Beckham (30 page)

Usually, a player's left with the day-to-day progress of an injury to deal with on his own. During that April and May, though, it seemed like there were a few million England supporters looking over my shoulder, having the same worries as I was. The fans' good wishes helped me along. Gary Neville was there for me too: he phoned as soon as he got away from Old Trafford after the La Coruña game. A fortnight later, I was watching the first leg of the Champions League semi-final against Bayer Leverkusen on television, the night he picked up the same injury. The moment Gary went down I knew what had happened. And I knew that, if I was touch and go for the World Cup, Gary had no chance. He just didn't have time. If I'd been him, I would have been devastated. But Gaz is so positive in his attitude: whatever he was feeling inside, he did his best to stay upbeat. He deserved better than to have to miss three months of the following season as well because the foot needed an operation to put things right.

I was worried about the summer and I was really disappointed to miss the end of United's season. Bayer Leverkusen put us out of the Champions League on away goals. I'm sure we'd have had a great chance of beating Real Madrid at Hampden Park if we could have got to the final. It was a frustrating time for me and a frustrating time for the club but I knew that, with the manager staying, United would push
on again next time round. I couldn't imagine that I wouldn't be a part of that when it happened. I was in the middle of negotiations over a new contract. I knew what I wanted to do and I was pretty sure I knew what the club wanted to do. Modern-day soccer, though, is never as simple as that. The negotiations, and the newspaper speculation, had already spun on for over a year. Now was the time to set things straight.

I never thought seriously about anything other than signing a new contract with the club I loved. It was just a question of getting the details right: a new deal was going to mean a major commitment on both sides. I needed to know that United respected my value to them and I don't think united directors Peter Kenyon and David Gill, who handled things at the club's end, had a problem with that. They certainly did everything they could to make things go smoothly and made sure they honored every single promise. I'm very grateful to them for that. I'm grateful that I had the right man—the best man—sitting on my side of the table as well.

Tony Stephens has 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 and I don't think he's forgotten it either.

‘Soccer'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. He thought that was what an agent should be all about: taking the pressure off his clients so that they could get on with their jobs. That's exactly what he's done for me ever since. Tony's someone I know I can put absolute trust in, whatever the circumstances. Sometimes it'll feel like he's fussing around, organizing every little detail of my life. He has the kind of character that means he'll walk into a room full of complete strangers and have them all working on a plan and a schedule together within about fifteen minutes. Everybody else may be losing their heads. He'll be the one in control. And that's what I've needed over the last eight years and still do: now more than ever.

If you rely on someone like I do on Tony, the honesty and openness you have between you means it has to be more than just a business arrangement. He's my agent. He's also one of my very closest friends, a person I know I can turn to for advice or guidance. We can talk things through, not only about my career but about almost every other aspect of my life as well. In many ways, Tony knows me better than anyone. The only problem we had at United, though, was a tricky one. He and the manager didn't get on; or, at least, the manager 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, and even went round to his house to do it face to face. There are stories that the manager 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 always regretted that the United manager wouldn't talk to my agent.

It might have made all our lives easier over the years. And I think, if they had sat down together, the boss might have realized he'd misjudged Tony. Yes, he's an agent but he also loves soccer and always understood that for me United was the foundation stone for everything else that went on in my professional life. Tony would never say or do anything to compromise my priorities. I think back to times 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 soccer 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 Tony could have had the kind of relationship in which they could pickup the phone and speak to each other.

The frost between Tony and the boss 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 workout 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 field 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 next to last home game 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 manager came out on the field 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. We even managed to sell television rights for the night to ITV. 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 soccer, of course, soccer greats from the past, and stars from other sports along with some famous musicians and actors as well.

To help raise more money for charity, 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 injured 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 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 out—Victoria had decided on everything down to the napkins and cutlery—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 knew I was down to make my first speech since our wedding day. I was England captain and all these people had come to my home. 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 UNICEF, the United Nations childrens' charity with which Manchester United were involved. I knew I should say something about the NSPCC and 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 index cards. 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 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 soccer. 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 soccer, about my life, about nothing in particular. My defenses 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' shelter 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: and our guests stumped up over £250,000.