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Wayne Rooney
My Story

Chapter One

Family Fun

I was nearly called Adrian. That was what my father wanted. A bit posh, I suppose, and doesn't quite sound like me. I wonder if I would have had a different personality if I'd gone through life with a different name? In the end, though, my mum talked my dad out of it.

His idea was to name me after Adrian Heath, one of the Everton stars, a little bloke, very quick and clever, who later went into coaching with Peter Reid, then manager at Sunderland. 1 was a big fan of his, but I don't think I would have fancied having the name Adrian.

So I was christened Wayne—after my dad. My mum insisted as she felt the first-born son should be named after the father. That was a tradition in her family.

The Rooney family, I suppose, must have come from Ireland, but I've no idea when or from where. It could well have been some time ago, because none of my relations in living memory came from the Emerald Isle. Someone is working on the family tree at the moment, so I'll let you know if they find anything of interest.

It wasn't in fact until I got to secondary school that I was aware I was probably of Irish descent. One of the teachers, when she was looking down the list of all the new boys, was commenting on the different surnames: 'You must be from a Scottish family, you must have some Welsh blood, you, Rooney, are obviously Irish . . . '

I came home and said to my dad: 'Are we Irish?' 'How do I know?' he replied. My dad has always been fairly laid back.

Within the family, he is always known as 'Big Wayne' while I am 'Little Wayne'. It annoyed mewhen I got to about 14, and shot up and became bigger than him he's only five feet six, two inches smaller than my mum, so it wasn't hard. But they still insisted I was Little Wayne and he was Big Wayne.

My dad was born on 1 June 1963, in Croxteth in Liverpool. His father, who worked for the Council as a labourer, had been born in Bootle but that's all I know. We called him Rick, so I suppose he must have been christened Richard, and he died when I was about ten. I don't know anything about his father, my great-grandfather, or where he came from. People in our family have never been very much interested in family trees.

My dad is one of eight children. He had four brothers and three sisters. They were all Roman Catholic, but not strict, and not regular church-goers, no more than we are.

He went to Croxteth Comprehensive School, and left at 16, without passing any exams. He became a butcher's boy for two years, until the shop closed, and later he worked in a youth club for a while before becoming a general labourer, mainly on building sites. He was often out of work so we didn't have a lot of money coming in when I was growing up. I didn't think I was missing out on anything, although we didn't have a car when I was very young. When we eventually did, they were always old bangers.

Dad was a great boxer. It ran in his family. Many of the Rooney clan were keen fighters and one of them ran a boxing club called St Theresa's. My dad weighed about ten stones in his boxing days—I won't tell you how much he weighs now or he'll thump me—but he boxed as a lightweight competing for Liverpool and then the North West Counties.

There's a photo of him being presented with a cup when he won a match against the Navy, boxing for the NW Counties. He also fought in a competition in Finland and won both gold and silver medals. His brothers Ritchie, John, Eugene and Alan won boxing cups as well, and for football, but I think my dad was the best of all of them and could have turned professional, so he says. There were people talking about it to him, but he couldn't be bothered. I don't think he fancied all the training and commitment it would have taken.

My mother was born Jeanette Morrey on 14 March 1967. Her family name is not of Irish descent but French, so they believe, but it goes back a long way and no-one knows its history. She was one of nine children -six boys and three girls—and they lived just a mile away from my dad's family, on the same council estate in Croxteth. Like my dad's family, they were Roman Catholic, but not what you would call strong churchgoers. And, like my family, they were Everton fanatics. On derby day, when Everton were playing Liverpool, they would decorate the front of their house with blue and white banners and posters.

My mother's dad, William Morrey, was a labourer, working for the Metal Box Company. At one time he'd been a semi-professional footballer with Southport. Mums brothers were also keen sportsmen. Her older brother, Billie, played for Marine, a good non-league club from Crosby, and later went out to Australia to play as a semi-professional for Green Gully in Melbourne. He stayed on when he stopped playing and is still living Down Under.

Another brother, Vincent, got a schoolboy Under-15 cap for England, although just the one. When the Morreys decorated their house in Everton colours for big games, the brothers would also display all their cups and medals in the front window.

My mum was good at sports. She was keen on running, netball and rounders, and represented her school. She was asked to enter for national trials, so she always used to tell me, but she never did—couldn't be bothered, I suppose.

She left school at 16, with no certificates, but got on a Youth Training scheme, and went on a year's course to learn typing. She had hoped to get a job in an office, but none came up and so she was out of work.