Free Gazza: My Story by Paul Gascoigne Page B

was crap.
    Towards the end of the season, Newcastle went to Derby, now managed by Arthur Cox, my old manager. I dreaded hearing his voice shouting at me, telling me exactly what he thought of my performance. He didn’t need to tell me. I was awful and ended up getting sent off, for the second time that season.
    As I stormed towards the dressing room, I kicked over the Derby physio’s water bucket, soaking a woman from their staff. Then I trashed the dressing room, breaking the door. Arthur Cox was furious with me.
    After a couple of days, when I’d cooled down, and before I got the bill for the breakages, I wrote a letter of apology to Arthur. I can’t remember exactly what I wrote, but Arthur later told me that I’d gone on about wanting to win things, wanting to be the best player in the country, and my frustration when I played badly.
    Eventually, Newcastle got the message that I wanted to leave and wouldn’t be signing another two-yearcontract. They officially gave their permission for my advisers to speak to Tottenham. Some of the Newcastle fans weren’t very pleased, naturally enough.
    Alex Ferguson found out what Spurs were prepared to offer me. They couldn’t match it, apparently, but said that I’d more than make up the shortfall in win bonuses if I came to Man United. Fergie saw me as the natural successor to Bryan Robson, or so I was told, though later on, when I told Robbo this, I learned that this wasn’t the story he’d heard.
    Fergie had discussions with my lawyer, Mel Stein, as if he was certain I would sign for them. The figures bandied around seemed enormous at the time, though they were nothing like those that change hands today. All I was really interested in was being able to buy a house for my mam and dad. In Fergie’s autobiography, this somehow got turned into me saying that the club had to buy a house for them, but this wasn’t so.
    On 7 May I pulled on a Newcastle shirt at St James’ Park for the last time. Nothing had been officially settled, but I knew, and most people assumed, that I wouldn’t be playing for them the next season. The game was against West Ham and at the end of it, I ran to the Gallowgate End and applauded those fans who had beenapplauding me. I ran all round the ground and finally left the pitch in tears. In the dressing room, it was very quiet. A few of the lads wished me luck, but I could sense a distance between me and them.
    There was, in fact, nearly a last-minute change of plan. John Hall, later Sir John, was mounting a bid to take over Newcastle FC, and he rang me up. He said that although he could make no promises about when and how he might gain control of the club, he wanted me to stay. But he understood that I couldn’t wait much longer. As it turned out, he didn’t take over till quite a bit later.
    I was pleased to get away with the Under-21s in Toulon. We started with a 2–1 win over Mexico. In the squad we had Nigel Martyn, David Platt, Michael Thomas, David Rocastle, all of whom made the full national team. In the semi-final against Morocco I got our goal, which took us into the final against France. The French decided to man mark me. Once you’ve been marked by Vinnie Jones, there’s not much that can frighten you. We tired in extra time and France beat us 4–2.
    I got back to England to find that Newcastle had now decided that I was worth £2 million. It doesn’t seem a lot now, but it seemed a fortune then, for someonewho had just turned 21 and had yet to play for the national team, and also someone for whom they were only wanting to pay £250 a week. That was what Newcastle were offering, if I stayed and signed a new contract. Spurs, on the other hand, were prepared to pay about six times that and at Man United, so they said, I would get almost as much.
    I hadn’t actually met Terry Venables, the Spurs manager, yet. I agreed to go down to London to be introduced to him at Mel’s office in Mayfair. I sat in a room with El Tel, cuddling a