I had a dream that all the major clubs in Europe wanted to sign Carrick. For some reason, I was up in the Chelsea boardroom and one of the board members told me that they were planning to get Shevchenko to talk to Carrick, to convince him to come to Chelsea. Anyway, I left the boardroom, went down some stairs and outside, where I saw Shevchenko talking to Mickey. Shevchenko looked at me, looking slightly anxious, and stuttered "I'd... I'd better go." Left alone with Mickey, I confronted him:
"So it's true then? You're leaving us?"
"Probably."
I wrapped my arms around Carrick in what I knew now would be our final embrace. "Oh Mikey (I don't know why I called him Mikey)!" I cried. "Where are you going?"
"Man U," he replied, as I released him from my loving grip. "Chelsea are offering more money, but they're just not a real football club."
"At least you're doing it for the right reasons, then." He nodded, and there was a moment's silence. I'd known in my heart for some time that this moment had been coming, and truth be told, I'd anticipated that it would be harder than it was, but the expression on Kakarrick's* face, that smile, completely devoid of any happiness, belied the difficulty he'd had in making the decision to leave White Hart Lane, and for me, that was enough. I gazed into his eyes. "Well, take care of yourself," I said, turning away.
"Adam!" he called, as I walked off. My heart stopped for a moment as I took a sharp intake of breath and looked back over my shoulder. Had he changed his mind? Had my tender arms or my longing stare convinced him that there was no other club for him than Spurs? "Be good, kid." But with Kakarrick no longer by my side, that wasn't a promise I could make.
*Kakarrick = nickname given to Michael Carrick to allude to his Brazilian-like level of skill, much like "Roonaldo" for Wayne Rooney
