, he always had time for me. I can’t imagine that too many big cousins who were in his position and at that party would have but he was very much like a big brother. When you grow up with someone like that you are always looking to them to set the standard and example. I went on my first boys’ holiday to Cyprus with Jamie, Don Hutchison and couple of Jamie’s mates from Bournemouth. I’m not sure how I ended up going at 17 but I persuaded my Mum it would be okay.

I had already been to Bermuda with my parents that summer. Dad did some coaching out there with former West Ham striker Clyde Best. I put some suntan oil on my face when I was there and came out in a big rash. I couldn’t believe it. I was going on holiday with Liverpool’s pin-up boy and his mates and I looked a real mess. They were brilliant though. He didn’t need the responsibility of having his little cousin there but he looked after me despite my beetroot face. While we were there we went into the main square of the town and before we knew it there was a huge crowd of people asking for autographs and to have pictures taken with him.

He was being really nice to everyone who approached him. I know now that it can become a nuisance. After all, you are there with your mates and trying to relax. In fact, I have seen players in that situation react very differently. I’ve seen some be very rude and tell people to get lost and the like – especially after a couple of beers. But Jamie was polite and it set something going in me. I thought that if I ever got to that level then I wanted to be like him. I appreciated how he was dealing with everyone. It was a lesson I wanted to be able to emulate. There’s no doubt that the more famous you become the harder it is to have time for everyone. Even now, you can be in a rush or have the baby in your arms and the last thing you want to do is sign an autograph but I think about Jamie in that square and what it taught me.

There was something about Jamie – he could cope with the demands and the pressure even though he was only 22 at the time. He just handled it and got on with things. We didn’t get to spend too much time together because of the distance between us when he lived in Liverpool but he always had good advice for me on the phone and I could call him whenever I wanted. He always had time for me and wanted to know how I was doing.

Even when I was 18 I was still learning from him. He came to train at Chadwell Heath when he was recovering from an injury while he was at Liverpool. We had a goal painted on a wall in the gym and in the corners of the goal were circles no bigger than the size of a ball. Each circle had a different number attached so that the top right corner was 1 and bottom right 2 and so on. Jamie and I wandered in there after I had finished a session and started messing around. He lined up a shot and shouted a number.

‘One.’ And the ball flew dead on target.

‘Four.’ Different corner. Same result.

‘Two.’ And again. And so on.

It was my turn. I was lucky to hit the goal never mind a circle. Jamie didn’t laugh or take the piss. He stopped me and started lining my body up and then gave me some advice. That was Jamie all over. Always wanting to help. I guess because of that it was quite weird when we came up against each other on the field.

I played against Liverpool with West Ham and we were head to head in midfield. He went in hard on me and it was a little bit over the ball on the knee. He got up straight away, panicked that he had hurt me. Like me, he is very family orientated and I would not have thought for a moment that he had tried to do me but he was concerned that I was okay.

The tables were turned a few years later when we faced each other again when he was at Spurs. I caught him with my studs and almost ruined his good looks with a scar. I remember feeling the same panic he must have felt all those years ago. He ended up with about thirty stitches in his mouth and had to have surgery. He reminds me of it sometimes. I cringe at the thought.

I love Jamie the person – our relationship as mates has really blossomed over the past few years. We speak all the time and one of the things which says a lot about his character is that despite all the difficulties he had with injuries and sheer bad luck there has never been a single shred of jealousy about him. He has been a positive influence and encouraging voice throughout for me.

Jamie is one of those people in life who genuinely wants to know about others, their thoughts and views on the game as well as on life. He makes people comfortable and that’s why he is such a natural on television and why he will succeed in management if he chooses to go into it.

Jamie was as good a role model as I could have wished for and as I got older the competitive spirit which had emerged in football began to manifest itself in just about every sport I took part in. As well as football I played cricket and was good enough to play for Essex at Under-12 to Under-15 level.

By that time my week was crammed full of sport. On Monday nights I went to Chelmsford to do nets with Essex cricket team. Tuesday was West Ham training and Wednesday was school team match or training. Thursday was Arsenal training while Friday was Tottenham and then on Saturday there was a school team game and then back to Sunday playing for Heath Park.

There was a point when I liked cricket almost as much as I did football. I was about eleven or twelve and Dad had played cricket for England schoolboys and was very good – probably better than me. He pushed me a bit but was wary that it might become as important as football. I liked it because I went to a school where they paid a lot more attention to cricket than football. I enjoyed batting and bowling. I was happy doing them and was more of an all-rounder, and that was what made me love the game as a younger kid.

At 14 I was playing in the first XI at cricket a year before I was at football which made it appear that I was better at cricket than I was at football but that wasn’t true. Maybe the cricket team wasn’t quite so good. I was a very stubborn little batsmen. I wasn’t strong enough to whack it everywhere but I was dogged. I would just block what I couldn’t hit far and stay in as long as I could – the Geoffrey Boycott type.

When I got older I had to field and that’s when I lost patience as well as interest. A lack of patience is one of my weaknesses. My Dad also started to slip into conversations the fact that professional footballers earned a lot more money than cricketers. That may sound odd but as you get older and money starts to mean something to you, it has an effect. Not just the money but the glory as well. Football is the national game and number one sport after all.

I’m not sure how far I would have gone in the game – I can’t imagine I was going to be a Freddie Flintoff – but it got to a stage when it was getting on my nerves. Mum and Dad had to pick me up at school at Brentwood and we set off on the journey to Chelmsford which took about fifteen minutes. I had to get changed in the back of the car which was a nuisance and I remember having the hump about it and started to make excuses so I didn’t have to go.

I glossed over the issue with my parents with some petty story but the the over-riding reason for quitting was my obsession with perfection. There were a few people who were better than me at cricket and I didn’t think that I could bridge the gap and that frustrated me. It was fine with football where I was good and thought that I could be better than everyone else. Being honest, that was why cricket faded out of my life. I accepted my limitations but it didn’t mean I wanted to remind myself of them every time I played.

I focused on football and at 14 went to Lilleshall for the annual trials. At the time, Lilleshall was the FA’s school of excellence for young footballers. They provided a two-year residential course which consisted of schooling as well as expert coaching. It was exciting but I was also nervous. I had broken my arm a couple of months before and I had it in my head that I wasn’t as fit as I should be. There were thirty-two kids trying out for sixteen places. We had two days of tests and training as well as playing games.

I got down to the last twenty-four which meant I was on the way. Then we did the bleep test where basically you run between two electronic markers until you drop. The highest level was around fourteen and I only managed to get to eleven. I wondered what they thought of me as a result but there was nothing I could do. I was absolutely exhausted.

The day ended and I went home to wait for the final selection process which was done by letter. Two weeks later the envelope dropped through the door. It was nerve wracking. I had tried to prepare myself for the disappointment by telling myself that my broken arm had handicapped my chances. Deep down, I knew that wasn’t true.

I was right about not getting in though. I was gutted. It was hard to accept the rejection. I was at a stage where I was regarded as one of the best players in Essex and I wanted to be the very best. To be told that I wasn’t even in the top sixteen in the country was a heavy blow. Lee Hodges, who I later played with for West Ham youths, was accepted though he decided to turn it down.

I wondered what Dad would think. In the end, he wasn’t that bothered. Lilleshall had a reputation for being very old school and the kind of coaching they utilized wasn’t necessarily what I needed. Players who have graduated from there have good things to say about it. You can’t argue with the talent of the likes of Joe Cole and Michael Owen who went there and have become top professionals. In retrospect, though, it may have been a lucky escape for me.

I had been exposed to very different methods and levels of coaching. After the age of ten I started attending academy football at West Ham, Tottenham and Arsenal. They each had their good points – and their bad.

West Ham were quite antiquated in their attitude. They didn’t really encourage you to become part of the club. There was a kind of arrogance where they just assumed that because you were a local boy who supported them then you automatically wanted to be part of their set-up. It was very impersonal. Spurs were actually the best. I had my eyes opened when I turned up to train and came across kids who were technically superior in many ways. It was all about the ball and what you could and should do with it. Not tricks but ways of beating a man on the run, or from standing still. I came up against boys there and thought ‘I want to be able to do that.’ They also had a different way of dealing with you. There was a meal after the session and everyone was friendly and encouraging.

Arsenal were something of a mix of the two. I enjoyed the coaching there though it was more physical. The people were very well trained in the latest techniques and seemed to know what they were talking about. For a few years I flitted between all three though it was clear in Dad’s mind where I would end up playing.

West Ham were in my heart, as they were in his, and I played my youth football there at the same time as I was playing for Heath Park and my school. It was hectic but I was doing what I loved. I never really stopped to think about much else though there were times when I had to.

I began to realize that after I joined a new team or club and got to know people, some kids developed a certain attitude towards me. It usually didn’t take too long. It had nothing to do with how fast I was, how good I was at football or cricket or how I spoke or looked. It was because I was Frank Lampard’s son.

The majority were fine and I made some very good friends. But some kids can be cruel and are easily made jealous and I was the son of a famous footballer. I never hid the fact of who my Dad was. Let’s face it, with a name like mine it would have been quite an act to pull off. I took a bit stick for it though and there were occasions when kids were determined to beat me at this or that because of who my Dad was.

It wasn’t just kids either. At Heath Park there was a lad called Danny who played centre-forward. He went on to play at youth level with West Ham as well and scored a lot of goals though he disappeared after a year or so. His Dad used to come along to games and would slag off everyone except his lad. He would always have a dig at me because I was ‘Lampard’. It really got on my nerves. I remember one game his son scored seven and I got eight but all he could shout was ‘Come on Lampard, pass the ball!’

Michael Black and I would just slag him off on the quiet. It was our way of dealing with it, though one day Michael had enough and told him to ‘F*** off.’ He was only 13 and this guy was silenced for the first time. I preferred to just stay quiet and get on with my football. To be honest, I didn’t really mind most of the time. I got used to kids reacting in different ways. When I turned up for a football game or athletics meeting most people were absoluetly fine but there was the odd time when I sensed someone was looking at me a bit differently.

I was shy but I wasn’t ashamed. Far from it. And in a way, it worked in my favour because it made me more determined to do well. Not to prove them wrong but to prove to myself that I was better – better than them and better than the cheap shots about my Dad.

I was already good at football but that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to be good at everything. I concede that it may not have been the most healthy attitude at times. On one occasion I remember I was due to do a cross-country run after school and was so obsessed with how well I would do that I got a stress headache. It got worse throughout the day and was really thumping by the time I was changed and ready to race. I should have told the teacher and just abandoned it. But no, I was determined. I did it and I won but at the end I was just hanging in there.

It wasn’t all about winning all of the time. I dropped in and out of other sports with the fashion just like most kids of that age. I had fun doing other stuff and hanging out with my friends but I can’t deny that the desire to win was something which burned fiercely within me. Like the time I scored the own goal, there are other episodes which stand out in memory which I realize instilled in me the competitive edge which has been so essential to my development as a footballer and as a person.

When I was about seven I was due to run a 200-metre race. There was a another lad there who was bigger than me and was expected to stroll through it. I looked at him and thought I could take him. I was determined to beat him. The race went off and I fell a bit behind and then disaster struck; I fell over half way through it from trying so hard to keep in touch. I was distraught and had to be picked up off the track.

It was hard to get over. I was still in tears when I got home, and spent the rest of the day upset and hiding in my room. No one could talk me out of it. I was embarrassed but worse still, I knew what it was to fail.

Sport was extremely important in my life and usually came first for me but I was aware that I needed more than just games to get on in life. I suppose for a lot of boys who go on to become professional footballers schooling gets tucked away with your old uniform. My experience was a bit different.

Dad earned a good wage as a player and he and Mum wanted me to have a better start in life. I was sent to a fee-paying school to get a good education that would help me decide for myself what I wanted to do. Going to Brentwood was a great opportunity and one I’m glad of.

It’s quite a posh school which has a bit of a reputation for producing high achievers. Sir Robin Day, and the comedian and actor Griff Rhys Jones went there as did Noel Edmonds. It was quite daunting to arrive at a place where the motto is ‘Virtue Learning Manners’, especially when you’re a footballer’s son from Essex.

It was a lot less stiff than I expected and I adapted quite quickly. My childhood – especially my craving for football – was undiminished by the fact that I went to school with kids who had been brought up without the obsession with football which I knew as the dominant force in my life. There was a real mix of different kids – some had parents who worked in the City, others were well off because their Dad happened to have done well in the building trade. I brought a strong sense of my own identity along with my determination. I was still an Essex boy with working-class parents who loved nothing more than football.

It was a new and interesting environment. None of my neighbours went there and I had a different outfit to some of the other boys around my street – including shorts and a cap in summer. It was very traditional but after a while the embarrassment wore off. Well, almost.

My parents felt a bit uncomfortable with some of the others at my school and they weren’t really the type to get involved in meetings or administration. It didn’t bother me except for one particular instance when it would have been nice if they had been paying attention to what was going on.

Mum took me in the car to school as usual but as we drove through the gates I realized that something was very wrong. All the children were wearing a different uniform. Well, actually, they all had the same uniform on – neat black shorts and shirts. It was just me who was wearing something completely different. I ducked down in the car like some kind of criminal and told Mum to keep driving. Why was I still in tweed blazer and trousers? Apparently, the uniform had changed for spring term but no one in our house had noticed. I was mortified and had the day off school while Mum went out and bought the new outfit.

She still laughs about that and it’s a silly story but there is a serious point to it – people took the piss out of me because of where I went to school. All my Heath Park mates certainly did – mainly because I went to school on Saturdays so when everyone else was going out to play football with their mates or heading off to a game I was sitting in a classroom learning French and algebra.