LITMIR.BIZ

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to the La Manga resort in Spain, where Paul Gascoigne fell off the edge of the squad and into one of the most troubled phases of his life. On decision day we all had individual slots to see the manager. Mine was middle to late, and they were all five minutes each. I didn’t hear about the confrontation between Hoddle and Gazza until later, when it was the talk of the town. Hoddle’s room certainly hadn’t been trashed when I went in – or, if it had, it had been put back together and tidied up with great care. David Seaman was the one trying to bring Gazza down from the ceiling, and by the time we got to dinner it was the only topic of conversation.

      My relationship with Gazza was not the sort of friendship that would lead you to talk on the phone as pals, but we did get on. When he was at Everton a few years later he called me out of the blue to ask me if I could help with his daughter’s birthday. He told me I was her favourite player, and then turned up on my drive to give her a birthday surprise. He’d told her they were going out on an errand but had pointed his car in the direction of my house. Their visit was a huge success. We finished up playing snooker upstairs and taking pictures of each other so his daughter could preserve her memory of the day. My lasting impression of Gazza is that he’s a really nice fella who could talk to anyone. There’s a kindness about him that not everyone gets to see.

      As a player, he had a profound impact on me. Italia 90 was the first major international tournament I studied as a professional footballer in the making. By then I understood the game a fair bit, and I took to Gazza straight away. I wish I’d been able to play with him for England when he was in his prime. As a striker, you dream of playing with midfielders who are blessed with his kind of skill. The one regret in Gazza’s career is that we all wanted his incredible talent to last a bit longer. I suppose he applied his gift for as long as he could, but by the time I came on the scene he was no longer the force he once was.

      To this day, though, I feel privileged to have been in the same England camp as him. In 10 years’ time I’m going to be able to say, ‘I played for England with Gazza,’ and that’s something special to have on your CV. I’ll say the same about playing for Liverpool with John Barnes or Stan Collymore. It makes me feel old to reminisce like this, but playing for England with Gazza is right up there on my list of personal honours. When I’m 30 and one of the senior pros, the younger players will be impressed to learn that I shared time on the field with one of English football’s finest artists. All footballers understand how special he was.

      It helped that Gazza was matey with the Liverpool contingent – Robbie, Macca and Incey. The first time I went down to join the camp we had just played Chelsea on the Sunday. We didn’t reach our base until the early hours of the morning. As I’d never been there before, Robbie and Macca showed me round the hotel. Robbie took me through a door to show me the video room – where we found Gazza, at two a.m., playing on some computer game. He was waiting for his pals to show up. In those days, on the night we assembled we were allowed to have a drink and a chat with our friends. So there he was. That was the first time I ever met him. I could see straight away that he danced to his own tune.

      The England squad for France 98 was full of strong characters and was a fine blend of youth and experience. La Baule, our base in France, was a fantastic setting for a training camp, but the one problem with actually taking part in a World Cup, as opposed to following it as a spectator, is that you become detached from the drama of the tournament. Hoddle was meticulous in keeping the camp closed: no disturbances, no distractions, no one allowed into the hotel. If you’re away for a month or two, the siege mentality can give rise to terrible boredom. Not meeting and mixing with people is definitely the hardest part. But in 1998 I thought the situation was normal as it was the only World Cup camp I’d ever known. Sven-Goran Eriksson is much more relaxed, and wants players to enjoy their time away. In France, though, boredom set in because we weren’t allowed to see anyone, but I don’t think it harmed us in any way. I’ve always struggled with being stuck in a hotel. For the first couple of days I like it, because it gives you a chance to clear your head and think. Soon, though, I do need to break out of the room, which can become oppressive. It’s become much harder since my children were born. I get much more homesick these days. Still, nowadays I feel a bigger part of the squad and I’m more central to the action, the card games, the conversations. After a few trips round the international circuit you move towards the front row of the social life. And in football, you have to earn the right to be there. If you demand a seat as an 18-year-old, new to the team, it really doesn’t go down too well.

      There’s a hierarchy in international teams and it’s not a good idea to ignore it. In France, Rio Ferdinand and I were new recruits, which is probably why we were joined at the hip. Nowadays, I’d hate to think of any new England player saying to himself, ‘I can’t talk to Michael Owen because he’s too senior.’ But, at the same time, it’s still assumed that a youngster will start from a position of respect for those further up the line. Let me offer an example. It’s not a good idea to plonk your meal down on the table on your first evening and announce, ‘Here, listen, lads, I’ve got a great story which will amuse you.’ The response to that kind of declaration is going to be, ‘Who’s this flash Harry?’ Believe me, players do make that mistake, more so than ever these days.

      I say this with a grin because I’m making myself sound ancient, but there is a noticeable difference between 1997, when I was coming through, and the current Premiership culture. At the beginning of my England career I wouldn’t start conversations; I certainly wouldn’t try to dominate them once they had begun. Now, a lot of youngsters think they’ve made it to the big time before they’re even established in the youth team. There’s a certain strutting around, and that gets a few of the older pros’ backs up. I wouldn’t intervene, though. Even though I’ve played a lot of games, I often still feel like a kid myself. I’ll voice a heartfelt opinion to a manager now, but I wouldn’t impose myself on a fellow player. I’d have to be in my late twenties to take someone aside and offer serious advice. Even then, I’m not, by nature, the confrontational type. If I saw a young team-mate throwing his weight around I’d be more likely to stew about it, thinking, ‘What a big-headed lad this one is.’ Even though I was cheeky as a kid, I’m quite shy, and Dad has instilled into me a strong sense of respect. In the early days I would never have dreamed of walking into the pool room and saying, ‘’Ere, do you fancy a game, Shearer?’ You wait to be asked.

      The first instalment of our World Cup was against Tunisia in Marseille on Monday, 15 June. That day, Sky brought us news of rioting by England fans. We didn’t realize how bad it was until we saw the TV pictures and then examined the newspapers. Nowadays I would think more about something like that, worry more about our reputation and, I suppose, fret more about us being thrown out of games or even a whole tournament, but in 1998 I just thought it was a few stupid drunk fans. There’s a stronger fear among the England players these days that bad behaviour by the supporters could get the team banned from a competition. My response to hooliganism is more disbelief than embarrassment. I wouldn’t associate myself in any way with people who cause violence and disorder. We come from the same country, but there the connection ends.

      In the Tunisia game itself, Alan Shearer was the number-one striker and was accompanied by Teddy Sheringham, who had done wonders for England in the preceding years. Being so young and inexperienced, I was in no position to start insisting that it was between me and Teddy for the second starting place. Now that I’m a regular, I’d resent some young whipper-snapper coming in and saying he was fighting me for my shirt. If I’d been Teddy, I’d have said, ‘Hang on, don’t you remember Euro 96?’ Nevertheless, Shearer was the number-one goalscorer, so the only way I could have played was if Teddy’s position slipped.

      We beat Tunisia comfortably, 2–0, and I got on for six minutes. I knew that wasn’t going to be my best chance to impress. The moment Teddy was withdrawn in Marseille, I knew it was to save him for the next match. I didn’t need to waste time wondering whether I would be starting against Romania the following Monday. Besides, I was too busy trying to live down the embarrassment of a partially televised golf day during which, on the first tee, I hit my opening drive about 10 yards and had to put up with everyone falling about laughing. What they didn’t show was my second shot, which landed about six feet from the pin.

      After the comforting win in Marseille came a hard landing

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