Craig Bellamy - GoodFella (13 page)

Everybody got out except one girl, who said she wanted Kieron to drop her off at her house. I wanted to get back to my place in Jesmond but she insisted we had to drop her off first. Kieron said he wasn’t running a taxi service and that she could order a car from Quinny’s flat. She refused to get out of the car so it started to get a bit heated.

In the end, she gave up and got out. As she was getting out, I began to climb out of the back seat into the front for the journey back to my place. She was angry and she gave me a bit of a mouthful and then she got the door and slammed it against my leg. I got out, pushed her away and jumped back in the car. I went ‘drive, drive, drive’ to Kieron and we sped off.

She was a third-year student from Newcastle University. She said later I’d slapped her while we were arguing in the car. Then she said that after I’d pushed her over, I’d kicked her while she was lying on the ground. She chased after the car for a few seconds but then she gave up. It was a bit of a mad episode. I was worried about it but I hoped I wouldn’t hear anything more about it. I was still naïve back then.

We trained the next day and then Wednesday was a day off. But in the early evening on Wednesday, Wayne Quinn called. He said Tony Toward had rung him and said a girl had been to the police and said she had been assaulted by a Newcastle United player. They had given her a team sheet with pictures of the players and she had picked out Wayne Quinn. Quinny sounded very nervous. He wasn’t in the first team at the time. He felt vulnerable. “Bellers,” he said, “they will probably sack me.”

“Quinny,” I said, “you’re just going to have to bite the bullet on this one.” He went quiet. There was a long silence. Then I put him out of his misery and told him not to be so stupid.

I phoned Tony Toward and told him it was nothing to do with Quinny. The next day, it was on the news and I had to go and see Freddy Shepherd in his office at St James’ Park. He had been told what had happened. He seemed more angry about the girl slamming the door on my leg. He said the police wanted to speak to me to get my side of the story. He said I could fight it and I would win. But he said it would drag on and on and if I accepted a caution, it would all be forgotten about and I could concentrate on preparing for the next game. So on Thursday night, I went to the police station. They talked to me for about an hour, they cautioned me and I left. The next day, there were photographers outside my house and reporters climbing the fences around my house. It was horrible. It was the first time I had been at the centre of something like that.

Kieron came out of it well. The student said that he had behaved like ‘a perfect gentleman’. But the papers said that I could wreck Newcastle’s season. They said I could spoil everything, that I was the loose cannon that could throw the club off course. I was worried about the effect it would have on Claire but I had told her what had happened as soon as I got back the night it occurred and she was understanding about it.

I was very single-minded. I just wanted to get on with playing against Southampton that Saturday. Everything was going so well and I wasn’t going to let an incident like that get in the way of it. A lot of the papers were speculating about what state of mind I was going to be in but I was fine. I didn’t really feel I had anything to be ashamed of and certainly nothing to hide. The only thing I was concerned about was the reaction of the crowd but I got a great ovation when I came out for the warm-up at St James’ Park and we won 3-1.

Gordon Strachan was the Southampton manager by then. He had been sacked five games into the new season at Coventry and taken over at St Mary’s soon afterwards. He’d obviously read all about my nocturnal adventures because he smiled at me as I ran out on to the pitch.

“Know anywhere good to go out tonight, Bellers?” he asked.

13

Euro Class

I
did some growing up in that first season at Newcastle, too, though. Sure, there were some things I did wrong and some things I wish I could take back. But even as our challenge for the title gathered strength, I assumed responsibilities I had not thought about shouldering before.

A couple of weeks before we went on the ill-fated trip to Marbella, one of the Newcastle press officers, Hazel Greener, asked me if I’d make a visit to the Royal Victoria Infirmary in

Newcastle. She told me about a young boy there who was sick with kidney disease and whose father had asked if there was any chance of their son meeting me. The boy’s name was Indie Singh. He was 14 years old.

It was only round the corner from where I lived. It was hardly even a diversion on my way home. It had been set up as a surprise for him so I went over there and met Indie and his dad, Bal. They were both avid Newcastle fans and Indie’s face lit up when I walked in. I played a bit of PlayStation on the computer with him for a while and asked him about his favourite players, and whether he was a fan of mine because of the silver boots I was wearing at that time.

I really enjoyed it. He and his dad had season tickets just above the dug-outs at St James’ Park so I told them that when we played Aston Villa the following Saturday, I would make sure to look up and give them a wave. Before the game, I thought I’d pop in and see him again. I gave him a Wales shirt and one of my Wales caps. I’d never given one of them away before because they’re for my kids but it felt like the right thing to do.

The game felt big to me. I thought it might be one of the last times he watched me play because it was obvious he wasn’t well at all. I wanted to try to make it memorable in some way. I got lucky. A few minutes before half-time, I hit a half-volley into the top corner and after I’d celebrated, I ran over and waved to Indie and his dad. I’ve still got the picture in my mind of him sitting there with his old man with a big smile plastered over his face.

We won the game 3-0 and I got the third that day, too, sliding it through Peter Schmeichel’s legs. Indie came down to the dressing room after the game and I gave him my shirt and had my picture taken with him. I felt so good. It was one of the best feelings I’d ever had after a game. Whether there is a God or not I will never know but if there is, I thank him for that.

I don’t know why it touched such a nerve with me. He was a lovely kid. That was part of the reason. He’d won some award for being a Child of Courage and had given the money he received straight to the hospital so they could buy presents for the other kids. But it was more than just that. I was a father, too, of course, and seeing what was happening was heartbreaking.

But I think it was a bit of an escape for me, too. It was getting increasingly hard for me to trust anybody and I could feel the spotlight increasing on me. When I went to spend time with Indie, I didn’t have to worry about any of that. I find dealing with children so much easier than interacting with adults. With adults, I am worried that there is always a question behind the question. With young kids, they are blunt and truthful. They ask questions about things I am interested in like who is my favourite team and player.

Sometimes, I am a child and sometimes my love for the game is like a child’s. I do have favourite players, I do remember things from a couple of weeks ago when a certain player did a trick or something. That’s what kids remember, too. That’s why I enjoy dealing with kids and that was part of the reason I loved being with Indie and his family. I could speak freely to him. Even with all the craziness surrounding me, it made me remember what was real.

Indie was sent home just before Christmas. His condition was deteriorating. He had a younger sister but he was his father’s only son. If it was my child and that had been happening to him…well, I couldn’t comprehend it. I spent quite a lot of time round at their house in Durham, just talking and playing on the PlayStation with Indie.

He was really ill this time. He began to lapse in and out of consciousness. I saw him as much as I could. One afternoon, I knocked on his door and his sister answered it. She didn’t know what to say. Eventually, she told me that Indie had died that morning. I went in for a couple of hours and spent a bit of time with his family. I felt it probably wasn’t my place to be there but they asked me to stay.

I am very fortunate to have met a boy like Indie but how many other boys are there in similar plights? That’s one of the main reasons why I have an academy for kids in Sierra Leone now. So I can try to help a bit more. After Indie died, I went back for more visits to the Royal Victoria Infirmary. I saw a lot of doctors and nurses who used to deal with kids like Indie all the time. What a job they do.

It felt like, in a very small way, I was doing something worthwhile, something good. It stirred a few memories in me, too. When I was a young child and my asthma flared, there were quite a few occasions when I’d have to go and spend a week at Heath Hospital in Cardiff to recover. I’d always want my dad to stay with me overnight but that wasn’t possible because I had brothers and they had to be looked after, too. I remembered how lonely those places can be for a child.

I’d like to say meeting Indie made me a little less self-absorbed but I’m not sure if that’s true. I’m an obsessive. I was totally wrapped up in my career and in Newcastle’s title challenge. We were still in the thick of the race at the end of February. When we beat Sunderland at the Stadium of Light on February 24, we moved to two points behind Manchester United with a game in hand.

Earlier in the month, I’d driven down to Cardiff with Gary Speed for a Wales game against Argentina. It was just after the Southampton game and the fracas with the Newcastle University student. Speedo had TalkSport on and there were a lot of phone calls about me coming in, about how well I had played after the week I’d just had.

Speedo turned the sound down and started talking. He talked about how different we were as characters in some ways but that he admired my attitude. He said I was one of the best players he had ever played with but he said it was time to cut the bullshit out. He knew I wasn’t a bad kid, he said, but I had to understand I was becoming a player now and I needed to start acting like a player. I had to realise I was marked, he said.

There was so much I wanted to take on board, so much I knew I needed to improve. But there was so much coming at me, too. Playing in Newcastle, in a team that was top of the table, had exposed me to a whole new level of celebrity and attention. It was turning my head, to be honest. I was scoring a lot of goals and getting a lot of praise. I began to think I was invincible.

The title seemed in reach. We had a decent run-in, too. Our last six games were against Fulham, Derby, Charlton, Blackburn, West Ham and Southampton. Everybody was saying we had a real shot at it. We were right in the mix. It was all going so well. And then, during that win at Sunderland, my luck suddenly turned for the worse.

The Sunderland defender, Jody Craddock, went to hit a ball down the line and I scampered across and blocked it. As I broke to try to chase it, I felt a little click in the patella tendon in my right knee. It wasn’t enough to make me come off but it got worse during the game and in the dressing room afterwards, it was really sore. I had a scan the next day and it showed I had a slight tear.

They said I would be out for four weeks. It was a hell of a blow. It was such a crucial stage in the season. We had 11 games left. We thought if we won eight of them, that would probably be enough for the title. We were so tantalisingly close. The first two games I missed were tough ones, too. Home to Arsenal and then away to Liverpool. We lost them both without scoring a goal.

When we drew at home to Ipswich in the next game, we knew the league had gone. Almost in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, we were eight points behind United. Liverpool and Arsenal had opened a bit of a gap on us as well. We were even starting to worry about whether we would qualify for the Champions League because Chelsea were chasing us for fourth place.

When we could only draw at home with Fulham on April 8, our lead over Chelsea was down to a single point with five games to play. I had already missed six games and I was desperate to come back. I was training but my knee still wasn’t right. It wasn’t healing. But we rallied after the Fulham game. We won at Derby and rolled Charlton over at St James’ Park. That meant that if we got a point or better against Blackburn at Ewood Park, fourth place would be safe.

I’d made the bench for the Charlton game and I came on against Blackburn. We came from behind twice as two goals from Shearer carried us to a 2-2 draw. It put us out of reach of Chelsea and it was my last involvement in the season. Sir Bobby left me out of the last two games. He knew that my knee wasn’t right. There was no point risking me now that there was nothing left to play for.

In the end, we finished 16 points adrift of the title winners Arsenal, who had beaten Liverpool into second place. Behind us, Leeds pipped Chelsea to fifth place but they were about to disappear into the chasm. Nobody had expected us to finish fourth but we had done it. I had won the PFA Young Player of the Year along the way, voted for by my peers, and now I’d be playing in the Champions League the following season. The dream I had been chasing was coming true. I was part of football’s elite.

I didn’t have much chance to celebrate what we had achieved. Before the season was even over, I was on a plane to Colorado to see the surgeon, Richard Steadman. So I celebrated with a knee operation. He said I’d be out for four months, which would get me back almost for the start of the 2002-03 season and the beginning of our Champions League campaign.

I did very little rehab during the summer. My knee was in a brace, I kept out of trouble and I assumed everything was going to be fine. But on the first day of pre-season back up in the north-east, it still didn’t feel right. The brace was off by then but I was in quite a lot of discomfort as soon as I even started jogging. I had to go back inside straight away. I was worried.

I wasn’t ready for the start of the new season. I missed the Champions League qualifying round ties against the Bosnian side, Željezni, which we won 5-0 on aggregate, and I had to sit out the opening Premier League games against West Ham and Manchester City, too. We had let Sylvain Distin go in the summer, which was a mistake, but we had signed a decent Portuguese kid called Hugo Viana from Sporting Lisbon and even though expectations were much higher, I thought we’d have another decent season.

I came back on September 2. Sir Bobby brought me off the bench at Anfield when we were 2-0 down to Liverpool and I helped get us back into the game. Speedo and Shearer both scored in the last 10 minutes and we rescued a draw out of it. I played well and people were saying what a relief that I was back as good as new. But I knew I wasn’t back. I knew my knee still wasn’t feeling that great.

I wanted to play for Wales in a European Championship qualifier in Finland the following Saturday and Newcastle said I had to prove my fitness in a midweek reserve team match against Blackburn. The whole thing turned into a saga. I played in the reserve match but then my flight to Helsinki was cancelled. I rang the Wales manager, Mark Hughes, and told him what had happened.

Things had been a lot more professional under Sparky and he took this on as a test case. He asked the Welsh FA to charter a private plane to get me out there. He fought and fought for it and in the end they bowed to his demands. I was pleased. It showed we were getting serious at last and that we wanted to have a proper shot at qualifying. It sent a message. We won the game.

While I was waiting for that flight, I had a call from Eric Harrison, the guy who was the youth team manager at Manchester United when they won the FA Youth Cup in 1992 with that side that included Ryan Giggs, David Beckham, Nicky Butt and Gary Neville. Eric did some work with Wales, too, and now he was ringing to say that Sir Alex Ferguson had asked him to call me.

Eric wanted to know who my representative was so I told him and soon after, Steve Horner and Peter Robinson went to meet Ferguson at United’s training ground. Ferguson told them he wanted to sign me but didn’t think Newcastle would sell me.

I was flattered, obviously. But I was worried, too. I was unsure about my knee. It was constantly hurting. There were times when I couldn’t do what I wanted to do when I was on the ball because the pain was getting in the way. I didn’t want to make movements or runs that increased the pain. I knew that if I went to Manchester United, I would have to make an immediate impact and I didn’t feel I was in the shape to do that.

There was also the small matter of the fact that I was very happy at Newcastle. I had just had a great season; we were in the Champions League; I was PFA Young Player of the Year and I had a brilliant manager who loved me. Everything seemed bright. It was nice to know United were interested but I thought perhaps it would be something that happened further down the line.

We made Newcastle fully aware that if they didn’t meet my contract demands, I would run my existing deal down and go to United. I had a meeting with Freddy Shepherd about it. He asked me how much I wanted and I told him £50,000 a week. I knew what other players were getting. It was my market value at that time.

Freddy just got up from his seat and walked out of the room without saying a word. He didn’t even have the decency to tell me to fuck off.

I didn’t pay much attention. It was all in the future anyway and I was more concerned with the Champions League. We had been drawn in a tough group with Dynamo Kiev, Juventus and Feyenoord but I was still confident we could go through. I was excited, too. To be playing in the Champions League was another one of the targets I had set myself.

The first game was away in Kiev in the middle of September. Instead of playing in the Olympic Stadium, the match was at the Lobanovskiy Stadium, a beautiful old ground ringed by trees on a hill overlooking the River Dnieper. This was my first taste of the biggest stage of all. We walked out on to the pitch and the Champions League music was playing. This was football. This was where I wanted to be.