My agent rang me and said Glenn still wanted to talk to me, even though I insisted I was staying put, but again I said ‘No’. I knew that if I did speak to him—and he was my idol—he might change my mind. All that happened three years before he said ‘No’ to me, dropping me from the 30-man squad. When I was growing up my uncle always said you should never meet your heroes because they always let you down. Bloody hell, he was right!
After that I hastily booked a holiday to get away and watched the World Cup Finals on TV. I was never churlish enough to want England to fail just because I had been left out and I was gutted when England went out to Argentina. I was furious at the injustice when Sol Campbell had a perfectly good goal disallowed and was bitterly disappointed when we went out on penalties. I’d have given anything to be out there taking one.
MY UNCLEALWAYS SAIDYOU SHOULDNEVER MEETYOUR HEROESBECAUSE THEYALWAYS LET YOUDOWN. BLOODYHELL, HE WASRIGHT!
Looking back, being snubbed was a crushing blow and I wonder if it had a bigger impact on my career than I then realized, because I never reached the same heights again. It was as though the ultimate goal had been snatched away from me and my greatest incentive had gone. It had always been my ambition to play for England and now knew that was it.
Glenn and I have since made up, although we will never be close friends. We were both staying in the same hotel on a golfing trip in Dubai in 2006 and I decided to clear the air. I walked in to breakfast one day and there he was, sitting on his own, so I went and sat with him. He looked surprised—and a bit wary. I think he wondered what was coming but I just said that life is too short for any bad feelings, and I wanted to sort things out. I admitted that I’d made mistakes while playing under him and I apologized, even though I actually felt he was far more in the wrong than me. I felt it was right to apologize and get the ball rolling. It was actually quite a hard thing to do and I got quite emotional because I really had idolized him. I told him that he’d been my hero. He was a fantastic footballer and someone I’ll admire for his skills. Always.
It was equally tough because the rift and the not speaking to each other had gone on for so long, and here I was making the first move when I didn’t really think I had anything to be sorry for. But we cleared the air, shook hands and moved on. I bear no grudges and wish him all the best with his academy in Spain. It’s a terrific idea, taking on lads who have been released by clubs, working on their weaknesses and trying to get them back into professional football. Glenn will be good at that because he won’t have to manage players with massive opinions and the lads will be desperate to get back into football. They’ll take on board everything he says, no argument, so he’ll probably get on well with them. But I still find it sad he isn’t managing a top club and, if he does get the chance, I hope he’ll have learned from his mistakes. If he could get a semblance of man-management he’d be a huge asset to any club.
THE ENTIRE TOTTENHAM TEAM WATCHED OUR MATCH.
I’D LIKE TO SAY I TURNED ON THE STYLE, BUT I MADE
A COMPLETE IDIOT OF MYSELF…
The stereotypical British pro footballer is said to be a gutsy, bust-a-gut, working-class northener. And me? I come from Guernsey, best known for its cows, in the Channel Islands, closer to France than England. And you can’t get more south than that.
At school I was a good all-round sportsman, i.e. good at anything which involved a ball—tennis, squash, snooker, table tennis, hockey and particularly cricket. If I hadn’t made it as a footballer I’d have tried to become a professional cricketer because I was a pretty decent wicketkeeper, mainly because that was the only position which did not involve much running. I remember scoring 164 not out in a 20-over game, which is still a Guernsey record. And I was amazed, while researching this book, to find that I broke several school athletics records including the 75m, 55m hurdles and the 6 x 10m shuttle runs (when you sprint to the first marker, touch the ground, sprint back to the start and then run to the second marker, touch the ground, and so on). It is mind-boggling because I was always the first one to drop out when we had to do them at Southampton.
To be fair, there was precious little else to do on Guernsey apart from going to the beach. So it was sport, Sport, SPORT. The island was obsessed with it, and I came from a very sporting family. I was born on October 14, 1968, the youngest of four boys, after Mark, Kevin and Carl. I turned up as an afterthought, or because my parents wanted a girl.
My mum and dad (Ruth and Marcus) got married at 16 and had had three children by the time they were 19—and they are still happily together—despite the strain of looking after the four of us. They’ve been behind everything I have ever achieved, but the only principle I didn’t follow involved hard work. They grafted like mad when we were young, often holding down two jobs each to ensure we didn’t go without. We grew up on an estate and didn’t have a lot. It was a bit rough and ready but not a bad place, and when you are a kid you don’t really think about your surroundings, you just accept that’s how life is. And Guernsey was a fantastic place to grow up, with wonderful beaches close by. It was so safe. It really was the kind of place where people didn’t lock their front doors or their cars, and I must admit I’m quite pleased two of my kids are growing up there. The only thing people weren’t relaxed about was sport, particularly when it came to competing against Jersey.
Both me and my brothers inherited our skill from our dad, who was good at softball, cricket and football and had trials with Arsenal. He was a lightning quick right-winger and I think the Gunners would have signed him but for a bad ankle injury. Mark was a solid defender and the only one of us ever to win Man of the Match in the annual Muratti game between Guernsey and Jersey. He was a decent player but not quite on a par with Kevin and Carl who could have both made it as pro footballers. In fact Kevin was a better finisher than me. He was an out and out centre-forward in the Alan Shearer mould and lethal in front of goal. He broke the Guernsey scoring record and averaged a goal a game over 20 years. Carl was a bit more like me and played deeper. He was skilful and creative and Guernsey’s leading midfield scorer.
THE FACT THATTWO OF MYBROTHERS HADBEEN OFFEREDTERMS SHOWEDIT COULD BEDONE. IN FACT ITMADE ME MOREDETERMINEDTHAN EVER.
Both had the chance to make it as pros but suffered from homesickness. Kevin had trials with Middlesbrough, who were keen to take him but they were close to going bust at the time. He went to Oxford United and did so well that they offered him a professional contract but he turned it down. I was gobsmacked. Even at 13 I knew all I wanted to be was a professional footballer. Carl had trials with Southampton who offered him an apprenticeship but, again, he didn’t want to leave Guernsey. That may seem bizarre but unless you have grown up there, you can’t understand what a close-knit, insular place it is. But it did make me realize that being a professional footballer wasn’t a pipedream. The fact that two of my brothers had been offered terms showed it could be done. In fact it made me more determined than ever, and my parents started to take steps to ensure that I didn’t suffer from homesickness if and when I got the chance to go. They encouraged me to go on school trips and residential soccer schools to get me used to being away from home. I have no idea where they got the money from but, somehow, they managed to scrimp and save in order to get me off the island. So when the time came for me to go, I was up for it.
For my thirteenth birthday I went away to a soccer skills week at Calshot Activity Centre near Southampton. I wouldn’t say it was done on the cheap but my prize for being Player of the Week was two photographs, one of Kevin Keegan and one of Lawrie McMenemy—both unsigned. The sad thing is I still have them, and they are still not autographed. By now I was starting to realize I was pretty good at football and was playing regularly against much older opposition without looking out of place. That was partly because I had three talented older brothers and because I had the ability to cope with it.
The first sign of that came when I played in the final of the island’s Under-11 school tournament. I was just eight