SteveWhite23

July 2007

It was Saturday 17th December 1988 when my dreams were shattered. I remember it well, I had just that week received notification of my Manchester United under 21 trial, and for me, a working class nobody from London, it was a huge opportunity. I couldn’t wait; I had everything set in place weeks before the trial, invested in a new pair of boots, even got a decent hair cut…

How was I supposed to know how much my life would change dramatically within 24 hours? I boarded the train at Kings Cross at 9am on Friday the 16th December; I’d be **** on if my girlfriend knew I was skipping meeting her to go to some ‘dumb football tryout’. But I knew this was my big opportunity, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to miss it. Natalie could join me at a later date anyway…it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be complaining when I was earning a hundred a week just for kicking a bit of leather around a pitch!!

Anyway, we were scheduled to roll into Manchester Piccadilly at around 11am that morning, with the trials starting at 1pm; I would arrive with plenty of time to spare. Now I’d like to tell you everything went rosy, and I arrived on time at the station, picking up a bite to eat and relaxing with my favourite magazine before the trial…like **** it did, the train arrived with a huge delay, and I ended up arriving in Manchester at 12.40, even I don’t know how I managed to make it to the United training grounds in time. Well in truth I didn’t, I ended up getting there at 1.05pm, but luckily for me I was able to blend in quickly with the rest of the youths there.

The trail itself went well, until the final stages, when I was paired up with this huge guy, looked more like a rugby player than a footy one, and he spoke in a broad Geordie accent. Scary stuff, but all the same I thought I better make a good impression, so I went up to the guy, and said I was pleased to meet him.

“**** off yee little ****!! I'm gunna break yer legs”

Well, at least I bloody tried! I immediately decided I wouldn’t be the best of friends with this guy. Unbeknownst to me, I wouldn’t even have the opportunity to make friends with him. We had to demonstrate how we would defend against our partners, and being the bigger man, he basically did break my legs, in the process flattening my hopes and dreams of playing for one of the greatest clubs in the world.

Turns out I would go on to play professional football for Manchester City. Now I know what you’re thinking, ungrateful little sod, Man City is no less of a team than Man United. Well, I can see your point, but when you see a burley Geordie man earning triple your wage, and you know it should be you playing in his position, you’d see how I felt.

20 years later, and we’re both still involved in football, but in very different ways. Again, he seems to have been the one, who came off top, he is currently manager of my former favourite team Manchester United. And what am I doing I hear you ask? Well, I am the manager of Chelsea of course…

Nah I am only kidding, wishful thinking I know. The truth is I only hung my boots up last season, after heading over to the States to play out the end of my career. But I can’t stay away from football. Remember my girlfriend I mentioned before, well she is my wife now, and she managed to convince me to return to England, to the town where her grandparents live, and where her parents were raised...Apparently there was a management job going there, and she thought I would be perfect for it. So like I had done so many times in my life, we grabbed the kids out of school, and moved back home to England, North East England to be more precise. Leaving the bright lights of New York far behind, because now I was about to apply to become the manager of the mighty York City…