That moment led me into the most incredibly testing environment. The manager was demanding, but long before we worked with him, we were coached by Eric Harrison and Nobby Stiles.

And by God, they were both demanding.



Imagine losing a tackle when you play in a youth team run by Nobby Stiles and Eric Harrison.

Eric was from Yorkshire, a non-league centre-half who was quite possibly the grittiest, nastiest centre-half you've ever come across. He'd probably broken his nose eight times. Tough as nails.



Nobby was Nobby. He would send us out onto the pitch and his last words to us would be: “Remember your best friends out there.” He meant your studs. It was his way of telling you to win the battle.

Every game, remember your best friends. If one of us lost a tackle or got topped in a game, he'd be going mad. Those demands didn't ease when you got nearer the first team.



That was a dressing room of leaders. It was unbelievable how the club had amassed so many. The club had Bruce, Pallister, Ince, Robson, McClair, Schmeichel, Irwin, Hughes, and any one of them could have been captain.

Within a year they had Cantona and Keane too. Even Giggsy went on to be captain when he was older.

Dion Dublin, Mick Phelan, Clayton Blackmore. They were great with the young lads. We were really lucky to come through that dressing room, but they were also tough on you. It was a tough school.

First-team training was hard. They expected a lot from you. Demanded good passes, demanded you got to the ball, stopped the cross, defended your back post, won your headers.

Losing a header wasn't acceptable. Letting your striker flick a ball on wasn't acceptable. Giving a pass away wasn't acceptable. They wouldn't accept mistakes.



This had been drilled into me by the time I was sat in that huge room in the Midland, waiting for the night to come.

My mind wandered, of course, and I just had a feeling, just a little inkling. I knew I was going to be on the bench, but I just had this little inkling that I might get on at some point. So I had to be ready. Everything had to be right.



That's how it always had to be throughout my career. There was the odd occasion in 20 years where I had a Chinese takeaway on a Thursday and I carried it into the game, so I thought: ”I've not done everything right here.”

Almost all the time, though, I had. If I could tell myself I'd prepared well, I'd done the right things, eaten the right things, that was the key.

Once I got in that tunnel, it was like a checklist. You ask yourself: “Have I done everything I possibly can to make myself play well in this match?”



Over the years, as part of that you develop a little routine, even down to being sat in the right seat on the coach or putting the right Tubigrip tape on.

When I went back for Michael Carrick's testimonial a few years ago, they didn't have my tape. I couldn't believe it. They'd had to keep that tape for 20 years. Had to. It was my tape. Tubigrip. D width. Not E. Not C. D width.

And then two tie-ups, always cut with the same scissors. I used to have two tie-ups that you were supposed to cut with bandage scissors, but I always cut them with normal scissors because I couldn't cut them with those weird scissors. Stupid things like that through my career had to be right.



I sat in the players' lounge toilets – the same cubicle – for 15 minutes. When the boss finished his team-talk, I'd get my kit on and sit on the toilet, with the lid down, and read the programme in complete peace for 15 minutes. Tranquillity. I did that every game.



Even on the day before a game, coming off the training pitch on the day before the game, I used to zigzag sprint off the pitch. Every Friday.