I’ve never really been a big testimonial person. I like charity football matches, don’t get me wrong, but it always felt a little… tainted, I suppose, knowing that the money made from a footballer’s testimonial was pretty much going straight back into his pocket (as if he really needed the cash anyway). I started to look at it differently when it became more common for a player to donate all proceeds to charity instead, and that’s when I started taking part. I went to my first testimonial, that of Paul Scholes, in 2011, and then Rio’s in 2013.
When it was announced earlier this year that Michael Carrick would be having a testimonial of his own, I burst into tears. I’m still not entirely sure why. The tears came with a flurry of emotions and feelings.
One was validation, I guess? It was sticking the proverbial two fingers up at the people who’d spent most of Carrick’s United career slating him, whether it was for his “sideways passing”, poor goal return, or the lack of Keane-ness about him, even though it’s been stated time and time again by him, by Sir Alex, by other fans, that he wasn’t bought to be another Keane. The only similarity Carrick bears to his predecessor is the shirt number. So yeah, I guess I felt validated, vindicated.
Then I became a little overwhelmed. My favourite footballer in the world, a quiet, unassuming man, was going to have a whole day dedicated to him, celebrating him and only him. It’s no more than he deserves, but I still couldn’t quite believe it.
Then I felt proud. Very few United players ever reach the stage where they’re granted a testimonial. That only ever happens to the best, the most special, the most worthy. We’ve had some wonderfully, mind bogglingly talented footballers over the years who have each contributed to the history of this club in their own ways, no matter how big or small, but only a handful have been handed the honour of a testimonial. That’s when you know your contribution really has made a difference, it hasn’t gone unnoticed, and you’re being rewarded for your commitment. I remember feeling so proud I could burst.
Lastly, I felt sad. Carrick’s current contract was due to expire in the summer and an extension hadn’t been announced. This was the first time in his career where I felt he might actually leave, be it through retirement or for another club. I felt reassured when he said he would probably retire if he wasn’t offered a new deal because he couldn’t see himself playing for another club in England, but I didn’t want him to play for another club *anywhere*. He was *ours*.
I remember exactly where I was when I received the email from United to buy tickets for Carrick’s testimonial. I was in a hot tub in the Forest of Dean. I squawked, jumped out and ran inside the lodge without another word. Jack, confused as hell, shouted to ask what was going on and all I could scream back was, “Michael Carrick!” to which he replied, “WHERE?!” A few minutes later, he found me curled up on the sofa, the United ticket page loading up on my iPad, crying. I just could not stop crying.
Of all the footballing talent in the world, I suppose Carrick is a bit of an odd choice to call my favourite. A lot of people, mostly his detractors, have asked why. Why choose slow, boring, ‘master of the sideways pass’ Michael Carrick, when there are two certain players in La Liga scoring 50 goals a season for fun? Why choose over-the-hill, plain old Michael Carrick, when there are lots of exciting prospects in England and all around Europe? Why Michael Carrick? And I guess there’s not a cookie-cutter answer to that. I didn’t ‘pick’ him to be different, to be a hipster, to be ~individual~.
Back in 2006, before I was ever on Twitter, on Facebook, on Tumblr, I was just a 14 year-old girl insanely in love with Manchester United. I’d had my fair share of favourite players – who hasn't? – and they were the usual suspects: Giggs, Scholes, van Nistelrooy, Cantona. When you add Carrick into the mix, I suppose it does look a bit strange because he’s not necessarily thought of as being of that ‘ilk’. He’s not a flashy, 20+ goal a season player. He doesn’t fly into crunching tackles. He doesn’t scream and shout on a football pitch or demand respect from his team mates. He’s quiet, understated, goes about his business in his own way. He’s not there to be put into a box. He thinks respect is there to be earnt. All he’s ever cared about is being trusted by his team mates and his manager. He’s different, and if there’s one thing about me, it’s that I love embracing ‘different’.
Fast forward 11 years, and five Premier League titles, a Champions League winner’s medal (should’ve been two), an FA Cup and a host of other trophies later, here we are, having had a few days to reflect on what was a really special occasion on Sunday.
This was a testimonial for a man who has never sought the limelight, and even on his big day, his speech centred around the people closest to him: his parents, his former managers, his team mates. He acknowledged the fans for turning up. His final thank yous were to his wife, his two children and Sir Alex Ferguson, arguably the four most important people to have accompanied him on his journey, both on and off the pitch.
He took time out to address the recent terror attacks, to welcome the 300 members of the emergency services (one of whom is a friend of mine) who had saved so many lives in Manchester, to lay wreaths as a symbol of respect for the victims. He spoke about the Michael Carrick Foundation and how its aim is to provide local children – in both Manchester and Newcastle – with safe, sufficient, free sporting facilities for them to use, because he relied so heavily on them when growing up. He included his children in every possible aspect of his special day. They took part in the warm-ups with the players, they walked out of the tunnel with him, and accompanied him on his lap of honour at full-time. He named his brother in the match day squad, and brought him on so he could fulfil a dream of playing alongside legends of the game.
On a day where he was supposed to be the centre of attention, Michael Carrick lay all the focus on other people. Quite fitting, really, when you think of his nature and style as a footballer.
He looked around Old Trafford in pure disbelief at the turnout as though he felt he almost didn’t quite deserve it. Again, it shows his character. He has never taken his place at United for granted. Yet 70,000 people had walked through the turnstiles to take part in his special day, to show thanks and support in their own way. It was so surreal, gazing up at the top of tier 3, thinking to myself, “We don’t even get this many people for some cup games.” 14 year-old me, as staunch and passionate a Carrick supporter as I was, could never, not even in my wildest dreams, have imagined that 11 years later, we’d be here, him standing just across from me, being honoured by our football club, while I held a match day programme with his face and name on the cover, on every page, from front to back. I stood there, clapping until my hands were sore with this stupid smile on my face like, “Kid, we did it. We made it. Just look at you.”
I’m going to end this post now because I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes again. I just felt the need to get all of my feelings down, to properly express just how much Sunday 4th June 2017 meant to me, and how much the man at the centre of it means to me too.
I guess what I’m trying to say is: appreciate Michael Carrick. You really have no idea what we’ll be missing until he’s gone. He is special beyond words.
