Beckham (44 page)

Everything had happened so quickly. I felt like I'd been running alongside myself for the best part of a month, just trying to keep up with what had been happening to us. It's the story of my life: you're on to the next adventure so quickly, there never seems time to take in the one you have just had. Suddenly, though, one day in Thailand, what had been a blur seemed to slow down long enough for me to glimpse things in focus. It's always the same questions, when you find the time for yourself to ask them:

‘Who are you? Where have you been? Where are you going?'

We spent one lovely day down by the beach near Hua Hin, filming and shooting stills for a Japanese sponsor, TBC. The setting was beautiful: pale milky sunshine, little resort villas clustered up amongst the palms away from the promenade, the sand stretching away to water so clear you couldn't tell where the beach ended and the sea began. There were hammocks to laze in between takes while you watched the crew racing around, trying to convince each other, and anybody else who might be watching, that they were working really hard. Always with filming, as the time passes there's more pressure to squeeze everything in before you have to finish. People start to get a little tetchy, hurried and tired. Almost the last shot of the day, we actually went down onto the beach. Eight Thai lads, about nine or ten years old, appeared: they'd been hidden away somewhere waiting for the highlight of their day. The highlight of my day, too, as it turned out. We were shooting a sequence where I was playing soccer with them: no goals, just us chasing each other across the sand. The director told us:

‘You just play. The cameraman will keep up with you best he can.'

Me and the lads were just in shorts. We'd nothing on our feet to spoil the feel of the sand and the ball and we scuttled, backwards and forwards, taking the ball away from each other. You'd try a little trick and slip a pass to the person nearest you who, for that moment, looked like he might be on your side. There, in the warm breeze of late afternoon, I suddenly felt lifted away. I could have been the father of any one of those boys. Any of them could have been me, a youngster, sweat running down my temples, in the middle of a five-a-side over at Chase Lane Park. They could play a bit, these lads. I realized it was the first time I'd had a game since I got injured against South Africa in Durban. We weren't doing the bloke with the hand-held camera any favors: we'd forgotten all about him. Lost in the game. Like boys—this boy included—have always been and always will be.

Back at the hotel that night, we ate and went to bed. I guess it was
the traveling catching up with me. How long had I slept? Two hours? Three? My eyes opened wide in the darkness. Victoria was fast asleep beside me. I hadn't been woken by a dream or anything else: I lay still for a moment or two, half expecting I'd just drift off again until morning. It wasn't as if I was fretting about anything. My body clock had just decided this was time for being awake. No point arguing. I started being able to pick out the room around me. I slipped out from under the mosquito net and went through to the bathroom. I found a bottle of water and padded back, the cool wood floor under my bare feet.

Victoria, I thought, probably didn't want me to shake her awake for a chat. The television was far enough away from the bed that I thought:
if the sound's turned down, it won't disturb her
. I let my hand run across a low sideboard until it settled on the remote. I carefully pulled a chair across the room, up close, a yard or so from the screen. I switched it on and sat back.

That little crack of electricity and then the picture comes swimming up to the surface. As things come into focus on the bright screen in that darkroom on the other side of the world, my mouth drops open. I'm watching this team in an all-white uniform. The others are in red and white stripes. I squint to try and pick out individual players. That's Luis Figo. This is Real Madrid. And there's Zidane, stabbing a ten-yard pass into the penalty area, away from the defender, into the path of Ronaldo's run. The big man's not even had to break his stride. He doesn't have to give his first touch a second thought. Because his first touch is a shot from fifteen yards, across the goalkeeper, into the far corner. Roberto Carlos is there, jumping all over him. On the screen the caption comes up: Real Madrid 3 Athletic Bilbao 1. Just as well: I've got the sound turned down.

And it's only then that I realize. I'm watching Real keep the ball for minutes at a time, passing amongst themselves, twisting and turning away from challenges, playing out the twenty minutes that remain.
Thousands of miles away, Real are winning La Liga, right now. Because of the time difference, I'm watching it live in the middle of my night. The final whistle goes and the celebrations begin. Streamers and confetti come cascading down from the stands. Fireworks explode over Madrid. The floodlights snap out, everything goes black– for a moment I think there's something wrong with my television—and then spotlights pick out the Real players, all in t-shirts, white as their uniform, saying: ‘Campeones 29'. They carry the trophy—their trophy—along the touchline, dancing around it, holding it up to the four corners of the Bernabeu.

I'm breathless watching. Gasping at the spectacle. Gasping at the sight of my future. I glance across and can just make out the outline of Victoria under the bedcovers: my wife's still sleeping tight. No need to wake her, even for this. We'll be there soon enough.

I'm sitting alone, knees tucked up under my chin now; perched on my chair in front of the television as the air cools before morning. I shiver and then I'm aware I've got this huge smile on my face: a boy from Chingford, England. United born and bred. And going to play for Real Madrid.

Full name: David Robert Joseph Beckham

Place and Date of Birth: Leytonstone May 2 1975

Parents: Sandra and Ted. Sisters: Joanne and Lynne

Married: July 4 1999

Wife: Victoria Caroline Adams Beckham

Sons: Brooklyn Joseph Beckham, b. March 4 1999 Romeo Beckham, b. September 1 2002

Height: 71in (180cm)

Weight: 167lb (75kg)

As a junior played for Ridgeway Rovers, winning the Fyfield five-a-side tournament

At 11 years old won the Bobby Charlton Soccer Skills Competition

Played for Waltham Forest Under-12s

Scouted to Manchester United by Malcolm Fidgeon

Represented Essex Schools as a schoolboy

Attended Tottenham Hotspur's school of excellence

July 8 1991—joined Manchester United as a trainee

Won the 1992 FA Youth Cup

September 23 1992—First team debut in the Coca Cola Cup at Brighton

January 22 1993—Signed as a professional

Season-by-Season breakdown

 

Totals

 

Team

 

Personal

 

Milestones for Manchester United

 

Club Goals