Page 152 - Alex Ferguson: My Autobiography

I knew straight away that he was the player our intuition said he would be. Courageous, reasonably
two-footed – though he uses his left foot less than he could. We signed players at 24 thinking they
would peak at 26, and Wayne’s progress with us from a much earlier age supported my conviction
that he would be at his best around that age. With the kind of physique he had it was always hard to

imagine him playing into his mid-thirties, like Scholes or Giggs, but I developed an expectation when
he re-signed for us, in October 2010, that he might end up as a midfielder.
All our intelligence about Wayne Rooney as an Evertonian schoolboy could be condensed into a
single phrase. This was a man playing in under-age football.
The reports at our academy were always glowing and the club tried to acquire him at 14, when
there is a loophole in the last week of May that allows you to sign a boy from another academy. But
Wayne wanted to stay at Everton. We tried again at 16 before he signed his academy forms and again

he wasn’t interested. Everton were in his blood.
Geoff Watson and Jim Ryan were our two academy men who had monitored Rooney’s progress
and been so impressed with him in games between the clubs. He played in the FA Youth Cup final at
16 against Aston Villa.
When Walter Smith joined me as assistant he said: ‘Get that Rooney signed.’ Walter was
unequivocal. He described him as the best he had ever seen. That confirmed everything we knew of

him. Then came Wayne’s debut, at 16, and his wonder goal against Arsenal.
At Everton he also became the youngest player to win a full England cap, in a game against
Australia, and was then picked by Sven-Göran Eriksson for the vital World Cup qualifier against
Turkey. He scored his first international goal at 17 years and 317 days. So he was already on the
national map by the time he came to us.
My first meeting with him contradicted my expectation that he would have an assertive personality.
He was a shy boy. But I think there was an awe about him that reflected the large transfer fee and all

the attention it was bringing. He soon stopped being shy. On our training ground he gave everybody
hell. Everybody. The referee, the other players. The poor refs – Tony Strudwick, or Mick or René –
would all say to me, ‘You’re the only one with the authority – you should ref these games.’
My reply was: ‘There’s no way I’m refereeing these matches.’
I remember Jim blowing his whistle mildly for a foul on a day when Roy Keane was in one of his
dark moods, giving everyone stick. His team, our team, the ref, any living creature he could find. Jim

turned to me with his whistle and said: ‘I hope Roy’s team wins.’
‘That’s ridiculous, that,’ I said, trying not to laugh.
‘Yeah, but the grief I’ll get in that dressing room,’ Jim said. At one point we even discussed hiring
referees.
I admit I gave Wayne a few rollickings. And he would rage in the dressing room when I picked him
out for criticism. His eyes would burn, as if he wanted to knock my lights out. The next day he would
be apologetic. When the anger subsided, he knew I was right – because I was always right, as I liked

to tease him. He would say: ‘Am I playing next week, boss?’
‘I don’t know,’ I would say.
In my opinion, he was not the quickest learner but what he had was a natural instinct to play the
game, an intuitive awareness of how football worked. A remarkable raw talent. Plus, natural courage
and energy, which is a blessing for any footballer. The ability to run all day is not to be undervalued.
In a training ground exercise he wouldn’t absorb new ideas or methods quickly. His instinct was to

revert to type, to trust what he already knew. He was comfortable in himself.
In those early years I seldom had to be dictatorial with him. He made some daft tackles in games