Wayne Rooney: My Decade in the Premier League (22 page)

In the dressing room afterwards, he yells at me.

‘I’m never playing you at this stadium again! You can play so badly here!’

He might have a point. I often have a ’mare at Goodison because playing here is still a massive deal for me. I still want to show the Everton fans why I left them behind and what sort of player I’ve become. I still want to prove a point whenever I play here. Sure, I’ve played well in one or two games at Goodison, but I’ve also played really badly in others.

Today was the worst.

*****

When I get home after the Everton game, something strange happens. Coleen opens the door with our newborn son, Kai, in her arms. She smiles and says, ‘Unlucky, Wayne,’ then she hands me the baby. I walk indoors and look down at him in my arms. He looks up at me and smiles.
How can I be grumpy now?

I smile back. I can’t help but be happy because I want to play with him. He’s only four months old but he’s taking me out of my bad mood.

‘Here, Coleen, we’ve lost the game and this is the first time I’m not stewing in it.’

She laughs. It’s a first, we know. I used to take a black mood home with me whenever we’d got beat. After a defeat, I’d be grumpy all night; I’d be grumpy the next day, too. I used to sit on the couch sulking and I wouldn’t shift for hours. I’d watch the telly because I couldn’t get to sleep until three or four in the morning. I’d be replaying the game in my head, reliving the mistakes over and over, wasting hours feeling sorry for myself.

It’s funny, when I score great goals or do something dead smart on the football pitch, everything happens so quickly that I don’t get to enjoy it for long. Afterwards, when I’m replaying everything back in my head like a DVD, I find it hard to see those split-second decisions. I can’t remember the touch that brought a long pass down. I can’t remember feeling the ball leaving my boot. I can’t remember that instant where I’ve realised my shot has gone beyond the goalie’s fingertips and into the back of the net.

When I make a mistake I remember everything.

It’s crystal clear and in a freeze frame for days afterwards. I relive it all before I go to sleep. And when I think about it, I feel embarrassed. It’s horrible.

Maybe fatherhood puts it all into perspective. I have a great passion for football and winning, but now that I have a family I have other responsibilities. At this moment, I have to give Kai my time; I have to be a dad. I can’t be moody anymore. I have to deal with the nightmare games on my own.

Things have changed …

*****

But not that much.

I can’t help the way I am. Even though I’m in a better mood than normal after the Everton game I still hate losing more than anything. I know I haven’t played well and when Kai’s gone to bed, I have a right go at myself. After dinner I watch the game back; I analyse the things that I’ve done wrong. As I see the mistakes on the box I get really wound up, but I can only think of one thing:
I can’t wait for the next match
.

I want to put Everton behind me by playing well in the next fixture against West Ham. Until the whistle goes again the bad performance is going to be on my mind. It’s going to drive me on in training; it’ll make me run harder all week. It’ll even keep me awake at night.

I can’t wait for the next match.

*****

We beat West Ham, 3–0; I score two. Talk about putting a bad game behind me.

I’m the same as any football fan in the country: when the fixtures are announced in the summer, I scan them quickly, picking out the most important matches.

I look for Everton first.

I look for Liverpool.

I look for City.

Then I look for Arsenal and Chelsea, the crunch games in the title race. I look at our opponents on the first and last day of the season; who we’re playing in the Christmas break. But really, no league fixtures are as important to me as the games against Everton, Liverpool, City and whoever might stop us from winning the title.

Then I look for other matches that might affect me, like the Merseyside derby. I make a point of watching those
games as a supporter if I can. I can’t help it. I’m still an Everton fan and I still get really nervous whenever I watch them on the box. I get upset if they lose. I shout and swear at the telly, I moan at the ref if he gives a bad decision against them. I’ve even got Kai a tiny Everton kit. We dress him in it for the games when they’re playing on the telly.

I’m not the only one though. Rio tells me that he always keeps an eye out for the West Ham results when they come in. Michael Carrick always wants Newcastle to win, except when they’re playing us. We all understand what it’s like to be sat in a packed stadium, watching a team we love, getting that buzz when they win and that sick feeling when they lose. That’s why it’s a massive thing to be loved by the supporters of the club I play for.

Whenever I turn out for United, the fans always sing the same thing:

‘Rooney!’

‘Rooney!’

‘Rooooooo-neeeee!’

It starts in a little corner of the ground and it builds. It gets bigger and bigger until it’s echoing around the whole stadium. As it happens I’m usually focusing on the game so I don’t often hear it, but if play has stopped and I catch the sound of my name ringing around the ground, it helps to sharpen my concentration even more. I use it to push me on. Sometimes it gives me goose bumps.

‘Rooney!’

‘Rooney!’

‘Rooooooo-neeeee!’

I hear it when I walk onto the pitch and it pumps me up. When I hear it after I’ve made a great tackle or I’ve scored, I can get a bit emotional. I feel my chest puffing up with pride. The crowd are on their feet, cheering, waving their flags, singing.

‘Rooney!’

‘Rooney!’

‘Rooooooo-neeeee!’

It’s an unbelievable feeling.

*****

Every game is a massive event at United, but some matches seem to take over the whole town. At Everton it was always the Merseyside derby. At Old Trafford it’s the fixtures against Liverpool and Man City – Liverpool because of the great successes they’ve had over the years and City because they’re our neighbours.

It’s double trouble for both Manchester teams this year, because we draw City in the Carling Cup semi-final. Two games, home and away. Two more derbies. For a week before the first leg on 19 January at their place, the fans say the same thing to me whenever I see them.

We have to win. We can’t not win.

While the supporters are going mad for the game, in training The Manager keeps us calm. He maintains our focus. He prepares us like it’s any other fixture, he tells us to concentrate on our technique. He understands that if we play our usual game then we’ll have a great chance of
winning the match, because we’re a much better side than City.

‘If you keep your heads and play football, we’ll beat them every time,’ he tells us. ‘If you lose your heads, it gives their lot a chance. The crowd can get behind them and form will fly out of the window. It doesn’t matter if City are the best team in the league or the worst; if you lose your cool, they’ll win the game.’

But when the time comes for us to prepare ourselves mentally – in the team meeting on the night before the match – he gets us as fired up as the punters in the stands. He tells us that it’s not just the points that are at stake, it’s local passion and local pride.

‘It means everything to the people out there.’

The English players get it straightaway, they know. Michael Owen comes up to me after the meeting – he can’t believe how psyched up The Manager is, how he’s got the entire squad going. He says, ‘Oh my god. That’s one of the best things I’ve ever heard.’

Sometimes it’s the foreign lads who need some advice, some winding up, because the atmosphere and importance is new to them. They have to be told about the size of the derby and the size of the event. The rivalry, the noise, the aggression. It’s something they might not have experienced before, certainly not in a game as big as the Manchester derby. If a player isn’t ready for it, the rush and intensity of the game can come as a shock.

They say, ‘Oh, City were mid-table last season. This should be easy.’

I tell them it’s not. I tell them it’s never easy and that it means a lot to everyone involved in the club. They should be prepared, but sometimes the team talks and the warnings don’t work, like the run up to our 2010 FA Cup Third Round game against Leeds United. The match takes place in the same month as the City game and The Manager pulls all the players together at training.

‘This will be the toughest game of the season.’

I can see some of the foreign lads looking around. They seem confused.

‘How is it going to be the most difficult game of the season?’ says Nemanja Vidic. ‘They’re in League One.’

The Manager spells it out for him. He warns him about the rivalry between the two teams and the hatred the fans have for each other. He talks about the underdog spirit and the magic of the FA Cup. Vida seems to get it, but the next day we lose and get knocked out of the competition. Even the best-laid plans can fly out of the window sometimes.

*****

As the date arrives, I notice the mood changing in Manchester. More and more kits are being worn around town. Everyone’s talking about it – in the supermarket, the pubs, on the street. United fans tell me to batter the other lot; City fans ask me to go easy.

It’s different to the Merseyside derby, though. When I played for Everton, we were always the underdogs, everyone reckoned Liverpool would win. These days I
experience the opposite: United win most of the Manchester derbies and the fans expect us to win, home and away. At Everton, a draw was a good result. At United a draw is a poor one.

On the night of the game, I can feel the atmosphere building in the ground. It’s mad, the most hostile mood I can imagine. When we arrive at their place their fans boo me from the minute I get on to the grass for the warm up. They sing songs about me. They call me this, that and the other.

I love it.

I love it because it means I annoy them, I get under their skin. They’re doing it because they’re frightened I might hurt them, cause some damage, maybe grab a goal. They want to stop me from scoring against them and they’ll do anything to put me off my game. It never bothers me. They can boo as much as they like. I want us to batter City tonight.

*****

Things don’t go well. We outplay City for the best part of 90 minutes and take an early lead through Giggsy, but then they get a penalty and Carlos steps up to take it. I try my best to wind him up. Even though he’s a pal of mine, even though he used to give me a lift to the airport whenever we played Champions League games, I want him to blow it. I jog up to him and lean down as he places the ball on the spot.

I whisper, ‘Don’t hit the post, Carlos. Whatever you do, don’t hit the post.’

He doesn’t. He tucks it away and sprints towards the United bench to make gestures at Gary Neville. Apparently Gary had taken a pop at Carlos in the press after he’d left the club for City; when Carlos runs over to the touchline to gesture to Gaz on the bench, Gaz reacts and gives it back because he hates City.

I later ask Gary what happened and he tells me that he’d said in the papers that if The Manager had chosen not to sign Carlos permanently, then it was the right decision because The Manager hadn’t made many bad decisions during his time at the club. Carlos had obviously seen it on the morning of the game and was taking it the wrong way. It doesn’t help the bad mood in the stadium when he later scores a winner and starts gesturing to Gary again.

By the time the second leg comes around we’re really up for it. City are talking a lot before the game about their plans and ambitions. They’re looking to qualify for the Champions League, especially after spending a lot of money in the summer. We know we have to put them in their place.

We know we have to win.

We get off to a good start and lead 2–0. It puts us 3–2 in front on aggregate. Then, suddenly, Carlos scores again to bring the game level. With the match looking like it’s going into extra-time, I get my head onto a cross. It loops up over Shay Given, drops into the back of the net and Old Trafford goes mental.

One half of the city goes mental.

We’re going to Wembley again!

I love scoring in a derby game because it’s extra special. It means something to the club and it means so much to the fans. It gives them something to lift their mood for the rest of the week. I feel like I’ve put one over on the other lot for them, maybe scooped them a few quid in bets. It’s even better getting a winner in the last minute because there’s no coming back from it.

That night I drive home and watch the goal over and over again on the telly. I’m buzzing so much I can’t sleep. I have a glass of red wine to relax; I turn on the Xbox and play a football game to tire myself out, logging into an online game under my own name.

I play a United fan. He’s talking to me through the headset that links the two players over the internet. He has no idea he’s playing the real Wayne Rooney and figures I’m just another United supporter using the name for a laugh. He starts chatting about the City game.