Michael Carrick: Between the Lines: My Autobiography

by Michael Carrick

To start with, I was only on trial. ‘Come down and see if you like it,’ West Ham said. Well, I quickly realised how genuine West Ham were, especially when I met people like Jimmy Hampson and Tony Carr, the academy director. I just sensed their honesty and that they’d do right by me. Brian Nichols was the Under-14s manager then, and he was so friendly that he immediately made me feel comfortable. From the start, I felt part of the family and played with a smile on my face.

Not many centre halves have Rio’s quality on the ball and that was to be nurtured, not beaten out of him. Luckily, West Ham was the perfect place for that.

Rich had long hair and was into bands like Green Day, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Pearl Jam. ‘What’s that?!’ I’d ask dismissively when he played his music. He drilled it into me so much that I now enjoy some of it. I went to a Chili Peppers’ gig recently – it was the best I’ve been to.

When Manchester United came to town they’d be in their blazers and looked like they meant business. Seeing Alex Ferguson for the first time made a deep impression on me. He marched down the corridor towards the tunnel like a general eager for battle and utterly confident of winning it.

Highbury was a proper football ground, full of history and smartly dressed staff, and I felt as though I was entering some aristocratic hall.

That season marked my first encounter with the hardest of them all: Roy Keane.

He held that room with his delivery and eloquence, and he’d finish by saying, ‘It’s the easiest thing in the world to work hard. Nothing stops you from working hard.’ The three things he always mentioned were: ‘Don’t be afraid to work hard. Concentration. Penetration.’

If you’re picking players from great United teams, Ji’s not necessarily one you’d choose, but he was a dream to play with. He worked so hard and was so clever, so economic with the way he played – his movements, touches and turns, everything was just textbook.

Going into that 2007/’08 season, the team knew there were two dates that were set to be full of emotion: the fiftieth anniversary of Munich and the fortieth anniversary of Sir Matt winning the European Cup. I honestly felt the hand of destiny guiding us towards the trophy. ‘We’ll win the Champions League this year,’ I told Tony Strudwick pre-season. I just had a feeling it was our time.

He was noisy, but his instructions were clear and calm. I wouldn’t have to look at him, just listen in training, then in games it became instinctive as I couldn’t hear him as easily on the pitch. Still, when Edwin shouted, I’d do what he said. Ferdinand was the same. In training before someone took a shot, Edwin yelled ‘left’ or ‘right’ so I’d block that side, making sure he had only half the goal to protect. He basically moved me around like a shield. Of course, he was gambling because the shot could go through my legs but the number of times it worked was incredible. Edwin’s the only keeper I’ve ever seen do that but then he’s smart and what he’s doing now as chief executive at Ajax is testament to that.

Giggsy told me this story about one of his first games playing left wing. Back then, you got away with all sorts and the full back gave a few verbals to Giggsy like, ‘Go past me and I’ll break your leg.’ So Robbo said to Giggsy, ‘Giggsy, swap positions for 10 minutes. Go and play centre midfield.’ When the full back got the ball, Robbo went flying through and smashed him with a ridiculous tackle. Robbo got up, dusted himself down, took the yellow card and shouted over to Giggsy, ‘You can swap back now.’ Giggsy didn’t hear a thing from the full back for the rest of the game. Robbo went out of his way to protect those young lads, and that’s a tradition passed down at Manchester United.

Xavi, Iniesta and Busquets were good, but Messi gave them that extra dimension. I keep coming back to Messi because the ball kept coming back to him, and the story keeps coming back to him and his brilliance. He could beat two players within a blink of an eye and how do you defend against that? You can’t. You can go man to man with him, but that doesn’t faze him. You can’t kick him because he gets back up. We’re talking about one of the greatest of all time here.

Messi did the lot but what made Messi even more effective and devastating was that he saw the whole picture in slow motion. Even manipulating the ball at full tilt, Messi was still able to have a clear picture. Genius. He knew everything that was going on around him and that helped him make the right decision on whether to play a little pass over the top or keep dribbling. Everybody else would see a blur of bodies at that speed, but the picture was sharp for Messi. It was a strange feeling playing against him because normally I’d end up disliking who I’m playing against but not him. I had to respect Messi.

That unbelievable 60-yard pass to the winger, might be easy for the defence to deal with. Whereas a five-yard pass through their two midfielders can suddenly put their whole defensive shape in a mess, asking questions, like does the centre half come out or does he not? Passing forwards between the defensive lines has always been my biggest skill. A lot of it is down to timing and disguise. It’s not a highlight and it’s not glamorous. People won’t necessarily think, ‘What a pass that was!’ But it can be the most effective pass. I’ve never played a pass for applause.

He brought emotion to the game, which the Boss liked, and which maybe Louis van Gaal didn’t like so much and that’s why Rafael left, I guess.

It sounds a weird excuse, but slow, dry pitches also didn’t suit my passing. I preferred them well-watered, so the ball moved faster. It meant my passes got there a fraction quicker and I could pass it from further away and it wouldn’t slow down on the grass. If there was a gap, then I could get it through. When it’s dry the the ball sits in the grass. These are the fine margins that matter. I liked hitting side-foot through the lines from a distance into the front men and that was easier on a slicker pitch.

The Boss also signed Shinji Kagawa, the Bundesliga Player of the Year, and I remember the first week of pre-season watching Shinji and listening to Scholesy saying, ‘He’s a player, him.’ That’s the ultimate seal of approval if Scholesy rates you.

training. I accept this relentless drilling worked a lot of the time as other teams couldn’t get the ball off us but I also saw that because it was so structured, we struggled to be creative and look as dangerous. Sir Alex’s sessions used to flow whereas Louis’s were stopstart. Louis was on at us all the time, and that was tough for the lads to cope with.

This approach took its toll on me mentally, but I must stress I picked up ideas listening to Louis. A lot of the information was very good and it opened my eyes to the effect this kind of coaching can have. Louis made players much more aware of why they did certain movements, and gave them a better understanding of the overall position. This training approach drilled down to the finest detail, but the flip side was that it was frustrating not being able to play with more freedom.

I still don’t agree with semi-finals at Wembley. I’m old school. The FA Cup stands for history and tradition so why not take the semis back to places like Villa Park? I remember playing Watford there in 2007 and the atmosphere was electric. Wembley should be precious, a destination to aspire to, not a stop on the way.

was back playing after two games, but bad news kept coming. 10 May 2016 was an absolutely mental, hideous day. We were staying at the Radisson, Canary Wharf before our match with West Ham and had just finished lunch. As we dispersed, Louis said, ‘Oh, I just want to speak to Michael.’ We went out of the room and found a quiet corner. The manager said, ‘You’re not starting tonight.’ Fair enough. It was what Louis said next that cut me open. ‘You’ll play the next two games, Bournemouth and the Cup final. But they’ll be your last two games, Michael.’ Wow. Louis was very forthright and didn’t sugar-coat his decision, ‘We’re not keeping you on.’ I guessed I was half-teed up for it. David Geiss had talked to Ed Woodward about a new contract but Ed kept delaying, saying, ‘End of the season, end of the season.’ I’d talked to Ed, ‘Look, just tell me either way. I could do with knowing so I can try and plan what’s happening with kids and schools if we’re going to move.’ Ed didn’t answer, so the longer it went on, the more I thought, Something’s not right here. But when the news finally came from Louis, it still hit me hard. ‘Two weeks,’ Louis told me. He’d called time on my career at Manchester United and the clock was ticking.

I stood in front of the 15 and said a few words, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. What could I say that’s going to make any difference to what they were feeling? ‘I’m really sorry for your loss, for your suffering. I can’t really imagine what you are going through. I just hope today brings you a bit of peace and happiness.’ I felt myself breaking down there and then. My voice went and tears filled my eyes. Here was one of the best days I could ever have, celebrating my career, surrounded by family and friends, and they were suffering, having lost family and friends. I felt so helpless. This game of football, my day, suddenly wasn’t nearly as important. I couldn’t believe how humble and actually grateful they were to me for inviting them. I was the one humbled by them. I signed a few shirts and programmes, and then headed down to the changing room.