I’m a fan. I always will be. I remember one night a few years ago, Dave Gardner and his girlfriend were down in London and Victoria and I took them to the Ivy restaurant for dinner. Dave got there first and he slaughtered me later about how the maître d’ had changed his tone completely when Dave told him who he was supposed to be meeting. It went from: ‘Who’s this bloke?’ to ‘This way, Sir.’ All in a split second. When we got there, the paparazzi were doing their stuff outside. Dave was starting to mock me for being a face at this expensive London restaurant when we looked across the room and saw Our Man at the same time.
‘It’s not him, is it?’
‘I think it is, you know.’
‘No, no, it can’t be.’
It was, though: Michael Jordan, sitting in the corner, puffing on the biggest cigar I’d ever seen in my life.
‘Look. Look who he’s with.’
One of my all-time heroes was there at his table, chatting with Madonna, the pop star Ricky Martin and Tom Ford, who was head of Gucci at the time. I don’t think Dave or I touched any of our food. We were sitting staring across at him.
‘Should I go and get his autograph on a napkin?’
‘No, you’re not allowed to do that in the Ivy.’
Next thing we knew, a bottle of champagne arrived at our table. It was a little while after Brooklyn had been born and this was congratulations from Michael Jordan and Madonna.
Then they both came over for a chat; Victoria knew Madonna and I’d met her at Madison Square Garden the night I arrived in New York after France 98. But Michael Jordan? I was like a little kid, couldn’t think of what to say to the bloke. It was some night. And by the Monday, it was all round Old Trafford. Dave had started telling people as soon as he got home. All day at training it was about Saturday night with Becks and Michael Jordan:
‘What was he like? What was he like?’
I get a genuine thrill from meeting people like that: superstars as far as I’m concerned, whether they’re sportsmen or rappers or actors. Dave Gardner’s the one who ends up hearing about them all. Every time I go to a party there seems to be someone there I’ll get excited about saying hello to: an Elle McPherson or a Michael Jackson or a Michael Caine. Most people would just think I was name-dropping. But Dave’s known me long enough to see it for what it is. I still get nervous—thrilled—in the company of the people I admire. If I meet one of them I can’t keep it to myself. I always have to ring up the next day to tell Dave.
An amazing part of my life—of life with Victoria—is that, sometimes, those people I’m nervous before meeting and tongue-tied when I do turn out to become friends. I met Elton John at a Versace fashion show in Italy. He was sitting next to me and did all the hard work of the ‘hellos’ and ‘how are yous’. He’d actually met Victoria a couple of times before and just went ahead and introduced himself. After what he’s done in his life, I should think Elton’s long since got past being shy in situations like that. We got on really well: there just felt like an instant connection. We started spending time together and we’ve continued to ever since. Elton and David Furnish are Brooklyn’s godparents and probably the closest friends Victoria and I have ever made as a couple. Maybe that’s because, as a couple, they’re like us in so many ways: very much in love and not afraid to show it. They’re incredibly generous: almost the first thing Elton did the afternoon I met him in Italy was to offer Victoria and me their place in the South of France as somewhere to go if we ever needed to get away from it all.
Meeting new people, even for a shy one like me, is a pleasure. There are some people, though, who meeting is more like a privilege: the Queen; the Prime Minister; the greatest sportsman of all time, Muhammad Ali. In May 2003, straight after the end of the soccer season, we had an England trip to South Africa. I was on the wrong end of a pretty clumsy tackle in our game against their national team: another weird injury. I broke the scaphoid bone between the wrist and thumb on my right hand and spent the next couple of months with a removable cast on the lower part of that arm. The injury I picked up in Durban, though, I’d forgotten about even before I was told it had healed. It’s meeting Nelson Mandela on that South Africa trip that I’ll always remember.
I’m a father to two boys: it’s the biggest responsibility in my life. Here’s a man who’s been a father to a nation. Meeting Mandela was an opportunity I feel humble to have had. We were based in Durban, where the game against South Africa was going to take place three days later. We got a flight at dawn to take us to Johannesburg and were taken to the offices of Mr Mandela’s charity foundation. We were all in our England blazers, there were press and other officials and staff gathered round and the morning was already getting warm. The top man, though, seemed so relaxed, leaning back in his armchair, the sunshine streaming through the window behind him.
Victoria will tell you: I’ve become used to a bit of public speaking since I got the England armband. A little preparation, along with the self-confidence she’s given me, and I’m usually ready to go. In fact, Victoria reckons the difficult bit is getting me to stop making speeches these days. My time came to speak to Mr Mandela. I sat down and leaned in towards him. I had a job to do as England captain but, at first, I was just dumbstruck in his presence, overwhelmed with my respect and admiration for him. Did he pickup on how I was feeling? I don’t know, but he put me at ease with a little pat on the back. I remembered some of what I’d wanted to say:
‘To meet a great man such as you is an amazing honor. It’s great to be here today. It’s an amazing honor for all of us.’
Mr Mandela asked me and the other England players to support South Africa’s bid to host the 2010 World Cup. I’d love to see them get it: soccer’s the people’s sport in South Africa. I’d come with United in the past and again, this time with England, you could see the passion for the game all around you: in the stadiums, in the townships, and on every street corner. I gave Mr Mandela an England shirt with his name and 03 on the back. I know he likes team colors: I still remember him wearing the South African rugby shirt after they won the final of the Rugby World Cup. He leaned forward and reached a hand out: some of his grandchildren came up to meet me and the rest of the England lads. He said quietly to them:
‘This is David Beckham.’
I had my hair in tight braids and one of the press guys asked Mr Mandela what he thought about it. He just smiled:
‘Oh, I’m too old to have an opinion about that.’
I’d have been happy listening to his opinion on that and anything else for the rest of the day. We all know his story but, looking into his eyes, catching his smile, following the lines across this incredibly handsome face, you couldn’t help wanting to hear it from him. I don’t think Mr Mandela would have been too sorry to spend a little while longer with us either. Time was pushing on, though, and we had work to do back in Durban. By the time we stumbled off the bus back at the hotel, having been up before dawn, our lack of sleep was starting to catch up with us. The afternoon drifted past in a dream. Meeting Nelson Mandela today: did that actually happen to me? I needed to call Victoria and tell her all about it before I could really believe it was true.
Whatever’s happening we have to touch base. Because both Victoria and I have had careers that take us away from home a lot, telephones have been a pretty big deal in our relationship down the years. When we were first getting to know one another, she was traveling all over the world with the Spice Girls. They even took a year away from England for tax reasons on the advice of their manager. That put pressure on the times we could actually be with each other. Sometimes I think we got to know each other down the phone line. I’d be in Manchester after training; Victoria would be in a hotel somewhere in the States, getting ready to go on stage at a 30,000-seat auditorium that night. I can remember days when we spent five hours on the phone at a time. You find out so much about the person you love and eventually marry in the first weeks and months after you meet her. There’s all that history, all those details
, you have to fill in. Me and Victoria learned about each other long distance.
That’s carried on ever since, of course. We married, we’ve had children, but we still have to be away sometimes for weeks at a time. We’ll still talk all the time but it’s different now. For a start, we don’t mind a bit of technology: the videophones while I was out in Japan at the World Cup were just the job. And these days, of course, it’s not two single people: a boy and a girl falling in love. Whoever’s at home has got their hands full with Brooklyn and Romeo. We’ve always had fantastic support from our parents looking after the boys. But whichever one of us is at home will still be busy with mealtimes, bathtimes, bedtimes and school runs. We end up talking on the phone more often now, but not for such a long time. There’ll always be something the boys need that means:
‘I’ll have to call you back in a minute.’
I think we’re lucky. Victoria and I are as comfortable talking on the phone as we are face to face. I know I hate being away from her and the boys but it’s that much easier because, if we’re on the line, it’s intimate and easy enough between us that I feel like we’re connected, even if our words are having to be bumped across continents. We feel close enough, anyway, to keep me going until I get home. Life gets so intense and so strange sometimes that, if I couldn’t ring the one person who understands it all, I’m not sure I’d always make it home with my head in one piece. Five minutes on the phone with Victoria can make sense of what’s going on at my end for me, sort out the strangest problem and calm the biggest crisis. The trust and love that make it work like that are the same in any marriage. Most people’s conversations, though, can happen across the dinner table when they get in from work. If I need to talk to Victoria, I’ll often have to find out an international dialing code first.
Of course, with the life we live, the important thing is that Victoria and I are in it together. We both know what it’s like to be successful in what we do in our careers. Partly because we’re a couple, we know what comes with a certain level of fame and an unbelievable amount of attention. We’re lucky we have great people around us: family and professional advisers who relieve some of the strain, help us find our way through living the public side of our lives and careers. When it comes down to it, though, it’s me and the missus. Every now and again, we’ll have to sit down and pinch ourselves, look at what’s happening together:
‘What’s going on right now? What might be just around the corner?’
Whether those conversations happen over the phone or face to face, the important thing is that they happen. Life gets crazy sometimes. We’ll see things, be asked to do things, be presented with challenges that we could never have foreseen turning up even a couple of years ago. Truth be told, we both enjoy the unpredictability of it all; Victoria even more than me. There’s always something new going on. It’s important to try to keep things under control, for our own and the boys’ sakes, but every now and again—whether it’s studio time in the States or a transfer, out of the blue, to a new club in a different country—things feel like they take on a life of their own. And leave us just hanging on to the slipstream. We have our tricky moments, like anybody else would. But having each other, I think, stops me or Victoria getting overwhelmed by it all.
We can talk to each other. And we can go home to Brooklyn and Romeo. It doesn’t matter what’s been going on around me the rest of a day. I walk into the house and, as soon as I’m with the boys, nothing else matters but them. They’re more thrilling to me—every single day—than anything else in my life. People must look at the lifestyle that comes with being Mr and Mrs Beckham and imagine it’s all mad, all completely unreal. Some of it seems that way to us as well. But the foundations for me are the same as those for anybody else with a family. Inside Bubble Beckham, there’s another bubble: it keeps the four of us safe—and sane—inside it. My real world, where I find what I need for the rest of the adventure, is with Victoria, Brooklyn and Romeo. There’s nothing unusual about that, is there? I’m myself, both feet on the ground, like any other husband and father, when I’m at home with my wife and my sons. It’s like Victoria said when we were talking about the move to Madrid:
‘This is a huge thing, a huge change in our lives: a different country, a different way of life. But this is just a time to get our heads down and get on with it, concentrating on the things that really matter. You play your soccer—and you’d better play well—and I’ll do my music. And for the rest of it, we’ll be where we need to be: you, me and the boys. The family.’
They matter that much to me, Victoria, Brooklyn and Romeo, that I’ll travel backwards and forwards from wherever just to spend an hour or two at home. Over the years, it was never a problem for me to drive from Manchester to London to stay overnight and leave early the next morning, as long as we weren’t too close to a United game. I know some people would sweat over the mileage but I’ve never found being behind the wheel tiring. It’s always been like that with Victoria: our first date, after all, was a 400-mile round trip for me but I’m pretty glad I didn’t decide to stay in that night and watch television instead. I suppose when we were boyfriend and girlfriend, especially when Victoria was out of the country for long stretches, it did get a little extreme even for me. I remember one day, during the summer vacation towards the end of the Spice Girls’ world tour, when I flew to Texas and back just to spend an hour in a VIP lounge with Victoria at Dallas airport. More than once, I flew out to where she was so that we could get back on the plane and fly home together. Now? With the children to think about, I might not do those things any more. But that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t still want to.
I suppose if I’m not used to airplanes by now I never will be. The passport’s picked up some interesting stamps: a photoshoot in Japan, a TV commercial in Spain, a sponsors’ event in Vietnam, an awards ceremony in Los Angeles. It could be anything. It could be anywhere. I’m glad someone else has to make the arrangements. I don’t know about the cliché about a change being as good as a rest, but I do get a kick out of concentrating on something which is completely different than my usual routine. Sometimes it even means Victoria and I getting the chance to work together. That’s great from the point of view of having time with each other. Our approaches to things like a filming day or a personal appearance are completely different, though. I’m pretty relaxed about it all:
‘You get on with it and give me a shout when you need me.’
I like watching other people doing what they’re good at, so a set or a studio can be a pretty interesting place to be.
Victoria, of course, has done far more of it over the years. That’s probably why she’s a lot sharper about it, wants to keep things moving, wants to make sure they’re just right. She’ll sometimes get a bit impatient with it all and those times, as it happens, she’s usually right: she probably could do it better herself. I think we both do a decent job, even if we get round to it in different ways. It’s just sometimes we’ll have a go at each other a little along the way. Mind you, that’s part of the deal: life with Victoria. Her making me think: have you seen this? Have you heard this? Have you done that? Her making me laugh, day in and day out. Being with her has made me look at everything, myself included, in a completely different way. I love how she is: awake from the moment she gets going in the morning. I’ve never known anyone be so alive: being married to Victoria is like being plugged into this no-batteries-needed energy source. And I’m buzzing thanks to her. Sometimes there’s the odd short circuit but I’ve learned to give as good as I get. Victoria’s the best company I’ve ever known.
I love us traveling together. We had a fantastic time in the summer of 2003 on the promotional tour we did through the Far East. I’d been to Japan before, of course, with England for the World Cup. The two of us heading out there to do work with a sponsor called TBC was a completely different experience. There’s a whole thing about blonde Western women in Japan but Victoria’s something else for them: she’s a role model and a st
ar but she’s accessible too. Japanese women adore Victoria—the looks, the glamor, the attitude, the whole package. The same women seem to like me too. I think that’s a bit strange: you can’t really imagine a movie actor or famous musician from Japan making an impact in England in terms of their looks. I remember us talking to an American woman in Tokyo, who lives there and works for Def Jam records. She said that the way I look is only a small part of what’s going on. In Japan, according to her at least, everyone’s looking for the perfect husband, the perfect father for children. Maybe we’d think of it as old-fashioned, but I think it’s a good thing, how important family life is in that society. When they look at me, they see a good-looking bloke who’d make a good partner; he likes being at home, he loves his wife and he’s good with the kids. That’s why, when it comes to commercials and sponsorships, in the Far East, they like Victoria and I being together. There’s an interest in my soccer and in Victoria’s pop career, but those things on their own don’t explain why we get the reaction we do in Japan. It’s only being there and talking to people you get an idea of how we’re seen out there; and we’ve realized it’s very different to the way people see us back home. People in England know I’m a husband and a father but I think what I do for a living is more what drives it all.
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