IN MY first two years working at the Manchester United School of Excellence, I went with the youth team to the Milk Cup tournament in Ireland as assistant to Brian Kidd, and in the third year I was given control. In 1991, we won the tournament, beating Liverpool 5-1 on the way to the final.
That was not, however, the most significant match of my brief reign. For me, that was a scuffling quarter-final, penalty shootout win over Motherwell in which David Beckham was my captain and central midfield player — which because of the natural creativity of his passing is the position in which I would play him for England.
But he could not get involved in the game, and to make matters worse, when we won a penalty near the end of the match, he claimed it and missed it, which meant that we had to go into extra time. I wanted more bite down the middle, so I pushed him out wide right and brought Paul Scholes inside.
Scholes got on with the business, but Beckham put on a massive sulk. It was infuriating to see such a talented player letting himself down like that, but when extra time was over and we had to go to penalties, I saw something in him that I liked very much. Gary Neville claimed the first penalty, but Beckham did not hesitate to follow. He smashed the ball into the the net.
Before the next game, I told him that I was putting him back into the centre of midfield, but at no stage did I want to see any signs that he might get another “cob on” if the game didn’t quite go how he wanted. I told him that he had behaved like a naughty boy who had had a sweet taken away. You didn’t win matches, you didn’t become a big player, like that.