jeremy tatman

Before Dean Windass faced Robbie Savage, Paul Jewell pulled him aside with one instruction before they'd even gone out for the warm-up. “Don’t get involved with Savage.” “I won’t, gaffer.” He walked out and Savage was at him almost immediately. “Now then, fatty.” Windass was ready to flatten him before kick-off. And Savage kept going. “You’re a fat pub player.” On and on, all afternoon. Leicester beat Bradford 3-0 and Windass barely got near him because he was too wound up to play. At one point he went straight over the top of Savage and picked up a booking. With around 15 minutes to go, Jewell had had enough and took him off. So there was Windass on the bench, still fuming, with Savage giving him a wave. Jewell lost it after the final whistle. “What did I tell you about Savage?” Windass was crying with rage. Heading down the tunnel, he spotted Gerry Taggart on his phone. “Tags, you got a players’ bar?” “Yeah, just on the right-hand side there.” “Will Robbie Savage be there?” “Yeah, yeah.” “Why?” “I’m going to batter him.” Taggart had no intention of talking his teammate down. “I’ll come watch.” In they went. Savage was stood at the far end of the bar, and Windass clocked him straight away. As he got closer, out came the wave again. “You won’t be waving in a minute.” He got right up to him, and Savage said: “Do you want a pint, mate?” “You what?” Then Savage went one better. “Have you met my mum and dad?” Windass turned to see an older couple, and that was that. He could hardly lamp Robbie Savage in front of his parents. So he stood there and shook their hands instead. “Hello, Mr and Mrs Savage.” Savage offered him another drink. “No, no, no. I’ve got to get off. All the best. Well played.” Back on the coach, Taggart finished him off. “That wasn’t his mum and dad, it was just some random couple.” “He absolutely done me.” Ninety minutes of winding him up, and he still saved the best bit for the bar.