Beckham by David Beckham

hello and then we had to get on with it.
    One thing I wasn’t really looking forward to was the tackling. I’m sure that’s part of the reason the boss sent me to Preston in the first place, to harden me up a bit. I was a lot more fragile then than I am now. That first game, I sat on the bench for the first half and, every time a tackle flew in, I was cringing. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting on. When I did, though, almost straight away we got a corner. It was a really blowy afternoon, with the wind behind us, and I remember thinking I’d just whip the ball in to see what happened. A goal. Not a bad way to start. We ended up coming from behind to draw 2–2.
    The next game was against Fulham, who had Terry Hurlock playing for them. Now, I knew Terry by reputation and I’d watched him play: here was a bloke who liked a tackle and I was worried about getting whacked by him. As it turned out, I didn’t and got a few challenges in myself. You soon realize that, if you’re playing for Preston in Division Three and they need the points, you can’t afford to be ducking out of the physical side.
    We won 3–2 and it was during that game I scored my first-ever free-kick at first-team level. It was just outside the area and I fanciedit. Gary Peters had put me on the free-kicks, and this one couldn’t have gone better. I don’t remember the goal so much as the celebration. I ran away with my arm in the air and one of the Preston players grabbed my head and started pulling my hair so hard I thought he was going to pull a handful out. Absolutely killed me. It might seem obvious, but I think a lot of people don’t realize just how much goals and results matter to players. For the lads at a club like Preston, back then anyway, it was about playing and trying to pay your mortgage and keep up with the bills like anybody else. It gave the soccer the sort of edge I’d never experienced. The looks in the other players’ eyes just told me how strong their desire was, how badly they wanted, and needed, to win the game. It was the same with the supporters. The club was the heart of the town; it had this long, proud history and people absolutely lived for Saturday afternoons and the match. I was lucky. They were great and took to me right off.
    I’ve had some amazing experiences since but, truthfully, that month at Preston was one of the most exciting times in my whole career. I remember thinking then that if the boss had been looking to let me go, I could have been happy playing for Preston North End. When it came time, at the end of the loan, to go back to United, I didn’t want to leave. How worried had I been beforehand? How nervous had I been when I got to Preston? Just four weeks later and here I was, asking Mr Ferguson if I could go and stay on with them for another month.
    The answer was: ‘No’. No explanation or anything. By the end of that same week, I understood why the manager wanted me back. There was an injury crisis at Old Trafford and the teamsheet for Saturday’s Leeds game had my name on it: I was about to make my League debut for Manchester United at Old Trafford. After five really competitive—and physical—first-team games for Preston, I felt ready for the next step forward. More to the point, the boss thought I was, too. I was more prepared than I had been for those games against Brighton and Galatasaray, for sure. For an afternoon, at least, I could put any doubtsto one side. It seemed like United and Mr Ferguson thought I did have a chance after all.
    I knew that, for all the excitement of winning an FA Youth Cup and the thrill of playing those games for United in the Cups and Preston in Division Three, I hadn’t achieved anything yet. But maybe this was my time to show that, one day, I might. It wasn’t just me, of course. Nor was it just my generation. It’s still true now: just ask Wes Brown or John