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I am aware there are many people who believe that I had no respect for Bobby Robson.

From a lot of the coverage of my time at Newcastle, you could be forgiven for thinking that I spent my years there trying to undermine him or simply mocking him.

The impression that was conveyed was that I was an unruly kid taunting a wise old teacher.

Many people still seem to think I was responsible, either directly or indirectly, for his eventual exit from the club.

That is a million miles from the truth. The truth is that Bobby Robson was the best manager I ever worked with.

The truth is that I admired him and revered him and that I could never quite accept the way he was forced out of the club.

Another idea has been allowed to take hold that the players at Newcastle viewed him as a soft touch and took advantage of his kindness and his age.

Again, that isn’t true. He could be kind and he was the best man-manager I have ever come across but he had a ruthless streak, too.

He wasn’t soft. No one who lasts in management as long as he did can be weak.

He was clever. He had learned to treat every individual differently.

In March 2004, I had a well-publicised argument with Robson’s assistant, John Carver, on the day we were due to fly out to a Uefa Cup fourth round second leg match against Real Mallorca.

At the time, it was seen as a symptom of Sir Bobby’s loss of control over a troublesome squad but to me the episode proved the opposite: he was a master of control.

The row before the Mallorca game had started at training a few hours earlier when I parked in Carver’s parking space at the training ground.

I was being mischievous really. I arrived at the training ground and he wasn’t there. He’s a coach. He should have been in before me so I parked in his space. I knew it would wind him up.

I walked past him later that morning and said ‘hiya’, all proud of myself because of my little stunt, and he just walked straight past me without saying a word.

It made me smile. I thought ‘job done’.

By the time we got to Newcastle Airport to get the flight to Majorca, he was at snapping point and we had a confrontation.

The reports said I threw a chair at Carver in the departure lounge that had been set aside for the players.

That wasn’t entirely true. I was angry and I threw a chair out of the way so I could go and argue with him.

It nearly hit Shay Given, actually, but that was an accident.

We ended up wrestling stupidly on the floor. Someone went to get the manager and he came in and yelled at everyone to get out and get on the plane.

I had lost my rag totally by that point. I was saying “I’m not going, I’m not getting on the plane, I’m going home to see my missus.”

Bobby told JC to get on the plane. He gave him a real rollicking and asked him what the hell he had been doing, confronting me like that.

I was still saying I was going home. I was adamant. The manager put his arm round me.

“Walk with me, son,” he said.

So I walked with him and he started asking me how my kids were, how they were doing at school, how was my missus.

The next thing I knew I was on the plane. I was thinking ‘how the f*** did I get here?’

If he’d told me straight that I had to get on the plane, if he’d ordered me to get on, I wouldn’t have done it.

That evening, Sir Bobby came round to my room and brought Carver and Alan Shearer with him.

I thought they had come to gang up on me so I was ready to have a right go back.

But then Sir Bobby sat us all down and started blaming everything on John Carver and made him apologise to me.

Alan had to say how much he rated me, too. I could tell Alan was saying that through gritted teeth. It was killing him.

The next thing I know, I’m shaking everybody’s hand and we’re all friends.

Sir Bobby put me on the bench for the game the next evening, I came on and scored with practically my first touch and we won 3-0.

Sir Bobby had his own pre-match superstition which was to make sure he shook every player’s hand.

So before most games, we’d end up at the back of the tunnel together, having a chat about the opponents. He’d stare at their players.

“He’s shit scared of you already, that one, son,” he’d say.

Or it might be: “Get him on the turn today, son, and you’ll kill him.”

Or: “Look at him, son, he’s not even fit to be on the same pitch as you.”

I felt like I was the quickest player going, I felt strong, I felt invincible because of him.

He would talk to me like I was the best player in the world and I went out at St James’ Park feeling like I was going to play like the best player in the world.

I am 5ft 6 or 5ft 7ins tall but I am telling you this: when I put that kit on and I was standing in that tunnel with Bobby Robson, I felt like I was Didier Drogba.

Click here for Bellamy says some of Manchester City's Brazilians didn't give a s**t

And here for Bellamy's emotional reaction to pal Gary Speed's death

And here for "Mancini told me, 'Go home... for rest of the season'"

Click here for our first day's extracts from Bellamy's book - THAT golf-club bust-up with John Arne Riise, being threatened by Alan Shearer and the two sides of David Moyes.

GRAB YOUR COPYCraig Bellamy: GoodFella, written and adapted by Oliver Holt, RRP £18.99, is published today. Mirror readers can buy it for the discounted price of £15.99 from

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Craig Bellamy is donating all his proceeds to the Craig Bellamy Foundation - visit

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