Gabriel Sutton
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Chapter one- the mistake
22nd May 1994
The Cliff training centre
View attachment 255901
I was the first one to walk, with my fellow teammates, through the tunnel that led me onto the field that I had grown to know and love growing up as a kid. It felt very special, very magical, to be walking through it for the very last time. After that… I wasn’t sure what it would lead to. The great man had my destiny in his hands.
It was the last game of the season for Manchester United academy; we were playing Liverpool’s under-17s in the deciding game for the Lancashire Academy league title.We just needed a draw to ensure that we would clinch it, which everybody around the club, even those involved with the first team were desperate to see us win- we had agonizingly lost the FA Youth Cup Final last week to Manchester City in a 2-0 defeat. If we lost this game, Liverpool would have beaten us to the title and would be celebrating in front of us, on our own turf as we go on ourholidays medalless and dejected. No. That could not happen; I had made a pact last night with David May and Pilky to make sure we kept a clean sheet. We mustn’t let the fans down.
What did give me a buzz about today’s game, was that I was made captain for the day as Gazza Neville had been injured in that defeat to Man City. As I shook hands with the opposition and offered Michael Owen a wry smile, I noticed Sir Alex in the stadium- I had to double take as I presumed he’d be having a rest to celebrate the first team’s title win yesterday. As I checked, there was a fleeting moment where our eyes met and he gave me what he thought to be a passionate ‘you can do it, son’ nod. This filled me with confidence and hunger to succeed, I started to jump on the spot to warm up, my vanity was boosted a little more when the tannoy loudly announced my name, greeted by a chorus of cheers from the United fans- some of them shouted,‘come on, Sutton’ and ‘let’s ‘ave it’. All this made me think: ‘yeah. I could do this. This was my time to shine.’ I was in a great mental state to win this.
Throughout the whole of the first half, I played a blinder. Michael Owen didn’t get a sniff of goal- every shot he had, I blocked. I was intercepting passes, I was closing players down, and I cleared Gerrard’s shot off the line. And, what’s more, when Giggs had a corner, I got to the near post and flicked the ball across with my head to David Beckham, who tapped home unmarked. Get in! We were 1-0 up seconds before half time- the perfect time to score. Just as I walked in through the tunnel, I caught Sir Alex’s eye, who had a ‘well done, son’, proud sort of smile etched across his face- though Jimmy Ryan instructed us to keep our heads and make sure we would see the game out in the dressing room at half time.
It was half an hour into the second period, which seemed like about a year to me. Liverpool’s academy were now throwing the kitchen sink at us. Steve McManaman was launching countless long, diagonal balls into Owen and Fowler. Nicky **** was now playing practically as a centre-half to deal with the pressure. Then, a fantastic through ball from Steven Gerrard split apart the defence leaving Owen to run at me- if he got past me he’d be one-on-one with the keeper. I was playing it well, retreating, not diving in, waiting for the moment… then,s omething happened. I slipped over on a slippery patch of grass, and landed flat on my ****, just catching a view of Owen having rounded Pilkington to slot home and pick the ball out of the empty net and take it back to the centre circle. I reminded myself that Liverpool still needed another goal.
****. That was the clean sheet pact out of the window, and having a sore **** didn’t help either. Deciding to be a man about this, I stood up, dusted myself down, cleared my mind and pulled my socks up. This would have to be us celebrating at the end of the night. Still having to brush away niggling feelings of disappointment at conceding the goal, I continued. In the final minute of stoppage time, Liverpool had aborted the long ball option- Fowler, now with the ball, beat the fullback on the left and cut inside ahead of the defence on a mazy run, I went to challenge him. Now, over the course of the season, I had made many challenges, and for every single one I had successfully won the ball. So I went into the challenge, as you would expect, with full confidence that I would win it. As the back of my foot hit the floor, I then closed my eyes to get into the swing of the tackle, to make sure that I followed through. If I missed it, Fowler could square it to Owen- I had to make the contact. Expecting to feel the ball, and hear the surge of Liverpool legs running up to go for the corner, I had a nasty shock as I felt Fowler’s leg tilting to my pressure. As I then opened my eyes in panic, I heard the referee’s whistle go. ‘NO!’ I shouted as I heard the distant sound of cheering from the opposition stands. I hadg iven away a penalty. ****. I had played so well. I can’t believe this is happening.
I know this might seem unprofessional to one, but in total despair, I knelt on the floor about 10 metres away from the box to watch the penalty. Though I held out little hope that Owen would miss his kick, my heart sunk like a stone when he sent Pilkington the wrong way to score and confirmed that Liverpool would win the title. I had ****** this up big time. As I weakly turned to the stands to see if Sir Alex had any wisdom for me, anything to give me hope, he had gone. I wished I could turn back time.
Greater Manchester
'Christ, forgot about that day, it was awful' He thought to himself as he drove home from coaching. Musing about it further,making that tackle again and again in his head, he pulled up to his house, gotout of his car and did his favourite flick back lock motion to the car with hiskeys- he’d always thought that was a cool thing to do. Briefly chuckling tohimself, he smiled at his wife on the way in, gave her a ‘I’m back, glad it’s Friday’ kiss and walked into the kitchen.
"Hi love, tea looks great."
"Hi darling, yeah I thought we'd get some fish and chips tonight. I know you like a veggie burger so I got you that, I've got a haddock and we can share some chips? There's some bottles of beer in the fridge."
"Ah perfect, just what I need. So how was your day?"
"Oh, quite tiring. Just glad to be home really. There was this annoying cow at work who asked me to take her own papers up 5 floors to some guy in accounts, the lift didn't work either. It was out of order."
"What, her or the lift?"
Letting herself break out of her frustration, Emma allowed herself a smile. "So how was your day?"
"It was okay actually, my contacts at Man United have offered me this slot working with a few of their youngest new players. I mean like, 8 or 9 year olds. But still, that'll be quite exciting. This guy Jimmy Ryan, who used to coach me, sent me an email but the strange thing is, he also said: 'be great to here from you again. Jimmy. P.S. Have you heard this morning's news? I can't believe it.' Why didn't he just say what it was? I hope someone hasn't died. Maybe they've sold Rooney or something."
Emma then announced she would read in bed, kissed Gabriel on the cheek and took her half-eaten chips into the kitchen to dispose of them. For 10 o'clock on a Friday night, Gabriel would have hoped there would be something good on TV, but flicking through the channels, the series of Mock the Week and 8 out of 10 cats must have finished, leaving the best terrestrial options being Jamie's secret recipes and some wildlife documentary with David Attenborough. Deciding to settle for Sky Sports News, he took a sip of beer and put his feet up.
They had just finished an interview with some golfer when before the presenter announced: "And to round up this evening's news, Sir Alex Ferguson has shocked the football world by announcing that he is stepping down as manager of Manchester United and retiring from football." There was a brief shot of two, quite elderly, United fans being interviewed: "I just can't believe it. I thought he would be our manager forever. I don't think we'll find a manager that will ever quite shine a candle to what Ferguson has done for this football club. He's been incredible. I can't- I'm still in shock."
"We'll have more after this short break."
Gabriel sat bolt upright on his sofa, spilling over his beer as he did so. Questions began to race through his mind. Why did Ferguson leave? How will United cope? Who will their next manager be? Who... will their next manager be?
His heart now racing, Gabriel began to think: why didn't he apply? He had been a top, respected player for the club for 13 years, had completed his coaching badges, had seen some success managing Birmingham City and Brighton, and has come back from disappointment fighting. Like back in '94:
The Cliff training centre
This was to be a pivotal moment in my career, in my life. Sir Alex Ferguson was calling the academy players, one by one, into his office and telling them individually whether he wanted them to be given a new contract and promoted to the reserve team. If I was promoted, I would work my socks of and put my neck on the line, helping the team win trophy after trophy as part of the golden generation for the club I loved. If I was released, I dread to think about what might have happened to me. I think I could have turned to alcohol, I'd have no job prospects as I wasn't academic at school, I don't think I would have got back into football because I would have seen that rejection as an excuse to feel sorry for myself and hide myself away. It makes me shudder the whole idea of it.
The first few people were called in, and I saw David Beckham and Paul Scholes coming out of his office celebrating with a certificate in their hands. If I felt confident, at all, of getting through, I probably could have felt happy for them, but because I was feeling such constant agony, I couldn't quite find it in my heart to do so. As my turn got nearer, my nerves esculated. Eventually, Phil Mulryne trooped out dejected, saying my name weakly before trooping off to the bus stop dejected. I took a deep breath, my heart kind of sunk even before I entered the room, knowing that because of the errors yesterday, I would have to go through this heart-breaking process of rejection and self-blame.
"Son, come in. Go on, have a seat."
He sounded sympathetic. I reluctantly sat, I took a moment to wonder why he didn't tell me straightaway to get it over with, and then braced myself for my impending doom.
"Son, I was very disappointed with your mistakes yesterday. I really think you let your team down, and yourself down."
Oh great, why not pick at my self-esteem and scar me mentally before you tell me I'm released.
"It was such a shame, because from the first time I watched you play, I had an instinct that you are a player with big potential. So..." taking a moment to confirm his own decision "I have decided to put you into the first team squad."
"W-what?" I croaked, wiping my tears away, confused.
"Gabriel, you really think I'm going to let one stupid mistake ruin your career?"
"Two stupid mistakes."
"Well, surely you dont want to be released?" Ferguson chuckled.
"No." Gabriel answered quickly. "It's just that it's come as a bit of a surprise, that's all."
"Well, I'm willing to take a punt on you."
"T-t-thank you Sir. I don't know what to say."
"It's okay son." He said smiling. "I'm sure you'll repay me someday. Just promise me something."
"Anything, Sir."
"Never make the same mistake twice."
And I never did.
22nd May 1994
The Cliff training centre
View attachment 255901
I was the first one to walk, with my fellow teammates, through the tunnel that led me onto the field that I had grown to know and love growing up as a kid. It felt very special, very magical, to be walking through it for the very last time. After that… I wasn’t sure what it would lead to. The great man had my destiny in his hands.
It was the last game of the season for Manchester United academy; we were playing Liverpool’s under-17s in the deciding game for the Lancashire Academy league title.We just needed a draw to ensure that we would clinch it, which everybody around the club, even those involved with the first team were desperate to see us win- we had agonizingly lost the FA Youth Cup Final last week to Manchester City in a 2-0 defeat. If we lost this game, Liverpool would have beaten us to the title and would be celebrating in front of us, on our own turf as we go on ourholidays medalless and dejected. No. That could not happen; I had made a pact last night with David May and Pilky to make sure we kept a clean sheet. We mustn’t let the fans down.
What did give me a buzz about today’s game, was that I was made captain for the day as Gazza Neville had been injured in that defeat to Man City. As I shook hands with the opposition and offered Michael Owen a wry smile, I noticed Sir Alex in the stadium- I had to double take as I presumed he’d be having a rest to celebrate the first team’s title win yesterday. As I checked, there was a fleeting moment where our eyes met and he gave me what he thought to be a passionate ‘you can do it, son’ nod. This filled me with confidence and hunger to succeed, I started to jump on the spot to warm up, my vanity was boosted a little more when the tannoy loudly announced my name, greeted by a chorus of cheers from the United fans- some of them shouted,‘come on, Sutton’ and ‘let’s ‘ave it’. All this made me think: ‘yeah. I could do this. This was my time to shine.’ I was in a great mental state to win this.
Throughout the whole of the first half, I played a blinder. Michael Owen didn’t get a sniff of goal- every shot he had, I blocked. I was intercepting passes, I was closing players down, and I cleared Gerrard’s shot off the line. And, what’s more, when Giggs had a corner, I got to the near post and flicked the ball across with my head to David Beckham, who tapped home unmarked. Get in! We were 1-0 up seconds before half time- the perfect time to score. Just as I walked in through the tunnel, I caught Sir Alex’s eye, who had a ‘well done, son’, proud sort of smile etched across his face- though Jimmy Ryan instructed us to keep our heads and make sure we would see the game out in the dressing room at half time.
It was half an hour into the second period, which seemed like about a year to me. Liverpool’s academy were now throwing the kitchen sink at us. Steve McManaman was launching countless long, diagonal balls into Owen and Fowler. Nicky **** was now playing practically as a centre-half to deal with the pressure. Then, a fantastic through ball from Steven Gerrard split apart the defence leaving Owen to run at me- if he got past me he’d be one-on-one with the keeper. I was playing it well, retreating, not diving in, waiting for the moment… then,s omething happened. I slipped over on a slippery patch of grass, and landed flat on my ****, just catching a view of Owen having rounded Pilkington to slot home and pick the ball out of the empty net and take it back to the centre circle. I reminded myself that Liverpool still needed another goal.
****. That was the clean sheet pact out of the window, and having a sore **** didn’t help either. Deciding to be a man about this, I stood up, dusted myself down, cleared my mind and pulled my socks up. This would have to be us celebrating at the end of the night. Still having to brush away niggling feelings of disappointment at conceding the goal, I continued. In the final minute of stoppage time, Liverpool had aborted the long ball option- Fowler, now with the ball, beat the fullback on the left and cut inside ahead of the defence on a mazy run, I went to challenge him. Now, over the course of the season, I had made many challenges, and for every single one I had successfully won the ball. So I went into the challenge, as you would expect, with full confidence that I would win it. As the back of my foot hit the floor, I then closed my eyes to get into the swing of the tackle, to make sure that I followed through. If I missed it, Fowler could square it to Owen- I had to make the contact. Expecting to feel the ball, and hear the surge of Liverpool legs running up to go for the corner, I had a nasty shock as I felt Fowler’s leg tilting to my pressure. As I then opened my eyes in panic, I heard the referee’s whistle go. ‘NO!’ I shouted as I heard the distant sound of cheering from the opposition stands. I hadg iven away a penalty. ****. I had played so well. I can’t believe this is happening.
I know this might seem unprofessional to one, but in total despair, I knelt on the floor about 10 metres away from the box to watch the penalty. Though I held out little hope that Owen would miss his kick, my heart sunk like a stone when he sent Pilkington the wrong way to score and confirmed that Liverpool would win the title. I had ****** this up big time. As I weakly turned to the stands to see if Sir Alex had any wisdom for me, anything to give me hope, he had gone. I wished I could turn back time.
********************
1st July 2011
Greater Manchester
'Christ, forgot about that day, it was awful' He thought to himself as he drove home from coaching. Musing about it further,making that tackle again and again in his head, he pulled up to his house, gotout of his car and did his favourite flick back lock motion to the car with hiskeys- he’d always thought that was a cool thing to do. Briefly chuckling tohimself, he smiled at his wife on the way in, gave her a ‘I’m back, glad it’s Friday’ kiss and walked into the kitchen.
"Hi love, tea looks great."
"Hi darling, yeah I thought we'd get some fish and chips tonight. I know you like a veggie burger so I got you that, I've got a haddock and we can share some chips? There's some bottles of beer in the fridge."
"Ah perfect, just what I need. So how was your day?"
"Oh, quite tiring. Just glad to be home really. There was this annoying cow at work who asked me to take her own papers up 5 floors to some guy in accounts, the lift didn't work either. It was out of order."
"What, her or the lift?"
Letting herself break out of her frustration, Emma allowed herself a smile. "So how was your day?"
"It was okay actually, my contacts at Man United have offered me this slot working with a few of their youngest new players. I mean like, 8 or 9 year olds. But still, that'll be quite exciting. This guy Jimmy Ryan, who used to coach me, sent me an email but the strange thing is, he also said: 'be great to here from you again. Jimmy. P.S. Have you heard this morning's news? I can't believe it.' Why didn't he just say what it was? I hope someone hasn't died. Maybe they've sold Rooney or something."
Emma then announced she would read in bed, kissed Gabriel on the cheek and took her half-eaten chips into the kitchen to dispose of them. For 10 o'clock on a Friday night, Gabriel would have hoped there would be something good on TV, but flicking through the channels, the series of Mock the Week and 8 out of 10 cats must have finished, leaving the best terrestrial options being Jamie's secret recipes and some wildlife documentary with David Attenborough. Deciding to settle for Sky Sports News, he took a sip of beer and put his feet up.
They had just finished an interview with some golfer when before the presenter announced: "And to round up this evening's news, Sir Alex Ferguson has shocked the football world by announcing that he is stepping down as manager of Manchester United and retiring from football." There was a brief shot of two, quite elderly, United fans being interviewed: "I just can't believe it. I thought he would be our manager forever. I don't think we'll find a manager that will ever quite shine a candle to what Ferguson has done for this football club. He's been incredible. I can't- I'm still in shock."
"We'll have more after this short break."
Gabriel sat bolt upright on his sofa, spilling over his beer as he did so. Questions began to race through his mind. Why did Ferguson leave? How will United cope? Who will their next manager be? Who... will their next manager be?
His heart now racing, Gabriel began to think: why didn't he apply? He had been a top, respected player for the club for 13 years, had completed his coaching badges, had seen some success managing Birmingham City and Brighton, and has come back from disappointment fighting. Like back in '94:
********************
23rd May 1994
The Cliff training centre
This was to be a pivotal moment in my career, in my life. Sir Alex Ferguson was calling the academy players, one by one, into his office and telling them individually whether he wanted them to be given a new contract and promoted to the reserve team. If I was promoted, I would work my socks of and put my neck on the line, helping the team win trophy after trophy as part of the golden generation for the club I loved. If I was released, I dread to think about what might have happened to me. I think I could have turned to alcohol, I'd have no job prospects as I wasn't academic at school, I don't think I would have got back into football because I would have seen that rejection as an excuse to feel sorry for myself and hide myself away. It makes me shudder the whole idea of it.
The first few people were called in, and I saw David Beckham and Paul Scholes coming out of his office celebrating with a certificate in their hands. If I felt confident, at all, of getting through, I probably could have felt happy for them, but because I was feeling such constant agony, I couldn't quite find it in my heart to do so. As my turn got nearer, my nerves esculated. Eventually, Phil Mulryne trooped out dejected, saying my name weakly before trooping off to the bus stop dejected. I took a deep breath, my heart kind of sunk even before I entered the room, knowing that because of the errors yesterday, I would have to go through this heart-breaking process of rejection and self-blame.
"Son, come in. Go on, have a seat."
He sounded sympathetic. I reluctantly sat, I took a moment to wonder why he didn't tell me straightaway to get it over with, and then braced myself for my impending doom.
"Son, I was very disappointed with your mistakes yesterday. I really think you let your team down, and yourself down."
Oh great, why not pick at my self-esteem and scar me mentally before you tell me I'm released.
"It was such a shame, because from the first time I watched you play, I had an instinct that you are a player with big potential. So..." taking a moment to confirm his own decision "I have decided to put you into the first team squad."
"W-what?" I croaked, wiping my tears away, confused.
"Gabriel, you really think I'm going to let one stupid mistake ruin your career?"
"Two stupid mistakes."
"Well, surely you dont want to be released?" Ferguson chuckled.
"No." Gabriel answered quickly. "It's just that it's come as a bit of a surprise, that's all."
"Well, I'm willing to take a punt on you."
"T-t-thank you Sir. I don't know what to say."
"It's okay son." He said smiling. "I'm sure you'll repay me someday. Just promise me something."
"Anything, Sir."
"Never make the same mistake twice."
And I never did.
