LITMIR.BIZ

       5 France 98

      Somehow, between February 1998 and June 2003 I managed to cram in 50 England caps and score 20 times for my country. When I captained the team against Slovakia in Middlesbrough in the summer of 2003, the Football Association’s website reviewed that first half-century of appearances as if I was a veteran. But I don’t have to stretch my memory much to recall an icy night at Wembley and the thrill of my senior debut against Chile.

      In the late winter of 1998, my career was on fast-forward. I’ve had a few of those phases, but this was the one that launched me towards my first World Cup and a life-changing goal. Looking back at those weeks, it would be easy to assume I made an effortless transition from England youth football to the senior squad, to take my place alongside Teddy Sheringham and Alan Shearer. But when I broke into the senior group I was still young enough to feel a sense of wonder, even though my earlier experiences at junior international level had provided me with a grounding in what life would be like in the first eleven.

      I’d mixed with the senior squad on a couple of occasions before. Under Glenn Hoddle’s management, there was a policy of bringing in one or two promising youngsters to familiarize them with life at the very top. We don’t extend that privilege any more, perhaps because Sven-Goran Eriksson has supported young players by selecting them as soon as they’re considered to be good enough. I was already playing in Liverpool’s first team when I was first invited to join the elite in training; it’s not as if I was a kid from a school of excellence, meeting those famous names for the first time. I was already playing against them at Premiership grounds.

      I was on a golf course at Curzon Park, Chester, with my dad when the good news filtered through. Doug Livermore, who was then one of the Liverpool coaches, called me and said, ‘Michael, you’ve been picked for the England squad.’ That was the end of my golf for the day. My performance was wrecked. I was on the fourth of the nine holes we had chosen to play and my game went to pot. I couldn’t stop ringing people to share the news. With nine goals for Liverpool so far that season I was establishing myself as a Premiership striker. I knew I had been creeping closer to the full squad, but I hadn’t expected the breakthrough to come so soon.

      In my earliest days with the squad, Alan Shearer and Tony Adams were the two main leaders of the pack. When I went down for England get-togethers I tended to stick with Paul Ince, Robbie Fowler and Steve McManaman from our Liverpool squad, so I felt protected, though the sense I had was of going to a new school for the first time. It’s worse than that, in fact, because at school everyone’s equal and everyone’s new. In an England squad you’re surrounded by people you admire. For the first few visits, the one negative question in my mind was: Do I deserve to be here?

      Glenn Hoddle told me early in the week that I was going to play against Chile – on the Monday night, before he announced the team to the rest of the players. He asked me, ‘Do you feel ready, because I want you to start.’ Again, I was straight on the phone to Dad, saying, ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I’m in the starting line-up on Wednesday night.’ Hoddle instilled a great deal of confidence in me by telling me at such an early stage in the build-up. No messing – bang, you’re in. That gave me the self-assurance I needed to feel I belonged.

      A lot of Hoddle’s practice sessions concentrated on technique. In contrast, Kevin Keegan tried to coach or shape you as a player. Hoddle focused more on the team and tactics and tended to work with individuals on technical aspects of their game. For one session he brought in half a dozen size-three balls. For the first half hour we would just keep the size three up in the air to improve our skills. He wasn’t one of those managers who would come and wrap an arm round you. I’m not saying I needed that, but it was noticeable that Hoddle left the more human side of man management to John Gorman, his number two. Wherever Hoddle has been in management, Gorman has often followed him, and I think that might be because Glenn realizes he’s not one to develop close personal relationships with his players. Gorman would come and tell the players things, and we knew a large proportion of it was coming directly from the manager. Gorman was the messenger, so often we were communicating with Hoddle second hand.

      My inclusion for the game against Chile at Wembley on 11 February was, I suppose, at the expense of Robbie Fowler, my Liverpool mate, who sustained a serious knee injury later that month in a League game against Everton. My record-breaking age at kick-off was 18 years and 59 days – an achievement that has since been beaten by Wayne Rooney. It helped that I had a lot of history to back me up. I had scored on my debut at every other international age – Under-15s, -16s, -18s, -20s and -21s. This time, though, the sequence was broken. I played in a three-man attack together with Dion Dublin and Sheringham. I had one decent chance, but my shot was saved. Marcelo Salas, who was about to join Lazio for £13 million, scored twice in a 2–0 win for Chile, but my reviews were good. I was on my way.

      With my debut behind me, in March I appeared in a friendly against Switzerland in Berne, this time playing alongside Shearer for the first time, and then in another non-competitive match, against Portugal, at Wembley in April, though I only played for 13 minutes after Sheringham had been taken off. Our World Cup build-up intensified with the King Hassan Cup in Morocco in May, which turned out to be more memorable than the name of the tournament might imply.

      Rooney has since deprived me of another place in history (not that I’m resentful, of course). My first senior goal for England came when I was 18 years and 164 days old, in the game against Morocco, our hosts. In between my debut and the trip to North Africa I had been sent off against Manchester United but had finished joint-top scorer in the Premiership with 18 goals. Given that this was my first full season, I could press for a place in Hoddle’s World Cup squad knowing that I’d already made a good impact with my club. You can imagine the effect those 18 goals had on my confidence.

      The goal in Casablanca was perfectly timed to remove any anxiety I might have had about going to France 98 without an international goal to my name. For a striker, a goal always brings an immediate flood of relief. From the moment the ball goes in, you’re not asking questions of yourself. The pressure is off. I wasn’t in the starting lineup that day but came on when Ian Wright was injured 25 minutes into the game. I’ve watched the goal since on tape, and Dion Dublin is standing right opposite me in a better position when Steve McManaman supplies me with the pass. Really, I should have passed it, but I swear I didn’t notice Dion.

      Fate, as well as the blinkers, played a role that day. I might have been taken off in that match before the goal-scoring chance came my way because I’d taken an almighty boot to the head in an earlier passage of play. There are various types of concussion, and this was nowhere near as bad as the aftermath of a blow I once took in a Premiership match at Derby County. After that incident I swore I would never use the word ‘concussion’ unless I was clinically unconscious. I had whiplash for a week. In Morocco I was more dazed and confused than concussed, though the photographs made it seem worse than it was because my head is down by my neck. People tell me I was groaning, ‘I don’t want to come off. I won’t come off.’

      By the time Hoddle began deliberating over who to take to France and who to leave behind, I was confident I would be in the 22. As soon as I took part in the Morocco tournament I knew I was part of the manager’s plans. Someone asked him after my goal in Casablanca, ‘Has he made your mind up now?’ Hoddle’s reply, as I recall, was, ‘My mind was already made up.’ When I heard him say that on television, it really put the issue to bed. If the manager doesn’t fancy you, it doesn’t matter how well you’re playing, it’s just hard coco. But I always had a sneaking sense that he wanted me in, and when we got to France

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