We always wonder what goes on inside the dressing rooms between the players and the managers, or in their lives off the field when they are together. What do they talk about, whom do they talk about, the special incidents that happen between them, the relations between them when they are not footballers or team-mates but humans and friends are matters of curiosity indeed. I've always wondered what goes on behind the walls of the biggest club in the world - what goes on between the players, the Gaffer, the staff et cetera on non-match days.
Starting today, I plan to write and share all that. I've had read autobiographies of a few United players and of the Gaffer too, so I've had first-hand account of their memories. And of course, the Internet never ceases to open the vault to other memories through countless articles that surface every now and then.
Today, I write about Eric Cantona - the persona that he was and how he was admired and respected by David Beckham - and about a particular incident, in his autobiography - 'David Beckham - My Side':
Every good team needs a strong leader. We'd had Bryan Robson at United in the past. More recently we had Roy Keane. That season, though, the man who made us tick didn't come back into the side until early October. Eric Cantona had been signed from Leeds in November 1992 after he'd won the championship with them the previous season. I'd watched him play a couple of times and you could see he was a good player then but, once he arrived at Old Trafford, something more started to happen. In no time at all, Eric had become this player that the rest of us wanted to be. As a person, he had an aura about him: when Eric walked into a room, everything stopped. He was a presence. And he brought that same quality to being a Manchester United player.
In all the time we played together and trained together, I don't think I ever had a conversation with Eric about football. To be honest, beyond a few words here and there, I never had a conversation with him about anything. I don't think many people did, he was that private about his life. After training, and after games, he'd just disappear. We accepted that he had his own life and his own way to doing thigs. He'd turn up for training, driving this little Vauxhall Nova, and lever all six foot four of himself out from behind the steering wheel. He'd do his work. Then, when we'd finish, he'd squeeze himself back into the thing and be gone. Amazing, really, when you think about the impact he had not just on me and the rest of the players but on the whole club. We didn't talk to him but we talked about him almost all the time.
Eric could do no wrong in my eyes. And I think the gaffer was a bit in awe of him as well. One evening we were at a premiere of one of the Batman films. It was a club invitation so we were all supposed to turn up in black tie. Eric arrived wearing a white suit and his bright red Nike trainers. I laugh about it now, after the ear bashings I used to get from the boss about the clothes I chose to wear. Eric was special, though. The gaffer knew that and so did all the players. We never begrudged him being treated differently to the rest of us.
Eric was class apart. If anyone tried it on, he made sure you knew that. Not that people risked it very often. There was one evening, after a game, when we'd arranged a 'team meeting': it was just a night out with the lads but calling it that meant you knew everybody had to be there. We'd planned to meet at a place in Manchester called the Four Seaons at 6.45 and then go on from there. By 7 o'clock, only Eric was missing. He eventually strolled up and Giggsy pointed to his watch:
'Seven o'clock, Eric.'
Ryan was doing his best to sound like the gaffer if you were late for training. Eric looked over:
'Six forty-five.'
Giggsy looked at his watch but, before he could say another word, Eric hitched up his sleeve and showed us the face of the most beautiful Rolex watch any of us had ever seen:
'Six forty-five,' he smiled.
End of argument. How could that watch, or the bloke wearing it, possibly be wrong about the time?
Starting today, I plan to write and share all that. I've had read autobiographies of a few United players and of the Gaffer too, so I've had first-hand account of their memories. And of course, the Internet never ceases to open the vault to other memories through countless articles that surface every now and then.
Today, I write about Eric Cantona - the persona that he was and how he was admired and respected by David Beckham - and about a particular incident, in his autobiography - 'David Beckham - My Side':
Every good team needs a strong leader. We'd had Bryan Robson at United in the past. More recently we had Roy Keane. That season, though, the man who made us tick didn't come back into the side until early October. Eric Cantona had been signed from Leeds in November 1992 after he'd won the championship with them the previous season. I'd watched him play a couple of times and you could see he was a good player then but, once he arrived at Old Trafford, something more started to happen. In no time at all, Eric had become this player that the rest of us wanted to be. As a person, he had an aura about him: when Eric walked into a room, everything stopped. He was a presence. And he brought that same quality to being a Manchester United player.
In all the time we played together and trained together, I don't think I ever had a conversation with Eric about football. To be honest, beyond a few words here and there, I never had a conversation with him about anything. I don't think many people did, he was that private about his life. After training, and after games, he'd just disappear. We accepted that he had his own life and his own way to doing thigs. He'd turn up for training, driving this little Vauxhall Nova, and lever all six foot four of himself out from behind the steering wheel. He'd do his work. Then, when we'd finish, he'd squeeze himself back into the thing and be gone. Amazing, really, when you think about the impact he had not just on me and the rest of the players but on the whole club. We didn't talk to him but we talked about him almost all the time.
Eric could do no wrong in my eyes. And I think the gaffer was a bit in awe of him as well. One evening we were at a premiere of one of the Batman films. It was a club invitation so we were all supposed to turn up in black tie. Eric arrived wearing a white suit and his bright red Nike trainers. I laugh about it now, after the ear bashings I used to get from the boss about the clothes I chose to wear. Eric was special, though. The gaffer knew that and so did all the players. We never begrudged him being treated differently to the rest of us.
Eric was class apart. If anyone tried it on, he made sure you knew that. Not that people risked it very often. There was one evening, after a game, when we'd arranged a 'team meeting': it was just a night out with the lads but calling it that meant you knew everybody had to be there. We'd planned to meet at a place in Manchester called the Four Seaons at 6.45 and then go on from there. By 7 o'clock, only Eric was missing. He eventually strolled up and Giggsy pointed to his watch:
'Seven o'clock, Eric.'
Ryan was doing his best to sound like the gaffer if you were late for training. Eric looked over:
'Six forty-five.'
Giggsy looked at his watch but, before he could say another word, Eric hitched up his sleeve and showed us the face of the most beautiful Rolex watch any of us had ever seen:
'Six forty-five,' he smiled.
End of argument. How could that watch, or the bloke wearing it, possibly be wrong about the time?
