As soon as I walked back into Melwood that day, it felt different to the first time. People had a smile on their face. The dictatorship had gone. Everybody was happy to see me. It felt relaxed. It felt right.
27
Speedo
Gary Speed was a strong character. He was a leader. He was probably the person I admired most. He was someone I tried to copy, someone I tried to emulate. Throughout my career, I looked up to him and I always took it as a great compliment that he, in turn, looked out for me and valued me as a player. Long before he died, at the age of 42, he had become one of my best friends.
He was a mentor to me, someone whose advice I sought, someone I listened to. I was a little in awe of him, too, and I certainly knew not to cross him. I knew that he rarely lost his temper but that if he did, it was best to make sure you were nowhere in his vicinity. And I knew that above all other things, he doted on his two boys, Ed and Tommy.
I was delighted when he took the Wales job in December 2010. I was happy mainly because I knew it was a big deal for him. I love my country but he loved it more. I have never seen a Wales player who loved their country more than him, who had that pure passion and real drive for Wales. It was one of the many things about Speedo that I had used as inspiration. He was the example I followed. That was one of the reasons why I always turned up for friendlies. Because he did it.
I spoke to him on the day he got the job. He said he wanted to come and speak to me. I had been beginning to think it might be time for me to retire from international football. I hadn’t particularly enjoyed playing for John Toshack, who had taken over from Mark Hughes.
Things had regressed under Toshack. There were a couple of good performances, like the 5-2 victory over Slovakia, but generally things were on the slide. We hadn’t even looked like being able to challenge for qualification for a major tournament. The height of Toshack’s ambitions appeared to be making sure we didn’t get too heavily beaten rather than actually trying to win games. We didn’t even try and compete and I found that hard.
But suddenly, we had a great bunch of young players coming through. Really outstanding players like Gareth Bale and Aaron Ramsey and I thought that now a progressive young manager like Speedo had replaced Toshack, maybe it was time for people like me to step away and let him get on with bringing the young players through.
So Speedo and I went out for something to eat in the Canton area of Cardiff. He asked me what my plans were. I told him I was going to retire.
“You talk about Wales,” he said, “and you talk about your love for your country but you won’t be able to help your country if you don’t play.”
I had a few objections. We’d already lost our first couple of qualifying games for Euro 2012. We weren’t going to qualify for that tournament. I wanted the younger kids to be able to come through and be bedded in ready to have a real go at making it to the 2014 World Cup.
“Don’t worry about that,” Speedo said. “I’m talking about now.”
My objections got weaker. Speedo was insistent.
“I need a player like you here now,” he said. “You believe in everything I do. I am going to improve the professionalism, sort out the sports science, get a good staff. Things will get better.”
He asked me about Raymond Verheijen. He asked me about other fitness people I had worked with.
I said I didn’t want to be captain any more. I didn’t want to deal with the media. My knee was giving me so much trouble that I couldn’t commit to playing in every game.
“Don’t be captain then,” he said. “I’ll pick another captain.”
We both wanted a Welsh-born player to be skipper. That’s what we believed in. We wanted someone young and exciting. Someone with a voice who could lead the team for the next decade.
He asked me who I thought and I said Aaron Ramsey. He had a piece of paper with his choice already written down and he passed it to me. It had Rambo’s name on it.
“This will be our set-up,” he said. “It won’t be like it was before. You know how I work. I can’t do this without you. I need a player everyone looks up to, believing in what I do. If everyone sees you responding to what I am telling them, we will get there quicker and you will play in a major championship. Don’t leave like this.”
The argument was over. Speedo had won.
He was incredibly enthusiastic and energised about the task he faced. He started asking me about this physio and that physio and he made it plain he wanted me to have a real influence on how things were going to develop. We sat there for three hours, talking it through, having some wine, dreaming about the future and what might come to pass. I was in. He had talked me into it. I thought ‘fuck it, let’s go and do this’.
I prepared him for Raymond Verheijen. I told him he was a difficult man but that he was worth it. We got Damian Roden in from Manchester City, who was one of the fitness guys I had admired most there. He was on board. Everything pulled together. I thought we could give it a right good go. The Welsh FA, for the first time, were letting a manager have his way. We thought we had an opportunity to get our country to a major championship at last.
We had a friendly against the Republic of Ireland in Dublin at the beginning of February 2011. I wasn’t playing but I went out there to show my face and show that I was buying into it all. We lost 3-0 so I know this might sound daft, but you could see the change in how we played. The mood changed. The staff were professional, too. If the players weren’t allowed to drink, the staff didn’t drink either. They were small things but it’s always the details that are important.
Six weeks later, we played England in a Euro 2012 qualifier at the Millennium Stadium. The build-up felt good. We lost Gareth Bale a couple of days before the match which was a huge blow. We were sure England were going to play 4-4-2 because their manager, Fabio Capello, was renowned for not changing but he played 4-3-3 and it took us completely off guard.
They went 2-0 up inside the first quarter of an hour and by the time we switched things around, it was too late. England were worthy winners but we didn’t feel too downhearted. The game finished 2-0. We didn’t cave in. We fought back, in fact. There was no sense of optimism being dented.
We played in a mini-tournament in Dublin in the summer. We lost to Scotland and beat Northern Ireland. We played Australia at Cardiff in August and lost. We did not play particularly well and it felt like we had gone backwards a bit. It was the first time I saw Speedo getting a little impatient. He dug me out a couple of times, too. He was harder on me. He had a go about me wearing the wrong t-shirt.
“Listen,” he said, “they look up to you. Start leading.”
He was a bit deflated by the Australia defeat. It was the first time the Welsh FA got under his skin. They were talking about staff cuts and he lost his rag a little bit.
But he began to turn things around. In September 2011, we beat a good Montenegro side 2-1 in a Euro 2012 qualifier at Cardiff and we played well. I got a yellow card that ruled me out of the tie against England at Wembley four days later. I could only watch but as I watched, I felt very proud. Wales lost 1-0 but we played brilliantly. It was Speedo’s team now.
For the first time in all my years with Wales, I felt like we had a proper identity. We had a decent spell with Sparky but this was the future. I could see how proud Speedo was after the game. He was disappointed, sure, but you could tell when Speedo was proud because he would jut out his chest and strut around. He had that spring in his step.
Our training camps had become a joy to be involved in. They were so professional. Before, under Toshack, it had felt more amateur when you joined up with Wales. Now it felt like you were with a Premier League club. The sports science was great, the analysis of the opposition was excellent and the leadership from Speedo knitted it all together.
In October, we beat a good Switzerland team 2-0 at the Liberty Stadium with goals from Ramsey and Bale. That lifted us off the bottom of the group. That felt symbolic of the progress we were making
. Then we backed that up by going to Bulgaria and winning 1-0 in Sofia with another Bale goal.
I couldn’t wait to play for Wales now. We had become a team. We were not just winning games, we were holding the ball and dominating possession and I could sense Speedo’s pride. He was becoming a manager. I told him to stop talking like a player. I told him he was my manager now.
The next game was a friendly against Norway in Cardiff at the beginning of November. Speedo was quiet. I had a coffee with him down at the St David’s Bay Hotel and I noticed he had a bit of a beard, which was unusual for him. I was having a bad time in my marriage and we spoke about my situation. We talked about his life, too.
His quietness during that week disconcerted me a little bit but I put it down to the fact he was becoming a manager. I thought maybe it was just that he was putting a bit of distance between himself and the players. Everything was evolving fast. We beat Norway. In fact, we battered them. We won 4-1. Bale got one, I got one and Sam Vokes got a couple late on.
Speedo was normal after the game. He seemed proud of the performance and pleased with the way things were going. I had my own personal issues, so the game was a great relief for me. I wished at that time I could just play constantly and not go back to real life. I had a quick chat and a bit of a laugh with him and then I headed off.
I didn’t speak to him for the next couple of weeks. At the end of November, Liverpool had a big game against Manchester City at Anfield. It was the Sky Sunday game. On the Saturday night, I took a sleeping tablet like I do the night before every match to make sure I sleep through. It was a 4pm kick-off so I had a bit of a lie-in. When I got up, I looked at my phone.
I had several missed calls. Two were from Kieron and one was from my adviser. These were people who never called me on the day of a game. Back then, I always wanted to keep my mind entirely focused on the match and they knew that. But my phone kept going off. I began to realise something must be wrong. When Kieron rang for the third or fourth time, I answered.
“Have you heard about Speedo?” he said.
“What?” I said.
“Shay’s rung our agent to say Speedo’s committed suicide,” Kieron said.
“Fuck off,” I said. “No chance.”
“I’ve heard he’s hung himself,” Kieron said.
“Fucking no chance,” I said again. “You know what Twitter and the internet are like. It’s bullshit.”
I got in my car to drive to Anfield. That was the routine on the day of a home match: drive to Anfield, hop on the coach to Melwood, do all the pre-match stuff there.
Then my adviser called me. He was ringing with the same news. He said Speedo had committed suicide. I still didn’t believe it. I couldn’t see it. Not with Speedo. I still thought it was bullshit. I rang Shay Given.
“It’s true, mate,” Shay said.
“I don’t believe it,” I said.
I rang Raymond Verheijen. He didn’t know anything.
I rang someone at the Welsh FA. They didn’t know anything.
Then I got on the coach at Anfield to go to Melwood. Kevin Keen was sitting at the front.
I asked him if he’d heard anything about Speedo.
“What do you mean?” he said.
I went to the back of the coach and rang Suzanne who worked as a PA for both me and Speedo.
I asked her if she had heard anything.
“No, nothing,” she said.
I asked her to find out. I was starting to freak out.
I rang Speedo’s phone then. It started ringing.
‘He’s alive,’ I thought. ‘He’s alive. Thank fuck for that.’
Stupid, wasn’t it. A dead man’s phone can ring, too.
Suzanne rang back. She was hysterical. She told me it was true.
I was on the phone on the coach and all the players were around me.
I couldn’t comprehend it. Speedo was my idol in football. He was everything I tried to become. I spoke to him pretty much once a week for the last 10 years. Then the tears started to fall. I knew it was real then. I just broke down. The other players knew by then. Things get around quickly.
I rang my wife. I told her. She was numb with shock. She was worried about me, too.
I got off the coach at Melwood. Keen told me Kenny Dalglish wanted to see me in his office. I walked up to Kenny’s room. He was with Steve Clarke, his assistant manager.
“Look mate,” Kenny said, “I don’t know what to say or how to say it but I have been told that Speedo committed suicide. He hung himself this morning.”
I started crying. You don’t get prepared for that.
My mind was racing. How the fuck has he done that? Why has he done it? Everything was going well. Everything was going so well. Something’s happened. What’s happened?
“Go home,” Kenny said. “Go back to Cardiff. See your kids. You’re not playing today.”
“I want to play,” I said. “I want to play through it.”
“You can’t play today,” he told me. “You’re not in a fit state of mind. I’m taking the decision. Not you. I don’t care how long you want off or how long it takes. Come back when you’re ready.”
I didn’t want time off. I knew we had Chelsea at Stamford Bridge on the Tuesday in the Carling Cup quarter-final. I needed football to get me through it.
“If I go home now,” I said to Kenny, “I will be even worse. I need to train tomorrow.”
I was still crying as I said it.
Kenny has dealt with a lot of grief. He has seen too much grief. He knew how to deal with mine.
“Go home, Bellers,” he said.
I went back to my apartment in Sefton Park. It was only a few miles. It was the worst journey I’ve ever taken. It was horrible.
I didn’t want anyone else to share in my grief. I wanted to be alone. Despite our troubles, my wife wanted to come up to be with me. I said no. I regret that. It wasn’t fair to her. After all the years we had been together, I should have let her in.
I sat down and watched the television. I had it on Sky News. There were pictures of Shay standing in a line of Aston Villa players before their game against Swansea at the Liberty Stadium. He was crying.
I spoke to Speedo’s dad, Roger. God knows how he managed to speak to anyone.
I spoke to Shay after his game. I don’t know how he played.
I didn’t sleep that night. I was thinking about his kids. He adored his kids. I couldn’t believe he had left them.
And you know what, I felt angry with him, too. I adored him and looked up to him and had the highest respect for him. And now he was dead and I felt angry with him. I felt angry with him for leaving. I felt angry with him for leaving like this.
It started to scare me a little bit as well. If he is capable of that, what chance have the rest of us got?
Some time later, at the inquest into his death, his widow, Louise, described him as ‘a glass half-empty man’ and she was right about that. He got down easily. There was always a line with him. He was very cheerful but he could get down and he could get uncontrollably down. When that happened, you stayed away from him. Don’t say anything because if you say anything out of turn, he will flip.
There was a side of him which could go. Just go. If you took liberties, or he was worried about something, you could see it in him. You could see the tension. You could see him ready to explode. A lot of players were like that. Not just him.
I was determined to play against Chelsea on Tuesday. I had to play. I needed to play to help with my grief. I needed to do something to try to escape what had happened.
I travelled down to London on Monday. Kieron came to see me. Monday night was another sleepless night. There was a minute’s applause for Speedo before the Chelsea game. I stood in the line with the rest of the Liverpool players. I felt okay.
Then the Liverpool fans started singing his name. It was real to me then. That was when I started crying.
I’m a man’s man. I’m not supposed to cry. I didn’
t like Chelsea fans. I didn’t want to cry in front of them. But I couldn’t help it. The Chelsea supporters didn’t sing his name but I don’t expect that from them. They’re not my cup of tea. They’re not the type of fans I’d want to play for.
‘I’m going to play fucking well tonight,’ I thought.
Jamie Carragher was great. He didn’t say anything. He just gave me a little pat. When I wiped the tears away, I thought ‘let’s go’.
And Chelsea couldn’t get near me that night. It was one of the best games I have ever played. We won 2-0 and I set up both goals. The game was easy after the two days I had just had. It was a performance worthy of Speedo’s memory.
Kenny brought me off 10 minutes from the end. He gave me the biggest hug when I got to the touchline, which is typical of him.
Then I sat on the bench, put a coat over my head and cried.
28
Winning And Losing
Iwas happy about signing for Liverpool again in August, 2011, but it also represented a significant moment in my personal life. After a year in Cardiff, I was moving away again. I didn’t consult Claire about joining Liverpool. I didn’t really give her an option. I don’t think she really cared anyway by then. But this was the final straw. When I hit the motorway for the drive north for the beginning of pre-season training in the summer, I knew my marriage was slipping away.
Our prospects of staying together had been hurt by the way I’d acted when I was living at home during my year of playing for Cardiff. It was a difficult season for me on the field and my behaviour at home was often surly and withdrawn. And now it was either Liverpool or my wife. That’s how I felt. And I took Liverpool. The way I saw it, playing for Liverpool was my destiny. This is what I was here for. I was born to play this game and Liverpool was my team.
It was a joy to be back at Melwood. Some of the players from my first spell were still there, of course, Jamie Carragher and Steven Gerrard among them. They were just even bigger legends now than they had been four years earlier. The most significant change, as I say, was that Rafa had gone and Kenny was now in charge.
Craig Bellamy - GoodFella Page 28