Wayne Rooney: My Decade in the Premier League (17 page)

The funny thing is, chatting to that lad on holiday got me thinking about the type of player I’d become, the type of footballer I was when I was a lad.

When I first started playing for Everton, I was dead raw. I was a hothead. I’d always lose my rag if things weren’t going well for me and in my first season I picked up eight yellow cards and one red. The first sending off was horrible. I came on as a sub against Birmingham City and picked up a pass, turned and ran at their defence. My touch let me down, it was too heavy, and as I tried to reclaim the ball, I lunged in for it as their centre-half Steve Vickers cleared it away. I couldn’t stop myself in time and I went through him, my studs cutting into his shin (the gash was so bad he needed 10 stitches afterwards, which I felt terrible about). I never
meant to catch him; I was genuinely trying to get the ball. The ref didn’t see it that way though and showed me the red card.

The walk to the dressing room was a nightmare. The tunnel at Birmingham was in the far corner of the ground and it was miles away. The tackle had taken place in probably the furthest point away on the pitch and it took me ages to get there. All the Birmingham fans were giving it as I trudged back. When I got inside, it was the coldest dressing room ever, it was freezing. And sitting in there on my own gave me too much time to think – I was devastated because I knew that I’d have to miss the next three games.

At that time in my life, the flare-ups happened because of the adrenaline, the excitement that took me over whenever I got onto a footy pitch in front of thousands of fans. Everything was so exciting then that it was hard not to get carried away whenever I pulled on an Everton shirt. I remember clashing with the West Brom defender Darren Moore when we played them in the league. I was running down the wing, he was chasing after me. I stopped the ball dead; I could see that he didn’t want to come in too close to me in case I moved the ball past him. Instead he waited, standing off, so I put a foot on the ball – my hands on my hips – as he jockeyed me, forcing me to make a move. I could see he was thinking, ‘The cheeky git’ and when I poked the ball past him and moved away, he tackled me hard. I was being disrespectful, so I deserved it I suppose.

I could get above myself off the pitch as well. I hated being dropped. After a couple of games in the team, David
Moyes named me as a sub and I was fuming afterwards; I sulked around the house when I heard the news. Thinking about it now, I can see that he wanted to save me, to stop me from burning out, but I wanted to play and there was nothing the management team or the other players in the squad could do to cheer me up if I was out of the side. They knew the way I was, that I hated to back down or to be second best, and it was probably for that reason that he later dropped me for the Merseyside derby at Anfield, a 0–0 draw. I think the manager thought I was going to lose my head, especially as I was an Evertonian and the game meant so much more to me than some of the other players.

I was upset again. Moody. I sat in the dressing room before the game, gutted that I couldn’t play. I made the walk down the tunnel and saw their famous ‘This Is Anfield’ sign (it meant nothing to me); I wanted to get a result for our side of the city. As I got out to the bench I knew most of my family would be at home watching the results coming in on the telly. Most of them hadn’t come to the ground – some of them hated Liverpool so much they wouldn’t dream of going to Anfield for the derby, and I was desperate to make my mark for them. When I finally got on in the second half I thumped a shot against the bar. Later, when the ball was played in over the top, I ran through the Liverpool back four as their keeper, Chris Kirkland, raced out for the ball. We both went for it 100% and smashed into one another, the pair of us hitting the deck with a thump. My hip was throbbing. The physio raced on.

‘You alright, Wayne?’

‘Yeah, fine.’

I was lying. I was in agony. But there was no way I was limping off the field in a Merseyside derby at Anfield.

*****

I took it all in my stride. The biggest stadiums, the biggest players, an England debut against Australia in 2003. I didn’t stop to think about how huge it all was. I was ready; I felt like I could do anything. Looking back now I can see how special the adventure had become, but at the time, I just wanted to be playing.

The money was crazy too. I was still on £75 a week; I’d just turned 17. Then the club gave me a professional footballer’s wage, an amount I couldn’t have even imagined earning when I was at school. When my first payslip came through, I couldn’t believe the numbers. The funny thing was, I had to wait another month before the money went into my account, so I borrowed a bit of cash from Mum to tide me over. When payday arrived, it felt weird. I’d never seen money like that in my bank account before.

Everton finished just outside the European places in 2002/03, and to celebrate my first season I took Coleen to Miami for a holiday. We were so young; it was our first time abroad. We sat on the plane in first class and the stewards brought us some complimentary champagne. We were excited and ordered a couple of drinks, then Coleen knocked a glass off the table into my lap and I had to spend the rest of the flight half-naked, an airline blanket wrapped around
my waist as my pants were dried by the stewards. We were like little kids back then and everything was so new, even our first holiday away together.

*****

Everton weren’t good enough the following season, I’m not sure why exactly; I think some of it was down to the fact that we were an ageing team. There were a lot of players coming to the end of their careers as 2003/04 got underway – Duncan, Alan Stubbs, Scott Gemmill, Mark Pembridge, David Weir and David Unsworth. It was always going to be a difficult year. We weren’t good enough as a team and the standard of football and the way we played was disappointing. We finished 17th, one place above the relegation zone.

By the end of the campaign I knew I could play for one of the bigger sides in the Premier League because I had become a first-team regular for England, lining up alongside Steven Gerrard, David Beckham, Frank Lampard and Paul Scholes. All of them were great players and I had fitted in just fine. At the time I was probably playing as well as any of those names, especially after the European Championships in 2004 where I scored four goals. After that tournament I didn’t have any doubts that I could play at the highest level – at a club challenging for the Premier League title or the Champions League.

The rumours about me leaving Everton started at around the same time. In January 2004, the papers made out that Chelsea, United, Arsenal and Newcastle wanted to sign me.
I didn’t know how true those rumours were, but I was happy that other teams had taken notice of what I was doing. After the Euros, I made up my mind to leave Goodison Park.

One of the teams apparently chasing me was Real Madrid. As the talking became more serious, I decided that I’d be happy to play in Spain, but only if Man United didn’t come in for me – they were always my number one choice. I actually spoke to my mum and dad and Coleen about it. They said, ‘Whatever you decide, we’ll be right behind you,’ but to be honest, my heart was hoping for a move to Old Trafford rather than Spain.

In the end it was Newcastle who made the first bid at £20 million, but Everton turned it down. Then United put their offer in. I sat down with David Moyes and told him I wanted to go to Old Trafford.

‘Will you accept the bid from them?’

He felt that the money wasn’t high enough but in the end United made a bigger offer. I went into his office and said, ‘Listen, I’ve told you, I think it would be better if you accepted the offer. You know I love the club but for the sake of my career I want the opportunity to play at the highest level.’

He said, ‘Unless you put a transfer request in, you’re not leaving.’

I went straight into the club secretary’s office and got her to draft a letter for me, asking to leave the club. Once it was printed off I went back into the manager’s office.

‘There you are,’ I said. ‘There’s your transfer request. Will you accept United’s offer?’

It was tough as an Everton fan to make that decision, but I felt that I had to take the opportunity and join United. A chance like that might never have come round again – I wanted to play at Old Trafford for my football career. I now understand David Moyes’ position. He didn’t want me to leave, I did. He wanted to make sure Everton Football Club got the best price they possibly could for me.

*****

It’s funny how coincidences crop up in football. At the start of the 2004/05 campaign, the night before the transfer deadline day, Man United played Everton at Old Trafford. I was injured at the time, having busted my foot in Euro 2004. A section of the Man United fans were singing my name, which felt dead weird, and the Everton fans were understandably going mad. I probably would have signed that day if that game hadn’t been taking place. In the end, the transfer went through at the last hour.

Despite the fuss, my head was quite sound. I felt alright, I didn’t really think about the size of the deal, the money or the headlines. I was confident that I could play for Man United. More importantly, I was desperate to win trophies. Looking back, I made the right move.

We’re a month into the 2008/09 season. I lifted the Champions League trophy in Moscow a few months earlier, but the buzz is wearing off and I’m dead moody because Liverpool are sitting at the top of the Premier League along with Chelsea.

It’s funny, but I can’t shake the feeling that I had when I was a kid watching Everton in the stands with my dad:
I don’t want to see Liverpool do well
. Even as a professional footballer I still have the same emotions I had as a young fan. Of course, I respect Liverpool as a football
club. I respect the history they have and the trophies they’ve won, but I’ve grown up hating them because that’s what football fans do and that feeling has never gone away. I even tell a journalist that I still hate Liverpool and all hell breaks loose in the papers. There are headlines:

‘ROONEY: I HATE KOP’

The Manager has to put the press straight.

‘Hate’s an easy word to say, easier than dislike,’ he says. ‘Maybe it’s not the right word. He’s had a lot of stick from their fans over the years, so it’s understandable.’

The thing is, I’ve been brought up that way. Most of my family – Evertonians all of them – won’t even go to Anfield to watch the Merseyside derby because the divide is so big between the fans. They can’t stand the place. But it works both ways. I reckon if I was to ask Steven Gerrard or Jamie Carragher about the rivalry – lads who play for Liverpool with a real passion for the club – they’d say the same thing about United or Everton. As supporters I think that’s the way we’ve all been brought up.
It’s tribal
.

Some people might think that’s crazy, but as players that feeling, that
dislike
, doesn’t go away, even for a bunch of grown men playing professionally for a Premier League club. I think the English lads who have grown up supporting a team will always feel that sense of rivalry.

It’s different for the foreign lads. They’ve grown up supporting teams from their own countries, their football passions remain at home. A bit more energy and pride hits the English lads when they’re tied up emotionally with teams in the Premier League, especially in derby matches. So, for me, it’s not nice to see Liverpool flying out of the traps at the start of the season.

It doesn’t help that we’re a bit off the pace, too.