David Beckham: My Side

by David Beckham (with Tom Watt)

  ‘You’re the footballer then, are you?’

  Victoria’s mum and dad weren’t interested in football, but living in Goff’s Oak, an area where many footballers live too, meant they knew some older players socially. After the opener from Jackie, it was Tony’s turn:

  ‘What team do you play for?’

  For whatever reason, I don’t think they liked the idea of their daughter going out with a footballer. Maybe I got stuck with someone else’s reputation at first, at least until we met and they could judge for themselves. I don’t know if they thought footballers were all loud and cocky but I just sat there on their sofa and was too nervous to say more than a couple of words. At least they didn’t kick me out of the house and, after a while, they said goodnight and disappeared upstairs. I’m sure every mum and dad feels that no boyfriend is ever good enough for their little girl. That, as well as me being a footballer, might have had something to do with Tony and Jackie being wary of me at first. They knew Victoria, though, and that meant they were willing to get to know me. I’m glad they were. When you marry a woman, you become part of her family too. However frosty I might have imagined they were that first night, Tony and Jackie have welcomed me in ever since.

  I think Victoria and I were so happy to have found each other that we wouldn’t have minded telling complete strangers about it. That’s how it is, being in love: you want the rest of the world to know about it. But our relationship was this big secret. Simon Fuller wanted it that way and I think Victoria understood why, early on at least. Who was I to argue? To be honest, all the ducking and diving, sneaking around and keeping ourselves out of sight, was exciting in a way as well. There was one night when Victoria was in Manchester for a Spice Girls concert. United had a party that same evening to celebrate winning the Premiership. Victoria had travelled up the night before and come to stay with me at the house in Worsley. We arranged that I would try and get to the hotel where she was staying after the club function wound down. All the Girls were around. She couldn’t really have disappeared off to North Manchester after her gig.

  I left our party around one in the morning, so it was already late. Victoria was staying at the Midland Hotel and I took a cab across town, and rang on the way to let her know I was coming. I was wearing this mac, probably looking like a character in a detective movie, and, sticking to the part, I sneaked into the hotel and up the back stairs to the leading lady’s room. Victoria answered the door, half asleep, and then I kept her up half the night talking. At one point, very early the next morning, someone knocked at the door. I dashed into the bathroom to hide: well, I’d seen that particular move in plenty of films too. I crept out of the Midland the same way I’d crept in, and hailed a cab to take me back to Worsley. It wasn’t until we were on our way that I realised all I had on me was a pocket full of loose change. I had to watch the meter and got out about 200 yards from my front door, which was as far as my money would take me.

  I’d never felt this way about anyone before. As soon as I met Victoria, I knew I wanted to marry her, to have children, to be together always. I could have said it to her on that first date, as we drove round the M25 in her MG. I was that sure that quickly. After we first met, Victoria and I spent a lot of time apart: she was on tour, I was in the middle of an amazing season with United. We got used to each other, found out about one another and learned to trust each other during those four-hour telephone conversations. I’m not the world’s best talker, not at least until I know someone well. Maybe being on opposite sides of the world wasn’t the worst thing for us in those early days. When we had our chances to be together, it seemed like we’d already grown close very quickly. And for all that I was shy and would sometimes get a bit embarrassed in company, when it came to telling Victoria how I was feeling, I couldn’t let nerves stop me saying what I needed to. I remember us lying side by side at her mum and dad’s house one evening. It was the simplest, most beautiful conversation two people can ever have with each other:

  ‘I think I’m in love with you, Victoria.’

  ‘I think I’m in love with you, too.’

  Keeping it all to ourselves wasn’t exactly my choice but I respected the way things had to be for Victoria. I’d stepped into Spiceworld and understood how important the Girls and their management team felt it was to keep everything under control. I didn’t talk to anyone about what was happening between us. My parents were aware something was going on but, at United, I wasn’t going to be a lad who came into the dressing room one morning boasting that he was going out with a pop star. That wasn’t me. I remember turning up for training one Monday after a lovely weekend with Victoria and Ben Thornley asking me why I was in such a good mood.

  ‘I’ve met this lovely girl.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, just this lovely girl who lives down in London.’

  Rumours started anyway. I suppose that was bound to happen. And rumours are something we’ve lived with ever since. It wasn’t long after our relationship became public that Victoria was getting phone calls to say the papers had pictures of me kissing another girl in my car. Those kinds of stories – completely untrue – still turn up now and again. Of course, proving something’s not true is a lot harder than proving it is. We’ve got used to rumours, though, and how and why they happen. We had to almost from the start. Victoria and I trusted each other then, just as we do now. If you’re with someone you love, you know anyway, deep down, what’s real and what isn’t.

  With all the gossip doing the rounds, it got to the point where I had half a dozen photographers camped outside my house in Worsley every day, just waiting for Victoria to turn up. I’d never experienced anything like this before, whereas Victoria had, of course. I think she made the decision, really. She phoned to say she was coming up to see me and that she was happy enough to stop all the secrecy. We knew what we meant to each other, didn’t we? It was better that we decided where and when the public found out for sure that we were together. People imagine ours has been a glitzy, showbiz romance. Just remember: the first photos of us together were taken when we were walking down my road to go to the newsagents on the corner.

  Once the story was out officially, I couldn’t believe the fuss: flashbulbs popping everywhere we went, stories all over the papers almost every day and everyone having an opinion on us and our lives. I think the attention was as intense as it was because of Victoria; after all, the Spice Girls were making headlines every time they blinked in those days. If I’m honest, all that side of it made being with Victoria even more exciting. It was a daily reminder of just how good she was at what she did. I loved the whole package: her looks, her personality, her energy. Those legs. But I was really turned on, too, by her talent and the recognition in the public eye that came her way because of it. I knew I wasn’t the only person out there who thought she was a star.

  I realised what was going to happen. I think Victoria did, too. Before long, we’d started talking about getting engaged. I’d even asked her what sort of ring she might like and, being a woman with a pretty clear idea about her taste in things, Victoria had talked straight away about a particular shape of diamond, the stone longer and thinner at one end than the other, almost like the sail on a boat. She was busy with the Spice Girls, and so we didn’t settle anything at first, but about six months after we’d begun seeing each other, I arranged a weekend away at a lovely old hotel in Cheshire. It was just down the M6 from Manchester and we checked in early one evening after a United home game.

  Somehow I knew this was the right time. A week later, Victoria and the Girls would be off on tour; it would be a year before they were back in England for more than a few days at a time. We had a bedroom overlooking a lake and the fields beyond. It was August, so we had dinner in the room while the sun set in the distance. We were both wearing towelling robes, which wasn’t exactly the obvious costume for the drama but, after we’d eaten, Victoria sat on the bed and I got down on one knee in front of her and asked her to marry me. I’d always
wanted to marry and to have children and now I’d found the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Lucky for me, that night in Cheshire, the woman said yes. For all that I’d hoped she would, it’s difficult to describe the thrill for me when she said that word. It was like an electric charge running up my spine.

  I really believe in the traditional way of doing these things, which meant that proposing to Victoria was the easy bit. I had a pretty good idea that she felt the same way as I did. The really hard part was asking Victoria’s dad for his daughter’s hand in marriage. I was nervous before I took the penalty against Argentina at the 2002 World Cup but, for tension, building myself up to ask Tony the big question wasn’t too far off. I knew I had to do it. I just didn’t know how or where or when. We were at their house in Goff’s Oak and no-one was giving me an inch. When I asked Jackie if she’d get Tony to come and talk to me, she wasn’t having any of it:

  ‘No, David. You have to do it yourself.’

  I eventually cornered the prospective father-in-law in the prospective brother-in-law’s old room. I’d asked Tony if we could have a quick word in private and we trudged up the stairs together, me feeling like I was off to an execution. I walked into Christian’s old bedroom and tripped on the leg of the bed and stubbed my toe. At least Tony was behind me and so he didn’t see it happen. I looked at him. He looked at me. I wasn’t doing too well on breathing, never mind getting the words out and the pain in my foot didn’t help.

  ‘Tony. I’m asking Victoria to marry me. Is that okay?’

  Not the best speech a would-be son-in-law ever made. He answered as if I’d just asked him if egg and chips would be all right for tea:

  ‘Yeah. No problem.’

  I suppose I’d been getting wound up about it enough for both of us. I know how much Tony and Jackie love Victoria, so I realised his relaxed attitude about us getting engaged meant they’d decided I wasn’t the worst sort in the world. In fact, they’d already made me feel part of the family: this was just the next step for us all. Maybe I could have saved myself from a potential heart attack by not posing the big question, but asking Tony – like going down on one knee to Victoria – wasn’t just for show. I was only going to do these things once in my life, which meant they were incredibly important to me: I wanted to make sure I went about them the right way.

  I’d like to say that it was because those were the months when I fell in love with Victoria and proposed to her that I don’t remember much of United’s season in 1997/98. The truth is, I’ve probably done my best to forget reaching that May and not having any kind of winners’ medal to show for it. It was new to all of us, the generation who had grown up together during the 1990s. We’d won Youth Cups and Reserve leagues and then, when we stepped up to the United first team, we’d just carried on where we’d left off as kids. The season ended up being a painful one, learning what it felt like to lose. Suddenly, here were Arsenal, doing what we expected to do ourselves: winning the Double. Without wanting to be disrespectful about that Arsenal team, the disappointment didn’t ever undermine our belief in ourselves. They won their games but at United we felt we lost the Premiership by not winning ours. Confidence was still high but maybe our standards had slipped along the way.

  We badly missed Roy Keane, who had ruptured his cruciate ligaments in October, and was out for almost the whole season. No team is quite the same without its best players but, when Roy’s not in the United side, there’s something more than just his ability as a player that the rest have to do without. He was and still is a huge influence. For leadership and drive there’s absolutely no one to touch him: he’s a great footballer, of course, but he also brings out the best in the players around him. Whoever he’s getting at out on the park during games, his passion and determination always get that player, and the rest of the team, going. People can come in and cover for him but nobody replaces that strength United get from Roy. We didn’t talk about it during the season. The supporters did, the papers did, but we just got on with our games. Maybe it’s only looking back now that I realise how much we missed Keano.

  I was lucky, though. So were Nicky Butt, Paul Scholes and the Nevilles. We were finding out what it was like to miss out with United, but we were getting the chance to be part of an England team together. And a successful England team at that. When it came to the end of the season in May 1998, we were hurting from losing out to Arsenal, of course, but there wasn’t the time to sit down and feel sorry for ourselves. Almost as soon as the last League game had been played, I was packing my bags for La Manga in Spain, and joining up with the other United lads and the rest of a 27-man England squad to prepare for the biggest summer any of us had ever known. I might have felt a little weary after a long English season, and maybe we all did, but that wasn’t important. I was about to experience a World Cup for the first time. France 98 meant new dreams and new expectations: as if being a husband-to-be didn’t already have me buzzing every day. I couldn’t wait for the tournament – and another chapter – to start.

  6

  Don’t Cry for Me

  ‘Oh, you’re the soccer player, aren’t you?’

  There are plenty of football supporters in England who would rather see their club win the League than see the national team win the World Cup. I can understand that. You follow your club 365 days of every year; you’re thinking and talking about it far more than the England side. Everybody gets involved when England are playing in the major tournaments and big games, but your passion for the team you support is there all the time. When I was younger, maybe I was a bit like that. Even though I thought about representing my country, all my focus was on making it at United. Playing for England didn’t really begin to matter to me, and didn’t begin to seem like a realistic ambition, until after I’d found my feet at Old Trafford.

  When I was a boy, Dad used to take me to watch schoolboy internationals involving players who were my age or just a little older, but I don’t think we ever went to see the full England side play. In my early teens, I played Representative football for my District and my County but I never got a sniff of a chance beyond that. Once I’d started at United, I did get invited for trials at the FA National School, which was based at Lilleshall in Shropshire in those days. I went along knowing full well that, even if I’d been offered a place, I wouldn’t have taken it up. As it turned out, I never had to think twice about the decision: the coaches at Lilleshall thought I was too small for a sixteen-year-old. I do know players – current England team-mates like Michael Owen and Sol Campbell – who went there and had a really good time. But it wasn’t for me. There was only one school where I wanted to be learning my game: Old Trafford. Who could be better teachers for me than the likes of Nobby Stiles, Eric Harrison and Alex Ferguson?

  It’s an honour for any player to represent his country. But you can’t make it happen for yourself. All you can do is concentrate on playing for your club and hope that you catch the eye of the right person. As a teenager, I had enough on my plate trying to establish myself at United. That first Double-winning season, though, brought all of us into the limelight – and into the reckoning as far as England was concerned. When it happened for me, it all came quicker than I could have imagined, and was a bigger thrill than I’d ever let myself dream it might be. Almost overnight, it seemed I went from being a promising player at my club to being a regular part of the England team challenging for a place in the 1998 World Cup finals in France.

  Terry Venables had left the England coaching job straight after Euro 96. I’d already met his replacement, Glenn Hoddle, during the Under-21 Toulon Tournament at the end of the 1995/96 season. We knew Glenn was going to be the next England manager, so it was quite exciting that he came out to France to watch a couple of games and introduce himself to us. As a player, Glenn had been a hero of mine. I’d always admired not just his technical ability – he really was a man who could hit a Hollywood pass – but also his whole approach to the game. I even got him to sign my England shirt after
one of the matches. I’m not sure if the Toulon tournament was the first time he’d watched me, but I had a good game the night he showed up. He didn’t say anything to me but, going into the new season, the possibility of playing for the full England side was in the back of my mind for the first time.

  There aren’t many players who get an England call-up completely out of the blue. New caps very rarely come as a complete surprise. I was lucky: I was playing in a successful United team and, at Selhurst Park, had scored the kind of goal that brings you to people’s attention. Obviously, an England coach knows all about you anyway, but my start to the season meant there was a lot of speculation in the press, talking about me as a future England player who might be ready for his chance. There was a World Cup qualifier, away to Moldova, in September. I should have spoken to Gary Neville about it, but I think there was a bit of rivalry there: he was already in the England team and I wasn’t. Most players have a story about a dramatic phone call or their club manager pulling them aside at the training ground to tell them the news. I found out I’d made the England squad while sitting on the sofa at my mum and dad’s. Mum and I had been flicking through teletext, when the details came up. As soon as I saw the name Beckham on the list of players Glenn Hoddle had chosen for his first game in charge, I jumped off the sofa. I surprised myself how excited I was. Mum and I hugged, laughing out loud, and then I was on the phone to my dad who was at work. For once, I think he was completely lost for words. He was proud, though. As proud as I was to be given my chance.

  Whenever a new challenge has come along during my career, my first instinctive reaction is to suddenly find myself feeling like a schoolboy again. That was definitely true as I prepared to join up with a full England squad for the first time. I was going to be working alongside big-name senior players like Paul Gascoigne, David Seaman and Alan Shearer. I was just twenty, but at that moment I felt even younger, like a kid who’d been given the chance to meet his heroes. These were the players I’d grown up watching on television and, all of a sudden, I had to get ready to train with them ahead of a World Cup qualifier.