Wayne Rooney: My Decade in the Premier League by Wayne Rooney

still coming down the tunnel. My shirt and shorts are off, my socks around my ankles. I’m thinking about getting a shower when all of a sudden I hearshouting, loads of it. I look out of the door and our lot are going toe to toe with Arsenal’s players, pushing, shoving, everyone getting in one another’s faces. It’s all scrappy stuff, no one’s lamping anyone, it just looks like one of those mass brawls that sometimes kick off in a game of football. It’s handbags stuff.
    Arsenal obviously can’t handle it. They don’t like the unbeaten run coming to an end, especially at Old Trafford, and especially with all the history between the two teams. I think the fact that Ruud has scored today hacks them off even more.
    After a few moments, everything calms down and the lads get back to the dressing room to soak up the victory again. But then The Manager walks in. He looks shocked. He’s wearing a different top to the one he had on during the game, which is weird.
    One of our lads says, ‘Somebody threw a pizza at The Manager.’
    I look at him. We’ve won, but he’s not walking around, shaking everyone by the hand like he usually does. He seems unsettled, which is something I thought I’d never see.
    Everyone gets back to talking about the game.
    We’ve stopped Arsenal from making it to 50 games unbeaten.
    We’ve won 2–0; Ruud has scored.
    We look at the Premier League table:

    We’ve got a great result against the league leaders, we’re within touching distance of the top teams and maybe the result will launch our season. But the atmosphere in the dressing room feels a little bit weird.
    *****
    After Arsenal, we fall on our backsides by losing 2–0 to Portsmouth at Fratton Park. Then we go on a five-month unbeaten league run, defeating Arsenal again, Palace, City, Liverpool and Villa along the way. It’s not until the beginning of April that we get beaten, 2–0 by Norwich. Then comes the game I’ve been waiting for all season: Everton away, Goodison Park.
    Time to face the music.
    It’s the first time I’ve played here since signing at Old Trafford and I know the Everton fans aren’t exactly made up about me playing for United. In fact, they hate it. When the transfer was going through in the summer, death threatswere sent to the house. I even had to get personal security sorted out for my mum and dad.
    I know exactly what to expect as the United bus winds its way through the backstreets that lead to the ground because I’ve driven this way loads of times before as a player. I’ve even walked this route as a fan when I watched the games with my dad or travelled to the ground as a ball boy. I reckon there’s going to be a crowd of hundreds waiting to give the away team some stick as we get off the bus.
    We turn the corner.
    I can see the police horses and the burger vans.
    Goodison comes into view, then the crowds waiting for us. For me.
    Bloody hell, there’s thousands of them.
    The mob are waiting by the club gates, dozens deep, all of them booing as the team coach turns into the car park. Everyone onboard knows they’re here to have a pop at me, so they start pulling my leg, winding me up. Someone makes a joke about my mates waiting to say hello, but then a brick bounces off the side of the bus. Then another. I hear the horrible pop of breaking glass. Someone’s thrown a bottle. I sussed I’d be getting some stick this afternoon, but nothing has prepared me for this. As the bus door opens, I make the short walk down the steps in full view of the Everton fans. They’re seeing me in a United suit for the first time and the boos and jeers are deafening.
    It’s pure anger.
    The atmosphere is upsetting. Everton are the team I’ve grown up supporting and although I’m with United now, Istill want them to do well. OK, not today, but they’re the side I played for and dreamt of playing for when I was a little kid. To get abuse from people who I’ve probably stood side by side with in the stands