Wayne Rooney: My Decade in the Premier League (30 page)

The good thing is, Rangers will be up for this game. They’re two points ahead of Bolton in the relegation zone and need a result to ensure their safety 100%; if Bolton lose or draw their match at Stoke, QPR will be fine regardless.
This is the closest end to a season I’ve ever known
.

Then The Manager tells us to expect the unexpected.

‘If it happens, if City blow it, it won’t be the first time things haven’t gone the way we thought, lads,’ he says one lunchtime as everyone sits down to eat in the club canteen. ‘In 1995, we played West Ham away and Blackburn were playing Liverpool. Blackburn had to win to guarantee them the title; if they drew and we won, we’d win the league. Nobody expected Liverpool to do United a favour by beating Blackburn, but they did. The only problem was that we drew
with West Ham in the end, so Blackburn finished at the top of the Premier League.

‘I don’t want that to happen again. So do your job and beat Sunderland. Let the rest take care of itself.’

I try to shut everything out. I make out to myself that it’s a normal week because I know that over-thinking, focusing on what could go wrong, is bad news for a sportsman. Like if a golfer stands at the tee box and visualises the massive bunker in the middle of the fairway rather than the acres of green grass in front of him. Chances are, he’s finding the sand. I know that if I go into the Sunderland game worrying about the outcome, or thinking about not playing well, then it’s going to mess with my head.

Stay upbeat. Think about scoring goals, playing well
.

Do your job
.

*****

When it comes to the game, we start well. We do our job.

I score first to put us in top spot. Then City go ahead at the Etihad – their defender, Pablo Zabaleta, gets one just before half-time. It’s mad, when City score and the news flies around the ground, our fans fall silent, like we’ve conceded the goal ourselves.

For a while there, we were top of the table
.

But it’s not over yet. After 47 minutes QPR do the unthinkable and equalise. The United end at The Stadium of Light goes mental. Twenty minutes later, Rangers do the impossible for a second time and go 2–1 up. Our fans are
losing it, the players can sense the league is coming back to Old Trafford. I can’t make out what’s going on, nobody can.

Is it over? Have City really blown it?

When the final whistle goes there’s complete confusion. I’m looking to the bench, trying to work out whether we’re champions. Everyone’s staring at one another, shrugging their shoulders. Phil Jones looks completely stunned, lost. Then the Sunderland fans start cheering. They’re turning their backs to the ground and bouncing up and down.

That’s ‘The Poznan’
–
the celebration that City do whenever they score; the celebration they copied off that Polish team, Lech Pozna
ń
. Oh god, City are champions …

The Manager is walking towards us. He’s telling us to thank the fans. My heart sinks. I can see it’s done, finished. Someone shouts, ‘City scored two in injury time’ and I feel sick. I jog to our end of the ground, the fans applauding us as we go over to see them. They look heartbroken.
We know how you feel.
Then I look towards the Sunderland supporters and they’re made up, laughing.
What, because we’ve lost out on the title at the last minute? Why are they so bothered about us?

I think about playing Sunderland next season, beating them, because focusing on anything other than City, however small, goes some way to making me feel better. But only for a split second.

*****

That night, I live through the pain again.

Match of the Day
on the telly.

Some players can’t watch themselves playing on the box when they’ve lost, but I can. I have to watch. I have to see what I’ve done wrong. Tonight is weird though, because we’ve won, I’ve scored, but I’m still a loser. I’ve come second.

I settle down in front of the telly and take in the madness. Coleen leaves me to it. She knows I’ll be grumpy for a while, and as I stare at the box, as the cameras move from the Etihad to The Stadium of Light, I can’t believe how the day has unfolded.

At City, QPR’s captain Joey Barton gets sent off.

Great. That’s them with an advantage
.

I watch as QPR go 2–1 up.

How did they manage that?

Then I see us winning at Sunderland.

Well, we did our job
.

As things stand, we’re champions, but only on the telly, and that means nothing because there’s no pause button for the Premier League – I can’t freeze the table with us still in first place.

The cameras show the confusion at Sunderland, The Manager looking around, and now everything’s about to change for the worst because City have their five minutes of injury time to play. Five minutes that will change the shape of the league, and even though I know what’s coming, I can’t look away. I’m like a driver staring at a car crash on the motorway.

I can see City’s fans. A load of them are crying as their game goes on. They think their team are throwing it away,
it’s that close to the end for them. The clock says 91 minutes, and that’s when City score; Edin Dzeko, 2–2.

And here it comes, the killer blow …

On 93 minutes, Aguero scores again, City get their winner. We lose out; City get their title.

I turn the TV off.

Silence.

Gary Neville was right. There’s nothing worse than having the same points as the champions but being second best
.

Coleen’s in bed. There’s not a sound in the house. I want to go up too, to sleep, to shut it all out. But I know it’s the worst thing for me because my mind is going in circles. Round and round, over and over; action replays, Manchester United games in slow motion. I’m re-living missed chances, disallowed penalties, opportunities that were called offside.
How can I sleep tonight when all I can think about are the goals we could have scored?

*****

When the dust settles, it’s the same old story. It happens every year.

United are finished. They won’t win the league for a while now
.

According to some fans, we haven’t got a hope of taking the title in the coming season or two. It can’t be done because apparently City are the best team around. Chelsea too. They win the Champions League on penalties against Bayern
Munich. By all accounts they’re ahead of us in the pecking order as well now.

Fair enough, but people have short memories. They were writing us off before my first season at the club in 2004, and they’ve said it every season since. In that time, I’ve won four titles. Not bad for a no-hope team with no chance.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking on the part of other people. Maybe fans of other clubs love to write us off because they’re sick of United winning all the time. I don’t know. I don’t care. I learnt one thing when I first turned up at this place:
Never count us out
.

Training, Carrington, any given day; the usual routine. The Manager’s Audi in the car park; a walk through the club reception with its fancy model of Old Trafford in the foyer. Down a brightly lit corridor, past the photos on the wall of the famous Busby Babes, Giggsy and Ronaldo; The Manager looking scary in a smart suit. Through more doors, into the mess and banter of the dressing room.

Every day, I see the same thing as I walk in: a massive framed picture of the Champions League-winning team of 2008. It’s hanging from a wall that overlooks the treatment table and it’s a reminder of a brilliant moment in my life. Everyone’s on the pitch in Moscow, spraying champagne about, laughing, smiling,
buzzing
. Carlos Tevez has a grin the size of a Cheshire Cat. Ronaldo’s hair looks immaculate, even though it’s tipping it down with rain and there’s confetti everywhere.

I love that photo. Every time I see it, usually as I’m getting ready to stretch, sprint, work, I always think the same thing.
That’s the excitement of football right there.
I think I love it so much because I understand that it’s an experience most footballers won’t get at the highest level. It makes me feel lucky. Blessed.

But how many more of those moments have I got to come?

A decade is a long time for most people, but in footy it feels like a heartbeat because everything flies by so quickly – every game, every goal, every tackle. There’s no rewind or pause button for a footballer, not when the focus is always on the next game, the next three points,
the future
. Because of that I’ve always looked ahead, I’ve never been in the moment, and everything’s whizzed by. In a flash, I’m nearer to 30 than 20; I’m talked about as a senior player at United. I’ve learned hard lessons.
I’ve got experience.

It’s dead mad. Inside I’m still the same kid with a bowl haircut and bandy legs who was turning out for the school team at 14 years of age, all enthusiasm and energy. The excitement and the adrenaline I now feel as I walk onto the pitch at Old Trafford is the same as when I was a kid playing for the school team. The buzz is there, only the size of the games have changed. Instead of leading out Copplehouse Boys’ Club, I’m lining up for the biggest team in the world and there’s nothing better. Playing in the Premier League, scoring goals and winning trophies for the fans? It’s what drives me on every single day.

There’s one difference, though. At that time, in the beginning, I couldn’t imagine
not
playing football. I couldn’t see the end in sight. I never pictured a time when I wouldn’t be getting my head straight before a match, psyching myself up, lacing my footy boots.

It’s different now. I’m about to hit my peak in the game and I feel strong. I’m improving and learning every single day, but I know the end may be nearer than the start. A football life is a dead short one, so I’m trying to enjoy every pass, every goal, every tackle now, because it won’t last forever.
From now on, I need to live in the moment, just a little bit.

The Manager probably feels the same way. I reckon it’s why he’s stayed on at the club for so long – he’s been here for over 25 years. If he can manage United at the top level and win, feel the buzz, then why would he want to retire? There’s a rush every time we land trophies together at United; a shot of excitement so mad that it takes a while to calm down. I feel it every time. But the second that sensation begins to disappear – about two or three weeks afterwards – I need to chase the next hit. I want to be battling for success again and again and again. The craving is strong because winning is such a great feeling.
He must get that too.

There have been loads of highs, loads of top moments during my decade in the Premier League. The title in 2006/07 will always feel like the best one because it was the first. I admit it, having gone two seasons at United without it – and having watched a strong Chelsea team do so well in the league – I thought we might not win the Premier League, not for a while anyway. It was frustrating, especially as it was the reason I’d left Everton.
To be a title winner.
Once I got the first, I knew I’d get loads more.

The Champions League win was incredible as well; Moscow will live with me forever – the penalty shootout, the drama, the tension. Then there’s the goals over the years – that overhead kick against City, my goal for Everton against Arsenal, the penalty against Blackburn that won United the league in 2011. Those split seconds are stuck in my head for good.

I’d be lying if I made out that there weren’t lows to match the highs. Red cards and bookings. Injuries. FA Cup final defeats, losing out to Barça in the Champions League final twice, losing the Premier League to City on goal difference in 2012. The funny thing is, I appreciate those disappointments as well. They drive me on. Honestly, they make the achievements taste that much sweeter when they do come along.

There’s one thing I’ve realised during my decade in the Premier League, though. I’m greedy for success. Goals, titles, Champions League trophies, the Club World Cup, League Cups, the FA Cup (one would be nice); any trophy we play for I want, because winning them, like my first Premier League in 2007, is the best feeling ever, but missing out, like in 2012, is the worst. I want to be brave enough, honest enough, hard-working enough to win more and more.

When I retire, I want to be thought of as a winner.

And I’m determined to get there.

In another decade’s time, I want the fans to think of me as someone who gave it all.

I’ll do whatever it takes for that to happen.

Like I said to some of the lads before I made my United debut in the Premier League:

Just give me the ball, I’ll do it.

I’m not frightened …

I want it.

PLATE SECTION

My debut against Spurs at Goodison Park in August 2002. I’m wearing Gazza’s number 18 shirt.

Martin Rickett/PA Archive/Press Association Images