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    15K views228 pages

    Steven Gerrard Autobiography

    Uploaded by

    GLo
    SG

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as PDF or read online from Scribd
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    Er) eee TE Re a : = Pee Soars, ‘hp rom wh De Shanon, iseuscralaure, artiemiet ‘gins Haver © See Gerard, $C ed ily a in Germany and Se SAR Choe soe Bele prone Pbomoeer ‘Endnote Foie th FA Cop Scher Ass © Fc, ‘ities psd © FONE Rewer Sememei wees REEL nme tenons Lope en 6, vont? Sa ee me izaceccas ee ‘Sige FA Cap tna a © pi. Sat FA Caps © Empice ‘Scores rine Germany: Sand Tcl Em Pc Sac tin Taps So anf Wayne Rooney ‘Gemay. aS emp argon rel Ce ing 2 ces SAE etait Seen 1 Sephane Renor Perro tage Cac, Br meson Aden pc a Stancescadtng Sects" Sot est Dedication Every time I drive into Anfield, I slow to 8 crave as I pass through the Shankly Gates. My eyes are drawn towards the Hilloborough Memorial. I see che wibutes to the ninetsix Liverpool fans who never returned from that FA Cap semifinal in 1989. Ise the scarves let by visting fans, signs of respect that lie alongside wreaths placed by families whose ears will, never dey. 1 see the flame that burns always, reminding the ‘orld thatthe niney sx will ever, eer be forgotten. ‘As my ca inches past the Memorial | look down the names ‘of those who fell on the Leppings Lane End, never rise again, “My eyes stop atone name. Jon-Paul Gilhooley, ten years ol, the youngest of those who never came home from Sheffield. A fan who died fllowing the team he loved. A boy whos ie was snatched away just at it wa starting, Crushed ro death in a stand unfit for human beings. I kaew Jon-Pasl. He was my cousin. A shiver runs down my spine. I make the sgn of the Cross and drive on park the car and step into Anfield sil hinking of Jon-Paul, his parents, and how lucky I am. 1 was neatly nine when Hillsborough took Jon-Paul fom us. We were separated by a year and a bi in age bu uated in a passion for football. Jon Paul adored Liverpool with the same fervour cat fils me whenever I pull on that red shire, We were so alike. Similar ‘Merseyside estates, similar interests. Jon-Paul joined in the kickabouts on the street outside my house in Huyton on the edge of Liverpool, proudly weating his Liverpool strip. The club meant the world to Jon-Paul ‘As with all people across Merseyside, Saturday, 15 Apel 1989 is forever scarred in my mind, Liverpool FC were a reli ion in the house I grew up in so the moment we heard something had happened at the game we quickly gathered Around the television to watch the news. Me and my dad Pau, my mother Julie and brother Paul sat there, staring disbeliv- ingly atthe pictures. We listened, shaking, tothe grim details emerging, I couldn't take it in, the sheer horror of Hillsborough. None of ws could comprehend the camage Why? How? Who? So many questions. The atmosphere was bad in our house that night, really bad. Each of us kept repeating the same anxiety ‘I wonder ifanyone we know went to the game, God, peat le there be no-one." Eventually, went to bed. I climbed the stair and threw myself down oa the bed, oping fr sleep to banish my thoughts. No chance The images from Hillsborough kepe me awake. Finally, in the ealy hours, I slipped into an uneasy sleep. -Athalf.cight the following morning, there was a knock ac the oor. ran doienssits and undid the lack. Granddad Tony stood. there, Without a word, he walked into the front room. The rest ‘ofthe family began string, and soon we were al nthe front room waiting for Granddad co talk. We all knew something was wrong. Grandéad lives over the coad and isnot che rype tobe out and about at 8.30 ona Sunday morning, ‘Ou family has not escaped Hillsborough,’ we thought. The look on Granddad’ face told us something terible had occurred, “Tve gor bad news,’ he sai, ‘Jon-Paulis dead ‘Tears, anger and confusion tore through all of us. We hadn't known Jon-Paul was atthe game. He went to Anfield all the time, but an FA Cup semi-final was «special teat. Granddad explained. Jon-Paul’s mum, Jackie, had somehow managed t0 ‘eta ticket, She knew how much i meant to Jon-Pal ose his, heroes in such an important match. Ic was oa in Sheffield, batly seventy miles away. And he so wanted to go. frend of the family took Jon-Paul. They set off from Liverpool that Saturday moening, all barring with excitement, but Jon-Paul never returned. Never returned fom the match. Those words ‘wll haunt me forever ‘The bleak process of post-mortems meant that Jon-Pauls funeral was quite a while after Hillsborough. didn't go to the faneral because of school. Well that was the reason I was ven, Actually, 'm sure Dad didn't want me to attend the funeral. My parents wanted to protect me.I was just a kid, struggling to understand that my cousin had died supporting the team we both adored. had just stated at Liverpoo!s Centre of Excellence and training was cancelled for awhile after Hilsborough, When we finally resumed, I could tell fom the shocked look on the coaches faces that sis was a disaster that affected a whole ch and a whole cy. Hillsborough was the talk of my family for months afterwards. Even now, seventeen years on, we still ‘touch on a subject that remains raw and paul ‘Whenever Isaw Jon-Pauls patents during my Youth Trainee Scheme days at Anfield, it gave me an extra determination to succeed. Just before I made my Liverpool debut, they sd, ‘Jon-Paul would be so proud of you.’ During that match felt Joo-Paul was looking down on me, pleased I was fulfilling a ‘dream we oth shared. In the til of vitor, I always think of Jon-Paul and about how buzzing he would be over a Liverpool ‘win, Ie breaks my heart every day jst to think Jon aul is noe here any more Liverpool were bilan with Jon-Paul' family. They were so ‘ating and helpfol coward all the people who lose loved ones at Hillsborough. They sill ae, Liverpool area compassionate club with roots that go deep in the community. I remember Jackie once telling Dad how well the clu treated them. Every ean on the anniversary of Hillsborough, Liverpool hold a secvice at Anfield. I's compulsory for players to attend Rightly so. The team must show theie respects ro the ninety In 2005 1 fel cally acy, but I went, No way would I miss the Hillsborough service. Iris par of my life ‘The players normaly meetup at our Melwood taining ground and take the team bus ro Anfield. During the journey, talk tothe foreign lads who don’t understand. “Wheee ate we going?” they ask, ‘What are we doing?" They have heard ofthe Hilsborough lisaster, but don’ know the fall story: fll hem in, and they sit there, specchlss with shock, [explain chat there was alo of anger ‘ver what got writen ater Hillsborough, which s why the worst offender, the Sun newspaper, will never be seen at Melwood, ‘Anfield or in my hous. Every Liverpool fans completely against the Su Im a Liverpool supporter so I zespect their views, and L lo lost a member of my family at Hillsborough. woa't touch the paper. The foreign players are very respectful have never known any ofthem not to want to pay thee respects. They always so to the sevice. Thats a edit co them and to Liverpool, a ‘ign ofthe deep respect even new players fel for the lub i ‘The trip is strange for me. I travel with the team yet when I arrive I see my family and ll the thoughts about Joa-Paul come flooding back. For me it’s not a professional day going tothe Hillsborough service; i's desperately personal. 1 stand there, ty head bowed, as 2 grieving relative as well as the tam ‘captain. Liverpool usualy open the Kop, where Jon-Paul and many of those who died used to spend thee Saturday ater ‘noons. The sevice lass a couple of hours. We sing hymns, say Prayers and mourn for the ninety-six. In 2006, I did’ the reading, which T found incredibly emotional. Occasionally at the services, I speak to Paul Harrison, who used 10 be Liverpool's reserve keeper. Paul lost his dad at Hillsborough ‘errble. 1 cannot imagine being without my parents ‘The families ate very good at supporting each other. At Liverpool, You'll Never Walle Alone. Our famous club song is more than a string of words and a great rune; it is @ pact bberween people. We sand together in good times and bad. The people who run the Hillsborough Families’ Group deserve so much praise. They want justice and they jase won give up, which i compleeely right. There are families across Liverpool with an empty seat at their table, an untouched bedroom upscirs. These families deserve justice. I fully support che campaign because I want it myself. We should know exactly ‘what happened at Hillsborough, and who was to blame. Action should be taken against those in authority who let ninetysix innocent people die. My cousin died ar Hillsborough, and he has mot had justice. When T warm up at Anfield, T see the ‘Justice forthe 96° banner and I nod passionately in agreement “The government should hold a proper inquiry. Only then can the families ofthe niney-six stat home and mourn, knowing, Justice hasbeen done, Only then can they tend their loved ones srever ccna raves knowing someone has been brought to account for this terrible tragedy A tragedy that could have been avoided Hillsborough must never be allowed co happen agai. [No-one should lose a life or a eelatve at @ football match. Every time I sce Jon-Paul's name cut into the cold marble ‘outside the Shank Gates, ill with sadness and a never let anyone know this before, bur its true: I play for JonPaul x. Uhave 1 Born to be Red ‘Gut my veins open and I bleed Liverpool red, I love Liverpool ‘with a burning passion. My determination to reach the heights at Anfield intensified when poor Jon-Paul passed away. Also fuelling my drive to sueceed was an accident I suffered during ry school days. My carcer was nearly destroyed before it started, All my dreams of starcng for Liverpool and England, of lifting European Cups and shining in World Cups, rested on the skill of surgeon when Twas ony nin. ‘Anficld was already my frst love and my second home. Pd been there a yeas, taining with Michael Owen atthe Vernon Sangster Spores Centre learning my trade when calamiy hit ‘me that left mein hospital fearing for my fuure. Even nov, 1 shudder atthe memory of what took place on a patch of grass ‘near my house on the Blucell Estate of Huyton, Merseyside. Te was jst field, surrounded by bushes, a mess really. The type of place where people chew their rubbish without 2 second thought. Me and my mates dida'e care All that mattered co us was the grass was halfdecent for a game of 1 and day summer and winter. To a kids hat scrap of wasteground was Anfield, Goodison and. ‘Wembley rolled into one ~ 2 heaven on earth. One Saturday morning, early doors, I was kicking about om the strip with a kid from our street, a boy called Mark Hannan, We'd sored ‘out the pitch, Ie wast exactly the Bernabeu, bue it was home. [A mate nicked some nets from his Sunday League team, cut them in half and rigged up two sever-a-sde goals. Perfect. So there was me and Mark, having a dead good kickabous, ‘wher the ball New nga some nettles. No problem. Iran across to fer i, Tm not patting my ands in cher, T shouted t0 Mark ll ge stung” I couldn se the ball. The nettles were 1 thick, “Tm going to have to kick it out So T pulled my footy socks up and pit my le ito the nets co kick he ball fut. It wasn't coming. I gave it a really good welly with my right foot, my tinopener, the one I shoot and pass with. 1 kicked fast and deep into the nets. ‘Agony. Total agony. My foot hit something Jesus, the pain was merciless, L nearly had a heart attack. I fell down, screaming fr help. In my career I've had smashed metatarsals and torn groins, but honest to God, I have never fle pain like this, Like poison from a needle, it shot up my shins. Mark sprinted over.‘ don’ know what i is, Mark, I yelled. ‘ean see it, My leg wou’ come out of the nets.” Mark looked, (Christ. All the blood drained from his face. ‘He going ro throw up,’ I thought. How bad is i? T looked down and coulda’ believe my eyes. A gatden fork was embedded in my bie toe. Staigh chrough my trainer snd into my foot, no stop ping. Some nugget tossed shis ust fork away, and it got lodged inthe nettles. The handle wasn't there, just the metal prongs, and I had kicked right into chem, I fle the prong. go in, burowing into the bone. “Go and tell someone!" I shouted, and Mark ran off ro get my mum and dad, ‘A neighbour, Nel Weston, heard me screaming, and came running up. He dragged me out of the nets, the fork following like an exea limb, "Shall pull tout" asked the neighbour. "You can, you can't” T shouted. ‘Te gor to eye sald. The fork woulda’ sift.‘ ger an ambulance” he std, and disappeared. just lay thereon the gras, tears spilling down my fae and fears spinning through my head. Would ever kik ball again? Shit Mum and Dad arsived sharpis, Immediately, Dad realized how serious this was, “He's going to lose his foot T heard im tell Mum. Amputation? Jesus Christ, no. My Liverpool career was being buried in a bed of nets. Finally, the ambulance fom Alder Hey nosed its way into the field fe had eaken only ten minutes but i ele like ter hours ‘The medics took one look a the foot and even they understood they coulda yank the fork leas. “We'll have to sort this out back atthe hospital’ one of them sad. Four people lifted me into the ambulance and off we went, bells and lights going ran, racing to Alder Hey. ‘The journey was teu. I never realized how many bumps there were onthe road of Liverpool. Every me we drove over 4 bump, I screamed at the ambulance driver, Whenever 1 ‘moved, [took the load ofthe fork in my hone, a stonein weight bending. my toe. Tears followed every movement. 1 was shaking. One of the medics tried to hold the fork to stop it Aliggng further in. The pain was hori. [kept shouting atthe Aeiver snot his aul’ Mum and Dad told me. just wanted sveven gen the pain eo stop. Stop. Plase stop. As we sped through the streets, they pumped me with gas and aiz ‘Ar Alder Hey, 1 was rushed straight into Accident and Emergency on the wolley ~ straight ehrough, no. waiting. Everyone could see how bad it wat. And hear Mum was Inystrial, and I sereamed the hospital down, ‘Only when a painkillinginecion tok hold did my howling stop, I was all dazed and weak but not quite unconscious, ‘Through the clouds, I heard the doctor say, "The fork is ass, there’ a chance of gangrene. We might have to take the toe off to top any gangrene spreading” ‘Wait? Dad intervened. ‘Seven plays football, you must speak co Liverpool before you do any operation. They must know what is going on." “My dad quickly called Steve Heighway, Liverpool's Academy director, who drove over sharpish. Steve's the strong type, and he immediately took contol, ‘No, you are not bloody wel taking his toe off,’ Steve cold them. “The doctor replied, "We have o operate, The decision will be rade by the surgeon’ Steve was adamant. ‘No, Dont take his toe of” Steve won the argument. Thank God. The surgeon numbed the whole foot and tugged the fork out. The ole was huge, a5 big as 2 20p coin and an inch and a half deep. Ie was a mess, bur atlas the surgeon saved my toe and my caret "You area ‘very, very lucky young man, Steve said. The doctors all greed, "We have never sen anything like this befor, they sid. Even ry brother, Paul, Iboked worried when he came to see me, and Paul svally winds me up over anything. The one halfdecent thing about the accident was that 1 missed three weeks of school. The doctors insisted, so who was wane on to argue! Schoo! sent homework round but it never got done, No chance. I was to0 busy milking. my injury. My family spoiled me romen. Ila there on the couch, being waited on hhand and bandaged foot, and watching Liverpool videos Fantastic, All-my heroes parading eeir sl John Barnes, Kenny Dalgsh and lan Rush, This was my sort ‘of medicine, guaranteed to quicken recover. Every da, 4 nurse ‘ame round to clean the hole with antiseptic, pack it with cotton wool balls, puta mesh around i, She then bandaged the foot up to the ankle. As the wound healed, the nurse pt les and less cotton-woo! in. Soon I could go to school on crutches. Bar I was noe able to play inthe yard. Nor could T goto the Vernon Sangster to train with Liverpool. For the fis cime in ny life, I was prevented from doing what I love most. ‘That acident, and the weeks of recuperation, reminded me how important football was in my life. started watching foot ball seriously on the telly I saton the couch juggling the ball my head, or with my left fot. I held ce ball tight, almost for reassurance. never wanted to be apart froma ball again, [was sll geting ewings of pain, but after five weeks Iwas able to kick the ball cleanly. Thank God. Without football, my” ie ‘would have been empty: I never fonget that ure desolation of being separated from a ball ‘As well ab Alder Hey’s permission to bunk off school, the doctors sorted out another bonus, The surgeon took one look athe rusty garden fork and sid “That shouldn't have been there on the backfield” So Mum and Dad showed the trainee and the fork to a solicitor and he knew we had a case, We claimed off the council because it was their wasteland. You'e going o, arent you? '¥e only made two clams in my life: one ‘was a crash in a taxi which got us £800, and then the fork in fon the screen! sveven gceeana the foot. We got £1,200 for that. That wasnt ad! Mum took. sme to town, got me new ki, ro tackes, loads of stuff. ‘Al, that pain was well worth tT kept laughing with Mum ‘When I think back to the acciden, the pain sill goes right through me again lke an electric shock. I sil see the fork sticking out of mytraine, stil ens iterating against che bone. ‘Once of tice, I spoke about the ineidene with my dad. Like Steve Heighway, he wasnt the type to take credit. Dad would never boast T made sure they dida’ take your toe off; he just, says, “You were forranat, Steven.” We al knew if had lost the big toe of my sight foot, any chance of Liverpool and England ‘would have ended rhe there, impaled on a rusty garden fork ‘om a coun wasteland in Huyton, ‘Bungalows cove that patch of land now. No nete-beds will ambush aay innocent schoolkids now. My earliest pitches Aisappeated under concrete or cars. They pak all over the cul de sac where I grew up, Ironside Read on the Bluebell Estate. Back then, thar tarmac atea in foat of my house, No. 10, Ironside, was My Pitch. No cars allowed. Unless the weather was good, when we'd dash round co the grass backfield, we'd bbe on Ironside. Straight out the front door, into @ game, full, torte. Briliant. Someone pur that concrete area there for a reason, Im convinced of it, Someone was ellng me to make football my life, showing me che way ahead. Ie was so strange ‘That was My Pitch. If anyone was there when Teame ous of my’ house, they had to go. We used it for fiveaside, tenarside, ‘wentya-sd, rounders, shoote, catch, and great game called Bare Arse. That was hilarious! If you gota certain amount of goals scored pas you, you had to ge your arse out. Everyone then got a free shor at your bare arse. Bare Arse isa Scouse tradition that produces brine goalkeepers and really accurate shooters, Fifteen years on, when Peer Crouch sruggled to get off che mark at Liverpool, Bare Arse came in handy. We played it in taining to help me and Crouchy with out shooting. I dropped my shorts and got Crouch to aim at my Bare Arse. Someone looked over che wall, sneaked a picture, and me and CCrouchy hoth gor ove arses inthe papers! The papers never said we were just playing Bare Arse! Games picked up on Ironside have stayed with me for ie onside was known as the Happy Steet. I arived there on 30 May 1980, straight out of Whiston Hospital and into a foorball-mad house on the Happy Serect, Blucbells quite a big ‘estate, warren of roads with four pubs, one on each side: the ‘Swan, Bluebell, Rose, and Oak Tree. Quite a few famous people come from around here, comedians like Freddie Stare and San Boardman, and the old actor Rex Hartson. The acess out of Sex andthe City, Kim Cattrall the lively one = lived on Whiston Lane fr a while, Bands like The Las, Space and Cast grew up in Huyton, Characters were on every comet, loved lfe on the Bluebell ~ my kingdom, my playground. Two youth clubs offered the usual atractions, but mosly we were outside, playing two-man chase on the River Alt hide and seek, and you'd beter be quick. Me and my brother Paul would ‘come home filthy with mud. Mam went crazy, Da just smiled Ironside was aways alive with activi Inthe summer, families sa out, chatting away, sharing ¢ drink while the kids played, Ironside had many distractions, Two girs my agey Lisa and Caroline, lived either side of No. 10 and I knocked about with them, crawling around the square, playing in the md. Git fascinated me. T had no sisters myself 1 thought Lisa and Caroline were well fi. fined with them. Lisa and Caroline had one fal, though: they couldn play football Didh't matter really. I never had far to look for & game. ‘Bluebell was full of lads wp for some footy action, aways has been, Huyton is famous for producing decent pros, like Steve McMahon, Jocy Barton, Lee Trundle, Peter Reid, Tony Hibbert, Craig Hignete and David Nugent. The town is crammed with Sunday League sides. Footbal isthe local eel tion, On the Blubell, joined forces with seven or eight lads iy age and we all became good mates, playing football every thous until oue mums shouted ws in, One problem bugged me never gota really decent game out of them. I was better than them, simple as that. I preferred games with Paul chree years ry senior Paul had around fftcen mates and their matches ‘were fallon brilliant. Ac sx, I could hold my own with Paul and the other nine-yearolds, Most of Paul's mates wanted me ‘on thei side, [loved competing against them. They accepted sme because I dat lok out of place. Paul's mates were good players aswell. Paul himself had tras ar Bolton Wanderers. A kid called Danny Walker curned down « YTS at Tranmere Rovers, Paul’ gang played ina local league for an U-10 team called Tolgae, un by two fellas from the Huyton area. One day, [followed Paul down oa Tolgate match and asked the organizers if 1 could join in. “How old are you?” they asked "Seven, Ireplied. “Too young, they said { burst ino tears "You're wrong, 'm good enough,’ said. no joy. That feeling of rejection burned hard inside. ‘That concrete patch outside Ironside and the backfield on the Bluebell wee breeding grounds for competitive players. A ood touch and a tough steak were nceded ro survive, and I {quickly developed both had to, Paul and his mates never held ss sv auroniecetnny back in tackles on me, eventhough T was three years younges, justa scrap of skin and bones. Bang. Knock me over. No merey. ‘That's how [liked it. Do ic again. That's why they used to let sme play. I hobbled hack into No, 10 all the ime, covered in cuts and grazes from slide tackles on the concrete sill havea scar on my face after being shouldercharged into a fence. A tail nicked my skin. No fuss. No bother T went in to sce Granddad Tony across the road at No, 35 Ironside. He put thee butterfly stitches in, neat ones, and I charged back tothe ‘game. ‘Hurry up! they shouted at me. Bang Back into bate, have since hought 35 and 10 Ironside. Those houses will always bein ou family. My brother lives in No, 10. Tere will always be Gerrards in Ionsie. Granddad Tony was my dad's dad, My mum's grandad, Sidney Sullivan, as disabled 20 he lived with us for eigh years chroughout my time at school, ‘When Sidney was released from hospital ater his ist stoke, ‘we gor an unbelievable leer fom the authorities. The message was brutal, the gist being that if someone in ou family didn’ Took afer Granddad, the council would stick him in a home, My nan lived in Mossroft couple of esas away, and she wasn't capable of taking all that responsibilty on herself IF Nan needed t0 pop out, Sidney couldn't be lef on hie own, “He's not ‘going ina home,” Mum said. So Sidney moved in with us. We buile an extension on No. 10, giving Sidney his own en-suite shower and disabled facilites. He had a big living-room area that doubled up as his bedroom, Sidney rarely lft this room, (Occasionally, he wandered into our living-oom 0 watch TV with us. Otherwise he was just happy being in that back-room, He endured four strokes in all. { hated seeing what the strokes did eo him, disabling him down one side. aul and 1 could tll to him really good after his frst stroke because he was quite clea then. Communication became more dificult fe is second, chird and fourth strokes. His deterioration realy distressed us. He was a lovely man worn away by the strokes | preferred remembering him the way he was before he go sick, smiling and chaty. lf Mum noticed Paul and I hadn't been in co see him for bit, she was on to us sharpsh, “Take Granddads tea in,’ Mum would say. "Go and have your tea with hie” Granddad was dead! good with me and Pal. He made sure we got all the boots and kts we needed. “Give the hoys this ‘money, make suee the boys get those football things” he kept telling Mum, ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Go on!" Granddad insisted, pushing some money across the table at Ironside. Granddad was the most generous man ‘Make sure the boys have every- ‘thing, he ordered Mum. He wasn't rch, Nothing like that, But Granddad had a bie of money fom his sick pay and pension. He worked hard alls life in the Forces and on the ships “Mum got paid a few quid for looking afer Granddad, Pal and I could see the selfless job she dd fr him. We were a really close family anyway, but Sidney actually tied the bonds even sightet, Me and Paul realized we had ta chip in as Dad worked, ‘only parexime. He was wary of fulltime job. He needed to be around the hows, keeping an eye on Sidney when Mum went tothe shops or picked Paul and me up from school, Dad was a labourer. His mates from the pub might find him some forigners as extra work on the side is called in Liverpool, Dad ‘would be busy fora few weeks here and there in a gang. Paul is my best mate. Always has been. Always willbe. He hha the bigger bedroom a Ironside, which pissed me off big: style A midge couldn't have swung a iy cain my room. Paul had the heater, the biggest bed al the trimmings. Idd’ eally mind. Paul was my hero. [just wanted to hang around with nan him and his mates. (Get away,’ Paul shouted a me, ‘go home He didn't mind me joining in his football games, but didn't want me about when he and his frends were siting around talking, Fists flew: Me and Paul had some rel toe-to-toe fights, steaming into each other, no holds barred. ‘I hate yout" I'd shout at Paul afer another serap, rubbing my f8ce of sibs where he whacked me, ‘I want 9 kill you!” My anger soon subsided. Even if Pal gave mea real hiding or woulda lee me play with him and his mates an hour later he would come back In and say, “Steve, do you want a game on the computer? “Yeah, Td reply enthusiastically, grateful to he back in Paul's world again, We'd then play a computer game as ifno punches had been thrown, Storms passed quickly beeween Paul and ie. | worshipped my brother. Looking at Paul now; he seems younger and smaller than me, Novone would ever cotton on he was my older brother. Strange. Paul was a decent player, but shore of aggression a trie I have never been accused of lacking. Paul never wanted 10 be a footballer. He played for a laygh with hi mates. “Get more involved,’ Dad yelled at Paul. ‘i's cold’ Paul responded. ‘Td rather be at home, Paul would never have made a living out of football, but if you pt him ina gym Fora game of ive-aside, fhe wouldn' look ou of place. My brother knows tactics, and can spot a good player speak to Paul after matches and we ace on the same wavelength Family fiends and eelatves tell me Dad was a good player So does het That's where you gee your football skills from, Steven!” Dad laughs. Sadly, he damaged his knee as a kid playing on Astroturf. That did im, Bang went aay dreams of being a pro. He stopped playing. Dad's brother, Tony, was ‘meant co be decent, and played Huyton Boys. Berween ten and —— fitren, people thought Tony had a chance of making it 25 2 professional, Footbal run deep in my fal. I've got lads of cousins, who often came down Leonid for a gume. One of them, Anthony Gerrard, wan good enough to be signed by Everton. He's at Walsall now after being released by Goodison. Sunday League football around here has always been packed vwith my cousins and uncles, ‘Alove of football ran theough my fail like lerers through stick of rock. Anfield and Goodison were regular weekend Ihaunes, Walk into any of my relatives’ houses and I guarantee there i a match on. Everyone crowds around the ely. Grab a drink, pull up a chai, watch the game. Its brillant. O Saturday nights, Dad headed down che pub, but he was always buck for Match ofthe Day on the BBC. You could almost set your watch by Dad, stepping back through the door of Ironside in time for Match ofthe Day, Dad, me and Paul squeezed onto the sofa for our Saturday-night ritual Pd be buzzing with excitement as the programme came on. All of us sang along to the music, The Gerrards never missed Match ofthe Day. Neve. Te was the high point ofthe week Football ruled No. 10 Ironside. Coronation Street and ‘EastEnders stood no chance if they cashed with the football [My dad wouldn't have it any different. Ie was always murder in ‘our house if Mum wanted soap ahead ofthe footy. Now and. again, asa teat, Dad cook me and Paul down the local to watch the live Sunday match on a big screen, or fora game of darts, [ed have glass of Coke, chuck afew darts, and watch the march, Dead grown-up, I fel. Shortly before six pm. the fun was over and we headed home with heavy heats. School loomed inthe moring ikea dark cloud on a sunny day. Sill now I hate Sunday nights, Sil! I's impossible ro Blank wy anveniocearny fou the memory of geting ready for school ritual cure that ruined the final moments of a glvious weekend. Acconding £0 the calendar most people use, a weekend lass rwo days. Not at No, 10 Ironside. Not with Mum. A weekend sa day and a hal with het She demanded we be home by six pum, tobe serabbed, bathed and ready for school che next morning. We ran ina ix and the uniform was there, om the ironing boar, ll pristine and pressed, glaring at us. Just seeing the uniform made me sick. They resembled prison clothes ater the freedom of the weekend, Ie was not that I hated school: ust loved my week ends roaming around Bluebell. Mum took school more seriously than Paul and T ever did. A proud woman, she made sure our uniforms were absoluely spotless. She polished our shoes so hard you could see your grimacing face in them, Poor ‘Mum! She had er work cur ou. Weft the house with clean uniform, ie was guaranteed to come home diy. The same with shoes Seuffed and muddy Every time. Mum went up the wall My journey ehrough the Merseyside school system was straightforward and undistinguished. I looked on schools a5, fantastic playing feds with boring buildings atached. My first Hop was St Michael's, which became Huyton-with-Roby Church of England Primary. Though only a short walle fom Tronside, Mum still insisted on driving me to Se Mick's and picking me up. I enjoyed the infans and junior school, jost ‘messing about. When T was naughty the teachers made me stand by the wall, ooking at the bricks for five minutes as punishment. 1 swore. I was just cheeky and mischievous. My crimes were pear ones: answering back or going on muddy grass when we ‘were told to stay on the yard. Usual kids’ suff Schoo! held limited appeal. Isa in clas, longing for pay-ime ver bullied anyone. I never hurt anyone of ao sreven cen because there was always a match on inthe playground. oved dinnertime because i lasted an how, which meant a longer match, I abandoned hot dinners because they wasted precious minutes, Queuing for my meal, Pd shout, ‘Come on, there's 2 big game going on out ther.” Eventually, Lasked my mother for packed lunches. "You should be on hot dinner, she screamed, “or came home if you don like school food" We compromised ‘on packed lunches: sandwich, bar of chocolate and drink. And some fruit. The fruit always came home untouched. Apples, bananas and oranges werent me. Buti werent even me at that age. It would be bread off, meat oat, quick ite, om with the game. ‘Stevie, you haven’ eaten your bury? Mum would sy, ‘you've only eaten your chocolate.’ Mum dldn't under. stand. Speed was vital at dinnertime. 1 ate che packed lunch while playing or wolfe it dawn running back into class. Same with ony ea If here was a match going on ouside Ironside, a ‘game of chase, or ay mares were waiting for me, I slipped my food in my pocke, sprinted out the door, crew the food tothe neighbour's dog and raced on to the match. I serurned home starving, picking at biscuits, crisps and chocolat. Back at St Mick’, the teachers watched me scribbling away busily in my school-book. Seam almost rose from my pencil ‘wrote 40 furiously, The teachers must have thought I was focusing really hard on the lesson, Im srry. I wasn't. Lessons were spent working out the teams for dinnertime. In ee back ‘of my school-ook, I wrote down the names. When the bell for break rang, I dashed out to organize all the boys ~ and get the gids off the playground, *You can watch,’ T' tell them generously, "but that’s the piteh and you can't go on it? The pitch was marked out with bags and tops for goals. They were right serious bates a¢ Se Mick's. Wembley Cup finals have ‘been es intense. My face sil ears the trace of scar collected in the playground after I collided with a fence, tssing forthe ball, Defeat was unthinkable, The winners milked it loudly while the losers gor caned forthe next lesson Me and Barry Banceyk were the best players at St Mick’. Barry and I were good mates, but our playground svaly was something es, rel physica. We picked the sides, Barrys team against mine, always dead competitive. Bary was a decent player. He turned out for Denbarn U:13s,a side my dad helped run. Denburn were good: Michael Branch and Tony Hibbert played for them. I sured out for Denburn briefly helping them ‘win the Edgehill Junior League, until Liverpool stopped me playing. Barry and I were the main men inthe sehool tam, One yeas, we helped St Mick's win a local cup which gave ue a chance of playing at Wembley Fist we had to bea sides fom dliferent dstits ina tournament, The prize was hue. ‘Wembley! Jus the thought of the famous old stadium had me lying awake in bed, chinking of what it would be like to step ‘ou onto the best-known pitch in all the world. Wemnbley! Whar 1 dream come true that wold be! I was certainly up forthe tournament In one match I went infor a slide tackle with my ‘sual determination. I eaught my knee onthe sharp rng-pl of 4 Coke can, which sliced open my leg. Ie was only five stiches ‘bu iecost me my chance of joining the team at Wembley. ried my eyes out. That was typical of my luck. My mates were off to Wembley and I was off to hospital. The scar on my kee faded but the pain of missing that trip to Wembley remains. The time came when I had to leave Se Mick's, For secondary school, 2 dificult choice awaited, Mose of my class were ging either to Bowring Comprehensive School or Knowsley High, Paul was at Bowring so I wanted to go there, just to be ae srever crm with my brother, Bowring and Knowsley High had sevious problems, though football was not high on the agenda Everyone knew I was mad keen on football so only a school which improved me as a player would do. My teacher at St Mick's, Mrs Chadwick, gave me some sound advice. “You should goto Cardinal Heenan, Seven,’ she told me.I wll be bette for your football” Cardinal Heenan Catholic High School was well known 10 sme, Irhad really good name fr football, probably the best in the area, Mrs Chadwick's husband, ri, taught PE at Cardinal Heenan, “Have a look at Steven Geraed, she told him. “He's dead good at football. Held make 4 great pupil for Cardinal Heenan’ Some people were not keen on me moving, though. “The Bluebell Estate was outside the catchment area and 1 wasn't a Catholic, But who cares? Football won. Cardinal Heenan wanted me, Along with a reference from Mrs ‘Chadwick that Iwas halfsdecent in clas, my ability onthe ball, cated me through the gates of Cardinal Heenan. My career demanded I go here. Encolling at Cardinal Heenan brought, cligibilsy for Liverpool Boys rather than Knowsley Boys, and ‘that was key. Liverpool Boys teams were better run. The scouts at Liverpool and Everton knew that and always went talent: spotting a¢ Liverpool Boys games. Cardinal Heenan was the only place for me Having picked ay secondary school for footballing reasons, 1 sail had to endure lesions there. Cardinal Heenan was ‘massive ~ more than 1,300 boys. I didn’t want to go at fst, even with the knowledge that the football would be good. [Night after nigh, I cred. The idea of moving among so many strangers horrified me. Cardinal Heenan was three miles from another country in my mind. Bur Mom and Dad home a persuaded me it would he best for my football. Reluctantly, 1 went. [needed time to sete, for it to become a familiar scenario in my life. By the thied yeas, T was on dhe back of the bus fom the Blucbell with the boys che whole atmosphere buzzing, loving it For tis was the fis time Mum let me goto school on my ‘own Iwas thirteen and it wa biliant. Christ, fle gown up. eft onside with my bus money and dinner money jangling in my pocket, feling like @ king, strutting down the Bluebell streets, Pd knock on the door of a couple of mates, Tety Smith and Sean Dillon, and the thee of us would head om tothe bus: stop, striding along like the top gang in town. Sean was a nightmare, late every day. Terry and me chucked stones at Sean's bedroom window to get him up at quarter t0 nine Sometimes we got so annoyed we threw the stones really hard, A few shards of broken glass around Sean's bedoom would, sort out his lousy time-keeping, When we finaly go Sean out of his house, there would be « mad dash to the bus. All cree of 1s, schoo-bags dangling, legs racing, spining down the road, laughing our heads off. Great times. Sean i a bricklayer now, doing well. 1 see Terry often. He's a huge Everton fan. So we have some banter. When Sean, Terry and I reached Cardinal Heenan, the day revolved around waiting for the two play-times of 25 mingtes ‘each and the hourlong dinnertime. I spent all day chinking about football loved PE with Mr Chadwick, Unfortunately, ‘we never did football all the rime and [used to get a cob on if it was rugby, gymnastics or cricket. I wanted football, indoor for on the field. Or tennis. I was quite warm at tennis. Ar Cardinal Heenan we played short tennis, witha smaller ne and these woolen bats, We decorated our bats with the Nike steve estan ‘Swoosh or adidas stripes to See who had the tastiest bat. But football emained the main subject on my personal cursicalum. (Cardinal Heenan wasn't rough Justa few fights in che play ‘ground now and again, afew big boys who were che so-called ‘Cocks. Ihad my own gang and we looked out for each other. ‘The odd fight erupted and I would be in the midst of it, ‘throwing punches, standing my ground. No-one was going to ‘push me around. Older boys, bigger boys, no-one. I suffered ‘the occasional split ip from a pench I filed ro dodge, bu my ‘uniform tended to be more sparered with mud than blood. 1 was always throwing myself around on the pitch, covering ‘myelin di. I lived for those moments, Lessons were jus the ead time between games. ‘When it came eo class work, though, I wasnt thik. All the way theough Cardinal Heenan, Iwas in the middle academi- cally. Different subjects provoked diferent moods. IF wasn't doing well at maths, despised ic and hated going tothe lesson, Bar if I was fying in English, and our brilliant lady teacher helped me, I woulda’ mind it. 1 enjoyed creative wring, raking up stores. I wrote about hove one day I win the ‘World Cup. I liked messing about with words. Reading, 10. My favourite book at school was Of Mice and Men. e's quite asad story when you get to know the characters. I read Of, ‘Mice and Men from cover to cover so many times the book los ell apart. We watched the story on video dd a project, fm i, and an exam on it When GCSEs atived I got a C in English, six Ds and ewo Es ‘But above all his Thad only one ambition, one dream, one target ~ Footbal, | 2 Growing Up and Toughening Up T never banked off school. Nevet, Dad wouldn't have any of that. The consequences of busking off, sneaking a ciggy, oF fare-dodging, were unimaginable, Dad gave me a few clips round the ear and bollockngs, but nothing too damaging, He never hit me. Dad showed his disappointment in a diferene way. He had a stare that could break my heare, What stopped sme messing about was I feared losing the great relationship we hhad. Dad didn’t need to use violence of to aise his voice to teach Paul and me right and wrong, Dad would not have his kids disrespecting. anyone or doing wrong. He wouldn't tolerate having police coming round to Ironside, Loads of people banged on the door to complain about Paul and me throwing stones a their windows, but we never had the police sound. Never I serewed up once Just once. I went robbing and got aug Me and a mate were mocking about in the cette of Liverpool, aseleven-year-olds do, just being stupid in Woolies. We hd five ‘quid berween us co get home and grab a Maccies or Wimpy at Lime Street on the way. The problem was I needed some stationery for homework, just graph paper and pens ~ usual sehool nonsense. The plan was sorted with Woolies the target We snuck in and weat up and down the aisles patting pens in out pockets and paper up my coat. Confident, we walked towards the exit. The plan scemed to be working. Brilant 1 ‘ould feel the money in my pocket for a burger and a Coke at Lime Stret. Easy, easy Sep through the door, onto the pave- ment, tr left ready t0 legit ‘A shout stopped us in our tacks. ‘Oi! came a voice that ‘roze our blood. ‘Stop! Shit, The Woolies security man was standing there. couldn't move, I was so scared, He grabloed us bh by the collars. Fuck i, It was the worst day of my if “Thats i I thought, my heart and mind racing. ‘I have blown everything. Liverpool is fished. The club will go crazy. Das sing to disown me. Shit” ‘This security guard marched us back into Woolies, into an fice, and took the stationery off us. He then gave usa right bollocking. What school are you at? he seamed. ‘Where do you live? Give us your phone number now." “My head was spinning. ‘We've not go a phone, Iie. ‘The security uy went red inthe face. “Give me your address then” T could’t mention Ironside, Dad would go mental if the bizzies went round. Think. The guard asked agai, so gave the address of my aunties house. He wrote that down, gave us another rollicking, and kicked us out of Woolies. ‘My head in a mess, I ran to Lime Steet. Woolies would Phone school, then get hold of Dad, and chat would be it, me srounded, no football forages. Fuck. When I jumped off the train at Huyton, I couldn't fae Ironside, Dad will definitly Jul me for robbing,” I thought. Home was out ofthe question, wane 0 I sprinted round to my auntie Lynn's. She let me in, sat me down, and listened me out. Will you go and sce Dad?” 1 pleaded with her. ‘Please? Make sure he's all ight” ‘Auntie Lynn went round eo Ironside and explained to Dad hhow terrible I fel, Too late, Dad already knew about my shoplifting. Bad news taveled fast. Woolies had been onto St Mick’, who phoned Dad, and he was on the warpath, Dad ‘ame round, dragged me back home and slaughtered me, big- time, He looked mein the eye and jst massacred me. ‘Why did you do that" he shouted. Why go robbing? Why didn’ you pay for it? Why dida' you ask me or your mum for money? ‘Why? Why? We can’ tolerate stealing i tis family. You'l get another bollocking at school. They'll want to know why you were nicking things” ‘On the erin back from Lime Street, in a rare cleat moment, {had thought this bit though. ‘Dad,’ I replied, “if the school have a go Iwill say needed the stationery for my homework, Twas doing it for schoo. Ie wasn't sweets I ook. Ie was graph paper’ Dad looked at me and went, Tm not having that.” ‘As excutes go, it was prety feeble. Nothing could save me from the doghouse. Dad then hit me with another killer chought: ‘If Liverpool find out, you are in even more trouble, Seven,” he sid. “What the hell is Steve Heighoray going to think of you? You might have screwed up everything at Liverpool, They could kick you ‘Those words smashed into me lke a wrecking ball. I fee so small. [ove Dad. I hated ling him down. 1 love Liverpool “The idea of chem giving me the elbow horrified me, Football ‘was al I dreamed about. Why had I gone robbing? Jesus, what srevey can 4 mess, Robbing was stupid, Uhad money, and if T hada’, 1 ‘could have just done without. Our pasents always told Paul sand me: You don'rhave to steal. Ifyou want anything, by book ‘oF crook we will ry to get it for you. Idiot chat I was, I went robbing and now faced the consequences As Dad slated me, Mum stood in the doorway, watching and listening. Mum wanted Dad to stress how serious the situation was, bu she was ako behind him making sue there were no belts. Me and Paul were mummy's boys, and she protected us. 1 could always blag Mum, Oh, Murnt Shut up! say, if she were on at me. A smile would flicker acrss er face a she gave fn, Her love for us meant me and Paul got away with murder ‘Munn was more laid-back than Dad. He was enraged by the ‘Woolies incident, but Mum made sure he didnt hit me. A ot of| kids wo gor aughe smoking or robbing got leathered by their dads, My accomplice in Woolies certainly sufered an almighty hiding when he got home. Dad jus sent me to my room and rounded me for thee nights. Te felt ke sic months {got no sympathy off Paul. Just the opposite. My brother laughed his head off at me being incarcerated in my room, ‘There'd be a knock on my door and I'd hear Paul whispering, “Steve, I'm going into town Its going to be bellant. Come fon Thanks. He wound me up something rotten. ‘The computer’ on downstairs, Paul sad trough the door, ‘do you fancy a game?” Paul knew I couldn’ come out. Ie was only ‘banter bu i cut me to pieces. heard Paul runing outside and organizing a game of football. He called out to all the other lWonside boys in aceally loud voice, “Who wants a game? Let’ go. Ir was torture I heard the game going on, listened almost sn tears tothe screams of delight, the jokes, the nosy eeebra- sions. I couldn't eseape. My room as inthe front. My mates - sv aereniocean shouted up to my window: ‘Steve, Stevie, this is a briliane game, is such a pity you ean’ join in, You'd love it? Crue laughter followed theie words up to my window. My mates! My bloody brother! They knew I could hear. They knew it would kill me. When they stopped calling up, I sneaked a look fut the window to watch them enviousy. Ie was my fale. 1 deserved my spel in solitary confinement. ‘Normally, I behaved myself certainly by che standards of some boys I knocked about with. Mates of mine robbed shops and garages nicking sweets and drinks, when I was wit them, [never got involved, but I was dhere. I watched frends pul

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