Beckham Page 8

It all happened very quickly. I trained with them on the Monday then Gary put me into the reserves on the Wednesday, which felt quite strange. Preston played in the Central League, like United’s reserves, and beforehand it almost seemed like I’d fallen on hard times. But once you’re out there playing you forget all that. I did all right, set up a goal and scored one myself. So, come the Saturday, I was on the bench for the first team against Doncaster at home.

  It was a bit of a surprise when Ryan Kirby, who I’d played alongside for so many years with Ridgeway, lined up for Doncaster. My dad was up for the game, of course. And so was Ryan’s dad, Steve, who’d also done some of the coaching when we were kids. For me and Ryan, it was a quick hello and then we had to get on with it.

  One thing I wasn’t really looking forward to was the tackling. I’m sure that’s part of the reason the boss sent me to Preston in the first place, to harden me up a bit. I was a lot more fragile then than I am now. That first game, I sat on the bench for the first half and, every time a tackle flew in, I was cringing. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting on. When I did, though, almost straight away we got a corner. It was a really blowy afternoon, with the wind behind us, and I remember thinking I’d just whip the ball in to see what happened. A goal. Not a bad way to start. We ended up coming from behind to draw 2–2.

  The next game was against Fulham, who had Terry Hurlock playing for them. Now, I knew Terry by reputation and I’d watched him play: here was a bloke who liked a tackle and I was worried about getting whacked by him. As it turned out, I didn’t and got a few challenges in myself. You soon realize that, if you’re playing for Preston in Division Three and they need the points, you can’t afford to be ducking out of the physical side.

  We won 3–2 and it was during that game I scored my first-ever free-kick at first-team level. It was just outside the area and I fancied it. Gary Peters had put me on the free-kicks, and this one couldn’t have gone better. I don’t remember the goal so much as the celebration. I ran away with my arm in the air and one of the Preston players grabbed my head and started pulling my hair so hard I thought he was going to pull a handful out. Absolutely killed me. It might seem obvious, but I think a lot of people don’t realize just how much goals and results matter to players. For the lads at a club like Preston, back then anyway, it was about playing and trying to pay your mortgage and keep up with the bills like anybody else. It gave the soccer the sort of edge I’d never experienced. The looks in the other players’ eyes just told me how strong their desire was, how badly they wanted, and needed, to win the game. It was the same with the supporters. The club was the heart of the town; it had this long, proud history and people absolutely lived for Saturday afternoons and the match. I was lucky. They were great and took to me right off.

  I’ve had some amazing experiences since but, truthfully, that month at Preston was one of the most exciting times in my whole career. I remember thinking then that if the boss had been looking to let me go, I could have been happy playing for Preston North End. When it came time, at the end of the loan, to go back to United, I didn’t want to leave. How worried had I been beforehand? How nervous had I been when I got to Preston? Just four weeks later and here I was, asking Mr Ferguson if I could go and stay on with them for another month.

  The answer was: ‘No’. No explanation or anything. By the end of that same week, I understood why the manager wanted me back. There was an injury crisis at Old Trafford and the teamsheet for Saturday’s Leeds game had my name on it: I was about to make my League debut for Manchester United at Old Trafford. After five really competitive—and physical—first-team games for Preston, I felt ready for the next step forward. More to the point, the boss thought I was, too. I was more prepared than I had been for those games against Brighton and Galatasaray, for sure. For an afternoon, at least, I could put any doubts to one side. It seemed like United and Mr Ferguson thought I did have a chance after all.

  I knew that, for all the excitement of winning an FA Youth Cup and the thrill of playing those games for United in the Cups and Preston in Division Three, I hadn’t achieved anything yet. But maybe this was my time to show that, one day, I might. It wasn’t just me, of course. Nor was it just my generation. It’s still true now: just ask Wes Brown or John O’Shea or Kieran Richardson. The manager has always had faith in the players who have been produced at the club. One of the best things about coming through the ranks at Old Trafford is that the boss involves the younger players in training—and gives them a game, too—as soon as he feels they’re up to it. He believes in the lads who have grown up at the club and, above everything else, that’s something for which my generation will always feel grateful to Alex Ferguson. The future isn’t a responsibility he hands over to someone else. When I was a boy, he knew who David Beckham was. Once I’d signed for United, he was following my progress the whole time: coming to games, watching training, talking to Eric and the other coaches about how I was getting on.

  When it comes to making a League debut, or even getting a start in a Cup game for United, you already feel like you’re part of the first-team set-up. That makes it easier for any young player to relax and do his best when he’s given his chance. With me, it seemed like I’d been involved at least since I was a kid, warming up alongside my heroes at Upton Parkas club mascot for the afternoon. By the time I was ready for United’s first team, I already got on well with the senior players. It wasn’t a case of: who’s this young so and so, coming in and thinking he can take our place? I knew them all and, just as important, they knew me.

  As it turned out, my first Premier League game was a bit of an anticlimax. There’s always a big atmosphere for Man United vs Leeds, whether we’re playing at Old Trafford or at Elland Road, and the ground was buzzing beforehand. It was an incredibly hot afternoon, though, and the match was stifled because of that. It finished 0–0. I must have done all right because I played a few more League games before the end of that season and, by the summer, it felt as if, slowly but surely, things were starting to happen. What I didn’t realize, and none of us did, was that the manager had already seen enough and was ready to take one of the biggest gambles of all time. The season 1995/96 was the making of me. It was the making of all of us, thanks to a boss who believed in us even before we believed in ourselves.

  4

  DB on the Tarmac

  ‘What if we go out and prove the lot of you wrong?’

  There weren’t many better players in their positions anywhere in Europe; but Mark Hughes, Paul Ince and Andrei Kanchelskis were leaving Old Trafford. During the summer of 1995, we read about it in the papers like everyone else: Alex Ferguson had decided to sell three of United’s biggest stars. Andrei was a fantastic player but there’d been a problem between him and the boss. Stories on the back pages claimed that Paul had started acting as if he was bigger than the club itself. I know the manager wouldn’t have stood for it, but I never saw Incey like that: he was a large personality who drove the team on, like Roy Keane does now. Incey was as good a player at that time, as well.

  He might have been in his early thirties but, to this day, I think it was a mistake letting Mark Hughes go. Just ask Chelsea supporters. Mark went to Stamford Bridge and they’ll tell you what a great player he was for them. I have to admit that I’m biased. I was a fan back then and I’m a fan now that he’s manager of Wales. If it was up to me, Mark Hughes would probably still be playing for Manchester United. After Bryan Robson, he was my big hero when I was a teenager and that was still true when I had a chance to play alongside him. I was really disappointed he left: how were we going to win anything without Sparky in the team?

  I still remember how upset I was when I found out that Mark, in particular, was leaving. I was surprised, too: like most United supporters my first reaction was to wonder what the manager was doing. You knew there had to be something going on for him to be letting such important senior players go. But the boss wasn’t saying anything. Then the penny dropped: Andrei Kanchelskis was
a right-sided attacking player. And so was David Beckham. What had Eric Harrison always told the young players before we sat down at Old Trafford to watch the first team play? Watch the man playing in your position. One day, you’re going to take his place. When Andrei left Old Trafford, I couldn’t help wondering, could I?

  When we joined up for pre-season training, most of the younger players were waiting to see who the boss would sign to replace the big names who’d left. A couple of months later, with us all in the side, we were still assuming he’d have to bring in new players. How could he stick with just us young boys? Manchester United are a massive club, and you can understand that the fans expect success straight away. At the back of our minds, though, there was the hope that we’d get the chance to prove ourselves. Nowadays young players are different: they’re more confident in themselves. In the situation we were in, you’d expect someone to say it straight out: ‘Are we going to get a game here, or what?’ Myself, the Neville brothers, Nicky Butt and Paul Scholes weren’t like that. None of us asked and the boss didn’t tell us. He just went ahead and started the new season with the youngest United side anybody could remember since the Busby Babes.

  First game of the season, away to Aston Villa, we got hammered. I was on the bench and by the time I got on in the second half we were already 3–0 down. I scored: Denis Irwin chipped the ball forward for me. I got a good first touch on my instep, let the ball run forwards a little and then shot from the edge of the box. A slight deflection took it past Mark Bosnich, who was in goal for them. I remember celebrating almost on my own. We were still a couple of goals down, of course, and John O’Kane, who’d also come on as a sub, was about the only player who came over and hugged me.

  For the remainder of the game I ran around all over the place trying to make a difference. I was quite pleased with myself afterwards. But the manager wasn’t. I was devastated. He had harsh words for me in the dressing room, telling me how important it was for the team that I stay in my position. After that defeat at Villa Park, the media were ready to write off United’s season. The manager seemed to be putting his faith in a group of youngsters and the pundits weren’t having any of it. They were all saying the same thing. Unluckily for him, Alan Hansen was the one who said it on Match of the Day:

  ‘You’ll win nothing with kids.’

  I was sitting in front of the television that night. I’m sure the other lads were, too. Coming back from Birmingham there might have been doubts in some minds. As a group, we had risen to any challenge put in front of us. But on the coach that evening I think there were a few of us wondering if this was too big a step up and too soon. There were probably a few thousand United supporters headed back from the game who’d been wondering the same thing. But by the time we’d all got home and were hearing the experts write us off, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one getting riled by the criticism. It had just been one game, after all. What if we go out and prove the lot of you wrong?

  The next game was at home to West Ham and, for all that he’d criticized me after the Villa match, the manager named me in the team. Plenty of things rushed through my head, especially the realization that starting the game meant I would be lining up opposite Julian Dicks. I don’t know why but I found myself remembering a boy I’d been friendly with at Chingford High, Danny Fisher, who was a mad, mad West Ham fan. I’d always looked out for their results, too, even though I was a Manchester United supporter, and the two of us talked and argued about soccer all the time. What would Danny be thinking now when he saw me lining up against West Ham and against Julian Dicks? I knew what I was thinking: this bloke’s a really hard player.

  In my early United career, I think there were doubts about whether I’d ever be physically tough enough to cope with first-team soccer. As an eight-year-old playing Sunday League soccer, I believed I was good enough then to have been playing for United. I know other people were concerned that, even at seventeen and eighteen, I hadn’t really grown: It was talked about at the club and I also remember talking about it with Dad. I worked with weights to make me stronger but the spurt that took me up to over 70 inches didn’t happen until much later. But, whatever anyone else said, I wasn’t worried about my size. I was determined it wouldn’t hold me back, anyway. I’d always played soccer against people who were bigger and stronger than me. Julian Dicks, though? The manager had a word with me in the dressing room before kick off:

  ‘When you get your chance, run at him or get your cross in. But watch yourself. If he can whack you, he will.’

  And he did early on, down by the corner flag. But Dicks could play, too, and I knew I needed to keep going because, if he got the better of me, he was the best passer of the ball in West Ham’s team. The United fans were fantastic that night. They might have been nervous about the stars who’d left in the summer. But I think they loved watching homegrown talent doing well for the club. Gary and Phil Neville, Paul Scholes and Nicky Butt were all Manchester boys, which gave the fans an extra sense of pride. I still wonder now whether the Old Trafford crowd had the same feeling towards me, a Londoner rather than a local lad like the others. I’d like to think they did. Against West Ham, and all that season, it certainly felt like it. And that made a big difference. We won our first home game of the season 2–1; and I don’t think I lost my own battle with Julian Dicks.

  For a young team, every game meant that we would find out more about ourselves, about what we could and couldn’t do. We believed in our own ability but that didn’t mean we didn’t have a lot to learn from week to week. Ten days after the West Ham game, we went up to face Blackburn at Ewood Park for one of the biggest fixtures of the season. Three months earlier, Blackburn had won their first Premiership title, finishing one point ahead of us despite losing to Liverpool on the last day of the season. They had a strong, experienced team, with Chris Sutton and Alan Shearer up front. Going there, so early in the season, made it a very big night: the boss didn’t say it, but I think it was a match we thought we couldn’t afford to lose.

  I remember two incidents really clearly. Early on, I tried a long ball that didn’t come off—a Hollywood pass, probably—and Roy Keane had a go at me about it; in fact he absolutely ripped me apart. Before I knew it, I was having a go back at him. Sometimes the passion of the moment can take you by surprise. Roy does it to his team-mates all the time. It’s part of his game and what people need to understand is that there’s nothing personal about it. It doesn’t matter to Roy if you’ve been playing for United for ten years or just ten games; if he thinks he needs to, he’ll hammer you. It’s all about wanting to win. That night at Ewood Park was the first time I’d been on the end of one of those tirades. It worked. It always works: Keano having a go at you fires you up because you know he’s doing it for a reason, not just for the sake of losing his temper. Whether he’s right or wrong, he always gets a reaction.

  Later on, with the score at 1–1, I remember Lee Sharpe went into a challenge on the edge of their penalty area. The ball rolled out towards me and I swiveled to line myself up and then curled a shot into the top right-hand corner. That goal was the winner. To do something like that, in a game as important as that, was a really big thing for me. And the goal and the result were just as big for the club. That game was in the middle of a run of five straight wins that followed us getting beaten at Villa. Win nothing with kids? I think United supporters, at least, were starting to wonder if maybe we could.

  Not that anyone got carried away by my goal up at Blackburn, or by anything else. Personally, I still couldn’t quite believe I was playing for the first team. I was just as excited by that as I was by scoring. As a group of young players, we weren’t the kind of characters to go round shouting the odds. In fact, the dressing room during that season was probably as quiet as a United dressing room has ever been. Aside from Gary Neville, none of us young lads were great talkers before and after a game. The older players weren’t shouters even when they were saying what they needed to say. It was just the manager who, ever
y now and again, would make us all sit up and listen. The atmosphere did change, though, as the season wore on and our confidence grew.

  As well as the manager, the senior players kept us going. The likes of Steve Bruce and Gary Pallister had been through all this before. Peter Schmeichel was a huge influence, quite apart from the fact that he was the best goalkeeper in the world back then. Peter was the kind of person you could talk to any time, about your game, about opponents or about what was going on in your life. And he was merciless in training. Score past him and you could score past anyone. You could only improve. At the end of every training session, we used to practice crossing, which meant Gary Neville and I would be out on the right, Ryan Giggs and Denis Irwin would be out on the left. Peter used to give Gary a really hard time. His crossing wasn’t as good then as it is now and some of the improvement, at least, must have been down to those sessions. Peter would knock Gary and then knock him again. Gary would get his head down, work harder and fight back. And when he did send over a decent cross, Peter’s praise really counted for something.

  Every good team needs a strong leader. We’d had Bryan Robson at United in the past. More recently we had Roy Keane. That season, though, the man who made us tick didn’t come back into the side until early October. Eric Cantona had been signed from Leeds in November 1992 after he’d won the championship with them the previous season. I’d watched him play a couple of times and you could see he was a good player then but, once he arrived at Old Trafford, something more started to happen. In no time at all, Eric had become this player that the rest of us wanted to be. As a person, he had an aura about him: when Eric walked into a room, everything stopped. He was a presence. And he brought that same quality to being a Manchester United player.

  In all the time we played together and trained together, I don’t think I ever had a conversation with Eric about soccer. To be honest, beyond a few words here and there, I never had a conversation with him about anything. I don’t think many people did, he was that private about his life. After training, and after games, he’d just disappear. We accepted that he had his own life and his own way of doing things. He’d turn up for training, driving this little Vauxhall Nova, and lever all 76 inches of himself out from behind the steering wheel. He’d do his work. Then, when we’d finished, he’d squeeze himself back into the thing and be gone. Amazing, really, when you think about the impact he had not just on me and the rest of the players but on the whole club. We didn’t talk to him but we talked about him almost all the time.