Michael Carrick: Between the Lines: My Autobiography

by Michael Carrick

At United, the very best players were not only driven but also incredibly original, almost revolutionary, in their thinking. One incident that season particularly stood out for me. Picture the scene: 0–0 just before half-time at Anfield on 23 September 2012, Giggsy gets the ball and runs down the left wing, targeting Martin Kelly, the 22-year-old playing right back for Liverpool. Giggsy turns back, and I’m there, in space, for the pass, it’s made for me, so I scream, ‘Giggsy!’ He turns back again. ‘Giggsy! Yes! Giggsy! Any chance?’ I shout again. He keeps turning, short and sharp, chopping again and again, constantly moving the ball, taking Kelly one way and the other, but not passing. ‘For fuck’s sake, Giggsy!’ Chop, chop, chop, get to the byeline, chop again, and he ends up getting a corner. United fans are going, ‘Fucking cross it.’ The ref blows for half-time after the corner and as we go to the tunnel, I say, ‘Giggsy?!’ He smiles, gives me a little pat on the back and goes, ‘His thighs will be burning. His legs have gone now.’ ‘Fucking hell, so that’s what you’re doing it for.’ Genius! Giggsy never let Kelly settle. He kept him on the move constantly, threatening inside, outside, coming short, going long. For big lads it was tough to keep quickly changing direction. Giggsy was more direct against smaller full backs. He’d hug the touchline and go straight at them. The variety Giggsy had in his game was outrageous. He didn’t just play his own game, doing what he wanted ...