Beckham (4 page)

Once I started to get serious about playing soccer, Joe and Peggy would come over to us on Sunday morning. Grandad came and watched all my games. I liked him being there: he was softer with me than Dad when it came to talking about the match and how I'd played. Mum wanted to come too, so Peggy would stay at our house. She'd look after Lynne and have Sunday dinner ready when we all came in. Then, Sunday afternoons, we often went down to Victoria Park in Hackney. There was plenty of open space to play soccer with Dad and Grandad, and there were lots of other things to do as well: a big playground, the boating lake and even a little zoo.

I couldn't have asked for anything more and I didn't, but along came Ridgeway Rovers anyway and took over my life. I was seven, so it's not surprising I'm not sure now how it all happened. My mum remembers me being spotted playing in the park and a bloke called Stuart Underwood knocking on our front door to ask about me. My dad, though, reckons there was an advertisement about a new boys' soccer team in the local paper and that afternoon over at Chase Lane was a sort of trial. Either way, I'm really grateful—and proud—that I was part of that first Ridgeway Rovers team. And the man who set up the team had a lot to do with me making a future for myself in the game.

Stuart Underwood's a massive bloke. About 76 inches, with a big booming voice and this fantastic presence about him. He was a bit of
a drill sergeant type. I was a little scared of him at first. He could be pretty tough: no matter how young you were, if you weren't playing well, in a game or in training, he'd tell you that you were rubbish and needed to do better, instead of just jollying you along. Stuart was honest with you. But he wasn't one of those dads who stood on the touchline at kids' games, bawling and screaming. He had this softness about him as well. His own son Robert played in the team, but Stuart seemed like a father figure to all of us. And he had this dream about creating a really good team.

Every single boy just loved playing for Stuart and we had this fantastic team spirit. He'd organize for Ridgeway to play in competitions in Holland and Germany, so we gained the same sort of experience as a professional playing in an international tournament. Other fathers got involved, too. My dad took on some of the coaching. So did a man called Steve Kirby, whose son Ryan played for Ridgeway and ended up playing against me ten years later in the League. Dad was always a fit man and he did running with us, as well as working on our technique. Steve was a bit of a tactician and he used to do positional play, runs off the ball and that kind of thing. A lot of the time, all three of them would be there and we'd split into smaller groups: there weren't many boys our age who got that much attention paid to their training. The three of them—Steve, Stuart and my dad—used to argue a lot, but it was all in the cause. They were honest people wanting to make the team as good as they could.

It worked. I don't know where Stuart found them, but we had some really good players: Ryan Kirby, Micah Hyde, who's now at Watford, Jason Brissett, who was at Bournemouth last I heard, and Chris Day, who was a lanky center-forward for us but ended up playing in goal for QPR. It was all about the team, though. Stuart Underwood's son, Robert, was a perfect example. To be honest, he didn't have great ability to start with but because he worked so hard at his game, he made himself into a good team player. That was credit to him, but it
was credit to Stuart and the rest of us too. We never once thought to ourselves: he's not good enough to be playing for Ridgeway.

Stuart had to have everything done properly. We always had a decent field on which to play our home games, like the one at Ainslie Wood Sports Ground, which was just a short walk from home. We trained twice a week. Stuart lived nearby, in Larkswood Road, and there was a park there, with decent facilities, that we used to use. One way or another, Stuart would make sure we had what we needed. When we had important games, like Cup finals, he'd insist on us eight and nine-year-olds wearing a collar and tie. One important rule was that if you didn't turn up for training in the week, then you didn't play at the weekend; it was as simple as that. It was a good habit to learn: I always made sure I was there and that I was there on time. I loved the training anyway. Lived for it. But it was also another reason we had such a good team: Ridgeway Rovers always went about things the right way.

With so many boys' sides, you notice the most talented players. They make a big fuss of the individuals in the team. That wasn't allowed with Ridgeway: any showing off and you'd be brought back down. It was all about the team. In no time, we were starting to win games ten-and eleven-nil and people could see there was something special about us. Professional clubs started scouting our players, and I think west Ham asked about me when I was eleven. But Stuart, Steve and my dad had decided that there should be no need for any of us to be involved with clubs until we were older. If you were training with a professional club, the rule was you couldn't be training with a Sunday League team at the same time. I knew I didn't want that, I wasn't ready for it. We all stuck with Ridgeway. I think, in the long run, those rules were why so many of us went on to make a success of ourselves. We learned about commitment and dedication right from the start.

I had to learn about not playing soccer too. Because I was smaller than most, I used to get my share of knocks. Dad had drummed into me that, most of the time, the best thing to do was just get up and get
on with it, like I'd had to with his mates over at Wadham Lodge. He taught me a lot about avoiding injury as well. As a winger—and because people were starting to hear about me a bit—I often had a defender trying to give me a kick. Dad worked with me on keeping the ball moving, releasing it quickly once it was under control. That still helps me keep out of scrapes as a professional player. And it's the best way to play. When I was about ten, I did have one layoff through injury: the kind that happens to lots of boys. Running and jumping all the time, especially on hard fields, ends up jarring knees, shins and ankles. With me, it was my heels: pins and needles at first and then, later, aching during and after games. I tried putting bits of foam in my boots but eventually I had to have a complete break from soccer. I couldn't play, I couldn't train. Couldn't even have a kickabout over at the park. That was the longest five weeks of my life and, in a way, I've never got over it. Having to watch soccer instead of playing it still has me climbing up walls.

Ridgeway Rovers was a great time for all of us, not just the players. Our families got involved, whether it was washing uniforms, driving us about, coming on trips or raising funds. That team was together for six years, which meant our families were, too. And you can't spend that amount of time together without becoming pretty close. I remember Micah Hyde's dad, Ken, used to have dreadlocks: him and my dad—short back and sides—would be stood on the touchline together on a Sunday for the Ridgeway game. The parents used to organize dinners and Friday night dances to help raise money to pay for the team. Even though it was Dad who took us for training, my mum probably put in almost as many hours on me and my soccer, despite her job as a hairdresser. She was the only one of the mums who drove, so if there was a minibus run she always ended up with the job. When Dad was out working, Mum would be the one who got me to where I needed to be, when I needed to be there, with the right stuff ready in the right bag.

Looking back, it must have been quite hard for my sisters, with so much of our family time being tied up with my soccer. I've spoken to Lynne about it since and she says she did feel a bit left out by it all. She's three years older than me and had her own friends and just got on with her own life. Even so, when we were at school together Lynne would always stick up for me if there was any trouble. One lunchtime at Chingford High, I remember having an argument with an older boy in the dinner queue. He ended up whacking me out in the playground. It was Lynne who took me home. She made sure I was all right and that the teachers at school knew what had happened. Soccer, though, she didn't really like at all. We've both got our own families now: Lynne and her husband Colin have a girl and a boy, Georgina and Freddie. Even though we don't see that much of each other, I'd say I feel closer to my older sister these days than I ever did when we were young.

It was different with Joanne. I was five when she came along. I can still remember standing in the kitchen at home and my dad coming in and telling me she'd been born and me bursting into tears. I really wanted a brother, of course. But we got on fine: if I wanted her to go in goal in the back garden, she never said no. She just trailed after me all the time: to soccer, the park, the shops, everywhere. Joanne's a hairdresser now, just like Mum, and it's only in the last couple of years, since she started working and I got married, that we've stopped being together so much like that. I suppose she had to grow up eventually; and so did I. Sometimes, though, I do miss having my little mate around. I'm sure Joanne misses running around with big brother as well.

Mum always tried to make sure we sat down together to dinner as a family. That was when she and Dad would try and get me to tell them about what I'd been doing at school. I do the same with Brooklyn now. If I ask him, I usually get the same response my parents got with me: nothing. It wasn't that it was a secret or anything. It's just how kids are, isn't it? When I was at primary school, I'd be around to help with meal times at home. I would take Joanne out in the garden or in the front
room to play so Mum wouldn't be tripping over a toddler while she was cooking. When it came time to sit down, I used to have the job of laying the table. Then, at secondary school, I opted to do Home Economics—cooking, basically—because the alternative was a double period of Science. I enjoyed being in the kitchen when I was at home anyway. By the time I was thirteen, if Mum was working, she'd leave me to get dinner ready for all of us. If she was cutting hair at home, I'd make cups of tea and arrange little plates of biscuits for her clients while they were there at the house.

There must have been some kind of mistake, because when I moved on to secondary school—Chingford High in Nevin Drive—it turned out they played rugby instead of soccer. Lucky for me, our rugby teacher, John Bullock, was tough and disciplined but a lovely man. He was great with all of us and always seemed to have a lot of time for me. He was a fantastic teacher. He died a few years back, on the same night I got sent off against Argentina in Saint-Etienne, but he was the one teacher I stayed in touch with. Even after I first went up to Old Trafford, I used to write to Mr Bullock, as well as go back to see him and the school, which I think meant a lot to him. People have told me since that he really adored me, and just talked about me all the time.

I don't think Mr Bullock was very interested in soccer, but there were that many of us boys going on at him, pestering him, that he agreed to give it a go. And everything changed. As soon as we had a school soccer team, we started winning leagues and cups, which was great for us. It was great for the school, as well. Maybe the soccer helped me to be happy there. I wasn't that interested in lessons. I was cross-country champion for the local borough and swam for Chingford High, but there was only one thing I ever wanted to do with my life. I was lucky that I had that drive from a really young age. Knowing what I wanted in the future, what would have been the point in messing about along the way? I got in trouble once or twice for being cheeky, like every schoolboy does. But, most of the time, I kept my head down and did my homework:
I used to pop into Alan Smith's house and his mum, Pat, would help me with some of it. She was really good at Maths, I remember, and Alan was too. He's in insurance now, working for Rothschild, and I run into him now and again: he's married and has moved away but he works from an office in his mum and dad's loft. The important thing was that I never missed a day's school, unless I was ill, at either Chase Lane Primary or at Chingford High.

If it hadn't been soccer, I don't know what I would have ended up doing when I grew up. I liked Music lessons and, at primary school, they thought I had a decent voice. I sang a solo in the school choir just before I left there. One subject I really enjoyed all through school was Art. Even before I went to Chingford High, I loved drawing and painting. As well as doing it at Chase Lane Primary, Joan had all the stuff we needed for painting inside the hut in the park. On a rainy day at home, I'd spend hours copying Disney cartoon figures out of comics. I seem to remember Donald Duck was my specialty. As I got older, I began drawing cartoon figures that I'd made up myself. Even the artwork ended up coming back to soccer, though. Once I started playing for Ridgeway Rovers, instead of Mickey and Donald, I started drawing cartoons of games and the other people involved with the team: great goals, complete with Stuart Underwood in the background, his speech bubble describing what was going on in the rest of the picture.

Playing for the school team was the way into higher level soccer, of course, and I was able to represent my District with Waltham Forest and my County with Essex. I've been lucky to have such good coaching ever since those evenings over in the park with Dad. Don Wiltshire and Martin Heather were both great for me as a teenager, though they couldn't have been more different. Don, who managed the District side, was this solid, well-built man with a deep voice and a way about him that told you he knew exactly what he wanted for the team. When I first started playing for Waltham Forest, it felt like being selected to play for England.

People criticize schools soccer sometimes, saying it's all about getting the ball down the other end quickly, using kick and rush tactics, with the bigger kids always being the ones who get a game. All I can say is, it wasn't like that for me at school, at District or County level. It took me a little while to get into the side because I was so much smaller than most of the other boys my age. But once I had a chance, Don and Martin both used to encourage me, and the rest of the team, to play to our strengths.