When it comes to making a League debut, or even getting a start in a Cup game for United, you already feel like you’re part of the first-team set-up. That makes it easier for any young player to relax and do his best when he’s given his chance. With me, it seemed like I’d been involved at least since I was a kid, warming up alongside my heroes at Upton Park as club mascot for the afternoon. By the time I was ready for United’s first team, I already got on well with the senior players. It wasn’t a case of: who’s this young so and so, coming in and thinking he can take our place? I knew them all and, just as important, they knew me.
As it turned out, my first Premier League game was a bit of an anticlimax. There’s always a big atmosphere for Man United vs Leeds, whether we’re playing at Old Trafford or at Elland Road, and the ground was buzzing beforehand. It was an incredibly hot afternoon, though, and the match was stifled because of that. It finished 0–0. I must have done all right because I played a few more League games before the end of that season and, by the summer, it felt as if, slowly but surely, things were starting to happen. What I didn’t realise, and none of us did, was that the gaffer had already seen enough and was ready to take one of the biggest managerial gambles of all time. The season 1995/96 was the making of me. It was the making of all of us, thanks to a boss who believed in us even before we believed in ourselves.
‘What if we go out and prove the lot of you wrong?’
There weren’t many better players in their positions anywhere in Europe; but Mark Hughes, Paul Ince and Andrei Kanchelskis were leaving Old Trafford. During the summer of 1995, we read about it in the papers like everyone else: Alex Ferguson had decided to sell three of United’s biggest stars. Andrei was a fantastic player but there’d been a problem between him and the boss. Stories on the back pages claimed that Paul had started acting as if he was bigger than the club itself. I know the gaffer wouldn’t have stood for it, but I never saw Incey like that: he was a big personality who drove the team on, like Roy Keane does now. Incey was as good a player at that time, as well.
He might have been in his early thirties but, to this day, I think it was a mistake letting Mark Hughes go. Just ask Chelsea supporters. Mark went to Stamford Bridge and they’ll tell you what a great player he was for them. I have to admit that I’m biased. I was a fan back then and I’m a fan now that he’s manager of Wales. If it was up to me, Mark Hughes would probably still be playing for Manchester United. After Bryan Robson, he was my big hero when I was a teenager and that was still true when I had a chance to play alongside him. I was really disappointed he left: how were we going to win anything without Sparky in the team?
I still remember how upset I was when I found out that Mark, in particular, was leaving. I was surprised, too: like most United supporters my first reaction was to wonder what the manager was doing. You knew there had to be something going on for him to be letting such important senior players go. But the boss wasn’t saying anything. Then the penny dropped: Andrei Kanchelskis was a right-sided attacking player. And so was David Beckham. What had Eric Harrison always told the young players before we sat down at Old Trafford to watch the first team play? Watch the man playing in your position. One day, you’re going to take his place. When Andrei left Old Trafford, I couldn’t help wondering, could I?
When we joined up for pre-season training, most of the younger players were waiting to see who the boss would sign to replace the big names who’d left. A couple of months later, with us all in the side, we were still assuming he’d have to bring in new players. How could he stick with just us young boys? Manchester United are a massive club, and you can understand that the fans expect success straight away. At the back of our minds, though, there was the hope that we’d get the chance to prove ourselves. Nowadays young players are different: they’re more confident in themselves. In the situation we were in, you’d expect someone to say it straight out: ‘Are we going to get a game here, or what?’ Myself, the Neville brothers, Nicky Butt and Paul Scholes weren’t like that. None of us asked and the boss didn’t tell us. He just went ahead and started the new season with the youngest United side anybody could remember since the Busby Babes.
First game of the season, away to Aston Villa, we got hammered. I was on the bench and by the time I got on in the second half we were already 3–0 down. I scored: Denis Irwin chipped the ball forward for me. I got a good first touch on my instep, let the ball run forwards a little and then shot from the edge of the box. A slight deflection took it past Mark Bosnich, who was in goal for them. I remember celebrating almost on my own. We were still a couple of goals down, of course, and John O’Kane, who’d also come on as a sub, was about the only player who came over and hugged me.
For the remainder of the game I ran around all over the place trying to make a difference. I was quite pleased with myself afterwards. But the gaffer wasn’t. I was devastated. He had a right go at me in the dressing room, telling me how important it was for the team that I stay in my position. After that defeat at Villa Park, the media were ready to write off United’s season. The manager seemed to be putting his faith in a group of youngsters and the pundits weren’t having any of it. They were all saying the same thing. Unluckily for him, Alan Hansen was the one who said it on Match of the Day:
‘You’ll win nothing with kids.’
I was sitting in front of the television that night. I’m sure the other lads were, too. Coming back from Birmingham there might have been doubts in some minds. As a group, we had risen to any challenge put in front of us. But on the coach that evening I think there were a few of us wondering if this was too big a step up and too soon. There were probably a few thousand United supporters headed back from the game who’d been wondering the same thing. But by the time we’d all got home and were hearing the experts write us off, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one getting riled by the criticism. It had just been one game, after all. What if we go out and prove the lot of you wrong?
The next game was at home to West Ham and, for all that he’d criticised me after the Villa match, the gaffer named me in the team. Plenty of things rushed through my head, especially the realisation that starting the game meant I would be lining up opposite Julian Dicks. I don’t know why but I found myself remembering a boy I’d been friendly with at Chingford High, Danny Fisher, who was a mad, mad West Ham fan. I’d always looked out for their results, too, even though I was a Manchester United supporter, and the two of us talked and argued about football all the time. What would Danny be thinking now when he saw me lining up against West Ham and against Julian Dicks? I knew what I was thinking: this bloke’s a really hard player.
In my early United career, I think there were doubts about whether I’d ever be physically tough enough to cope with first-team football. As an eight-year-old playing Sunday League football, I believed I was good enough then to have been playing for United. I know other people were concerned that, even at seventeen and eighteen, I hadn’t really grown: It was talked about at the club and I also remember talking about it with Dad. I worked with weights to make me stronger but the spurt that took me up to six foot didn’t happen until much later. But, whatever anyone else said, I wasn’t worried about my size. I was determined it wouldn’t hold me back, anyway. I’d always played football against people who were bigger