From The New Statesman:
‘If I poured scorn, five weeks ago, on the rumoured £5 million being paid to Wayne Rooney, scoffing at the idea of a 20-year-old doing five books, suggesting he wasn't exactly Mozart or Shakespeare, then I was being patronising and silly as, of course, he is a young man of staggering genius and deserves 50 books, nay, a whole library.
Here's what's helped to change my mind. I got this call from HarperCollins, from its head of sports books, a person I'd never met, asking if I'd like to come along to meet
My first thought was, huh, they don't know who I am; at my age and stature, I am long past taking part in a beauty parade, the very cheek. Then my second thought was, yeah, I'll be there. Off I went. Waiting in the atrium at HarperCollins's Hammersmith HQ, I wondered if a certain distinguished sports journalist might be on the shortlist. I was jolly rude to him some weeks ago and heard he had vowed to duff me up.
I sat around for some time as
Wayne himself was wearing a hoodie, trackie bottoms and trainers. He looked very young — tell us something new, Hunt — about two inches taller than I expected, calm, polite, relaxed, without any hint of arrogance. I decided to ask him three questions. Why did he want to do the book? If he'd said for the money, or my agent thinks it's a good idea, I would have been worried. “So much has been written about me,” he replied. “I want to tell my own side of it now . . . ”
On the bus home, I thought, well, if I don't get the gig, I have met him. Seems a nice lad. Two days later, the call came. I start this week. At the World Cup, I'll speak to him every day. Getting the gen. Can't wait.'