Living Vicariously Through Your Hero
Gbadebo Adeyemi
The elation on the face of a kid, watching a player who would become his favourite player, playing for a team that he would become a die-hard fan of, wheeling away to celebrate his hat-trick goal from a free kick on his debut in the theatre of dreams, what a sight to behold. The kid was me, the team was Manchester United, the game was a champions league match versus Fenerbahce. The player? Wayne Rooney!
The exclamation mark was intentional. If you watched football in the early 2000’s, think of Wayne Rooney, close your eyes, clear your mind of any prejudices or biases, and let your ears hear in silence. Did you hear the commentator scream Rooney? What goal did you remember, the smash in Anger against Newcastle? The bicycle kick against City? The goal from the halfway line against West Ham? The scream of his name will never get old, at least never to me.
A man who was ahead of his time at such a young age, yet blended in so quickly like one of the veterans. He came in and epitomised everything Manchester United is about; energy, guile, speed, power, excitement, you name it. He not only had it but embodied it. Hindsight is 20/20 but spare a thought for a moment for a boy. Yes, a boy, at the age of 18, stepped up to play a Champions League match against Fenerbache with all eyes on him on his debut. Fenerbahce may not be a big team to most, but this is the champions league still; the tournament every young boy wants to play in, the stuff of dreams. Starting alongside club legends like Giggs, Gary Neville and Ruud Van Nistelrooy, never seemed to faze him, at least by his gameplay. His three goals that night served as a microcosm of the career he had ahead of him as a red devil.
The first was set up, surprisingly, by the ultimate goal poacher himself, RVN. Rooney calmly jogged through the middle while RVN cut in from the left. Rooney saw the space to run in behind the defenders and in an instant the energy activated and the jets in those legs were on overdrive. There was only going to be one result. That statement is true of so many goals he scored and created. See the space, run and finish. Too many examples: Bolton in 07 when he was entering the peak stage of his career; Arsenal in 14/15 towards the end. He did it time and time again. He made counter attacks look easy, he made defenders look lazy, he was simply unstoppable. Oh, lest I forget, the Rooney-RVN partnership was one for the ages. A true shame that it did not last longer.
The second, Rooney in his element. He received the ball from Giggs who was driving in from the left side, a simple shimmy to lose the defender, and he hit a shot straight down the goalkeeper’s left. When you think of players who can shoot, you think of John Arne Riise, Alan Smith and Papa Bouba Diop. God rest his soul. I do not think there is anyone who could shoot with as much anger as it seemed Rooney had in his right boot. Anger that surfaced against Newcastle in the 04/05 season where moments before the goal it seemed he was in a semi-heated discussion with the referee. Just as he moved away from the referee, the ball bounced up perfectly in front of him, and the shot that followed is one that no goalkeeper was ever going to catch. Players shoot in anger all the time, but the accuracy and precision on a full volley is something special, something unique, it’s Wayne Rooney.
The third, a free kick. Taking responsibility was something that wasn’t initially planned for him, at least from the outside looking in. Brash and ill tempered, it seemed like the wrong fit, but he grew into it. Taking a free kick is something he most likely would have practiced time and time again, but taking one on a debut at 18 in front of Manchester United’s fans at Old Trafford is not meant for everyone, just the special ones. Special he was, he took it without a dummy runner and planted it to the keepers right who had no chance. He was special enough to be given the captains arm band; he became the leader no one expected him to be. When the jets and power were no longer as potent as they used to be, he realised that and gave way for more attacking players to take over. He knew when the time was up, and unlike many others, he accepted it.
Was he perfect? Not by a country mile. He did get knocked out by Phil Bardsley in a kitchen once. He also threatened to move to Manchester City too. But in the eyes of a 10-year-old boy, sitting on a red couch, watching his dreams come true vicariously through an 18-year-old boy on TV, he was Perfect!
