with her getting a good feeling, like I do, when she remembers usbeing together.Life in Manchester away from soccer was just part of what was totallynew to me. There was this group of local lads for a start. Gary andPhilip Neville, Nicky Butt and Paul Scholes were all from aroundManchester, so they’d been training at United since they’d signedschoolboy forms, although they hadn’t been at the vacation-timesessions I’d attended over the previous couple of years. I wasn’t awareof it at the time but I think, to start with, they weren’t sure about me atall: Gary says they had me down as a flashy little cockney. I canunderstandwhy. It wasn’t because I was loud or anything but, when we werehanded our uniforms, I’d always end up with the nicest tracksuit and thebest-fitting boots. I happened to get on really well with the equipmentmanager, Norman Davies, and he just looked after me. I’d knownNorman for a long time already from going to the games as a kid and,maybe, this was my reward for helping him tidy up dressing rooms forthe first team at places like Upton Park all those years ago.I was from London and the other boys were from the Manchesterarea but it was surprising how much we had in common. Apart fromloving soccer and having the ambition to play for United, there werethings in our backgrounds that brought us together as well. Gary andPhil’s mum and dad, for example, were so much like my parents. They’dbe at every game too. I think the Nevilles and the Beckhams had thesame sort of values and saw life in much the same way. I know the fourof them took to each other straight away and I’m sure the similarityin our upbringings had a lot to do with why Gary and I became suchclose friends.Gary, Nicky Butt and Paul Scholes had all played together for thesame Sunday League team. Boundary Park must have been a northernversion of Ridgeway Rovers. Not only was the team successful, it hadthe same spirit and sense of loyalty that we’d had at Ridgeway. Thoseboys had been learning to approach soccer in the right way, pickingup good habits, at the same time as we were. It was natural that asense of togetherness grew pretty quickly at United. Quite soon afterwe started, we went off to Coleraine in Northern Ireland for atournamentcalled the Milk Cup. Teams came from all over the worldto compete, and that was the first time we represented the club asa group.We had a brilliant time. We were all about sixteen, on a tour togetherand getting to know each other, as players and as people. The MilkCup competition is still going. As well as the games, there’s quite a lotof ceremony: I remember us being paraded through the streets of thelocal town, trying to look sharp in our Manchester United tracksuits.Nobby Stiles was in charge of the trip, along with a trainer named JimmyCurran. Nobby knew me and trusted me, and he made me captain forthe tournament. It was some team: as well as the players who are stillat Old Trafford, there were plenty of others who went on to have goodcareers elsewhere. Ben Thornley was our best player on that trip andgot the award for Player of the Tournament. He’s done well since leavingUnited, despite some shocking injury trouble over the years. With Gary,Phil, Paul Scholes and Nicky Butt playing alongside the likes of Ben,Keith Gillespie, Robbie Savage and Colin Murdock, it’s no wonder wewon the cup. We stayed at a hotel owned by Harry Gregg, who was aUnited great himself. He survived the Munich Air Crash and he lovedhaving the United youngsters around the place. The Milk Cup was thefirst silverware any of us ever won as United players.Every single day was an exciting one back then. Before I’d left hometo start as a trainee in Manchester, Dad had drummed one thing intomy head.‘You may have signed for Man United, but you haven’t done anythingyet. When you’ve played for the first team, then we can talk aboutyou having achieved something. Until then, don’t start thinking you’vemade it.’Did he need to tell me that? Well, it did no harm to know Dad wouldbe around to keep my feet on the ground. But I hadn’t been runningaround boasting, telling everybody that I had signed for United. I’d justbeen looking forward to going and couldn’t wait to start work. Once Idid, of course, I realized what Dad had meant. I’d been to United’s oldtraining ground, the Cliff, as a boy to watch the first team train. Now Ihad to be there for training each morning myself, along with the seniorplayers. It dawned on me straight away that the most important thingwasn’t being at United. It was working hard enough to make sure they’dlet me stay there.Come to think of it, there was never any chance of us not workinghard; not with coach Eric Harrison in charge. If I think about the peoplewho’ve really shaped my career, that has to mean my dad and AlexFerguson – of course – but it’ll also mean Eric. Even now, a dozenyears on from first meeting him, I look to him for guidance and advice.He’ll tell me what he thinks, not what he thinks I want to hear. And, likeevery other boy he worked with at United, I know he’s always caredabout me. Back then I was sure he had my best interests at heart. I stillfeel exactly the same.Eric could be scary, though. We knew about his reputation and I wasa bit anxious beforehand because of that. But I soon found out what abrilliant coach he was. Everything he did with us was spot on: thesessions he ran, how hard he made us work, how he understood howwe were feeling and how much he made us believe in ourselves. Ericmight have had a talented group of lads to work with, but the creditgoes to him for turning us into soccer players and, during the next threeyears, turning us into a team.That fierce reputation, though, it’s all true. When Eric was angry withyou, he could berate you worse than anybody I’ve ever known. Wewere younger then, obviously, but I’d say the tirades you got from Ericwere even more terrifying than the manager in full flow. I rememberwhen we had matches at the Cliff, Eric had an office with a big windowthat looked out over the field we used. If you made a mistake or didsomething you knew you shouldn’t have done, you’d hear this furiousbanging on the glass. You didn’t dare look up in that direction becauseyou knew it would be Eric, not at all pleased. But you’d have to steal aquick glance. And if you couldn’t actually see him shouting from behindthe window, that’s when you knew there was real trouble and it wastime to disappear over to the other side of the field. It meant Eric wason his way down.When Eric was pleased with you, he made you feel great. If I heardhim say: ‘Great ball, David’ once in the morning, that would set me upfor the rest of the day. Likewise, if he criticized something, you thoughta long time before doing it again. I remember one session when, everytime I got the ball, I was trying to pick someone out with a sixty-yardpass. Even when I was young, I was able to see what was going onahead of me and could strike the ball a very long way. That particularday, though, nothing was coming off and Eric wasn’t impressed.‘David. What are you playing at? Hitting those flippin’ Hollywoodpasses all day?’Hollywood passes? I’d never heard that before. I knew exactly whathe meant, though. And I thought twice before I hit the next one. Truthis, I still love playing those long balls; they’re a part of my game. But,even now, whenever one doesn’t make it, I imagine Eric, shaking hishead and grumbling: ‘flippin’ Hollywood passes’.It’s not always been true with Alex Ferguson or other coaches I’veworked with, but with Eric you always knew exactly where you stood.If he lost his temper with you, he made sure you understood why and,somehow, he had the knack of shaking you up without ever abusingyou or putting you down. We always knew, however hairy it got, Ericonly ever wanted what we wanted too: to get the best out of ourselvesand to achieve everything we could as individuals and as a team. Nowonder he commanded the respect of every single one of us youngplayers. Some young players nowadays who sign for a large clubsuddenly think they’ve hit the big time. There was none of that withour generation. And if there had been, Eric would soon have sortedus out.Everything at United was right: the facilities, the uniform, the trainingand the other players in our group. Who wouldn’t want to have EricHarrison as a youth team coach? I couldn’t get enough of it all. Whilewe were trainees, Gary and I would go back to the Cliff in the eveningstwice a week, when Eric was working with the schoolboys on the bigindoor ground, and join in the sessions just to get extra training underour belts. Phil Neville was in that age group – two years younger thanme and Gary – and so was Dave Gardner. I don’t know how you findyour very best friends. Maybe they just find you. Dave and I just hit itoff and we’ve been close ever since: I was best man at his weddingin the summer of 2003. He stayed on as an apprentice until he waseighteen, by which time I was playing regularly in the first team. Daveturned professional with Manchester City and he still plays non-Leaguewith Altrincham. Nowadays, for him, soccer’s about staying fit andkeeping his eye in: he’s a full-time director of a sports managementcompany.During those first years at United, Eric used to make sure we wentto every first-team game at Old Trafford. Not just to watch the game,but to watch individual players. I’d think back to Dad taking me to CupFinals when I was a boy.‘Never mind the game, David. Just watch Bryan Robson. Watch whathe does.’Now Eric was telling us the same thing: ‘Watch the man playing inyour position. One day, you’re going to take his place.’To hear something like that gave us so much confidence; not thatwe realized at the time how soon the manager was going to make usall part of his first-team plans.Going to those games at Old Trafford was a chance, as well, for Ericto insist on the importance of having standards. He always made surethat we turned up in a blazer, with a collar and tie. It reminded me ofStuart Underwood wanting the Ridgeway players to be well turned outwhen we arrived for big games. I still think those things make adifference.Some teams might be seen arriving at a ground or walking throughan airport in their tracksuits. The fact that a Manchester United teamwill always be wearing club blazers is part of having a professionalattitude. That smartness said something about our respect for ourselvesand for the club.Our training sessions weren’t all about technique and tactics and