Former England international Paul Gascoigne writes, looking back on his extraordinary career, anecdotes with world stars and how the 1990 World Cup changed his life forever.
Gascoigne's autobiography
As a world-class player, my life has been full of surprises, the most famous of which was Vinnie Jones grabbing my private parts during Newcastle's match against Wimbledon in 1988. I'm happy to say that Vinnie and I eventually became good friends and we still go fishing together. But I must admit that the attack was completely unexpected.
I thought no one saw it because all the attention was on the free kick which had nothing to do with us, but the photographers took a great shot.
People still ask: "Did he really grab your balls?" All I can say is: "Are you kidding me? Didn't you see the look on my face? I was screaming!"
Looking back, my life has been a surprise in a way, but nothing surprised me more than the phone call I received during my second season at Lazio. I joined this Italian team in 1992.
One day, I was training hard on the training ground in Rome. Coach Dino Zoff pulled me aside and said that someone very important had called me.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Pope," he said.
"Holy shit," I thought, "no one is more important than the Pope."
I walked into Zoff's office and picked up the phone. "Pope, are you okay?" I asked.
I don’t think he knew what I was talking about, but he made it clear that he wanted to see me. It turns out that Pope John Paul II was a goalkeeper in Poland as a child and met the Irish team led by Jack Charlton during the 1990 World Cup in Italy.
When it came time to visit the Vatican, I was five minutes late because of a training overtime and missed the meeting with the Pope. But at least my mom, dad, and sister Anna, who live with me, got to see him. When I finally arrived, his cardinal presented me with a large gold medal. I feel extremely honored.
I grew up on a terraced street in Gateshead, just across the river from St James' Park, home of Newcastle United. Even as a kid, I was an arrogant bastard.
Newcastle gave me my first professional contract when I was only 18 years old and I had been an apprentice there for two years.
In those early days, I had no doubt that I would be a huge success, and I was proven right. No matter what happened in life, I never lost that early belief in my own gifts. To this day, I still believe that there is no one better than me in football - that I am the best in the world.
But sometimes, when I face some football superstars, I still get overwhelmed with excitement.
In the 1985/86 season, when Manchester United came to St. James' Park, my idol Bryan Robson scored a penalty to help them beat us 4-2. I couldn't hide my admiration. As he ran back into the center circle for the restart, I told him: "Brian, what a great penalty!"
I quickly became the hottest player in football, wanted by every club in the country, despite my silly antics off the pitch.
My partner in crime was often my best friend Jimmy Gardner, whom I nicknamed "Jimmy the Belly" because he was the same height as me but about 30 stone heavier than me.
The first time I got in trouble with the police was when Jimmy convinced me to drive some girls home in my Mini, even though I didn't have my driver's license at the time. I ended up knocking over a guy who was crossing the street. I stopped the car, rushed over, and saw that he was still moving. But then I panicked and drove off. I was definitely not thinking clearly at the time and I was also scared of getting into trouble with Newcastle United. I knew I shouldn't have done it, but I took a snooker cue and smashed my Chelsea window to pretend it was someone else's car. But this didn't work when the police found me.
Jimmy and I went to court over this matter. We were fined and had points on our driver's license, even though I didn't have a driver's license at the time. But the worst part was that I got a scolding from Newcastle United chairman Gordon McKeague.
"If something like this happens again, get out." He told me. But it was difficult for them to sack me, especially with club legend Jackie Milburn raving about me on TV.
"I think I haven't seen a kid as good as this guy in about 35 years, and I couldn't believe his skill," he said. "He had it all, everything. He stood out. No one could stop him, he was the best in the world."
When I heard those words, I couldn't believe it. I just said "Wow". I couldn't believe that someone as special as Jackie could think so highly of me.
In September 1988, when I had moved to Tottenham, I made my first appearance for the England team in a friendly match against Denmark. I scored my first goal for the national team in April 1989, helping us beat Albania 5-0 at Wembley.
The fans went home singing my name and the commentators called me a future star, but England manager Bobby Robson did not share their enthusiasm because I was so eager to impress that I completely forgot about his tactical instructions and chased the ball like a schoolboy on the playground.
Fortunately, I performed well and assisted Chris Waddle to score the fourth goal, and then I also scored in the penalty area.
Bowe berated me after the game and told the media we needed two balls - "one for Gascoigne and one for the rest of the team." But he spoke with a smile in his eyes and called me "a precocious and rare talent," so I knew deep down that he was actually enjoying my performance..
Being in the England squad meant everything to me and I was over the moon when I was selected for the 1990 World Cup squad in Italy.
I was the main player throughout the tournament, and I felt like a duck in water on the big stage. Those famous superstars didn't scare me at all. When England played the Netherlands, I pulled midfielder Ruud Gullit's dreadlocks and asked defender Ronald Koeman how much he earned.
They couldn't believe it - this stupid Geordie didn't care at all about offending a superstar, but that's me. More importantly, I'm the best player on the field and I know it.
My problem is that I can never relax, especially before a big game, and I hate being alone, even for five minutes. It was so bad during the World Cup that the players lined up shifts and took turns spending half an hour with me. I'd play tennis with Chris Waddle, Gary Lineker would take me out on the pedal boats and then I'd play a game of table tennis with Peter Beardsley.
By the time we played Germany in the semifinals, I felt like I was having so much fun playing with my best friends that, at some point, I guess I realized that life couldn't get any better than this. That's probably why, in the semi-final against Germany, when I received a yellow card for a perceived foul on defender Thomas Berthold, I exploded with emotion.
I had already received a yellow card against Belgium earlier in that tournament, so that meant that if the team made it to the final, I would be unavailable due to suspension.
I was standing on the pitch, heartbroken, the crowd roaring, and Gary Lineker put his hand gently on my arm. I turned away, too sad to speak.
My lower lip is trembling and I just can't control it. I started crying but I managed to pull myself together for the rest of the game, only for us to go out on penalties and at that moment tears welled up in my eyes again.
Despite the ending, I will always regard the 1990 World Cup as one of the happiest periods of my life. Not just football, but the feeling of being in a foreign country and laughing with all my friends. What I didn't realize at the time was that my life would change forever.
I wasn't expecting what a warm welcome we got when we landed in Luton, considering we hadn't even reached the final. But when we arrived, there were about 300,000 fans there, and they were all chanting: "Gazza! Gazza! Gazza!" We jumped on a tour bus and were cheering us on in the streets of Luton - it was an unparalleled experience.
Little did I know that the image of me crying would be replayed over and over in England and that I would capture the hearts of the nation.
I remember going on holiday to Barbados shortly after the World Cup and looking at some of the cottages in Bridgetown in awe. People living inside scrawled "Gaza!" and "We love Gaza!" on the walls.
When I got home, the public swarmed me, I was mobbed in all the bars, I was given free champagne, and the money started rolling in. I have been asked to endorse a variety of merchandise including lunch boxes, rugs, T-shirts and keychains.
I opened the store, earning up to £15,000 for just 20 minutes there, and filmed a number of commercials including for McDonald's, Walkers Crisps and Adidas. But there's a common theme - no matter what ad it is, the producers want me to burst into tears.
I don't care, because these rewards are very generous. There was so much interest in me that my mom and Anna started a fan club to sell merchandise like Gazza pins and deal with the overwhelming amount of fan mail I received.
Girls would send personal items that they had worn, but that was too much for my mom. A guy sent a letter and she opened it and read it. He wrote, "I know where you live."
My mom called me and said, "Son, I can't do this anymore." I couldn't blame her.
The amount of mail they have to deal with is simply astronomical - there are always two or three black garbage bags full of mail waiting to be sorted next to the table.
One of the great joys of Gaza Fever, and the wealth it brings, is that it allows me to bombard my family with gifts, and the more generous the better. I’ve bought them all kinds of stuff over the years, including jewelry, designer clothes, bikes for the kids—I even bought my dad a boat, an RV, and God knows how many cars.
My dad was obsessed with cars, I think I bought him about 82 in total. Three times a year - Father's Day, his birthday and Christmas - I get a new bill. His last car before his death in 2018 was a BMW worth £75,000.
I was shocked when the bill arrived.
"This is my Father's Day gift." He told me.
"Oh, my God." I said, but I didn't really mind. I just wanted to help him. He had done so much for me.
The amazing fame I gained after the World Cup also made women turn to me. I would see newspaper headlines that read "My night of passion with Gazza!" and girls would talk about how great I was in bed and give me a ten out of ten.
"I've never seen that girl in my life." I thought to myself, but it was really hard to mind when I was portrayed in such a positive light.