Wayne Rooney: My Decade in the Premier League (20 page)

*****

In April and May, we play Arsenal in the Champions League semi-final over two legs, having beaten Inter and Porto in the knockout stages. Some players might think that the sparkle goes out of a European tie when two English teams are drawn together, but that isn’t the case at all for me. I love it, there’s a real edge to the game. The build-up is bigger in the papers and on the telly. The fans are really up for it; the whole country gets hyped up.

It’s a different style of game from a Premier League match too, because away goals count and that really changes the mood, tactically at least. In the first leg at Old Trafford, we score against Arsenal first and then sit back. The Manager doesn’t want us to concede an away goal, whereas in the league we’d probably push for a second. We eventually win 1–0 and in the second leg at The Emirates we score early on. Suddenly, we’re in the driving seat.

I love games like this. We’ve got an away goal in the bag and a two-goal cushion overall. Arsenal have to score three to win. I know they’ll come at us and attack, which means that gaps will open up in front of me as their midfield pushes forward. Chances will come my way. We spend the rest of
the game hitting them on the break and stuff them 3–1; 4–1 on aggregate.

Who needs away goals when you’ve scored four?

*****

Then along come Barcelona in the final.

The greatest club team in the world
.

The game is being held in the Stadio Olimpico in Rome, with its long walk from the dressing room to the pitch and its firecrackers and flares. The home support – Roma and Lazio share the ground – aren’t here tonight, but the place is still edgy, buzzy. Everyone’s fired up, fans and players.

Before the game The Manager sets us up with five men in midfield – including me – with Ronaldo up top. ‘The aim is to hit them on the counter-attack,’ he says before the game. ‘We try to contain them and not get overloaded in midfield. If we can break their play up and hit back, we will pinch a goal.’

We start well. Our midfield presses them high up the pitch, but they’re a team of masters, especially the midfielders Xavi and Iniesta; their tiny striker, Lionel Messi, is arguably the only player stopping Ronaldo from being talked up as the best footballer on the planet and is a forward who can do the maddest things with a football. I watch him on the Spanish football shows on the telly and in the Champions League games all the time, so I know how good he can be. The goals he puts away are incredible because he makes everything look so easy. He scores goals by beating players
– three, four, five defenders, he walks round the lot of them. He scores goals from headers and free-kicks as if it’s no big deal. He gets battered by defenders quite a lot as well, but he always gets up. He doesn’t moan or roll around holding his face. He dusts himself down and scores more goals.

With Messi leading the line, pulling us apart, gaps open up in our defence and Barcelona get in behind our midfield. We can’t get a grip on the game; I can’t even get the ball off them. Those three players are so skilful, so quick that we can only chase shadows as they pass the ball and move around the park.

We start off really well for the first few minutes. Their defender, Gerard Pique, has to make a great block to stop us from scoring, but then they take charge of the game, passing the ball around us like we’re not even there.

Pass.

Move.

Pass. Move.

Passmovepassmovepassmove.

They’re quick and dead small, all of them. The minute I put my arm up in a challenge, it’s face high, so the ref gives a free-kick every time.

Pass.

Move.

Pass. Move.

Passmovepassmovepassmove.

They score early through Samuel Eto’o after 10 minutes and spend the rest of the game playing keep ball, like it’s a laugh, a park game. It’s so frustrating because we can’t get
into the match. It’s tiring, too. We’re chasing shadows, tracking players, putting in challenges without getting a grip on the contest. We don’t get the ball in the areas we want. When we do get the ball we’re so knackered we give it back. Then they break us down and score a second – this time it’s a header from Messi. They win 2–0. I hate watching them lift the trophy afterwards.

Later that night, we have a party, as we always do at the end of a season: wives, girlfriends, the coaching staff, everyone’s there, but for the first couple of hours it’s horrible. Moody. No one’s really speaking.

After a bevvy I try to cheer up some of the lads: ‘Come on, don’t be soft, we have to move on. There’s a Premier League trophy sitting over there, it’s ours.’

The atmosphere starts to lift a little. One by one people start getting photos with the cup. It takes time, but the party soon gets underway. For most of the evening everyone’s putting on a brave face because losing the Champions League final is a choker, but at least we still have a Premier League trophy to our name at the end of a hard season.

The best trophy
.

Fact
.

9 July 2009.

The first day back at pre-season training.

I’m like most blokes, I put on a few pounds after a holiday. Even if I don’t train for a week, I put on two or three, but when I get back to Carrington for the first day of work, I’m in for a shock. The scales in the club gym tell me I’ve put on a few more pounds than expected.

Seven.

Seven!

Then I remember: I drank a few bevvies while I was away. I’m stocky; I’m not like Ryan Giggs, all bone and lean muscle, I gain weight quite easily. It’s not a problem though. It’s not as if The Manager’s leaning over my shoulder as the numbers come in, tutting and making jokes about me eating
too many chip butties. Besides, I know I can shift it in a week or two.

All the players are given loose training programmes to stick to while they’re away, but they’re optional. The club like us not to go overboard on the eating and drinking in the close season break (but they’re usually OK if I go a bit overweight), so if I go abroad I like to get into the hotel gym three times a week to work on the treadmill and do some weight work. That way I can be sharp when we get back to training and the running will feel easier when the pre-season games start.

When it comes to nutrition, all the players know what to eat and what not to eat all year round, but we allow ourselves some luxuries. During the season, I don’t think there’s any harm having a takeaway every now and then. The club always has someone on hand to talk to me about diet if I need them. Their big thing is that they don’t like me to drink too much caffeine – I usually have a hit before a game and it won’t have the effect I’d like if I’ve been knocking back coffee all week. An energy drink before every match always gives me a boost, but it’s probably more mental than physical.

Coming back for pre-season after a few bevvies and a few weeks away from a ball is physically tough, not that anyone would have guessed by the mood in the dressing room as the lads get together for the first time. Everyone’s excited to be in work again. The jokes are flying around and everyone looks dead healthy, tanned. It feels like the first day back in class after the school holidays. We’ve all got stories to tell, people are talking about their breaks away and everyone’s laughing.
Footballers are big kids at heart
.

There are new players to say hello to as well. Antonio Valencia and Michael Owen have arrived following their summer transfers to United. For Michael it’s easy meeting the team as he knows pretty much everyone here, either because he’s played against them in the Premier League or with them for England; Valencia has come from Wigan Athletic and is saying hello to a lot of the lads for the first time. Everyone’s trying to make him feel at home, letting on to him, having a crack.

Most of all, I’m looking forward to seeing him play and sussing out what he’s made of. I can tell a lot about a footballer by the way he is in the dressing room and by the way he works at Carrington. I’m always excited when a new lad comes to the club, especially if they’re a forward or an attack-minded player. I want to know how they operate; I’m looking to build a partnership with them on the practice ground. If they’re keen to graft in training and put the effort in, then I know they’ll fit in to the club.

The other changes today are that Carlos and Ronaldo have gone. Ronnie’s move wasn’t a shock really. Real Madrid came in for him; he’s a
Galactico
now. I think we’d all had a feeling that he was set to leave in the summer because he’d been brilliant all year for us and the papers were constantly speculating that he was going to Madrid. Ronnie had wanted to go there, it was an ambition for him, plus he was always moaning about the Manchester weather.

‘It’s too cold here!’ he’d complain in February when the rain was chucking down. Then again everyone moans about it – the foreign lads, even the English players.

I remember at one point last season, the speculation about Ronnie and Madrid got so bad that when it came to practice matches in training we’d always put him in a white bib, just so we could wind him up about it.

‘Look at you!’ we’d shout. ‘You’re already in the kit!’

It was hardly a shock when I picked up the paper by the pool on holiday and saw the news that he was off. It’s a shame though. He’s a nice lad and an amazing footballer. We’ll miss him.

Carlos’s move wasn’t a surprise, either, but the fact that he’s gone to Manchester City (of all places) is. It’s a loss for the team, but it’s probably good news for Patrice. Carlos never bothered to learn the lingo in the end and Patrice was constantly explaining to him what was being said in club meetings and team talks.

I liked Carlos when he was at the club; we got on because we both had the same work ethic on the pitch. He had bags of energy and he did a lot of work whenever he played. He ran so hard in games that some days at Carrington he couldn’t do the training; he was wrecked from the weekend’s work. It never had an impact on his game though. He was always class when it came to match day.

I felt a bit bad for Carlos because he couldn’t seem to get into The Manager’s starting XI. He hadn’t done a lot wrong, but myself, Ronaldo and Berba were playing so well that he found himself sitting on the bench most games. He became disappointed, which is the natural reaction for a footballer, I suppose. Towards the back end of the season we all knew
he was more likely to leave than not because players like Carlos always want to start matches. Still, I’m a bit surprised he’s signed for City.

Someone mentions a billboard that’s been put up in the centre of town.

‘It’s a massive, sky blue poster with Carlos on it. It says “Welcome To Manchester,”’ says one of the lads.

No one really seems that arsed. Most of the time, publicity stunts like that go over the players’ heads, but I can understand if the fans are a bit annoyed by it. United and City dominate Manchester. I reckon our lot will feel annoyed at seeing Carlos in a sky blue shirt. They might think that the poster is nothing more than a cheap shot, but there’s that many advertising boards around town that I haven’t even seen it. I’ve only really heard about it in the papers and from the lads today.

I’m mainly thinking about how it’s going to be an uncertain time for United and the club.
How are we going to replace those two world-class players?
Then The Manager comes down to the dressing room to have a word. The mood soon changes. Everyone goes quiet.

He welcomes us back; he tells us how well we played to win the league in May. He tells us we’ll have to play even better to win it again this year because of the strength of Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool, but also because of City and their money.

‘But believe in yourselves, lads,’ he goes. ‘Because we still have plenty of talent to win the league, even though we’ve lost two great strikers.’

Then he lets on to me. He tells me he wants me to score more goals, especially with Ronaldo and Carlos gone.

‘I want you to get in the box and get on the end of more chances, Wayne.’

‘But boss, I’ve been playing out wide. Do I have to get on the end of my own crosses now?’

I’m being cheeky, but I know what he means.

‘There are going to be games where I’m going to have to play you upfront on your own, Wayne,’ he says, which leaves me feeling dead chuffed. It’s what I was hoping for because now I can concentrate on scoring goals and influencing the game how I like. No more running up and down the wing for me, chasing overlapping full-backs about.

Then we go to work.

Time for our exams.

At the end of the 2008/09 season, all the players took tests measuring our body fat and heart rate. My first task in pre-season is to have them taken again and it’s murder: blood tests, coaches measuring the muscular stretches of every player in the squad; everyone does a treadmill test. I’m given an oxygen mask and for 18 minutes I have to run at a set pace. On every third minute a doctor draws blood. From various checks he measures my fitness levels and general health. Throughout the season, United’s fitness coaches and doctors constantly look back at the results so they can assess my levels of strength, stamina and physical health. The doc tells me he could suss if I had a cold coming just by taking a few tests and comparing the results to my summer paperwork.