David Beckham was five yards short of the halfway line when he picked up the pass. He took a couple of strides, glanced up at the distant goalkeeper, then swung his right leg. Some observers compared it to young Tiger Woods lofting a nine-iron. Others described the teasing trajectory as the ball swirled and swooped.
The view from the Selhurst Park Press Box being what it is, we scribblers could offer no useful opinion. We saw the ball leave his boot and disappear behind the roof. We saw the Wimbledon keeper Neil Sullivan begin to scramble urgently backwards. We heard the crowd roar; first derisively, then with an undertone of wonder. Two seconds later we saw the ball drop back into the sunlight, dip beneath the crossbar and slide down the net without bouncing.
Beckham lifted both arms as his exultant colleagues clambered upon his shoulders. A smile spread slowly, almost disbelievingly, across that unfamiliar face. It was the opening day of the 1996-97 season. He was just 21 years old and slightly in awe of his own, extravagant talent.
A few months earlier, Beckham had played a full part in Manchester United’s FA Cup-Premier League double, yet many Beckham watchers insist the goal at Selhurst Park first brought him to national attention. That attention has remained unwavering these past 17 years.
Even his most implacable critics would concede that he has worn rather well. His essential talents have remained largely unimpaired.
He retains the breadth of vision, the appreciation of space and time and the exquisite range of passing which have served him so well. He has lost little of his pace, since he had precious little to lose, and the competitive instinct still burns as brightly as it did when he went to work for some of Sir Alex Ferguson’s finest teams. But his legs have grown heavier and they no longer devour the yards with the same ease and assurance of old. It was time to take a decision, and that decision was inevitable.
The tributes which attended his retirement have, by and large, been as generous as his career deserved. The statistics ensure him a kind judgment from history; all those titles in all those countries, all those England caps, all those occasions on which he captained his country. Only the best could compile such a CV and only the best could be feted by the aristocracy of the modern game; from Manchester United to Real Madrid and from Milan to Paris St-Germain.
Final fling: Beckham is thrown in the air at the end of PSG's final home game Just champion: Beckham waves to the PSG crowdAnd yet, as ever where Beckham is concerned, there was an edge to some career assessments. There were the patent absurdities, such as Chris Waddle’s vindictive little diatribe: ‘You can go down a list of players from the Premier League or the Seventies or Eighties, whatever you want to do. I’ll be honest, Beckham probably wouldn’t be in the first 1,000.’
So, 115 caps, twice runner-up as World Player of the Year and in Waddle’s world he does not make the first 1,000. If that appraisal were even remotely correct, then an awful lot of brilliantly successful managers and coaches have made calamitous misjudgments of Beckham’s ability.
‘He said the right things, he sold shirts, he put money in the tills wherever he went,’ added Waddle, a man who has rarely been mistaken for one of the game’s intellectuals.
But quite apart from such bovine malice, we heard a good deal about Beckham the brand, the money-making machine, the all-purpose celeb, the PR confection.
At odds: Chris Waddle said Beckham would not make the top 1,000 players to play in the Premier LeagueAs if none of these roles could conceivably co-exist with his calling as a professional footballer; as if any of them would have come to pass without the initial impetus of a rare football talent. Beckham himself has never doubted his priority: ‘I just want people to see me as a hard-working footballer,’ he told The Mail on Sunday columnist, and his former United and England colleague, Gary Neville. ‘Someone that’s passionate about the game.’
That sense of passion came through in his reflections on retirement: ‘I love the game so much. I just feel that … I don’t know. It’s the right time. I believe it’s the right time. But I’ll always feel that I can do more, that’s the problem.’
On top of his game: Beckham played a key role in United's treble winning side in 1999Which is precisely how the real pros react when their body is telling them the party is over but their mind cannot quite believe it. And Beckham was a real pro. Of course there have been more naturally gifted players and one of them, Paul Scholes, also retired last week.
But when it came to working at his game, pushing the personal boundaries, putting in the unsung, unseen hours to hone his technique and increase his effectiveness, then Beckham will stand with the best.
Scholes said it himself the other day: ‘From the start you knew the quality he had and the professionalism.’ To be called a professional by Paul Scholes is tribute indeed.
Part of the team: Beckham was one of Fergie's Fledglings who came through in 1992 along with Ryan Giggs, Nicky Butt, Gary Neville, Phil Neville and Paul ScholesFor Beckham never stumbled into stardom. Nobody awarded him a free pass to the best things that the game can offer. When you look at the other youngsters who came through at Old Trafford in the early Nineties — Ryan Giggs, Nicky Butt, Scholes, the Nevilles — you appreciate the talent and character required to survive and prosper in such company. To sustain that level of excellence for the next two decades requires abnormal dedication.
And, despite being endlessly patronised and mercilessly mocked by many who ought to know better, the kid born in Leytonstone made himself into something like the player of his dreams.
Low point: Beckham was sent off against Argentina during France 98He won a whole series of important trophies, he materially influenced the greatest games.
Sometimes he made miserable mistakes; I well recall the groan of pure anguish which arose in St Etienne in the World Cup summer of 1998 when, goaded by an Argentine opponent, he kicked out peevishly and was sent off. England’s World Cup aspirations followed him to the dressing room.
But more often than not, he delivered his early promise. He set standards of performance and application which were beyond all but the best and the brightest of his generation.
Right to the end, he remained a perversely inviting target for those who would deny his qualities and trivialise his virtues. But the kid who scored a preposterous goal from halfway all those years ago ultimately delivered all our hopes and expectations.
He was a genuine player, was David Beckham. How we shall miss him.
More... PSG 3 Brest 1: Captain Beckham breaks down in tears after helping Ibrahimovic and Co to final win before hanging up his boots Beckham: I realised it was time to give up when Messi ran straight past me... Call him Goaldenballs! Sportsmail recalls retiring Beckham's 10 greatest strikes
