my level.
Lilleshall’s rejection deepened my love for Liverpool. They wanted me, and I was determined to deliver for them and prove Lilleshall wrong. In the long run, failing to get into the National School worked in my favour. In my opinion, those national coaches would never have developed me as well as Steve Heighway did. Steve used to come round Ironside, see how we were, or call on the phone. Steve always had Mum and Dad into the Academy, checking everything was OK. Steve gave me boots on the sly. ‘How’s your family?’ he often enquired. ‘What’s the money situation?’ He knew we never had much. He used to help. Steve likes to bond with families, assist people. He’s a top guy. Genuine. Obviously, it was in Liverpool’s interests to keep me happy, but Steve’s commitment to me was not merely professional. He really cared. I was not a piece of meat, or an investment opportunity, to Steve and Liverpool. I was flesh and blood, fearsand dreams, and Steve looked after me like a son. I will never forget Steve Heighway’s immense involvement in shaping me as a man and as a footballer. Fuck Lilleshall. I had Liverpool.
Steve wasn’t stupid. He knew how many clubs circled around me. Those fools at Lilleshall might not have realized it, but I was rated everywhere else. Manchester United kept sending letters to Ironside, far nicer letters than the ones from Lilleshall. The postman also brought regular offers from Crystal Palace, Manchester City, Everton and Spurs. One day, Dad spoke to Steve. ‘Look, Steven is getting all these offers,’ he said. ‘Can we sort out his future here?’
Steve was laid-back, perhaps deliberately so. ‘If Steven wants to go and have a look at what Manchester United and the rest have to offer, then let him,’ he said. ‘If he wants to have a look at the facilities at Spurs or City, no problem. We won’t think anything different of him. We won’t fall out with Steven.’
So I did. Everton showed me around, attempting to woo me. I played a trial game for Tranmere Rovers. I wore the claret and blue of West Ham when we took Cambridge United apart 6–2. At fourteen, the red of Manchester United even enveloped my small frame in two trial matches. After doing well in those games, United offered me a three-year pro contract. I even met their legendary manager, Sir Alex Ferguson. A group of us triallists had dinner with Mr Ferguson, as he was then. Michael Owen was meant to be at the meal, but he didn’t turn up. Michael Ball was there. We sat and listened in awe to one of the managerial greats. Mr Ferguson was topman. I knew all about him, obviously. He was masterminding United’s re-emergence. He had heard about me and desperately wanted me to sign. Mr Ferguson told us how well we would do at Old Trafford and that he was committed to promoting good youngsters. Ryan Giggs and the David Beckham generation were beginning to break through around then. I enjoyed the meal, and listening to Mr Ferguson, but I was never going to sign for United. No chance. I looked around other clubs partly to pressure Liverpool into giving me a YTS contract.
When I returned to Liverpool after those games, I sought out Steve Heighway. ‘I really enjoyed playing for those teams,’ I said with a smile. I soon got a promise of a Youth Trainee Scheme contract out of Liverpool! Towards the end of the U-16 season, all the schoolboys went one by one into this room at Melwood to learn whether a YTS place was on offer from Liverpool. I never went in. I already knew. I couldn’t click on to anyone that I had this deal with Steve, all in black and white. But it was there: £50 a week. Michael Owen had one off Steve as well.
Steve always looked after us, like getting us tickets for the Kop for me, Paul and our friends. He took me to Wembley three times to watch FA Cup finals and Coca-Cola Cup finals. We travelled south on the train, with Steve, Hughie, Dave and their wives looking after me like a son. We saw
Lilleshall’s rejection deepened my love for Liverpool. They wanted me, and I was determined to deliver for them and prove Lilleshall wrong. In the long run, failing to get into the National School worked in my favour. In my opinion, those national coaches would never have developed me as well as Steve Heighway did. Steve used to come round Ironside, see how we were, or call on the phone. Steve always had Mum and Dad into the Academy, checking everything was OK. Steve gave me boots on the sly. ‘How’s your family?’ he often enquired. ‘What’s the money situation?’ He knew we never had much. He used to help. Steve likes to bond with families, assist people. He’s a top guy. Genuine. Obviously, it was in Liverpool’s interests to keep me happy, but Steve’s commitment to me was not merely professional. He really cared. I was not a piece of meat, or an investment opportunity, to Steve and Liverpool. I was flesh and blood, fearsand dreams, and Steve looked after me like a son. I will never forget Steve Heighway’s immense involvement in shaping me as a man and as a footballer. Fuck Lilleshall. I had Liverpool.
Steve wasn’t stupid. He knew how many clubs circled around me. Those fools at Lilleshall might not have realized it, but I was rated everywhere else. Manchester United kept sending letters to Ironside, far nicer letters than the ones from Lilleshall. The postman also brought regular offers from Crystal Palace, Manchester City, Everton and Spurs. One day, Dad spoke to Steve. ‘Look, Steven is getting all these offers,’ he said. ‘Can we sort out his future here?’
Steve was laid-back, perhaps deliberately so. ‘If Steven wants to go and have a look at what Manchester United and the rest have to offer, then let him,’ he said. ‘If he wants to have a look at the facilities at Spurs or City, no problem. We won’t think anything different of him. We won’t fall out with Steven.’
So I did. Everton showed me around, attempting to woo me. I played a trial game for Tranmere Rovers. I wore the claret and blue of West Ham when we took Cambridge United apart 6–2. At fourteen, the red of Manchester United even enveloped my small frame in two trial matches. After doing well in those games, United offered me a three-year pro contract. I even met their legendary manager, Sir Alex Ferguson. A group of us triallists had dinner with Mr Ferguson, as he was then. Michael Owen was meant to be at the meal, but he didn’t turn up. Michael Ball was there. We sat and listened in awe to one of the managerial greats. Mr Ferguson was topman. I knew all about him, obviously. He was masterminding United’s re-emergence. He had heard about me and desperately wanted me to sign. Mr Ferguson told us how well we would do at Old Trafford and that he was committed to promoting good youngsters. Ryan Giggs and the David Beckham generation were beginning to break through around then. I enjoyed the meal, and listening to Mr Ferguson, but I was never going to sign for United. No chance. I looked around other clubs partly to pressure Liverpool into giving me a YTS contract.
When I returned to Liverpool after those games, I sought out Steve Heighway. ‘I really enjoyed playing for those teams,’ I said with a smile. I soon got a promise of a Youth Trainee Scheme contract out of Liverpool! Towards the end of the U-16 season, all the schoolboys went one by one into this room at Melwood to learn whether a YTS place was on offer from Liverpool. I never went in. I already knew. I couldn’t click on to anyone that I had this deal with Steve, all in black and white. But it was there: £50 a week. Michael Owen had one off Steve as well.
Steve always looked after us, like getting us tickets for the Kop for me, Paul and our friends. He took me to Wembley three times to watch FA Cup finals and Coca-Cola Cup finals. We travelled south on the train, with Steve, Hughie, Dave and their wives looking after me like a son. We saw
Similar Books
