Beckham Read Free Page A

Presidency with the ambition to make the soccer club, recognized by FIFA as the most renowned of the 20 th century, the greatest in the 21 st . To do this we needed the right players: the best players but also the players who represented soccer—and Real Madrid—in the best way. Raul was already here. A year after Figo, the President brought Zidane to the Bernabeu. A year after him, Ronaldo. Still, there was an element missing. We believe that you, David, are the player Real Madrid need to be complete. Because ofyour ability but also because you can bring with you a soccer spirit which is epitomized by the captain of England.’
    You could tell from Senor Valdano’s tone of voice and his body language, even without understanding the Spanish, that he was building up to a big finish. He took a deep breath. And José’s cell phone went off: one of those phones that diverts all your calls except the one you really have to answer.
    â€˜El Presidente.’
    There was a lot of laughing and joking between José and Senor Perez.
    â€˜David, the President wants to tell you he’s very sorry he can’t be here with us tonight but he’s never done this with any of our other big signings. So he doesn’t think it would be the right thing to do this time either.’
    A pause. Just to make sure we got the joke.
    â€˜He says: not that you aren’t his favorite, of course.’
    Everybody in the room was laughing now, and shouting into José’s phone that the President should just come round for a coffee.
    â€˜He says: he’s at a birthday party for one of the club’s directors. We could all go round there. It’s not far.’
    Senor Valdano was still standing through most of this, waiting to finish. Just as he got round to sitting back down, the President got round to saying goodbye. He hoped we’d enjoy the evening. Everyone at the table turned back towards Senor Valdano, ready for his punchline. I didn’t need to hear any more: I’d already taken in what he’d said so far and felt honored enough. He stood up again. You could see him thinking about where to pick up his thread. And then deciding he needn’t bother. He laughed. His moment had slipped away too. He risked a little English:
    â€˜David and Victoria: welcome to Madrid.’
    I really felt we were.
    There was still time in the evening for me and Victoria to be rushed off to look at two more houses. I found myself wondering: When do they sleep in Madrid? Tuesday had been all about taking care of business, the private side of me joining Real Madrid. Wednesday’s promise was to present a new signing to the world. Brooklyn made his mind up early: other kids, a swimming pool and a back garden, thanks. He and Mum headed off to the house of the parents of someone we’d met the day before. I had two interviews to do: MUTV were in Madrid to give me the chance to say goodbye and thank you to the United supporters; then Real Madrid’s television channel wanted to get my first impressions and, also, my reaction to Roberto Carlos’ statement of delight that, at long last, there’d be two good-looking players at the Bernabeu. Those two interviews, one after the other, were a bittersweet way to spend the morning. It was all very well me finding my answers. Really, I wanted to be asking the questions. I couldn’t help but wonder what fans in Madrid and Manchester thought of how things had turned out.
    Real decided on a basketball arena as the venue for my introduction to the media and the fans long before I’d decided on squad number 23. The Pabellon Raimundo Saporta is an enormous, gloomy hangar of a place with a 5,000-seat capacity, part of a training complex they call the Ciudad Deportiva. Our cars screeched in off the main road and swept up a curving drive to the front entrance. There were dozens of journalists waiting outside, and over to my left I glimpsed the field where