Red: My Autobiography

by Gary Neville

  We gathered in a room and tore up a sheet of A4 paper into enough pieces for ballot papers. ‘Yes’ to strike, ‘No’ to go along with Rio’s ban, with all the papers in a bucket so no one would know which way you had voted.

  There were twenty-three players in the squad and there wasn’t one ‘No’. It was unanimous. So Becks and I stood there at the front and said, ‘Right, so every single one of you has voted that we’re not going to play this game unless Rio is reinstated?’ There was not a murmur.

  By Wednesday morning, news of our vote was out in the papers and it was all kicking off. We were being labelled a disgrace on the front pages and during phone-ins and I sensed a few of the players wavering, now the full consequences of a strike were becoming clear. The FA was saying that we could be thrown out of Euro 2004, which was obviously putting the wind up some of the lads. The media weren’t exactly rushing to support a load of millionaires threatening to go on strike. I could sense a few players wobbling.

  They had their reasons, but I didn’t want to be party to a climbdown. I’d staked my reputation on it. The situation felt unstoppable, like a runaway train. I couldn’t be sure how it was going to finish, but I felt I’d gone too far to stop now. In my mind, I couldn’t see any alternative. Unless the FA backed down I was going to have to walk out of the England camp, even though the consequences would be grave.

  My brain was frazzled after all the meetings. My head was banging with the pressure. But the more I thought about it, the more I could only see one way out – through the exit. Thoughts of international retirement swirled around my head. I spoke to my dad and warned him. ‘I think I’m going to have to go. This is just wrong.’ He knows how stubborn I can be. He knew I meant it. In the privacy of my room in the team hotel I said the same to Scholesy, Butty and Phil. I was ready to leave.

  And I would have gone had it not been for a telephone call from the man who has been the biggest influence on my life outside my family. Without the boss, things could have been very different.

  It was just when I was on the edge of a momentous decision that he called. I was with some of the other players. ‘Go upstairs to your room, we need to have a talk,’ he said.

  Once I was in my room, he got straight to the point.

  ‘Look, you’ve trained too hard, you’ve played too hard, you can’t throw everything away. You’ve made your point, you’ve taken it as far as you can, now you’ve got to go and play the game.’

  ‘Boss, it’s fucking wrong.’

  ‘I know that, you know that, but you can’t ruin your career over it.’

  ‘But I’ve gone too far with it. I can’t back down.’

  ‘You just need to calm down and think that your England career could be over in one hit. What effect does that have on you as a player, as a person? Does that affect United? I can’t let you do that.’

  It was when the boss mentioned all these consequences for club and country that I knew the strike was over. I knew I had to back down. If I was going to be bringing pressure and massive aggravation on my own club as well as everything else I couldn’t go ahead, simple as that.

  It was written at the time that Rio had talked the players round, but I think I only had one quick chat with him during the whole episode. It was the boss who stopped me gathering my kit together and walking out of the door.

  There is a big part of me that wishes I had seen it through to the bitter end, but I know that the manager was doing the right thing by me. It’s hard enough being a professional footballer and staying at the top. He knew that I’d be walking into a whole new world of pain if I’d walked out on my own. I’d be associated with this one decision for the rest of my career. He didn’t want one of his senior players up to his neck in controversy.

  I sat on my own for a couple of hours, reflecting on what the manager had said, acknowledging, reluctantly, that I had to follow his instructions. If I walked out now, and defied him, I’d be risking everything.

  I went to see Becks and said we’d taken it as far as we could. The FA weren’t going to bring Rio back in, that was fairly obvious. With only a few days to go before the most critical game of England’s season – an automatic place at Euro 2004 was still at stake – I’d go along with the rest of the lads who wanted to back down.

  We put out a statement, although even that took a lot of discussion. I’d written a version myself and passed it to Michael Owen and the committee. Michael and Becks showed it to their agent, Tony Stephens, who was desperately trying to get it watered down. I was trying to beef it up, to at least leave something on the FA and Palios.

  The statement was eventually released on Wednesday evening. Part of it read:

  It is our opinion that the organisation we represent has not only let down one of our teammates, but the whole of the England squad and its manager. We feel that they have failed us very badly. One of our teammates was penalised without being given the rights he is entitled to and without any charges being brought against him by the governing body of the game.

  Rio Ferdinand was entitled to confidentiality and a fair hearing in front of an independent commission. We believe the people responsible for making the decision did not give Rio Ferdinand that due process and that has disrupted and made the team weaker against the wishes of the manager and the players.

  If there was one line in it which I disagreed with, it was a sentence which suggested that the strike threat was a bluff: ‘In our minds, there has never been any question as to whether we would play in this game.’ That might have been true of some of the squad, perhaps even the majority, but it certainly wasn’t the case for me.

  Now we had to get on with the job of trying to get a draw in Turkey to qualify for Euro 2004 knowing that the country were right on our backs, the fans were banned from travelling because of previous trouble, and that the opposition were no mugs.

  To make matters worse, we trained on the Thursday morning and were shambolic. ‘I’m not sure we can win this game,’ Becks said. ‘It’s taken so much out of everybody.’ I shared his worries. The lads were dead on their feet. We’d been having meetings until late for two nights running. And when we weren’t talking, I’d been staring at the ceiling, thinking about the consequences of what we were doing.

  In the end, getting out of the country was probably what we needed. Escaping that environment helped us focus on the game. We were a bit better in training on Friday, and on Saturday we produced a battling performance. I still don’t know where it came from. It was a real team effort under huge pressure. Becks missed a penalty and there was a fight in the tunnel at half-time, but we came through for a goalless draw which ranks as one of my most satisfying games for England.

  If anything took the edge off it, it was when Palios came into the dressing room to congratulate the players. He wasn’t comfortable in there. He couldn’t even look me in the eye.

  I don’t know if he believed that he had ‘won’ by keeping Rio out of the squad, by forcing the players to stand down. But it all came back to bite him on the backside a month later with the whole Alan Smith/James Beattie debacle, which emphasised just how right we had been to take him on – and how ill-suited he was to be the FA’s leader.

  A month after the Turkey game we were playing Denmark in a friendly at Old Trafford. On the day the squad was due to meet up the FA suddenly announced that Alan had been dropped because he’d been arrested. ‘Arrested’ is a terrible word; it makes you think, ‘Something must have gone on there.’ But it was over nothing. A bottle of water had been tossed on to a pitch. He’d tossed it back. The police had arrested him for questioning as a matter of procedure, but it never came near a charge.

  It was enough to get Palios back on his high horse. He deemed that Alan was no longer fit to wear the England shirt. So that was Alan out. But in his place the FA summoned Beattie, who was serving a drink-driving ban – something Palios didn’t know until it was too late. Cue red faces.

  I’d told him he was making a rod for his own back
when he waded into the Rio affair. He’d set himself up to be whiter than white, which is inadvisable at the best of times. And then he went and got himself all over the front pages over a private affair.

  Under normal circumstances I would never suggest that someone should have to resign over a personal issue. But with his stance on behaviour, Palios had made his own position untenable. The man who had come to clean up football had given himself no real alternative but to resign. He’s not worked in football since.

  Rio received a £50,000 fine and an eight-month suspension, which ruled him out of Euro 2004 as well as massively undermining United. I thought it was very harsh. It was definitely inconsistent: a lad at Manchester City, Christian Negouai, had also missed a drugs test but got a £2,000 fine and no ban. Rio had paid a high price for the case becoming such a cause célèbre.

  He’d not been helped by his legal advice, going into the hearing with all guns blazing. Knowing that the FA were out to make a stand, I told Rio he should walk in with his mum and a simple handwritten apology: ‘Look, I’ve cocked up, I’ve done wrong, I didn’t realise how serious it was, I forgot.’ But he went for the expensive barrister and was punished for it.

  I’ve never doubted that Rio was genuinely forgetful. I detest drugs, and if Rio or anyone had tested positive – and you’ve got to remember he did a hair follicle test which showed him to be clean – I would have been the first to argue for a lifetime ban. Personally, I believe football is a pretty clean sport. I’ve not had any reason to be suspicious about any of my opponents.

  But I can also understand why there’s a need for testing. Thanks to Rio a shambolic system was overhauled, so at least one good thing came out of it. From that point on, players would no longer be able to leave the training ground through forgetfulness. We’d be the same as athletes, followed by the testers while you have a pee.

  We saw the rigidity of the new system some years later when we played at Arsenal and conceded a last-minute winner. You can imagine the foul mood of the players and the manager even before we walked into the dressing room to find three drugs testers waiting for samples. They got a right ear-bashing from quite a few of us. It wasn’t fair on them – they were only doing their jobs – but it was an issue that always made emotions run high at United.

  I’ve no regrets over the Rio affair, or any other time I’ve stuck my neck out – like another threatened strike in 2001 when the PFA was fighting for a share of the Premier League’s billions. Rightly so.

  The league was trying to drop the share of payments paid to the PFA at a time when they were making more cash than ever. I was part of the management committee which decided that we had to show we were serious – and a strike was the only way. As I explained to the players at United, ‘I might never need the PFA, and nor might you. We won’t need the benevolent fund or community support. But there are plenty of footballers, and ex-footballers, who do.’

  We weren’t arguing for Rooney and Neville but for the teenager whose dream is destroyed by injury at eighteen and needs retraining. Or a player from yesteryear who gave his all to the game but now suffers from ill health. We were seeking to protect a union going back a hundred years to Billy Meredith. It was a cause worth fighting for.

  I was outspoken on that, just as I was over Rio, and just as I have been on a number of issues to do with the game. Not everyone seems to like it. Put ‘Gary Neville’ and ‘wanker’ into Google and you’ll get about ten thousand results.

  I don’t understand the hostility, to be honest. We constantly hear about footballers being cut adrift from the real world, caring only about the money, but then we slaughter them when they have strong opinions. I’m not saying you have to agree with me, but I thought we wanted footballers who were passionate about their club, about the game.

  It’s always been in my nature to stand up for what I believe in. I was brought up with a strong sense of right and wrong, and I’ve always been willing to argue my case – whatever trouble I’ve landed myself in.

  I think it comes partly from being the older brother. I’ve always wanted to take responsibility. As a teenage apprentice at United, I was made foreman. Later, I’d be captain. I’d help the young players negotiate their contracts. I was the unofficial social secretary. I like to organise, to be in control. Or to stick my oar in, as my critics would argue.

  When I am right – or when I think I am right, which might not always be the same thing – I will never give in. I’ll fight my cause to the bitter end. Sometimes that has got me into trouble. But I’d much prefer to be known for being loyal to a fault than for being flaky.

  Occasionally I’ve stopped and wondered how it came to this, but I’ve never worried about it. I could have had an easier life but I’m glad that I stood up for people, for the club, for the things I believed in.

  You grow a thick skin after a while. You need to if you want to succeed, particularly if you aren’t blessed with looks and talent. You have to brace yourself for a barrage of abuse, particularly if you’re a high-profile player for Manchester United and England. A fan will walk past you in the street: ‘You were fucking shit yesterday.’ You turn on the radio: ‘Gary Neville isn’t what he was.’ You pick up a paper: Neville, captain of the Ugly XI. Phone-ins, newspaper articles, TV shows … you are playing for one of the biggest clubs in the world and you are going to get that scrutiny. You have to learn to let it wash over you, pick yourself up and go again. That’s probably been one of my biggest strengths. I’ve never let anyone get to me that much. It’s the only way to survive. Being called bolshie Red Nev has never bothered me. Far from it.

  To be honest, once the boss has ripped you apart a few times and you’ve had a captain like Keano put you in your place a few times, you can handle anything that comes from fans or media. There’s only a few people in the world you need to impress. That’s something very important that you learn with experience.

  England Blow It, Again

  NO ONE CAN doubt that Rio was punished severely, forced to miss eight months of football including Euro 2004 in Portugal. And we stood a really good chance in the tournament.

  We had Wayne Rooney. He’d burst into the English consciousness when Sven picked him for his full debut against Turkey in April 2003 even though he’d only played a handful of times for Everton. But I’d already had a secret glimpse of the hottest young talent in the country.

  Six months earlier, at the Halton Stadium, Widnes, of all places, I’d played against Everton reserves on my way back from injury. There was this stocky bull of a kid, just sixteen years old, rolling the ball under his feet like he was the main man. He was that good I came in at half-time and asked our coaches, ‘Who the bloody hell is that?’ It wasn’t just his skills but the physique and the confidence to throw his weight around. He sent one of our lads sprawling. I was tempted to ask for his passport. He couldn’t be sixteen.

  As I said, he’d barely played in the Premier League when Sven called him up, but he took to international football like a veteran. That first game against Turkey was a difficult, feisty match, but he juggled the ball in the middle of the pitch, almost taking the piss. It was like seeing Gazza at his peak.

  Wazza’s emergence was the joy of that England campaign, and although there had been some bumps on the journey, notably the 2–2 draw at home to Macedonia, we approached Euro 2004 believing we would be genuine contenders. Rooney had given us goals and unpredictability; Frank Lampard had emerged as a significant player at Chelsea; we had Becks, Scholesy and Steven Gerrard.

  If I had a worry, it was that Sven had created a fixed first XI. Everyone knew the names: James, Neville, Cole, Ferdinand, Campbell, Beckham, Gerrard, Lampard, Scholes, Rooney, Owen. While it is always helpful to have a settled team, it doesn’t keep players on their toes.

  The problem would be made worse by Sven’s reluctance to make changes and to trust the reserves. He was sticking with that first team, whatever the evidence. Of course he wanted his big names on the pitch, but he could have
used the subs much better. Kieron Dyer played for seven minutes in the whole tournament. We had Joe Cole on the bench and he didn’t even play for one minute, even though he could have given us some variation. We needed him, particularly with Scholesy unhappy now that he’d been shoved out to the left wing.

  We started brightly enough against France in Benfica’s Stadium of Light. A massive game against Zidane and Henry. A huge test. We were excellent in that first half, with Rooney giving Silvestre and an ageing Lilian Thuram nightmares. Lampard scored with his head and we had a great chance to go 2–0 up, but Barthez saved Becks’ penalty.

  Then, being England, we committed suicide.

  We conceded a needless free-kick, up stepped Zidane, and he caught Jamo out of position. 1–1. Then Stevie G made a blind backpass, and Jamo hauled down Henry. 2–1. Next thing I see, the French are being knobs, skipping around the pitch in celebration. We’d let ourselves down, again.

  We’d still progress from the group. Wazza scored four goals in two games, the victories over Switzerland and Croatia, to cement his status as the rising star of European football. He was playing with a belief that anything was possible. He was magnificent.

  But instead of cruising through, we ended up flogging all our best players in the group stage. I thought that was the wrong approach, and said so to Steve McClaren, Sven’s right-hand man. I thought we should rest players for the third game, against Croatia, especially key men like Becks, Scholesy and Stevie G.