Thrown in with Giggs and Beckham: how Manchester United tried to get Billy Kenny

“So this is the scouser ya been goin’ on aboot then …” My face turned Manchester United red. Scanning the room full of smiles and staring eyes, I identified the mystery Scottish voice as the man who’d just become the first player to score more than 20 league goals for the club since George Best in the 1960s. “Good answer,” replied Brian McClair after following up on my smile and nod by asking whether I supported Everton or Liverpool. “Ye’ll dee well ’ere laddie.”

Brian Kidd had just introduced me to the Man United first team by silencing the room to draw attention to my presence. “Lads, this is Billy from up the road,” he said. I was still starstruck from seeing all these famous faces as my chauffeur for the day, Eric Harrison, pulled up in the car park at The Cliff a few minutes earlier. Paul McGrath. Mark Hughes. Bryan Robson. Kevin Moran. Norman Whiteside. I ticked them all off in my head. Thank fuck I was developing an ear for everyday Glaswegian because after a bit of piss-taking from the first-teamers about being a scouser, I found myself standing in an office at the end of a short and narrow corridor, shaking hands with another one.

“This is ma boy, this is ma boy …” Alex Ferguson leapt up from his chair to give me a hug. Just like Dalglish at Liverpool, Ferguson made me feel special. I’ve no idea how he knew about it, but he inquired about my trip with Liverpool to Wembley for the cup final. Then he told me all about watching 20 minutes of me playing for Liverpool schoolboys against Salford after Eric Harrison had watched me a few times. After I told him how made up I was to be there, he ordered me to go out and enjoy myself. Which is exactly what happened.

The few dozen trialists all got split up and mixed in with the lads who had signed schoolboy forms already, all kitted out in gleaming Manchester United training kit. Brian Kidd told me I could keep the kit, which was sound. I already had my eye on it, so I didn’t need to risk making the wrong impression. Although there were kids from all over the show – Brazil, Argentina, Ghana – I struck up an instant rapport with a lad from Scotland.

Tommy Harrison is unforgettable. I think he was captain of Scotland schoolboys and came to United with a big reputation. We got on like a house on fire, trading nicknames. I confused him at first by shouting “rock on, Tommy” every time I saw him. We worked out that his diet of Scottish telly left him in the dark about the catchphrases of TV comics Cannon and Ball. Wee Jimmy Krankie was more his scene.

I looked Tommy up a few years back online and found he didn’t go on to make a long career at the peak of the game. For whatever reason, he turned down United and signed for Hearts. I think he played lower leagues in Scotland for a few clubs but back in 1988 I would have put serious money on him getting into the United first team. But there are a million and one ways to fall away. I just hope he’s happy and healthy whatever he’s doing today.

On the pitch, I recall getting put in centre-mid in all the games, a slight departure from my right-midfield role in the Liverpool schoolboys games and a bit of a surprise given that’s where they’d seen me in action. I loved it. Not just because it suited my restless, obsessive, compulsive nature. More headers, tackles, touches of the ball. Bang at the centre of things. There’s another big reason I liked it so much: Ryan Wilson. The name might not mean much to many readers. But once I explain that he later changed his surname to Giggs, it all makes sense. I’d played against him several times in fierce clashes with Salford schoolboys. We were direct rivals. The outcome of our ding-dong battle on the wing always decided the result. So I was made up to play in the same team as him for the first time during the trial.

I recognised a fair few lads there from Salford and Manchester schoolboys teams and enjoyed the buzz of playing with them all for a change. Despite the scouse-Manc thing, I got on well with all those lads.

The first few days of training were great. Me and Tommy settled into a nice routine, enjoying the intensity and quality of the games then filling our bellies with boss scran. At the start of the second week, we both noticed a crowd building near a pitch where younger kids played. As we wandered over, we felt a crackle of excitement as parents and coaches gathered on the sideline. One kid kept drawing gasps of astonishment from adults watching. Every pair of eyes seemed drawn to him. He didn’t say much, but I noticed what sounded like a cockney accent. Small, skinny, with spiky blond hair, he looked like a baby. But every time he got the ball he’d do something mad. His touch, technique, balance and range of passing were unreal. It turns out me and Tommy were getting our first glimpse of David Beckham.

He must have been about 12 or 13 but played like a seasoned professional. I could say exactly the same about my enemy/teammate Ryan Wilson, by the way. But they were very different players. Ryan was lightning quick and almost impossible to stop. Baby-faced Beckham was about stupidly good technique and total control of the football. I’m so pleased no one can ever try to claim that either of them failed to fulfil their huge potential. Mixing with exceptional young players in this environment did wonders for my self-belief.

But it wasn’t without problems. I recall feeling massively homesick in about week three. I’d not heard a scouse accent for weeks – apart from the shite ones when other lads tried to take the piss. I know it was only Manchester but it might as well have been Madagascar for all I cared. It just wasn’t home.

Brian and Eric knew I was struggling. Brian took me to his home for my tea one night. He fed me steak and chips, talked about my daa and told me just how perfect Man United would be for me to develop into a footballer. The attention to my welfare continued throughout the trial. In the final week, Eric pulled me aside to tell me “the boss” and all the staff were made up with me. So much so that they’d invited my daa over for the last day to talk about my future.

“The boss” and Brian Kidd greeted us like kings when we walked into his office. Ferguson told me how they had loads of great kids already signed up and that I was exactly what they needed in a central midfielder. He knew I was in demand. If I chose United, I’d be guaranteed “the security” of a three-year pro contract, he said. With those words, all the crippling insecurities seemed to disappear. I knew instantly that I had the ability to make it as a footballer.