Dwight Yorke - Born to Score

MACMILLAN

First published 2009 by Macmillan

This electronic edition published 2009 by Macmillan
a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-0-230-74721-0 in Adobe Reader format
ISBN 978-0-230-74720-3 in Adobe Digital Editions format
ISBN 978-0-230-74722-7 in Mobipocket format

Copyright Dwight Yorke 2009

The right of Dwight Yorke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The acknowledgements on page vi constitute an extension of this copyright page. You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

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For Harvey, so that he may know the truth,

and for Orlando, who already does.

All photographs are from the authors personal collection apart from the following:

Big Pictures: page 14 bottom, page 15 top

Debbie Bragg: page 16

Getty: page 4 bottom, page 5 top, page 8 top, page 9 middle & bottom, page 11, page 13 top

Mirrorpix: page 5 bottom, page 6, page 7 bottom, page 10 bottom, page 14 top

Press Association: page 2, page 3 bottom, page 4 top, page 7 top, page 8 middle & bottom, page 9 top, page 10 top

Offside: page 3 top, page 13 bottom

When I was in London there was always a good chance that youd find me in the Funky Buddha nightclub in Mayfair. Its the perfect weekend spot and the place to hang out with celebrities, actors and actresses. As a successful footballer with more than my fair share of headlines on and off the pitch, I valued discretion. That frequently meant sneaking in and out of the club through the back to avoid the constant attentions of the paparazzi out the front. Over time I became very good friends with Eddie, the owner, who would always look after me. He made sure his staff afforded me special attention.

A Tuesday night in June 2004 found me at my favourite London venue killing a few hours before going on holiday to Dubai the following day. The season was over thank God because it had been a bad one and I was leaving my copious troubles behind and flying off to catch up on some well-needed R & R. But before that, I was enjoying some downtime. Or so I thought. One of the mates I was hanging out with back then was Lennox Lewis and I could have done with him that night.

It was getting very, very late. I had had a few drinks and was feeling nice and loose. I went to the mens room where, strangely, the normal attendant was nowhere to be seen. There were just a couple of other guys there, strangers. I heard one of them speak to me but I didnt take much notice. Slowly his words began to cut through my thoughts.

Give me your watch, he said bluntly.

Youre having a laugh, mate, I thought to myself. Outwardly, I took no notice.

Im being serious. Give me your watch!

You got the wrong guy, I said. They hadnt of course. I was wearing a Franck Muller watch worth 45,000.

He repeated it a third time, this time putting his hand in his jacket, making the outline of a gun and prodding me in the side. Now I wasnt quite sure what he had in there a gun, a knife or just his hand. It was at that moment that the alarm bells started going off.

Sure I was scared but not beyond thinking. I looked at his pal who was standing guard at the door and ushering away anyone trying to get into the toilets. They were located at the bottom of maybe thirty or forty steps which I knew this pair would have to climb rapidly to reach the exit. Then they would have to get past the bouncers and leap over the barriers where, I figured, paparazzi would be waiting. They were going to have to be very fit to do that especially as I was planning on chasing them. Id had a few drinks, but with my running speed, I had every chance of catching them. I just had to get out into the open and away from this isolated setting.

So he took my watch and immediately starting running with his accomplice just as I predicted. I was right behind them. They were a couple of young dudes but I still knew I could make ground on them.

Up the stairs they bolted, knocking people out of the way, as I gave chase behind them shouting, He stole my watch, he stole my watch! But when I made it to the exit they were already jumping over the barriers to startled looks from everyone outside. When I came sprinting out of the club seconds later and shouted, Hes got my watch! everyone quickly worked out what was going down.

Its amazing what you do when you are wired.

The two robbers split, one runs left one runs right. I am only interested in the guy who has got my watch and thats the guy Im going to track. Hot on my heels were the security guards from the club, wanting to lend a hand, and the paparazzi guys sensing a scoop.

The guy must have run for five, maybe ten minutes but there was no way he was going to shake me off. Eventually, I recall him running into a dead end where some workmen had closed off the entrance to a Tube station because of maintenance work. With nowhere to go, everyone just pounced on him and I walked up to him saying, Hes got my watch. I just want my watch back.

The security men, who were now acting as arresting officers, recovered it and handed it to me. But man, I was angry. So angry. All these years, I have worked my butt off to buy that watch with money earned through my own hard graft. Who do you think you are? Do you think you can just walk up to me and take it? Without doing anything? All of that was rushing through my head.

And suddenly I found myself running up to him and drop-kicking this guy Cantona-style full in the chest. Everybody moved in to pull me away. Come on, man, thats enough, take it easy, I hear them saying to me. And I told them, Its OK, its OK. Ive finished. I just needed to do that.

And so they let go their grip of me. I was lying. I turned and smacked this kid a perfect right-hander on the jaw.

If I had been in a dodgy area, falling down drunk and wearing that watch... well, I would almost deserve to be mugged for arrogant stupidity. But I wasnt. I was in a very respectable place, minding my own business. It seemed to me that this guy, who had stolen something I had worked so hard for, represented all those people who did not understand what I had been through to make it to a position where I could buy a Franck Muller watch. This kid had shown complete contempt and disrespect for all I had done with my life and at that time it seemed there were many people treating me that way and it brought out in me a rage I did not think I possessed.

All the pain and frustration from recent times welled up in me. I had lost my shine, my trademark smile had down-turned like my career and my personal life was in tatters. And now they wanted to take my watch too?! All these feelings were fixed on this one kid who dared to take the little I had left: my self-respect and my hard-earned belongings.