Tony Stephens had been my agent since 1995. He’d been a director at Wembley in the past and was working as a consultant on the project to build Huddersfield’s new ground, the McAlpine Stadium, when I first got to know him. I remember one time in particular: Tony invited a group of the young United lads – me, Gary, Phil and Ben Thornley – to a Bryan Adams concert. We ended up wangling our way onto the stage for what was a pretty amazing night. That same evening, Tony actually had another quite important bit of business going on in the area at the same time: arranging a transfer for Alan Shearer, a player he was already looking after, from Blackburn Rovers to Newcastle United.
I’m not sure when or where we were actually introduced. I do remember clearly, though, something Tony said during our very first conversation. It’s stuck with me ever since:
‘Football’s the most important thing, David. That’s what you do. You must make sure nothing ever gets in the way of that.’
Later, when we talked about him representing me, Tony described his job as making sure I didn’t have to worry about anything other than playing. The problem we had at United now, though, was a tricky one. He and the gaffer didn’t get on; or, at least, the gaffer didn’t get on with him. I should have known: when I first told the boss that I’d signed up to be represented by Tony, which happened a few months after we’d met, I got ripped into on the spot.
‘What do you need an agent for? Haven’t you always been looked after at the club?’
Tony made a point of telling the boss, too, as he’d never have thought to start work with me without him knowing. He went round to the gaffer’s house to do it face to face. There are stories that the gaffer ended up chasing Tony down the street. That never happened but I do know Tony got an even worse grilling about it than I did.
I think back to times during my career at Old Trafford when the boss was worried or angry about me; I remember situations where we fell out. Those bust-ups always seemed to get blown up out of all proportion. They happen at every football club all the time without having to make headlines. I think we could have kept a lid on things and settled differences sooner if the boss and my agent had had the kind of relationship which meant they would have been able to pick up the phone to each other.
The frost between Tony and the gaffer wasn’t what held up negotiations over my new deal at Old Trafford, though. It was a pretty complicated bit of paperwork, especially because my image rights had to be built in somewhere so that United could use my face and name as an individual in their commercial operations. I think it took something like two dozen meetings before everything was squared away. I’m happy I only had to show my face at one of them. It might have needed a year and a half to come up with the right contract but, as far as I was concerned, the talking was all about details. In the meantime, it was interesting – flattering, even – hearing that other clubs, big European clubs, might be interested in signing me if things didn’t work out at Old Trafford. But all that was daydreaming. I never wanted to do anything else but sign on the dotted line for the only club I’d ever played for. I knew that. Tony knew that. And so did United.
As the 2001/02 season wore on, we got closer and closer to the right deal. I wanted to be able to sign out on the pitch before a game at Old Trafford. After all the speculation, I wanted the people that mattered – United’s supporters – to see it happen for themselves, especially as I hadn’t been able to play since the Deportivo game. The last home game but one was against Arsenal. That was the night I’d set my heart on and I did what I could to hurry Tony along. As it turned out, there were a couple of tiny last-minute hitches. Just as well. Arsenal came up and won 1–0 which meant they won the title; and did the Double, in fact. It was a real low point for the club, to lose it in our own backyard. Although I think the disappointment spurred us on the following year, that night wouldn’t have been the ideal time to celebrate me signing a new deal. That waited until the following Saturday instead, when we were at home to Charlton. It was perfect. The sun was shining. The gaffer came out on the pitch with me and gave me a hug in front of 65,000 fans. No doubt at all, Old Trafford was where I felt I belonged. I’d known all along the new contract was going to happen, whatever anyone else had been saying, but putting pen to paper was still a really satisfying moment.
My future felt settled. The second metatarsal, the medical experts told me, had healed. Suddenly everything was clear. I just had to concentrate on getting myself ready for England and for a World Cup that was now only a couple of weeks away. We had the send-off, at home in Sawbridgeworth, the next evening. Come Monday, we’d be leaving for Dubai to start our preparations for Japan. The idea was to combine a party for the England squad with an event which could raise money for my principal charity: the NSPCC. We even managed to sell television rights for the night to ITV. All of that money went to the NSPCC as well. Some of the arrangements had to be left to the last minute. I didn’t know who Sven was going to take to the World Cup, so we couldn’t be sure which players to invite until the squad was announced. In the meantime, we had a great time putting together the guest list. Lots of friends from football, of course, football greats from the past, and stars from other sports along with some famous musicians and actors as well.
To help raise more money for the NSPCC, we set just a few tables aside for paying guests too. We got in touch with my sponsors, people Victoria works with, and other companies we thought might be keen. They were all taken in no time. People knew it was going to be a special evening, I think, and they also knew their money was going to a good cause. Even though I was a crock and might have had the time to help for once, Victoria took charge of everything. She’s got a gift for it: how things should look, when things should happen, what’s there for people to enjoy. And she pays attention to the last detail.
I only got home from Manchester the evening before and so things were a bit of a rush. There was time, though, for one present. I gave Tony a watch to say thank you for all the work he’d done in negotiating the contract I’d signed on the pitch at Old Trafford 24 hours earlier. That turned into quite an emotional scene in our kitchen in the middle of the Sunday afternoon. And at the same time, of course, we had our families, our kids and their kids, running backwards and forwards in amongst the last-minute arrangements for the party and our bags, half-packed for Dubai the following day.
Eventually we were dressed and ready. We had photos taken – more money for the charity – and then headed towards the marquee where it was all happening, up behind the house. To get there, you had to walk through our little plot of forest which has a kind of Japanese feel to it anyway. We’d taken that as the theme for the whole party. Except for the bouncy castle: lots of the players had brought their children along and so we had one blown up for them next to the grown-ups’ tent. Brooklyn walked alongside me. We had matching outfits: a knee-length Japanese-style jacket over the trousers, with a red sash around the waist. I don’t know about me but my boy looked very cute indeed. And we wore flip flops because my left foot still wasn’t comfortable in a shoe at that point. It was all going on in my garden but, because Victoria had thought it all out, I felt like one of the 400 guests. I couldn’t wait to see what she had waiting for us up through the woods.
Lanterns were lit all the way through the garden. There were gymnasts and acrobats spinning around the flower beds and between the trees. There were dancers, martial arts experts. Surprises everywhere. Mis-Teeq sang, the R&B singer Beverley Knight, too, and Russell Watson, the opera singer. The marquee where dinner was served was really two connecting marquees. The first had been decorated like an oriental garden. There were thousands of orchids that had been flown in from Japan and Indonesia, and a little bridge, with carp swimming in a pool underneath, which you had to climb across to reach the main tent just beyond it. You walked through huge curtains hung at either side. There were geisha girls welcoming people. And then the tables, all beautifully laid – Victoria had decided on everything down to the napkins and cutle
ry – stretched away in front of you. It was all red, black and white: one of the most beautiful settings I’ve ever seen in my life.
That was when I started getting nervous, looking around at the people we’d invited, some of whom I’d never even said hello to before. I’d asked Ray Winstone to come just because he’s such a great actor and I wanted the chance to meet him. I knew I was down to make my first speech since our wedding day. I was England captain and all these people were round at my gaff. I couldn’t get out of it, could I? I knew where I wanted to lead up to: giving Victoria a present to thank her for making the evening happen. But before that? Well, there were other thank yous and then something about the NSPCC and UNICEF, the United Nations childrens’ charity with which Manchester United were involved. I knew I should say something about the abused children we were raising money for. I was so worried about leaving something or somebody out, I had it all written down on little pieces of card. Eventually I got onto something more personal and I was able to put the cards down. Not long before, I’d visited a kids’ shelter down in South London. I sat in a room in front of a couple of dozen of these youngsters who all had terrible stories to tell. You could feel something like hostility in the air: not towards me, particularly, but towards the whole world. They were kids with chips on their shoulders and I wondered, at first, whether this had been a good thing to agree to do. The questions were absolutely direct:
‘How’s Posh, then?’
‘What cars have you got?’
‘How much money do you earn?’
They weren’t worried about how the hostel staff or me or anyone else might react. I knew I couldn’t say I didn’t want to answer their questions. They’d all lived through things that I’m lucky I’d never had to face: rape, prostitution, drugs, time in jail. A few answers from me were the least they deserved. The grown-ups were looking at me to see what I wanted to do.
‘It’s fine. I don’t need to check the questions first. Let them ask what they want.’
That afternoon turned into one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done away from football. Obviously there weren’t any press there: this was just me and the kids talking. I relaxed. They did too. After a while, I think we decided we liked each other and ended up laughing and joking: about football, about my life, about nothing in particular. My defences came down and, during that time, so did theirs. I couldn’t change anything that had happened to them but it made a difference to me that at least we were able to connect with each other. By the way they acted towards me, it seemed that made a difference to them too. Maybe telling the story of my afternoon at the kids’ hostel was strange in the surroundings we were in that evening, but it was what I needed to do to explain why I’d wanted the party to take place. And why I wanted everyone to be generous when it came to the charity auction. Which they were: Ant and Dec were the auctioneers and our guests stumped up over £250,000.
We had a fantastic evening. Victoria and I had to call it quits about midnight. Some of the players, and other people who had brought their families along, had already left but there were plenty still enjoying themselves when we went back to the house to get ready for bed and Dubai. It might have been late but there was still time for my Ray Winstone moment. I heard somebody at the front door. I went down to open it and Ray was standing there. It wasn’t until he stepped forward that I realised how much he’d enjoyed himself. Maybe he hadn’t realised either. He’d come to say thank you but, instead, he tripped on our step and landed face down in the hall. Actors know how to make a big entrance. Like I say, it was a really good night: good memories for us all to take away to Japan.
I know the United medical staff weren’t all that happy about me going off to Dubai with the rest of the England squad to start our preparations for the World Cup. I think the gaffer assumed the week would just be a jolly and that I’d stand a better chance of being fit if I stayed in Manchester and worked with the physios at Carrington. I knew that, even when I went off to play for my country, I was still a United player. If the club had really put their foot down I’d have done what they said without thinking twice. Sven wanted me to be with the rest of the players for the two weeks leading up to our first game and Gary Lewin, the England physio, and Doc Crane, the England doctor, were two of the best in the business. At one stage, the FA offered to take a United medical team along with us. To be honest, it was an argument I wanted other people to have. I didn’t think it was right for me to be involved in any row. I was ready to go along with whatever decision was made behind the scenes. And that decision, eventually, was that I went.
Early on Monday morning, 13 May 2002: lying in bed next to Victoria at home in Sawbridgeworth. Everything in the house was quiet. Somewhere in the distance outside, I could hear the last few people making their way home from the party and climbing into waiting cars. I reached down and touched my left foot: a little sore since Victoria and I had started the dancing in the marquee after dinner. In a few hours we’d be off to the airport. I had eighteen days ahead of me, eighteen days to make sure I’d be right to line up against Sweden on the other side of the world on 31 May. I got a little chill feeling deep down at the base of my spine. Excitement? Or dread? Four years ago, I’d been getting ready to head off to the last World Cup. How much had happened since then? 1998 already seemed so long ago: Argentina, a red card and the rest. But, at the same time, it seemed as if the next challenge had stolen up on us in the blink of an eye. Just having the chance to be involved in a World Cup is a dream and a privilege. And every player knows that during the month of that tournament your career, and your life, can change forever. Mine had in France, in the harsh glare of a floodlit evening in Saint-Etienne. I shut my eyes and sank back into the dark. What was waiting for me, and waiting for England, this time out in Japan?
11
Beckham (pen)
‘What’s going on here? I can’t breathe.’
I wonder now: Did that week in Dubai help finish me off as a United player in the eyes of the boss?
I was out in the sunshine with England instead of being back at Carrington, clocking up the miles on the treadmill alone. I know the gaffer wasn’t best pleased about that. I had the feeling he wasn’t too happy, generally, about the extra responsibility – and the extra attention – that came with me captaining England. And he probably wasn’t keen, either, on the fact that Victoria and Brooklyn were in Dubai with me. It didn’t matter that I thought that marriage and fatherhood had settled me and had a positive effect on me as a player. The gaffer had always thought my family was a distraction from the serious business of football. He’d said as much to me often enough since I’d met Victoria. He thought my life at home got in the way: for me and for him.
I’d long since decided that it wasn’t an argument worth having. Was an argument ever worth having with the gaffer? I wasn’t going to convince him that being fulfilled as a person could only ever be good for me as a player. And, obviously, nothing he said was going to change how much I loved and cherished my family. It was great having Victoria and Brooklyn with me out in Dubai.
Sven thought it would be good if the players had their families around them. We were hoping to be away in Japan for the duration of the World Cup, after all. I remember talking to him about it before we left England, while he was planning our schedule. He believes in players having time with their partners and with their children. Most other countries see it that way. I remember at France 98, the Danish team were staying at a hotel just down the road from us and had their families with them in the same complex. At first, Sven wasn’t sure how the English players felt about having family with them, so he asked me, as captain, to sound them out. In Dubai we had activities organised for the kids in the mornings around the pool and barbecues for everyone in the evenings. The families enjoyed each other’s company and it helped draw the lads closer together at the same time.
Having Victoria and Brooklyn there left me with a clear head to concentrate on the one thing that mattered, the Wor
ld Cup, and me being fit for it. I worked with one of the England physios, Alan Smith, every morning on my own. I was just starting to run, just starting to test the metatarsal injury. I had to try and build up to something near match fitness too. I wasn’t able to join in with the regular squad training which was going on every day at the same time. The balance was just right in Dubai: hard work and then the beach and some sunshine, with our families there to enjoy it with us.
I still had doubts whether I would be ready to play in our first match against Sweden. Some days I’d wake up feeling ready there and then, others when it just felt I was starting to run out of time. I was desperate to play in a World Cup as England captain. To give myself and the team the best chance, I thought that meant playing from the very first game. Even before I left England, I’d done everything I could to hurry along the mending process. Now, in Dubai, I was able to put weight on the injured foot. As well as starting to run, there was other work to do before I’d be ready just for a training session, never mind for a game. People might have seen pictures of me on a trampoline. I definitely wasn’t ready for jumping up and down. Those exercises were about teaching my leg how to balance again. As well as the muscles losing strength, the tendons and ligaments forget how to do their jobs. I’d have to stand on one leg and balance when a ball was thrown to me, then change legs. The next stage after that was to volley the ball back instead of just catching it. At the end of every day, the physios would sit down with the England doctors and talk through what we’d done. The medical team would do that with every injured player. Then, Doctor Crane would meet up with Sven in the evening to make sure the manager knew exactly how I was doing from day to day.
David Beckham: My Side Page 26