Stuart Ripley, 47

Then: winger with Middlesbrough, Blackburn Rovers, Southampton and England, Premier League winner with Blackburn in 1995.

Now: qualified solicitor and prospective law lecturer, Ribble Valley, Lancashire.

The only thing I knew I wanted to do when I retired was to go to university. I got nine O-levels and then joined Middlesbrough at 16, so that option was taken away. I was in the first team at 17 and life was taking care of itself. I won the Premier League and represented my country, but when I retired at 34, I felt I’d missed out by not going to university. So, after taking a bit of time out, I enrolled at the University of Central Lancashire. My first intention was to do a foreign languages degree, but that meant a year abroad and I couldn’t just up and leave; by then, the kids were in school. So I ended up on a combined course: French, criminology and law.

I went to some law lectures and thoroughly enjoyed them. At that stage, I never had any intention to become a solicitor. After my degree, I did the postgraduate certificate for a year and then got a training contract with Brabners, a firm in Manchester. I spent two years in different departments – you have to jump through the hoops. Once I qualified, I ended up working in the sports law department. I probably learned more about the business of football in the first six months than I did playing. You’re very cosseted from that world as a player, at least until your contract’s up and you need to start negotiating.

I left Brabners in 2013. While working for them I went into football clubs to speak to young players about various issues: agents, social media, those kinds of subjects. Players need to be better informed about how agents operate. And social media advice is just common sense, recognising the responsibility that comes with being a role model and highlighting the detrimental impact that a hastily posted tweet can have on a player’s career. I enjoyed talking to the young lads and I’m hoping to build up a portfolio of lectures. That’s the direction I’m going in.

Football’s not real life, and if you do move away from it, you get a different perspective and a different grasp on things. The rhythm of your life changes completely. When you’re playing, you’ve got two potentially very big highs within a week – you play on a Tuesday or Wednesday and then at the weekend. That’s a huge adrenaline rush. When you retire, that’s very difficult to replace. You’ve got to find another goal in life.

Mark Ward, 52

Then: winger for West Ham, Manchester City and Everton, finished third in the First Division with West Ham in 1986.

Now: former inmate of Liverpool’s Walton prison.

Mark Ward in his playing days, as an Everton winger. Photograph: Rex Features

When I left Everton in 1994, I joined Birmingham as player-coach. We won the Second Division title that year. But the manager Barry Fry and I didn’t seem to gel and I moved on. You think you’re going to get another job, but there are only so many to go round. Not everyone can do it.

I wish I’d been more savvy. I didn’t look after my money properly, and that was my downfall. It was a question of timing. If I had been playing a few years later I’d have been a millionaire. For my best contract, I was on about £2,000 a week. After tax at 40%, it’s 1,200 quid. When you’re living the lifestyle of the big house, the cars and the holidays, it’s not that much. And you try to carry on living that life.

I made a mistake when I was really down financially. I rented out a property: I knew it was going to be used for a stash and, knowing the people I knew, it was probably some form of drugs. It was terrible decision. What the police found – four kilos of cocaine – was down to me. I couldn’t disclose who had rented the property, because of the risk of repercussions to my close ones, so I had to take the sentence on the chin. I was caught up in the cogs of it all.

I got an eight-year sentence and served four. The first year in Walton prison was horrendous. You’re banged up for 23 hours a day; there were suicides and a lot of violence. It was difficult not to be recognised and there were a few inmates who could be confrontational. But on my first morning, I awoke to see a pile of goodies left by inmates – shaving foam, tea, coffee. There are a lot of Evertonians in Walton. I tried to do my time as quickly and as positively as I could, doing sport science courses, victim awareness courses, being a gym orderly, writing a book.

I’ve been out six years now. There aren’t many people in this world who give you a second chance, especially in football, but West Ham have welcomed me with open arms. I work there in an ambassador role a few times in a season. I’m hoping to work with Xpro in the future – it’s an organisation of footballers looking after other footballers who’ve fallen on hard times. There are 144 ex-pros in prison; 120 of them on drug offences.

I do a little bit of after-dinner speaking, too. I’ve worked on building sites and done driving jobs, but I’d love to get a steady job.

David Hillier, 45

David Hillier: ‘Being a firefighter is a team job – like football, but on 100 grand a year less.’ Photograph: Richard Saker/Guardian

Then: Arsenal midfielder, First Division title winner in 1991.

Now: firefighter, Bristol.

I left Bristol Rovers in 2002. I didn’t want to start going on trial at clubs at the age of 33. I could never rekindle what I had at Arsenal, where I’d won the championship, the FA Cup, the League Cup and the Cup Winners’ Cup, so I thought I might as well just bow out. I’d been at a club that had gone into administration [Portsmouth, in 1999], I was a bit disillusioned.

I definitely needed to work. I wasn’t struggling, but the money couldn’t go on for ever. Then, one day, my wife and I heard on the radio that they were recruiting firefighters in Bristol.

I failed the interview three times. I’d had no experience of interviews; I’d been a footballer who’d been looked after all his life. You don’t understand what’s required to get a job. I got in at the fourth attempt.

Firefighting is a team job. You eat together, you drink together, you’re always in the gym together. It’s just like being a footballer, but on about 100 grand a year less. When you save a life or go into a particularly hostile environment, there’s an adrenaline buzz. It’s exhilarating – you go into a room that’s 900 degrees, where you’re being pushed to the floor by the smoke because if you stand up in it, you’ll cook. There’s adrenaline in football, too, of course, but you’re more accustomed to it, especially when you grow up at a big club. I was in successful sides from when I was 11, so while picking up trophies was fantastic, I’d had those feelings since I was a kid. They weren’t the norm, but they weren’t extraordinary either.

I’m gradually doing more media work, co-commentating for Arsenal’s online TV channel, as well as the odd bit for Sky, BT Sport and Talksport. That’s rekindling my love for the game after the disillusionment when I retired. I also play for the Arsenal Foundation charity team when I can. Firefighting’s a fantastic job, but I am – and always will be – a footballer.

Jeff Whitley, 36

Jeff Whitley: ‘Customers look at me and say, “I know you, don’t I?” It’s usually followed by an apology from me, in case I met them during my drinking career.’ Photograph: Richard Saker/Guardian

Then: midfielder with Manchester City, Sunderland and Northern Ireland, with 20 international caps.

Now: secondhand car salesman, Stockport.

When I was at Manchester City, I drank to excess. A mate had gone through rehab before me and he kept telling me, “You’re just like me. Stop drinking and your career will soar.” I laughed it off: “I’ll stop when I’m your age.” But unfortunately it got me sooner than expected. Going through rehab was one of the reasons my career ended before I was 30.

My mate and his partner in their car business said: “Why don’t you come to work for us?” I’d never had any sales training. I had to sit, listen and watch a lot of the time. It wasn’t easy, but it was something I had to do. I didn’t respect money as a player, and it lasts for only so long. I had a family to support. I wasn’t one to finish football and sit on the dole.

Customers often expect the hard sell, but we’re not like that here. Half the time you end up talking about football more than the car. I get asked for autographs now and again. I even had a gentleman come in to buy a car because he found out I was working there. Some customers look at me and say, “I know you, don’t I?” It’s a question that’s usually followed by an apology from me: “If I ever bumped into you in my drinking career, then I do apologise if I offended you in any shape or form…”

I don’t know where I’m going to be in the future. I’ve done my Uefa B coaching licence and am helping out with youngsters at [League Two club] Morecambe’s development centre one night a week. I’d like to give something back, to give a little hope and strength to somebody else. I’ve done work with Sporting Chance, going to football clubs, educating younger players. Not necessarily about drink or drugs – it could be about anything: peer pressure, girlfriends, family, gambling. Things like this are hushed up in football clubs.



Simon Garner, 55

Then: Blackburn Rovers hero striker for whom he is still the all-time top goalscorer.

Now: painter and decorator, Cookham, Berkshire.

Who needs Alan Shearer? Simon Garner is still Blackburn Rovers’ all-time top goalscorer Photograph: Colorsport/Rex

I never thought about what I’d do after playing. I’d not trained for anything. Today, you sign a contract and you’re set up for life. Back then, you had to find a job. And it’s tough getting used to not playing football every day. You think you’re going to play for ever, but then you’re 35 before you know it. It’s a whirlwind life, from scoring hat-tricks against Manchester City to damp Tuesday nights in the depths of the old Third Division. I finally retired in 1996 at the age of 36, having scored almost 200 league goals.

I carried on playing football part-time but, during a messy first divorce, I got sent to prison for contempt of court. I served one month of a nine-month sentence. While I was inside, I got a letter from the owner of Wycombe Wanderers, offering me a job selling mortgages. I did that for a short while when I got out, but didn’t like it, so I became a postman. I thought the early starts and early finishes would let me still play part-time, but I got fed up with the early mornings.

A friend offered me a job painting and decorating. I’ve been self-employed for about 10 years now. I’m my own boss and I work at my own pace. I can pick and choose what I do. Where I live in Berkshire, I don’t get recognised much when I turn up for jobs. It would be a completely different kettle of fish if I were in Blackburn.

I didn’t dwell on the career change too much; I had to get on with my life and earn some money. Having more freedom was very welcome. When you’re playing football, you can’t do anything for the eight months of a season. You can’t enjoy Christmas Day, because you always had a game on Boxing Day. You can’t go away and get some winter sunshine.

I don’t miss playing as much as I thought I would. Life goes on. I’ve done my bit and brought a lot of joy to people. Don’t get me wrong – it’s still great when I go to Blackburn games and hear my name chanted – but it’s another chapter of my life. I’ve moved on.

Arjan De Zeeuw, 45

Arjan De Zeeuw: ‘I still can’t think of a better job. In your heart, you want to play until you’re 100.’ Photograph: Richard Saker/Guardian

Then: captain of Wigan Athletic and Portsmouth, led Wigan to the 2006 League Cup final.

Now: police detective, Alkmaar, the Netherlands.

I studied at university for a medical degree, but after the first few years, at 25, I got the chance to go to England to play. I thought I’d go there, play for a couple of years, come back and become a doctor. But I enjoyed it so much that I came back 13 years later instead, after playing for Barnsley, Wigan, Portsmouth and Coventry. The passion in the English game was much better than in the Netherlands. And captaining various teams was a little special, especially as a foreigner.

It was difficult to pick up my medical studies again. There were another seven or eight years of study left, and that scared me. I was 39 and I’d be heading towards my late 40s before I could practise on my own. Then I heard about an opportunity to be fast-tracked as a detective with the Dutch police. I thought about it long and hard. “I’ve already had a change of career. Why not again?”

I’ve always wanted the world to be a fairer place. I’ve always encouraged people to get along – that probably explains why I’ve captained a lot of the teams I played for. Before I became a professional footballer, I had a nickname: The Peacemaker.

I’ve been involved with burglaries, robberies and human trafficking cases. In future, I’ll be working on murders and kidnappings. I lean towards forensics, so hopefully I’ll be dealing with crime scenes.

I was once recognised at work. We were interviewing a suspect about numerous burglaries and the guy said. “I know you. You used to be that footballer who played in England!” So we chatted about football and then carried on discussing the crime. My footballing past also helps in that I’m used to physical contact. We get training in handling ourselves in volatile situations, and I’m pretty relaxed about that.

I earned decent money in England. The best wages were when I played in the Premier League with Wigan, but that was for only two years. It wasn’t enough to sit on my bottom for the rest of my life. That’s not me, anyway. I don’t want to stand on the golf course and swing my club a little bit every afternoon. But I still can’t think of a job that would appeal to me more than being a professional footballer. In your heart, you want to play until you’re 100. For the first few years after retirement, I’d wake up every Saturday morning: “Who are we playing? Oh God, I’m not playing…”

Nigel Spink, 56

Then: goalkeeper for England and Aston Villa, 1982 European Cup winner.

Now: courier, Sutton Coldfield, West Midlands.

Nigel Spink in full flight. Photograph: Rob Thomas/Getty Images

I spent 23 years as a player in the English league, 20 of those in the top flight, mainly for Aston Villa. In 2000, at the age of 42, I fancied playing for one more year after leaving Millwall, so I went to non-league Forest Green Rovers. After about 10 games, the manager got the sack and my old Villa team-mate Dave Norton and I became joint managers. I found it too difficult, both playing and managing, so gave up playing. I stayed as manager for 18 months. Then I hooked up with Steve Bruce and worked as a goalkeeping coach at Birmingham, before going with him to both Wigan and Sunderland.

When the whole management team at Sunderland got the sack, my friend Paul Munro and I hired a van to clear out my rented apartment and bring my stuff back to the family home in the West Midlands. We were pootling along the motorway with a van full of gear – “Hmmm, this isn’t too bad”. Paul was looking for an alternative career, so six months later we started up our company, S&M Couriers. In the meantime, I got another job at Bristol City that lasted a couple of years, but it was all coming to a natural end. I was ready to come out of full-time football – it had become very demanding. If you’re in the Premier League, you get the financial benefits of working seven days a week. If you’re not in the Premier League, you don’t and I wasn’t enjoying what I was doing. I’d fallen out of love.

Since I started driving the van, I’ve loved it. We’re nationwide, so we go anywhere. This week I’ve been up to Berwick-upon-Tweed, to Glasgow, to Aberdeen, to Cornwall, to Kent. I’ve delivered a pallet of eggs to Tesco in Cardiff, I’ve delivered parts to a wind farm. Anything that fits in the van, we’ll deliver.

The reward is trying to make a success of the business. And I love driving. We used to take it in turns driving Steve Bruce’s Mercedes up to Wigan from Birmingham, and I drove back home from Sunderland two or three times every couple of weeks. I really enjoy meeting the people who load you up or unload you at the other end – ordinary people who aren’t in the fantasy world of football. I get recognised quite often, especially if I’m delivering in the Midlands. It’s nice. People want to talk about football and ask about my career. They don’t understand why I don’t want to be in the game any more. But it’s OK, I understand that they don’t understand.