Wayne Rooney: The Way It Is

By Wayne Rooney

Wayne Rooney, the most talked about footballer in Britain, tells his own remarkable story, from his early years with his family growing up on the streets of Croxteth, about his relationship with Coleen McLoughlin, and about life in Manchester.

What is the true story behind the most gifted yet often misunderstood character in the British game? Were there signs of things to come in his upbringing in the backstreets of Liverpool? What were the early influences that shaped his character? And how has the meteoric rise to fame and fortune affected this seemingly shy yet prodigiously gifted youngster?

For the first time, Rooney opens up about the defining years of his life as the son of a working-class family, brought up in a council house with his Everton-mad family. There followed his first tentative steps in football, the triumphs and knockbacks along the way, the accolades that began to follow his every move as a young teenager, and destiny fulfilled on his Premiership debut for Everton at the tender age of 16.

He describes how his life changed irrevocably when Alex Ferguson and Manchester United came calling in the summer of 2004, his dazzling efforts for England in the European Championships, a private life never far from the tabloid headlines, and the real story behind his relationship with partner Coleen McLoughlin.

He reveals the anguish of the foot injury that threatened his participation in World Cup 2006, and how his determination led to a remarkable recovery in time to play a part in the group stage of the tournament. And he describes how his delight at playing again for his country turned to depair after his controversial sending-off in the quarter-final against Portugal and England’s subsequent elimination in the penalty shoot-out.

And in this updated paperback edition, he revisits the drama of United’s Premiership-winning 2006/07 season and their tumultuous battles with Chelsea and giants AC Milan.

This is the story in Rooney's own words. From the streets of Croxteth to the stadiums of Germany and beyond – a journey of a lifetime squeezed into a mere twenty-one years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins UK
• Release date: Mar 6, 2009
• ISBN: 9780007319930

Wayne Rooney

Wayne Rooney was born in Liverpool in October 1985. He was only nine when he was spotted by Everton scout Bob Pendleton playing for boys' club Copplehouse. In his last season with them he scored 99 goals before joining the Everton academy. He was the youngest scorer in Premier League history in 2002, at the age of 16, and the youngest to score for England, age 17. He joined Manchester United in August 2004 for a fee of £20 million.

Book preview

Wayne Rooney

The Way it is

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Introduction

1 Family Fun

2 Early Ball Skills

3 A Jingle in Secondary School

4 Always a Blue?

5 The Bicycle Chain

6 A Rose for Coleen

7 Gazza’s No 18

8 Agents and Money

9 England

10 Coleen and the Birthday Boy

11 Trouble with Moyes

12 Euro 2004

13 A Scandal Breaks

14 ‘I Don’t Want to Play for You Ever Again’

15 The Boss and Man Utd

16 Personal

17 Inside the Dressing Room

18 Gambling

19 My First Trophy

20 Me and My Metatarsal

21 The Scan

22 Germany

23 Red-Carded

24 Coming of Age

25 ‘Shaysie Has Scored!’

26 Man Utd Top Again

Acknowledgments

Copyright

About the Publisher

Getty Images

Getty Images

INTRODUCTION

If you had been kind enough back at the beginning of the 2006/07 season to offer me the chance of winning either the FA Cup, the European Cup or the Premiership, what would I have chosen?

I’m not sure all the Man Utd players would have replied the same way. Some, such as Giggsy, have won everything, umpteen times, and have trophy cabinets as big as museums. So they might have been thinking about the few odd gaps on their shelves and wanting another Euro win. But with me, there was totally, absolutely, no argument. If there was a trophy I wanted to win it had to be the Premiership.

If you’d asked me at the age of nine, when I first joined a professional club, I would have said the same. You win the Premiership over a whole season, you have a lot more games to get through, so the winner is not just the best but the most consistent. But it wasn’t just that. As a little boy, winning the league title was what I fantasized about.

If you had asked me how I’d like to win it, then naturally I would have said with a hat-trick, beating our deadliest rival in the last minutes of the last game of the season. But things in life, and in football, don’t always work out as planned.

The day we won the league was a bit of a non-event – in the sense that for us, there was no actual event, not on that day. I watched us win it at home, on the TV, nursing a sore foot.

Chelsea were playing Arsenal at the Emirates, and they had to win to have a chance of catching us. It was strange, cheering on Arsenal. It ended 1–1, which meant we’d done it.

The actual ceremony and celebrations for winning the league were brilliant. They took place the following Sunday at Old Trafford, after our last home game of the season. It was vital for West Ham to at least draw to stay up, so they had everything to play for. Some people suggested we wouldn’t be too bothered, which was rubbish. We always want to win.

We knew the medal ceremony was going to take place afterwards, so we wanted to put on a show, and not let down our fans or ourselves. It’s true that Giggsy, Paul Scholes and Ronaldo started on the bench, but this was to give them a bit of a rest, with the Cup Final coming up.

Most of the players were keen to thump West Ham and send them down. We remembered only too well twelve years earlier, back in 1995, when West Ham stopped the club winning the league in the last game of the season. We needed a win but West Ham forced a draw and so Blackburn won the title – by one point. Some players have long memories.

This time round we started off well. We dominated the first half but couldn’t find the net, and instead Carlos Tevez, who had a terrific game, scored for the Hammers. Ronny, Scholesy and Giggsy came on during the second half and we bombarded their goal but keeper Robert Green was outstanding.

It ended 1–0 to West Ham, and at the final whistle their players were going mad, knowing they were staying up. Me, I was so disappointed, I was desperate for us to win, at home on the final day of the season. But it’s funny how moods can be made to change. Once it was over and we trooped into our dressing room, out on the pitch they were setting up a little stage for the presentations.

The Man United coaches and staff went out first to collect their winners’ medals. Then the Boss went out, Sir Alex. I think he thought we were just behind him and that he was leading us out, but we all held back, so he was all alone and our fans had a chance to cheer him.

We had already decided that Giggsy, as the captain that day, and Gary, as our club captain (though he hadn’t played because he was injured) would come out last onto the pitch. They would then be the first ones holding up the trophy.

So who was going to lead us out? Nobody seemed to know, nobody seemed to want to be the first player out on the pitch. So guess who it was. Me. Scholesy did give me a push – ‘Go on, Wazza,’ he said – but honestly, I hardly needed pushing. I just couldn’t wait. I was shaking, not with nervousness but with excitement.

So I got my winners’ medal first, the rest of the lads followed. Then the fireworks went off, the streamers shot up in the air, the champagne corks went flying, and about 76,000 in Old Trafford went crazy. I think some West Ham fans had remained, because they too were celebrating.

Then some little kids started appearing on the pitch amongst us – the children of some of the players, brought on by their dads. The likes of Scholesy and Giggsy wanted them to join in the celebrations and have memories they’d never forget. Some of the Boss’s grandchildren were also there. Cristiano Ronaldo has no kids – not that he’s told us, anyway! Ronaldo is a great lad and loves to have a laugh – and his mum Dolores suddenly appeared beside him on the pitch. I’d never seen her before.

It was funny watching Scholesy. He was being so careful with his kid, holding him tightly, covering his head so he didn’t get wet – but at the same time I could see he was keeping an eye out for the cameras. As usual he didn’t want to be interviewed, so he was dodging the TV people.

It didn’t bother me. I might not be the most fluent talker in the world, but on this occasion I could have babbled away forever.

The bloke from Sky came over to me with the obvious corny question.

‘How does it feel, Wayne?’

‘Unbelievable, f*****g unbelievable.’

Yes, I swore, live on TV. Disgusting, I know. Coleen was in the stand, in her private box. She had a TV monitor and clearly heard what I’d said. She just laughed.

My mother wasn’t so amused. When I was growing up, she never allowed me to swear at people. That’s the sort of background I come from, which might surprise some people.

So I knew as soon as I said it that I’d get a right telling off. But was it worth it? Of course. How many times in your life do you win the Premiership? Answer: lots more, I hope…

1 FAMILY FUN

I was nearly called Adrian. That was what my father wanted. A bit posh, I suppose, and doesn’t quite sound like me. I wonder if I would have had a different personality if I’d gone through life with a different name? In the end, though, my mum talked my dad out of it.

His idea was to name me after Adrian Heath, one of the Everton stars, a little bloke, very quick and clever, who later went into coaching with Peter Reid, then manager at Sunderland. I was a big fan of his, but I don’t think I would have fancied having the name Adrian.

So I was christened Wayne – after my dad. My mum insisted as she felt the first-born son should be named after the father. That was a tradition in her family.

The Rooney family, I suppose, must have come from Ireland, but I’ve no idea when or from where. It could well have been some time ago, because none of my relations in living memory came from the Emerald Isle.

Someone is working on the family tree at the moment, so I’ll let you know if they find anything of interest.

It wasn’t in fact until I got to secondary school that I was aware I was probably of Irish descent. One of the teachers, when she was looking down the list of all the new boys, was commenting on the different surnames: ‘You must be from a Scottish family, you must have some Welsh blood, you, Rooney, are obviously Irish…’

I came home and said to my dad: ‘Are we Irish?’ ‘How do I know?’ he replied. My dad has always been fairly laid back.

Within the family, he is always known as ‘Big Wayne’ while I am ‘Little Wayne’. It annoyed me when I got to about 14, and shot up and became bigger than him – he’s only five feet six, two inches smaller than my mum, so it wasn’t hard. But they still insisted I was Little Wayne and he was Big Wayne.

My dad was born on 1 June 1963, in Croxteth in Liverpool. His father, who worked for the Council as a labourer, had been born in Bootle but that’s all I know. We called him Rick, so I suppose he must have been christened Richard, and he died when I was about ten. I don’t know anything about his father, my great-grandfather, or where he came from. People in our family have never been very much interested in family trees.

Me, five days old, October 1985, with my dad, big Wayne.

My dad is one of eight children. He had four brothers and three sisters. They were all Roman Catholic, but not strict, and not regular church-goers, no more than we are.

He went to Croxteth Comprehensive School, and left at 16, without passing any exams. He became a butcher’s boy for two years, until the shop closed, and later he worked in a youth club for a while before becoming a general labourer, mainly on building sites. He was often out of work so we didn’t have a lot of money coming in when I was growing up. I didn’t think I was missing out on anything, although we didn’t have a car when I was very young. When we eventually did, they were always old bangers.

Dad was a great boxer. It ran in his family. Many of the Rooney clan were keen fighters and one of them ran a boxing club called St Theresa’s. My dad weighed about ten stones in his boxing days – I won’t tell you how much he weighs now or he’ll thump me – but he boxed as a lightweight competing for Liverpool and then the North West Counties.

There’s a photo of him being presented with a cup when he won a match against the Navy, boxing for the NW Counties. He also fought in a competition in Finland and won both gold and silver medals. His brothers Ritchie, John, Eugene and Alan won boxing cups as well, and for football, but I think my dad was the best of all of them and could have turned professional, so he says. There were people talking about it to him, but he couldn’t be bothered. I don’t think he fancied all the training and commitment it would have taken.

My mother was born Jeanette Morrey on 14 March 1967. Her family name is not of Irish descent but French, so they believe, but it goes back a long way and no-one knows its history. She was one of nine children – six boys and three girls – and they lived just a mile away from my dad’s family, on the same council estate in Croxteth. Like my dad’s family, they were Roman Catholic, but not what you would call strong churchgoers. And, like my family, they were Everton fanatics. On derby day, when Everton were playing Liverpool, they would decorate the front of their house with blue and white banners and posters.

My mother’s dad, William Morrey, was a labourer, working for the Metal Box Company. At one time he’d been a semi-professional footballer with Southport. Mum’s brothers were also keen sportsmen. Her older brother, Billie, played for Marine, a good non-league club from Crosby, and later went out to Australia to play as a semi-professional for Green Gully in Melbourne. He stayed on when he stopped playing and is still living Down Under.

Another brother, Vincent, got a schoolboy Under-15 cap for England, although just the one. When the Morreys decorated their house in Everton colours for big games, the brothers would also display all their cups and medals in the front window.

My mum was good at sports. She was keen on running, net-ball and rounders, and represented her school. She was asked to enter for national trials, so she always used to tell me, but she never did – couldn’t be bothered, I suppose.

She left school at 16, with no certificates, but got on a Youth Training scheme, and went on a year’s course to learn typing. She had hoped to get a job in an office, but none came up and so she was out of work.

She met my dad not long afterwards, when she was about 17 and he about 20. He was still a keen boxer at the time and used to go on training runs round our estate. Most evenings he would run past her house in Storrington Avenue, although he jokes now that he never ran fast enough. Anyway, they got talking one evening, and he asked her out. And that was that.

After about six months of going out together, mum fell pregnant. It was a big shock because she’d led herself to believe she could never have a baby. When she was aged about six she suffered very serious hepatitis and was in hospital for over three months with an infection of the liver and kidneys. This was why she believed that she would never conceive. So when she told her mum she was pregnant it came as a bit of a surprise. They were both delighted, and my grandmother went straight to church to pray that she would be okay.

They were each living in their own family homes, my mum and my dad, until my mum was seven months’ pregnant. They then managed to get a one-bedroom council flat at 89 Stonebridge Lane, which was where I was born. I have no memory of it though, and it’s now a drug rehabilitation centre.

Six months old, already a Blue, wanting Everton to win.

I was born on 24 October 1985, at Fazakerley Hospital. I arrived three days early, apparently, and weighed 8 lb 6 oz. I was named Wayne Mark Rooney. Mark is a family name. My dad, whose job is described as youth worker on my birth certificate, was present and tells me it was a great experience. My mum says I was born with blue eyes and loads of hair which was sort of in three colours – a bit of blonde, a bit of dark and the rest mousey.

My parents didn’t actually get married until seventeen months after I was born, by which time mum was pregnant again. It wasn’t a church wedding. I think the priest was not keen on people getting married in church when they already had a child, and were expecting again. So it was a local register office wedding, on 21 March 1987.

They had a proper reception with a sit-down meal for about 150 guests in a room above a local pub, the Brewer’s Arms. It was paid for by their mothers as my parents could not have afforded it. My mum was not working as she was already looking after one kid with another on the way. My dad, at that time, was working as a labourer, making about £120 a week, so naturally, they couldn’t afford a honeymoon.

Graeme, my younger brother, was born on 15 October 1987. His full name is Graeme Andrew Sharp Rooney after Graeme Sharp, the Everton striker, whom my dad hero-worshipped. His other hero at the time was Andy Gray, another Blues legend who also played for Scotland.

I’ve also got a second brother, John, who was born on 17 December 1990. I think my mother would also have liked to have had a girl, but my parents stopped having children after that.

By January 1986, my mum and dad had moved from their one-bed flat to a three-bedroom council house at 28 Armill Road. We lived there for about 12 years, and it’s this house I mostly remember from my childhood. The best thing about it was that at the back was a youth club, the Gems, where my dad at one time had a job. It had a five-a-side football pitch, made of tarmac, so I loved climbing over our back fence to play on it.

I started in the nursery class at Stonebridge Lane Infants School when I was about four, but have no memory of that either. My mother can clearly remember me being there – and says that on sports day I entered for every race, long and short, with and without egg and spoon, and won every one.

GRAEME, MY YOUNGER BROTHER, WAS BORN ON 15 OCTOBER 1987. HIS FULL NAME IS GRAEME ANDREW SHARP ROONEY AFTER GRAEME SHARP, THE EVERTON STRIKER, WHOM MY DAD HERO-WORSHIPPED.

My mother has always been brilliantly organised and very efficient at keeping family papers and such like. In fact, she has kept every school report, certificate and official document about me and my two brothers, all filed away in plastic folders.

The first of my reports she has dates back to 1992, when I was six, from Stonebridge Lane. In English it says I needed ‘lots of support’ in my reading but in Maths it reads, ‘quick to grasp new facts, good mental skills.’ In Technology it says, ‘enjoys making things like cards, models and paper maché. Enjoys baking and sewing.’ God knows where all those skills have gone today. In PE I was ‘very keen and agile.’

The overall report was good and comments, ‘Wayne is popular with boys and girls of Year 1. He is a good mixer. He works hard and is rarely in trouble.’

My first proper memory, which still often comes into my head, happened at home when I was about five. Graeme suddenly ran out of the house into the street and I immediately ran after him, to bring him back to the house. I had no shoes on, only socks, and when I was running I scraped my foot on the floor and I hurt it so badly that the nail on my big toe came off. I got a slap, I think, from my mother, for being so clumsy and for not putting on my shoes. A pretty ordinary memory, but this is the sort of thing which seems to stick in the brain.

I USED TO WIND UP MY YOUNGER BROTHERS, SET THEM AGAINST EACH OTHER AND CAUSE TROUBLE, AND THEN I’D TELL MY MUM IT WAS THEM MAKING A NOISE, NOT ME.

My mum was the one who disciplined us, with just a slap across the back of the legs, and usually because we had been playing up. I used to wind up my younger brothers, set them against each other and cause trouble, and then I’d tell my mum it was them making a noise, not me. My dad never hit me, although he was the strong figure in the background.

After Stonebridge Lane I moved on to Our Lady and St Swithin’s, a Roman Catholic primary school in Parkstile Lane, Gillmoss, which was about a ten-minute walk from our house. We had to wear a uniform of red tie, grey jumper, grey trousers, and black shoes but no training shoes or football tops were allowed. My mother had gone to the same school, and two of her teachers, Miss Kelly and Mrs Guy also taught me. I liked Miss Kelly very much because, each day, she gave the best behaved kid a cream egg. I didn’t win very often – not often enough, I thought.

For the first two weeks at St Swithin’s I refused to talk to any of the boys, only to the girls. I don’t know why, I just liked being with girls. Then, after about two weeks, I realised all the boys were out playing football in the playground, so I went out and joined in with them.

When I was about six, there was a girl in my class who I thought was really pretty. I once found out it was her birthday, so I bought her a box of Roses chocolates with pocket money I must have saved up or borrowed from my mother. I took the chocolates to school, and told the teacher they were for this girl’s birthday.

Our council house at Armill Road, Croxteth, where we lived until I was about 11. I played football in the street every day, even when I’d signed pro forms for Everton.

Mercury Press

Later on, she announced the girl’s birthday to the class and asked me to come up and present the chocolates to her. I felt quite pleased and proud, but, of course, all the lads in the class gave me stick, jeering and taking the mickey: ‘Is she your girlfriend, Wayne?’ I immediately went red and felt really embarrassed, which I hadn’t been, not until then.

There was another girl I can remember who had Down’s Syndrome. She was two years older than me, and the only girl in the school we allowed to play football with the boys. She was a very strong tackler, always kicking my ankles. One day she held on to

Reviews for Wayne Rooney

[dreamerenglish2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Adam- Wayne Rooney My Story was a great book for anyone who is interested in soccer. It gave a great descrption of not only, the players career but of his childhood too. The who entire book is filled with great factual imformation that really gives you a good idea of what he is like. The best part about the book, is that Wayne Rooney himself wrote it, making it more interesting than ever. This is a must read for anyone who loves soccer or is interested in watching the professsional leagues on tv.