David Beckham: My Side

by David Beckham (with Tom Watt)

  That second leg at Old Trafford was some night: there were 32,000 United fans there to watch, which made for a bigger atmosphere than any of us had ever experienced before. You always get supporters who want to see the local talent come through and so follow the Youth side. But 32,000 of them? Maybe the word was getting round that the club had found a particularly good group of young players. I think we were aware of what was going on, but we never really talked about it amongst ourselves. Over the two or three years we were coming through, Alex Ferguson said just once: ‘If we don’t get a first-team player out of this lot, we might as well all pack up and go home.’ Other than that, nobody inside the club mentioned that there might be something special happening. The focus was always on that day’s training session or on that afternoon’s game.

  We got to the Youth Cup Final the following year, too. I can still remember the semi-final against Millwall. We’d heard that they had something planned before the game. Sure enough, out they came on the night of the first leg at Old Trafford, and every single player had his head shaved. I don’t know if that was what threw us out of our stride, but we lost 2–1. For the second leg we had to go down to the old Den – which, being nearly full, had a pretty intimidating atmosphere even for a Youth game – and we won 2–0 to go through to the final, where we played Leeds United.

  People have said since that it was strange how we had so many future first-team players in our side and yet hardly any of the Leeds boys came through. In those two games, though, they played very well and were really fired up. We lost 2–0 at Old Trafford and then went to Elland Road for the second leg. There, it wasn’t just the players who were up for it. We’d had a 30,000 crowd again in Manchester. When they announced that Leeds’ home crowd was even bigger on the night, you’d have thought a goal had been scored. Their fans really got behind them and they beat us again, this time 2–1.

  We’d played a lot of games that season and I remember being very tired, but losing that final wasn’t such a bad thing. For most of us, it was the first big disappointment of our footballing lives and perhaps it made us stronger, having to experience it together. You want to make sure you don’t feel that down again in the future. And you certainly don’t ever want Eric Harrison going mad at you again like he did in the dressing room after we’d lost at Elland Road.

  By then, the 1992/93 season, the players in our age group were starting to get involved, and to get games, with the first team. As early as September, I got called into training with the senior players and, a couple of days later, the manager told me that I would be travelling to Brighton for a League Cup tie. Gary, Nicky Butt and Paul Scholes were coming as well. We flew down on this little seventeen-seater plane. It was a horrible flight: the noise, the bumping, the cramped seats, and it seemed to go on forever. Maybe that was why I got such a great night’s sleep once we’d finally arrived. I woke up to the news that I was going to be one of the substitutes.

  About twenty minutes from the end, the gaffer told me I was going on in place of Andrei Kanchelskis. I was so excited I jumped off the bench and cracked my head on the roof of the dugout: a great start to a first-team career. The boss wanted to have a look at me and I think I did all right. Mum and Dad were at the Goldstone and they were as surprised as I was that I actually got a game. Seventeen minutes as a United player, but I still felt really young. What was I? Just seventeen? More like the boy who’d been on the bench at West Ham as a mascot than a man ready to be in United’s first team. The manager had a little go at me in the dressing room afterwards. I don’t remember having done anything wrong. He was probably just trying to make sure I didn’t get ahead of myself: a sign of one or two difficult times, maybe, that lay ahead for the two of us further down the line.

  It was a long time before I got another chance. The Youth Cup side had all moved up to reserve team football: we’d won the ‘A’ League and then the Central League, the first time the club had done that in over twenty years. I played in some League Cup games again early on in the 1994/95 season, when the gaffer rested his first-choice players. Back in the early 1990s, United struggled a bit in Europe because of the Overseas Players Rule, which meant you could only play three foreigners in the European Cup. It wasn’t that we didn’t have a strong squad, but the changes the boss had to make would disrupt the rhythm of the side. That particular season, we were already as good as out of the competition but had a home game against Galatasaray still to play. It was early December.

  The first I knew about the possibility of me being involved was an article in the Manchester Evening News saying the gaffer was thinking about giving some youngsters a chance to try European football. On the day, he told a few of us we’d actually start the game that night. I don’t know about the others, but I went into it not having a clue what to expect. About half an hour in, I scored my first senior goal for United. The ball rolled out to me, in front of the Stretford End, and I remember thinking: if I catch this right, something could happen. Even though I didn’t really connect properly, the ball bobbled in somehow and I turned and ran away to celebrate. Eric Cantona was the first player to get to me. I was buzzing that much, he was having to fight me off in the end. I just wouldn’t let go of him. I’ve scored a goal and I’m celebrating with Eric Cantona.

  I really enjoyed myself. I think Galatasaray had left out some senior players, too, and the game wasn’t as difficult as it might have been. We played well, and the fact that there were so many of the younger boys in the team made it even better. Starting the game had made a difference, too. I felt a lot more at home at Old Trafford that night than I had during my seventeen minutes down at Brighton, two years before. For us boys, it felt like the European Cup Final, never mind that United were going out whatever the result. As it was, we won 4–0, which is a decent score in a European game whatever the circumstances. The manager didn’t say anything afterwards. He was disappointed to be out of Europe, but seemed happy enough with how the young lads had played.

  That first start in a big European fixture was an exception for me. I still had work – and filling out – to do. The thing that has kept United and the players at the club driving on is the knowledge that if your standards slip, there’s someone waiting to take your place. As a teenager, the doubts about whether you’d still be there in a week, a month, or even a year’s time, were even more intense. It was back to the reserves after my start in the Galatasaray game. Back to wondering whether I was good enough to take the next big step: establishing myself in the first team by getting games in the Premier League. Sometimes in a career, even if you think you know what you need next, you have to be ready to make the best of what comes along.

  It wasn’t every day I got called in after training to see the manager in his office:

  ‘Preston North End have asked if they could take you on loan for a month. I think it’s a good idea.’

  Straight away, I put two and two together and made five. I was nineteen. Nicky Butt and Gary Neville were already getting games on a fairly regular basis. I’d been involved with the first team, but I wasn’t progressing as quickly as them. Had United decided I wasn’t going to be strong enough to make it? Was this a way of easing me out? I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. They don’t rate me. They want to get rid of me.

  It might have been an overreaction, but that’s how I felt. Of course, the first person I spoke to was Eric Harrison and, because of the conversation I had with him, the boss had me back in to explain.

  ‘This isn’t about anything else but you getting first-team experience, in a different team, in a different league.’

  I’m glad I had that chance to talk to him because it meant I went to Preston in the right frame of mind. I could have stayed in Manchester to train and just gone to Deepdale to play in the games but, because I knew now it was something United saw as part of me developing as a player, I decided to join up with Preston full-time for the month. If I was going to do it, then I should do it properly.

  When I turned
up at their training ground for the first time, I was pretty nervous. I went into the dressing room and all the Preston players were sitting there, as if they’d been waiting for me. I don’t know if they were thinking it, or I just imagined they were. Here’s this big-time Charlie from United, and he’s a cockney as well. Either way, it was a really awkward morning. Preston were in Division Three. It was a world away from the life I’d got used to at a club where everything was taken care of for you, where only the best facilities were good enough. At the end of the first training session, I threw my kit down in the dressing room before taking a shower.

  ‘Not on the floor. You take it home and wash it yourself for tomorrow.’

  It didn’t bother me. I just wasn’t prepared for how things were done at Deepdale. The manager, Gary Peters, didn’t waste any time by way of introductions. On that first day, he got all the players and me together in a circle:

  ‘This is David Beckham. He’s joining us for a month from Manchester United. He can play. And he’ll take all the free-kicks and all the corners, which means you’re off them and you’re off them.’

  He pointed to the lads who were usually on dead balls and didn’t even wait for an answer. What a start. It must have annoyed some of the other players. It would have annoyed me. Things were a bit embarrassing to start with, but once we were working together and got to know each other, I had a great time with all the lads at Preston. We had a few nights out the month I was there. It made a real difference that I wasn’t just turning up for the games. They knew I’d chosen to be at Preston every day for the month of the loan.

  Amongst the players, David Moyes, who’s now the Everton manager, was the top man. He was a centre-half, the kind of player who’d throw himself into any tackle possible. Even into some that weren’t possible. He’d be shouting, geeing people up, and was passionate about winning games. He was club captain and he talked to me, got me involved, right from the off. It’s not just hindsight: you could tell then that David was going to make a manager. He knew straight away what I was about, that I’d be quiet, keep myself to myself and just talk when I needed to. He put himself out to bring me into the group, to look after me, and I really appreciated that.

  Gary Peters, the manager, was brilliant as well. It probably helped that he was a Londoner too. He made it clear what he needed me to do and gave me the confidence to do it. He seemed to really believe in me. He must have watched me playing for the reserves at United and I found out later that he’d asked about taking me on loan almost as a joke, not thinking the club would agree. He couldn’t believe it when the gaffer said yes. I understand Preston even put a bid in for me after the loan spell, but Gary knew that really would have been pushing their luck.

  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 Deepdale.

  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, though, it was more of 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 a whack off him. As it turned out, I didn’t and got a few challenges in myself. You soon realise 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 realise 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 football 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 crowd at Deepdale. 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 from the 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 Deepdale? 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 gaffer 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. It wasn’t just my generation, come to that. It’s still true now: just ask Wes Brown or John O’Shea or Kieran Richardson. The gaffer 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 Park as 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 realise, and none of us did, was that the gaffer had already seen enough and was ready to take one of the biggest managerial 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 gaffer wouldn’t have stood for it, but I never saw Incey like that: he was a big personality who drove the team on, like Roy Keane does now. Incey was as good a player at that time, as well.