贝克汉姆自传我的立场英文原版-10

with Nobby after I joined the club, and he was really hard, just like hewas as a player, but I think he cared more about the youngsters heworked with than anything else in the world. Dad knew all about Nobbyas a player, of course, for United and as a World Cup winner withEngland: he and Dad got on really well, even though every now andagain Nobby would have to catch himself about his language when hewas getting carried away during one of our games:‘Excuse me, Mr Beckham. Excuse me, Mrs Beckham.’Not that Dad was too worried about that:‘No problem, Nobby. You carry on.’Nobby was great with us and he was great with our parents as well.He knew mums and dads needed to be involved, not treated as if theywere in the way. If you watched videos or heard stories about him asa player, you’d never believe how gentle he was with the boys, or howpolite he was with the parents. No-one took liberties with Nobby, mind.For all that he didn’t look a big man and used to wear these hugeglasses when he was coaching, he still had something about him yourespected straight away. Fifteen years later, he would still come straightup and give me a big hug like nothing’s changed since.I could have moved up the year after I signed schoolboy forms, inAugust 1989, and finished my last two years of school in Manchesterbut, in the end, we decided I’d stay in London until I started full-timeas a YTS trainee at United. That meant I could be at home, with myfriends and family, while I turned fourteen and fifteen. And I could keepplaying for Ridgeway Rovers, which by then had become a team calledBrimsdown: we were the same players more or less, just the name hadchanged. United were happy for boys to get on with their lives and playfor their Sunday League teams until they moved to the city. MalcolmFidgeon would come and watch me play for Brimsdown and, as longas I was enjoying my soccer and playing regularly, that was enough.The time for United to take all the responsibility was still a couple ofyears away.I used to go up to Manchester two or three times a year to trainduring the school vacations. In the summer, I’d be up there for thewhole six weeks. I loved it and didn’t want to do anything else with mytime off from school but play and train and be at United. Those summerswere fantastic. There would be thirty or so of us together at a time, alllooked after by Malcolm and the rest of the coaching staff, in halls ofresidence. I’d think about the place where I’d stayed in Barcelona; thatlovely old house with the mountains rising up behind us. This was a bitdifferent: a concrete block in Salford, stuck on top of a hill and freezingcold. You shared a room with another young player, the facilities werebasic but at least there was a snooker table and a table tennis table forus to use in the evenings.Not that where we were staying made much difference to me. We’dgo to United’s second training ground at Lyttleton Road every day andtrain morning and afternoon. Then, in the evenings, we’d live it up: tripsto the movies, fish and chips, all the glamorous stuff. I met other boyswho had signed at the same time as me, like John O’Kane, who I spenta lot of time with back then. John was from Nottingham. He was amassive prospect at United all through our first years there together, areally good player. As a person, he was very relaxed. Maybe it wasbecause he was so laid back that it didn’t really work out for him atUnited. He ended up leaving to go to Everton, the season we went onto do the Treble, and is playing for Blackpool now.Lads would come from everywhere for those vacation sessions. KeithGillespie, who’s now at Leicester, came over from Ireland. He was alovely lad, and I used to get on really well with him. Colin Murdock,who’s just moved from Preston to Hibs, came down from Scotland. Wewere all miles from home, in the same boat, and that made it easier forus all to get on, even if, in the back of our minds, we knew we were incompetition with each other as well. The soccer was what matteredabove everything and it was a new experience, training day in day outand being introduced to more technical coaching. It couldn’t have beenmore different from Sunday League. All the time I was with Ridgeway,I’d tried to imagine what it would be like and this was it: soccer wasmy job. I didn’t have to do anything else.I had two years to get ready for moving up to Manchester permanently.I’d had plenty of trips away with Ridgeway and representativesides when I was younger, too. But neither of those things made it anyeasier when it came time to leave home. Of course I was excited andit was never a case of having second thoughts but, even so, it wasn’teasy to go. I was very nervous about what lay ahead of me. Mum andDad said they’d be up every weekend to see me play, that they wouldn’tmiss a game, and I knew they’d keep to their word. Promises count fora lot in the life of a family. Nowadays, I wouldn’t dare forget if I’ve toldBrooklyn I’ll get him something or do something for him: he’ll remembereven if I don’t.Being away for a week or a month is completely different to movingaway from home for good: I was fifteen and a half. Where you end upstaying in digs as a young player is so important, especially when youthink about how much else you’re going to have to find out about whenyou begin your working life, full-time, at a big club like Man United.Every club has a list of landladies they use and I’ve often wonderedwhether it’s just chance who you end up with, or whether they try tofix boys up in places they know will be right for them. Looking back, Ithink I was pretty lucky although it was a while before I found myselfsomewhere that really felt like home.My first digs were with a Scottish couple who lived in Bury New Road,next to the fire station. They were lovely people and very good to meand the other boys who were there. Being young lads away from homefor the first time, there was a bit of prankish behavior that went on:late-night kitchen raids for snacks, that kind of thing. We had fun. WhenI left, it was because of a strange incident that was completely out ofkeeping with the rest of my time there. I’d gone down the road to thegas station to get some chocolate and forgotten my key. I got back andknocked on the door, which was answered by the husband, Pete. Heasked me where my key was and, when I said I thought I’d left it upstairs,he gave me a little clip round the ear. I wasn’t too happy about it andI remember, that evening, my dad was on the phone to him. I was onthe other side of the room and I could hear Dad shouting. That wasthe end of that arrangement.I moved down to a place on Lower Broughton Road, with a landladynamed Eve Cody. I got on really well with her son, Johnny, and wasvery happy there for almost a year. I shared a room with John O’Kane,who I already knew quite well from the vacation sessions at Unitedwhen we’d still been living at home. I have to admit that, around thattime, John and I used to struggle to get to training on time. It wasn’tthat we’d be out late at night; we were just both lads who loved oursleep. And we were lodging further away than some of the others likeKeith Gillespie and Robbie Savage, who were almost next door to thetraining ground. It’s not surprising, I suppose, that early on there wasa bond between us lads who were staying in digs, as opposed to theManchester boys who were all still living at home.After a while, the club changed us round and it was then that I movedin with Ann and Tommy Kay and, as friendly as the other places hadbeen, I wished I could have been there from the start. It was made forme. I was still homesick but Annie and Tom were like a second mumand dad, so loving and caring. The food was great as well. The housewas almost directly opposite the training ground, so I could roll out ofbed and walk to work in a couple of minutes. Just what you need whenyou’re a teenager who can’t get up in the morning.I shared a room with a lad named Craig Dean, who had to retirebefore he really got a chance to do anything, because of an injury tohis spine. After a few months, Ann gave me Mark Hughes’ old room,which looked out over the playing fields. I loved that room. It was thekind of size that meant, somehow, it felt like your mum and dad’s room:big fitted wardrobes with a dressing table and mirror to match and aproper double bed pressed up to the wall in the far corner. I broughtalong the stereo my dad had bought me before I moved to Manchesterand went out and purchased a nice television. I thought I had everythingI could possibly need. I was really happy. The Kays made me feel likeI was part of the family. Ann and Tom had one son of their own, Dave,and they made me feel like another. I know Ann has kept a box of oldcoins and things I left behind when I moved out and got a place of myown, and I’ve always tried to make sure I visit now and again.I was lucky, as well, when I first moved up to Manchester that I meta girl named Deana who I went out with for the best part of three years.I wasn’t chasing round like a lot of teenagers away from home for thefirst time. The romance with Deana was something that helped me feelsettled: my first real relationship. We had a lot of fun together, whetherit was going out or just being alone in each other’s company. It wasalso a time for finding out the things that were trickier.After training one afternoon, I went off to the snooker club with GaryNeville, Keith Gillespie and John O’Kane even though the original planhad been for Deana and I to meet up. I had my back to the door ofthe club and was leaning across the table to make my shot. SuddenlyI glanced up and saw the color draining out of John’s cheeks. He waslooking back over my head; I turned round to see Deana in the doorwaybehind me. The two of us went out into the car park so I could makemy apologies, and that would have been that except, for some reason,I made the mistake of looking up at the first floor window of the club.Gary, Keith and John were standing there. I couldn’t hear them but Icould see their shoulders jigging up and down, the three of them gigglingat the spot of bother I’d got myself in. I couldn’t help myself: I startedgiggling too. I couldn’t blame Deana at all for turning the rest of thatday into a very long, very sorrowful one in the life of one teenage boy.I have so many good memories of my times with Deana and alsowith her family. They were so welcoming: it was as if I just had to turnup on the doorstep and the next thing I knew we’d be in the kitchen;the kettle would be on, and there’d be something to eat on the way. Itwas very warm. Without making a big thing of it, Deana’s mum anddad made me feel like I was part of the family. Her dad, Ray, was aLiverpool season ticket holder and I went to watch games at Anfieldwith him from time to time. Away from my own dad, I suppose I hookedonto Ray. He sometimes took me down to the pub. A couple of halves,of course, and I’d be rolling a bit. We’d wander back to the housetogether for some dinner. This was me really finding out about life asa man: out getting tipsy with my girlfriend’s dad. It was a lovely time inmy life and I’ll always be grateful to Deana that she’s never spoiled it.I know she’s been offered money since by the papers to tell storiesabout me and always turned them down flat. I know that’s becauseof the kind of person she is and I hope, as well, it’s something to do