How I Learned to Stop Being Jealous and Love Beckham

It's perhaps fitting that I should hear the news that David Beckham is seriously injured and unlikely to ever play again when I was in a state of grogginess looking at my worst after little sleep on a Sunday night, given how immaculate Beckham always looks. Beckham has always, and will always, be mine and many other boys of my age's idol, because of the way we've grown up through our childhood and into our teenage years in the same way that Beckham has grown through his footballing career. I don't remember France '98. But I do remember the furore that surrounded Beckham, and although it didn't quite hit home at the time, I now realise just how pivotal that sending-off was for football, for Beckham, and for me.

It didn't hit home that I'll most likely never see Beckham until about 11 o'clock, when I felt like running to Finland to give Becks a giant hug. Beckham has been my idol since I started watching football, and has only ever been briefly replaced by Darren Carter, Geoff Horsfield and Ashley Giles. But Beckham has always found a way back into my heart, like a homing pigeon, in a similar way to how he always found his niche in the England team, slotting into the right-midfield position regular as clockwork. When other players have come and gone, when the Michael Ricketts and Seth Johnsons of this world have had their one cap and left through the back door, Becks has been there, immovable, indestructible, incredible. But I should have seen it coming. Being loved by me is a bit like being interviewed by Martin Bashir, whose 'victims' include Michael Barrymore and Princess Diana. My 'victims' number Oasis (split up), Russell Brand (Sachs-gate) and Darren Carter (sold to West Brom). John Bishop and Craig Gardner, watch out...

It's not just the way Beckham played that drew me in, although I could sit and watch his free- kicks all day long. I remember spending hours in the garden, trying fruitlessly to 'Bend it like Beckham'. I identified with Becks because of his lack of pace, which he made up for in vision, and blinding ability to spot a pass. His elegance when he stepped up to strike a free-kick... mesmerising. But it's not just his footballing skills, which says a lot about how Beckham has changed football. It's the way he conducted himself on and off the field. He was an ambassador, and a role model. The only time after '98 in which Beckham appeared in the wrong was the unproven affair with Rebecca Loos. It's impossible, in hindsight, to think Loos was telling the truth when you consider how much of a family man Becks is. There are no examples of fracas outside nightclubs, or missing drugs tests. The truth is, Beckham was 'golden', in every sense of the word.

There will be those that criticise Becks for his endless sponsorship deals. But let's put all our ludicrous 'holier than thou' attitudes to one side for a moment, and realise that every single one of us would do the same, given the opportunity. The fact is, nobody wants to play 'Lee Bowyer Soccer' on the Playstation, or wear 'Eau de Steve Mclaren'. There will also be those that claim he's just a showpony, with his endless changing hairstyles and designer suits. Just realise this. Beckham was cool. I wanted to copy him. Middle aged men wanted to copy him. Everyone wanted to copy him. He looked like a superstar, but he still retained the aura of a normal lad from Leytonstone, which very few superstars can do. I can only think of Robbie Williams in this category of superstar fame mixed with down-to-earth, all-round nice-guy attitude.

Reaching the end of this blog, I feel I've come full circle. I have felt quite emotional all day, none more so than whilst writing this blog. It's fitting, really, considering the emotion raised when one sees Beckham's finest moments replayed. Some of the things he did really are hairs on the back of the neck stuff. So 'thanks' Becks. 'Thanks' for that free-kick against Greece. 'Thanks' for that penalty against Argentina. And 'thanks' for living your journey through football with me, and with so many other lads my age.