Give a dog a bad name

 On match days at Elland Road the players' car-park is an
 automobile anorak's dream. Like dogs, the vehicles reveal much
 about their owners. Harry Kewell's sleek silver Porsche sits
 beside Alan Smith's no-nonsense black BMW. Teddy Lucic, the
 reliable Swedish full-back, drives an equally dependable Volvo.
 'All of them have got very nice motors,' says the amiable,
 brick-outhouse-sized sentry. 'Millsy has brought the 4X4 today
 because he's got his girlfriend and young 'uns with him. El Tel
 usually comes in a fancy Merc CLK soft-top, but you'll not see
 that till after the final whistle. The Gaffer always has a chauffeur.'
 He gives a wry smile. 'Times have certainly changed. I
 remember when John Lukic was in goal a few years ago. He
 used to be happy with a little Ford Fiesta.' 

 It is a typically cold, grey, late December day in west Yorkshire;
 half-time at Leeds United's home game against Chelsea. Inside
 the packed stadium, however, the home fans are all aglow,
 warmed by a brilliant goal by the new local boy-wonder, James
 Milner. 

 But where, one wonders, is the vehicle belonging to the more
 familiar figure who ordinarily occupies young Milner's berth in the
 midfield? Lee Bowyer is said to be recovering from a nagging
 ankle injury, but surely he'll be here to lend moral support as his
 team-mates struggle to recover from a disastrous start to the
 season? Strangely not. The space usually occupied by
 P11BOW - the registration combines his squad number and
 nickname - stands vacant. 

 In fact, Bowyer's agent David Geiss tells me later, Bowyer was
 visiting his family in London, having been given the weekend off
 by Venables following intensive work on the ankle. 'He's actually
 on crutches at the moment,' he told me defensively. 'The
 treatment has not responded, so he had a local anaesthetic and
 headed down to see his parents. What's wrong with that?'
 Plenty, diehard Leeds fans would answer. The security guard
 clearly believes his absence amounts to high treason. 'If I were
 the boss I wouldn't even let him train with the first team,' he
 snorts. 'I'd send him off to train with the kids so he can't even
 show how good he is. The feeling here is that enough is enough.
 Let's be rid of him.' 

 Talking to the Elland Road faithful, one finds this to be a
 representative view. In the club shop, the clamour for replica
 Bowyer shirts was once surpassed only by the demand for
 those bearing the name of home-grown citizen Smith. At the
 Chelsea game, though, of the 400 or so shirts sold, only a
 handful were Bowyers. 'All the lads at school have gone right off
 him. People think he's just playing for money, not for the club,'
 said 16-year-old Skott Hudson, his gold and blue club scarf
 fastened against the chill. 'I'm not that bothered about him
 coming back into the side. I mean, he's a good player, but he's
 not committed any more is he?' 

 A few yards away stood a bronze bust of a true Leeds legend:
 the late Billy Bremner, who made 771 appearances for the club
 and epitomised loyalty. Little more than a year ago, it seemed
 plausible that, in the fullness of time, Bowyer's statue might be
 mounted outside the ground, too, such was his enormous
 popularity. Today the chances of that happening seem remote
 indeed. 

 And it is not only here in Yorkshire that Lee Bowyer has
 become a outcast. Until recently he was regarded as one of the
 brightest English talents in the game, someone capable of
 excelling at the highest level. As recently as last summer
 several Premiership clubs were fighting to sign him, with
 Liverpool leading the chase and prepared to pay the £9m asking
 price. 

 Yet, as OSM went to press, Bowyer signed for West Ham
 United and in doing so chose to dedicate the next five months to
 helping the club that is bottom of the Premiership fight for
 survival. The move may have shocked many in the football world,
 but well-placed sources at Leeds maintained that none of the
 game's biggest clubs had shown the remotest interest, despite
 his availability at a bargain price. That Bowyer, who is more
 used to playing in Champions League games than relegation
 battles opted for a move back to London graphically
 demonstrates the personal and professional limbo he found
 himself in. 

 Bowyer may find himself in the same predicament in the
 summer, when he will be a free agent. His contract with Leeds,
 whom he joined from Charlton Athletic for £2.6m in 1996, will
 have run its course in June, and he will be a free agent. Why,
 though, wasn't one of the country's big clubs prepared to sign a
 player who showed his quality just four months ago when
 making an assured England debut against Portugal, and who,
 having turned 26 three days into the new year, should be
 approaching his peak? 

 No club would go on the record, but the proliferation of fan
 websites offers some insight into what supporters think. When
 Bowyer was briefly linked with Arsenal in the summer there was
 a plea on the Arseweb site that the club shun him, while more
 recently the reaction by Newcastle fans was equally negative.
 All the same it was a bizarre situation, one quite unparalleled for
 a leading young player at the top of the modern game and it
 begs a simple question: why has Lee Bowyer become the most
 demonised figure in British sport? And, more pertinently
 perhaps, is his vilification really justified? 

 For more than a year now, since Bowyer stood trial at Hull
 Crown Court accused of affray and causing grievous bodily harm
 to the Asian student Sarfraz Najeib, I have been seeking the
 answers to these questions. In so doing, I have visited the
 tough, insular, and racially sensitive Teviot Estate in Poplar,
 East London, where he was raised, talking to his old friends and
 neighbours. I have sought the opinions of those who played with
 him and coached him and spoken to those unfortunate enough
 to have been on the receiving end when the ogre that lurks within
 Bowyer suddenly rises up. 

 The character that emerges is certainly sometimes disturbing,
 but he is also complicated and occasionally even confusing.
 There are reasons to take seriously his caricature in the tabloids
 as a racist thug, but there is undoubtedly another, altogether
 more agreeable side to his character. 

 In one sense Bowyer's demise can be dated almost exactly - to
 his belated 23rd birthday party on the night of January 12, 2000,
 when he was among a group of Leeds players involved in the
 vicious fracas which ended with an appalling assault on the
 Asian student Sarfraz Najeib. The subsequent trials of Bowyer
 and his team-mate Jonathan Woodgate provided graphic
 testaments of Mr Najeib's terrifying ordeal. After an early
 morning altercation outside the Majestyk night club, he was
 chased through Leeds city centre, then kicked, punched and
 bitten so savagely that he eventually lost consciousness. His
 leg was fractured, his nose broken, and Paul Clifford - a friend of
 Woodgate - sunk his teeth into his cheek and shook him around
 like a mad dog, according to one eye witness. 

 The investigation and legal process dragged on for two years
 and spanned three football seasons, and as the evidence of that
 terrible night became clearer so Bowyer's reputation, which was
 already tarnished, became hugely damaged. In one
 unforgettable front-page, the Daily Mirror managed to dredge up
 all the alleged misdemeanours and wrap them into a single
 headline. Bowyer, they said, was a 'boozing, pot-smoking,
 violent, racist, cowardly, unapologetic, odious, transfer-listed'
 scumbag. One doubts whether his mother, who likes to keep a
 record of her boy's exploits, pasted that one in her scrapbook. 

 All this overlooks one salient point, of course. After a twice-held
 trial at Hull Crown Court, Lee Bowyer was found not guilty of
 causing grievous bodily harm and making affray. There is a
 principle of English justice that anyone who stands trial, and is
 cleared, should walk free without a stain on his character. In this
 case, it was turned on its head. Woodgate, who was convicted
 of affray, was left to rebuild his career, and has done so quietly
 and commendably, while the pursuit of Bowyer has continued
 apace - though both may find themselves back in court with
 Najeib suing Bowyer, Woodgate and the other defendants for
 damages in the civil courts (the case is due to be heard later
 this year, possibly just as the new season gets under way). 

 In many ways, Bowyer has hardly helped his own cause. Apart
 from his intermittently violent behaviour on the field (he awaits
 what is expected to be a lengthy Uefa ban for stamping on the
 head of Malaga midfielder Gerardo), he refused to pay a
 club-imposed fine of £88,000 (four weeks' wages) for cavorting
 on that fateful January night, declined to re-sign a proposed
 five-year extension to his contract after Leeds stood by him
 through the legal wrangle, and then snubbed the move to
 Liverpool in the summer - because, it was claimed, the Anfield
 club would only pay him around £35,000 a week rather than the
 £40,000 he was demanding. Most of all, though, Bowyer has not
 helped his own cause because he has not shown much
 contrition or humility for what happened in Leeds city centre
 three years ago. 

 Certainly his attitude has alienated Bowyer from the Leeds fans.
 Yet it is surely too simplistic to suggest that all his problems
 stem from one night of drunken folly. We should remember that
 his performances actually improved as the wheels of justice
 slowly turned. During his first trial - abandoned after the Sunday
 Mirror published a prejudicial interview with Mr Najeib's father -
 he would dash from crown court dock, arriving at the ground
 minutes before kick-off, then play like a man possessed. He
 spearheaded Leeds' impressive march to the Champions League
 semi-finals with a succession of superb performances and
 timely goals. 

 His then manager David O'Leary describes him now as 'a freak',
 and still believes him to be, naturally, the fittest player of his
 generation. 'People said to me after the first court case, "Great
 coaching, David, keeping him fit",' O'Leary told me, a year ago.
 'Load of crap. I did nothing. He never did train. Lee is the sort
 who just lives for football. If you had training till 6pm others
 would moan, but so long as there was a ball he would be out
 there.' 

 Asked to describe Bowyer's character, O'Leary depicts not a
 monster but a puckish Cockney fourth-former. 'You know, he
 has this dancey little way around the place - shrewdy,
 streetwise type of fellow. Loves animals, absolutely loves them. I
 remember him once, knocking on my door and saying, "Boss,
 the dog's not well, it's having an operation at the vet." I thought
 he was winding me up. He said, "I'd like to be there when it's
 getting done. When will we be getting a day off, because I'd like
 to arrange mine to take the dog to the vet."' 

 O'Leary believes Bowyer visibly grew in stature after he was
 charged, and wouldn't hesitate to sign him if he takes another
 managerial post. 'Lee never gave me an ounce of trouble, but
 over the last 18 months he matured a great deal. Even the way
 he talked seemed to change. I don't know if it comes with age,
 but he speaks more eloquently. When he rang my home he was
 always so polite on the phone. My wife, Joy, quite likes him.' 

 Leeds' director of corporate affairs, David Walker, agrees. 'I've
 seen Lee Bowyer at a function for Shelter, the homeless charity
 and he stood up without any prompting with 200 people there
 and spoke eruditely,' he says. A concern those less fortunate
 than himself may surprise some, but the Shelter event was not
 unique. Bowyer regularly devotes spare time to working with the
 underprivileged, and last summer spent an entire day
 entertaining disabled children at an event organised by Frank
 Bruno's charity, The President's Sporting Club.

 Lee Bowyer is an East End boy, born and raised. Bowyer's
 home was a three-storey, end-of-terrace council house, in Daniel
 Bolt Close, and his father, David 'Benny' Bowyer was a
 modestly-paid drayman fond of a drink and a bet. By all
 accounts, Bowyer's formative years were relatively settled and
 secure. Neighbours grew accustomed to the sight of him kicking
 a ball around the grass patch at the centre of the cul-de-sac. He
 was always neatly turned out, generally well-mannered, and,
 while showing little academic ability, he was his school's star
 athlete and captain of all the sports teams. 

 The Teviot estate was a harsh, parochial, and narrow-minded
 environment in which to be raised, however. Effectively cut off
 from the surrounding communities by a railway line and a busy
 dual carriageway, it was then, a predominantly white,
 working-class enclave where the British National Party thrived,
 and immigrants - particularly the Bengalis - were regarded with
 suspicion, at best. 

 As Bowyer's English and PE teacher, Gavin Beswick, says:
 'There were moments in Lee's school career when there was
 tension between different [ethnic] groups. There were a number
 of fights where weapons were used. To my knowledge, Lee
 would never be directly involved but he would have known
 students who were. Some of his friends were certainly loose
 cannons.' 

 Perhaps so, but his own circle was culturally diverse. His best
 friend, John Nwikpo, to whom he remains close, was of Nigerian
 origin, and another close pal is part-Turkish. John's mother,
 Flora Nwikpo, dismisses the notion that Bowyer was racially
 prejudiced. Bowyer grew up in an area that was racially divided
 and according to one close associate, Benny Bowyer, an
 18-stone, 6ft 2in bear of a man with a bushy moustache and
 thick, tinted glasses, exercised overwhelming influence over
 Lee, and continues to do so today. 

 Lee was always slightly small and scrawny, and, fearful that this
 might hinder his chances of becoming a professional footballer,
 his father told him to make sure that no-one 'took liberties' with
 him on the field, no matter how much bigger they were.
 Sometimes Lee carried these instructions to extremes. John
 Cartwright, his coach in the Charlton youth team and now the
 club's assistant manager, says he could be 'over aggressive',
 even as a junior. He recalls having to withdraw Lee, then aged
 16, from a supposedly friendly pre-season nine-a-side game
 because of his excessive belligerence. 

 Lee's mother, Lorraine, whom he most resembles physically,
 was also a strong, if altogether less volatile authority figure. 'She
 is as hard as nails,' the insider said. 'His father is a big know-all.
 He would play the expert, telling Lee how to play football and
 where he went wrong. He thought he knew about the game but
 he drove a beer lorry. When Lee was a teenager with Charlton
 Athletic, Benny loved to be spoken to by the chairman and
 directors.' 

 Attempting to gauge the influences on a young man is always
 difficult, but there are some significant pointers. Bowyer's first
 serious girlfriend was a local girl, Emma Keeney, whom he met
 in Millwall Park, in 1995. At the time he was just breaking into
 the Charlton team, and she was a 16-year-old schoolgirl. For the
 first few months their relationship seemed set to last. He took
 Emma to stay in a caravan on Canvey Island, where they made
 love for the first time, drove her around in his zippy Escort
 Cabriolet, and bought her jewellery inscribed with the pet-name
 he gave to her: 'Babe'. As time went by she more or less moved
 into the Bowyers' home, and got along famously with his
 parents, with whom she would sometimes watch Charlton
 matches. 

 Just occasionally, however, little things would happen to make
 her worry about Bowyer's temperament. He was so obsessively
 jealous, she says, that he bought her a mobile phone so he
 could know her whereabouts every hour of the day. 

 According to Emma there was a pattern of self-destructive
 behaviour, and she forgave him many times until, one night, he
 said something she can never pardon. Though Emma has an
 olive complexion, her mother is, half-Asian. Whether or not
 Bowyer was aware of this, the matter was not mentioned until
 they had been dating for 10 months, by which time he wanted
 them to get engaged. One night, however, when they rowed
 because she turned up late for a dinner date, she says he raised
 the question of her ethnicity. 'I was in his bedroom getting ready
 and he started ranting then stormed off downstairs,' she recalls.
 'When he came back a few minutes later he looked at me sort of
 strangely and said, 'Oh, my mum's just told me something
 about you. He didn't use the word Paki, or Indian. He said - and
 I'll never forget - "My mum says you've got something 'in' you." I
 said, "Yes, I'm Indian", and Lee replied, "Yeah, that's what my
 mum said", and he started pacing up and down the floor. He
 went downstairs again, and when he returned he said we
 couldn't have a baby because it might be a "throwback". I asked
 what he meant, and he said, "You know, we could have a brown
 baby. It could be the colour of your mum."' 

 Emma walked out, and never went back. 

 Her account would be sufficiently disturbing if it stood alone, but
 in September, 1996, a few months after they parted, he returned
 from his new home in Leeds for a night out with his boyhood
 pals, John Nwikpo and Ben Bonnici. After drinking to excess,
 the three teenagers bowled into McDonald's on the Isle of Dogs,
 where Bowyer demanded a cheeseburger. When the young
 counter assistant, Shamsul Mia, informed him that only the
 breakfast menu was available, he flew into a rage. A court heard
 later how he and his friends were caught on video, hurling chairs
 and creating mayhem. Bowyer, who admitted affray, was fined
 £4,500: then half a week's wages. The prosecution did not
 suggest race was a factor. However, Mr Mia claims that a
 snarling, red-faced Bowyer refused to be served by 'a fucking
 Paki', and he told the Daily Mail: 'If Lee Bowyer is not a racist
 thug then I don't know who is.' 

 This was not the first time that Bowyer had made headlines for
 the wrong reasons. In March 1995 he was one of four Charlton
 youth players to test positive for cannabis during random testing
 by the FA.

 Professional football is a fickle, cynical, results-oriented
 business, and perhaps this explains why the men behind Leeds
 United plc have - like the club's supporters - tended to forgive
 him his indiscretions. As long as he was playing well, it seems,
 they were prepared to tolerate him. The irony is that they have
 finally lost patience with him just as his personal life appears to
 be settling down. In truth, Bowyer was never a prolific boozer or
 socialite. Much of his free time is spent watching football videos,
 fishing, or playing computer games. Until last August, however,
 he lived in a plush new cul-de-sac in the village of Linton, near
 Wetherby, where three of the nine washed stone houses were
 occupied by Leeds players. The temptation to go out with his
 neighbours Harry Kewell and Michael Bridges was ever present. 

 But now he has sold the £600,000 bachelor house and moved to
 an apartment in Harrogate, nine miles from his team-mates. He
 has also invested recently in a Docklands flat. In Harrogate, he
 is often seen in the Pitcher and Piano and Slug and Lettuce
 bars, but he drinks nothing stronger than a bottle or two of beer,
 and is usually accompanied by his girlfriend, Michelle Turner, an
 attractive legal clerk. Sometimes they pick up a Chinese
 takeaway in the four-wheel drive or the Porsche. He has not
 ventured into Leeds for a lads' night out for more than two years.

 'Lee is just not interested in that lifestyle any more,' a club
 insider told me. 'He has mellowed in the past year. You rarely
 ever see him, to be honest. He just comes in, does his training,
 and then drives off alone. I don't think it's because he has fallen
 out with any of the others. There was never a big social scene
 among the players, anyway, no matter what people might say. I
 think he doesn't trust anyone any more, and he just wants to
 keep as low a profile as possible.' 

 All that is likely to change, of course, now that Bowyer is a
 West Ham player; the outcast has found a home, back in the
 city of his birth. With relegation a real threat, West Ham
 manager Glenn Roeder clearly believes that signing Bowyer is a
 justified gamble.

 On the face of it the parting between Bowyer and Leeds has
 been amicable. The club confirmed that it had settled its
 differences with Bowyer over the repayment of his outstanding
 legal fees for the Najeib case, estimated at almost £1m and
 fronted by the club. But the Leeds chairman hasn't forgiven
 Bowyer for refusing to pay the £88,000 fine, while the player is
 still smarting over Ridsdale's comment that, knowing Bowyer as
 he does now, he would never have brought him to Leeds in the
 first place. Ridsdale, for one, will surely be glad to have seen
 P11BOW roar away from the club car park for the last time.