Free Beckham by David Beckham Page B

United’s old training ground, the Cliff, as a boy to watch the first team train. Now I had to be there for training each morning myself, along with the senior players. It dawned on me straight away that the most important thing wasn’t being at United. It was working hard enough to make sure they’d let me stay there.
    Come to think of it, there was never any chance of us not working hard; not with coach Eric Harrison in charge. If I think about the people who’ve really shaped my career, that has to mean my dad and Alex Ferguson—of course—but it’ll also mean Eric. Even now, a dozen years on from first meeting him, I look to him for guidance and advice. He’ll tell me what he thinks, not what he thinks I want to hear. And, like every other boy he worked with at United, I know he’s always cared about me. Back then I was sure he had my best interests at heart. I still feel exactly the same.
    Eric could be scary, though. We knew about his reputation and I was a bit anxious beforehand because of that. But I soon found out what a brilliant coach he was. Everything he did with us was spot on: the sessions he ran, how hard he made us work, how he understood howwe were feeling and how much he made us believe in ourselves. Eric might have had a talented group of lads to work with, but the credit goes to him for turning us into soccer players and, during the next three years, turning us into a team.
    That fierce reputation, though, it’s all true. When Eric was angry with you, he could berate you worse than anybody I’ve ever known. We were younger then, obviously, but I’d say the tirades you got from Eric were even more terrifying than the manager in full flow. I remember when we had matches at the Cliff, Eric had an office with a big window that looked out over the field we used. If you made a mistake or did something you knew you shouldn’t have done, you’d hear this furious banging on the glass. You didn’t dare lookup in that direction because you knew it would be Eric, not at all pleased. But you’d have to steal a quick glance. And if you couldn’t actually see him shouting from behind the window, that’s when you knew there was real trouble and it was time to disappear over to the other side of the field. It meant Eric was on his way down.
    When Eric was pleased with you, he made you feel great. If I heard him say: ‘Great ball, David’ once in the morning, that would set me up for the rest of the day. Likewise, if he criticized something, you thought a long time before doing it again. I remember one session when, every time I got the ball, I was trying to pick someone out with a sixty-yard pass. Even when I was young, I was able to see what was going on ahead of me and could strike the ball a very long way. That particular day, though, nothing was coming off and Eric wasn’t impressed.
    â€˜David. What are you playing at? Hitting those flippin’ Hollywood passes all day?’
    Hollywood passes? I’d never heard that before. I knew exactly what he meant, though. And I thought twice before I hit the next one. Truth is, I still love playing those long balls; they’re a part of my game. But, even now, whenever one doesn’t make it, I imagine Eric, shaking his head and grumbling: ‘flippin’ Hollywood passes’.
    It’s not always been true with Alex Ferguson or other coaches I’ve worked with, but with Eric you always knew exactly where you stood. If he lost his temper with you, he made sure you understood why and, somehow, he had the knack of shaking you up without ever abusing you or putting you down. We always knew, however hairy it got, Eric only ever wanted what we wanted too: to get the best out of ourselves and to achieve everything we could as individuals and as a team. No wonder he commanded the respect of every single one of us young players. Some young players nowadays who sign for a large club