Gazza: My Story (25 page)

It wasn’t till much later that I was told it was Alan Shearer who had slapped my face on the plane. He denied it when I asked him. Not that I would hold it against him. I would probably have done the same myself, seeing some mate fast asleep. It’s what you do. A bit of harmless fun. But it wasn’t so funny when the bill appeared for two broken TVs. It turned out they were new models and cost a fortune. And as I said, I didn’t think I’d actually broken them, just made them go a bit fuzzy.

Tony Adams, as captain, decided that the whole squad should share the bill, as quite a few of the lads had been, shall we say, a bit boisterous on the plane,
even though it was me who had damaged the TVs. We had to pay £500 each. I thought that was good of Tony. When you’re in a team, you should all stick together. I gather that in his autobiography,
Psycho
, Stuart Pearce wrote that he didn’t think it was fair. He went along with it for the sake of harmony, but his wife didn’t agree with it. He didn’t name me as the culprit, which was very decent of him, though he added: ‘I had a good idea who caused the damage.’ Oooh.

When I got home, I decided to have a really abstemious, sensible week at a health farm to get ready for the finals. I was told about this place in Wales, which was supposed to be very remote. No press people would ever find you there, or the public, they said. The word was that Hugh Grant had gone there, after his sex scandal in the USA, to get away from people. But when I arrived, I found sixteen cameramen and pressmen waiting for me. So I immediately turned round and went home to Newcastle instead, and had a quiet time there. I can, when I put my mind to it. I quite enjoy being on my own, if I’m tucked away, and no one bothers me.

By the time Euro 96 was due to start, I was feeling very fit. I remember hearing the Euro 96 theme song, ‘Three
Lions’, the first time. ‘It’s coming home, it’s coming home, football’s coming home,’ we used to sing on the team coach, and I would play it in my room all the time.

Our first match was against Switzerland, on 8 June at Wembley. I hadn’t slept well for a couple of nights beforehand. A silly worry had got into my head about my form, and I was scared that I might not get picked, which I knew was daft, since my form was so good. I asked Terry, privately, if I would be in the team, and he told me, privately, that I was. I said, ‘In that case, I’m up for it.’ I immediately felt so much better.

We didn’t actually play very well against Switzerland, but we managed a 1–1 draw. I was taken off about fifteen minutes before the end. Against Scotland, I was much better, and I got our second goal, the one that is often still shown on TV. I remember it came just after Scotland had missed a penalty – well, more like David Seaman had saved their penalty. We’d gone one up in the second half but the Scots were fighting back. I suppose the penalty miss knocked them a bit but they were definitely coming back into the game. Playing well. Anyway, Darren Anderton had the ball out on the wing and passed it through to me. I was about on the corner of the Scotland box. In between two defenders. When the ball came through to me Colin
Hendry was moving over to close me down. I just knew where he’d be, when he’d commit himself, so I knew what to do. It felt brilliant when it all worked. I went to look like I’d knock it past him and try and go round the outside, but I changed direction and flicked it over his head with my left foot. Hendry tried to get back to me, but ended up on the deck, and I volleyed the ball with my right, into the corner of the goal, past Andy Goram, my Rangers team-mate. I think Hendry was still on his knees when the ball hit the back of the net.

Before the match, I suggested that if someone scored the winner, we would celebrate by taking the piss out of the dentist’s chair incident, as it had been in all the papers. I would have done it to whoever scored the vital goal, but it happened to be me. So I lay down on the Wembley turf and Alan Shearer and the others poured drink down my gob. It was Lucozade, of course. Nothing stronger.

For the previous few months, I’d taken so much stick in the Rangers dressing room. They told me all the time how they were going to stuff England. So that made me relish the result even more, though I have to admit we depended on a few of Seaman’s saves to keep us in the game. Afterwards, I cut out all the reports and headlines, and when we got back to pre-season training,
I sneaked early into the Rangers dressing room and pinned them all up on the noticeboard.

That goal against Scotland was rated the Goal of the Century in a television poll. The third choice was mine as well: my free kick against Seaman and Arsenal in the FA Cup semi-final of 1991. I was pretty pleased by that.

Before we played Holland, Terry gave us the most brilliant team talk. He made it clear this was going to be one of the biggest games in any of our lives. To get any result against Holland we would need to be on our best form, because, of course, they had some brilliant, world-class players. After we all got off the coach at Wembley, I got back on again, on my own, just to hear the ‘Coming home’ song being belted out one more time.

We thrashed them 4–1, one of England’s best-ever victories. It was just a shame Holland got their one goal, otherwise Scotland would have gone through instead of them. I might have been rubbishing the Scottish boys, taking the piss, but I loved them, and the Scottish people. So I really wanted them to do well and go through – as long as it wasn’t at our expense – and I was very disappointed for them when they didn’t make it.

Throughout the Holland game I could hear the whole Wembley crowd singing, ‘There’s only one Paul
Gascoigne.’ Towards the end, David Platt said to me, as he was passing to me, ‘Here’s the ball – it’s your game.’ And yet none of our four goals came from me.

We met Spain in the quarter-finals. It was still 0–0 after extra time, so the game went to penalties. Seaman made some brilliant saves – Old Beaver Face, I used to call him, because of his big ’tache. I got my penalty, and so did Stuart Pearce, which was great as it helped him get rid of the demons that had plagued him after missing that penalty in the 1990 World Cup semi-final. When I scored with mine, I remember looking up into the stands, searching for Shel. I couldn’t see her, of course, though I knew she was there.

In the semi-final, we were drawn against Germany, once again. I seemed to have spent my whole life playing them. I had a good game, we all did, but we were level at 1–1 after 90 minutes. Shearer had scored for us, after Tony Adams flicked on my corner. Then it went to the golden goal – the first team to score in extra time would take the match.

I so nearly got a winner. A cross from Shearer went across the box, to the spot where Alan was usually to be found. I ran forward to try and get it, but checked myself when I saw the keeper coming out for it. Because I
hesitated, I missed it by inches. I was really sick. If I’d been a proper striker, like Shearer, I would have gone for it without thinking, regardless of what the goalkeeper was doing.

Instead, with no further scoring, it was penalties again. I scored mine, even though I changed my mind at the last moment. It was Gareth Southgate who missed this time, poor sod. I couldn’t believe it. Yet again we had been beaten by Germany on penalties. It all seemed so unfair. I was choked.

Back at the England hotel at Burnham Beeches, I drank to drown my sorrows, along with Robbie Fowler. We started squirting tomato ketchup over each other. We’d found a couple of tubes on a table and soon finished them off. I went into the kitchens and found a monster carton of ketchup, which I emptied all over Robbie. Then I ran to my room and had a good cry.

Next day, when we were all packing to go home, I found that someone had put a lump of shit in my washbag. I tried to find out who it was, without success. Some time later, Trevor Steven told me he’d heard it was Steve Stone. When I confronted him, he denied it, but he smiled and said, ‘Divvent give us it back.’

Germany met Czechoslovakia in the final on 30 June and they were dead jammy yet again, winning with a golden
goal in extra time. We’d really believed it would be us playing for the trophy at our national stadium. We had such a good team, and such a good manager, we felt we could go all the way. ‘It’s coming home, it’s coming home, football’s coming home …’ We were just devastated.

I think we could have won Euro 96 – and we could have won Italy 90. England had a terrific team both times. One wasn’t better than the other. I thought those two England teams were excellent. The team spirit was brilliant each time and in Venables we had a world-class coach, very experienced, and so was Bobby Robson.

Germany were the eventual winners of each competition and were no better than us. It was the luck of the penalty shoot-outs, that’s what ruined it for us.

At least I had something nice to look forward to after the disappointment of once again being knocked out of the semi-finals of an international tournament by Germany: my wedding to Sheryl, and our honeymoon.

We’d decided to get married after Shel and the children moved up to Scotland and we were all happy at last. Why did I decide to get married? Because I loved her. That’s enough of a reason, isn’t it? I always have loved her, despite everything. I promised to be good from then onwards, on my best behaviour. And she believed me. I believed myself.

The marriage took place on 1 July. We hadn’t been
able to have it any earlier because we’d thought I’d be otherwise engaged in the Euro 96 final. Some hope. I was offered £150,000 by
Hello!
magazine for the exclusive rights to cover our wedding, so I accepted it. I spent the whole lot on the wedding – the clothes, food and drink, the honeymoon. Many of the England team came: David Seaman, Ian Wright, Chris Waddle and Paul Ince, and friends like Chris Evans and Danny Baker. Chris had said he’d be the DJ, but he got drunk and forgot about it.

It was a great day. Euro 96, and the season, were over, so we could all relax and enjoy ourselves. The reception was held at Hanbury Manor near Ware in Hertfordshire, a very posh Jacobean-style mansion set in huge grounds. We had the full treatment; the best of everything.

We set off for our honeymoon in Maui, Hawaii – somewhere I’d always wanted to go – on a real high. But the best part of it was the flight there. After that, for the whole of the holiday, we argued all the time. Don’t ask me why, we just did. I was pleased to get home.

Back in Scotland, we settled down for a while, friends again. We were a proper little family, Mum and
Dad and three kids. Shel made our house in Renfrewshire very attractive. I later bought a lodge on Loch Lomond as well, for weekends and holidays for us and the bairns.

Everything was rosy – till I began to turn into a bastard again. Oh, for various reasons, most of them stupid. Sometimes I think I don’t know how to be good. That next season, my second at Rangers, was not as great as the first. The other teams knew more about me, so I was marked man-to-man, and I was also drinking quite heavily, because of all my problems returning.

Walter discovered I’d been on the shandies the night before a game, and, in the dressing room, he ordered me to put on my suit and leave, which I did. I went straight through the gates and drove home. Some of the fans saw me and wondered what was going on. Why was I leaving just as they were arriving? Luckily, the lads won. If they had lost, it would have been worse for me, I would have felt responsible for the defeat.

I was starting to let Walter and assistant manager Archie Knox down on a regular basis. I would promise not to go drinking and break my promise. One Friday night I was sitting in my lodge on Loch Lomond when the phone went. It was Walter. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.