Peter Crouch on BBC Breakfast TV

He’s told this story many a time..

I’m 24 years old, I’ve just been signed by the reigning European champions, and it’s gone to my head. Specifically, I’ve bought myself an Aston Martin, and I’m driving round Hale Barns in Manchester with the windows down, sunglasses on, elbow resting on the sill, steering with two fingers, speed garage blasting out of the stereo.

I don’t even like speed garage. I’m certainly not sure I like this car. A little voice deep down keeps telling me that an Aston Martin really isn’t me, but a louder voice is telling me that as an England international playing up front for Liverpool the old rules no longer apply. Big voice: Peter, you’ve never looked cooler. Little voice: Peter, you’re a monstrous bell-end. And so I’m cruising around, trying to convince myself I look like Steve McQueen or Daniel Craig, ignoring the old Peter telling me I’ve become everything I swore I wouldn’t, and I pull up at a set of traffic lights and there’s Roy Keane in his car right next to me.

Ah, there’s a man who understands my vibe. Fantastic footballer, winner of multiple league titles and FA Cups and League Cups and the Champions League, captain and heartbeat of Manchester United through the most successful period in their history. I give him a nod. I give him a wink. I may even point my index finger at him and make a clicking sound at the same time. All of it saying, you and me, eh, Roy? Same game, same level. In it together. Rivals yet friends who just haven’t met before. Alright, Roy?

He looks back at me. Even through my shades I cannot miss the disgust on his face. It’s like he’s looking at something which has just curled out of the backside of his dog Triggs. He shakes his head and stares back at the road ahead. I’m frozen in my pose, grin slipping off my face, and when the lights change and he drives off without a backward glance I’m left there with the handbrake on and an awful realisation: oh my God, I’ve become one of those twats.

I sold the Aston Martin the next day. A £25,000 hit on it, and I considered myself lucky. All because of Roy Keane – Roy, as my absent conscience, Roy as a modern-day footballer’s spiritual guide.
 
As others have said, his podcast is really funny, refreshingly down to earth as well. He comes across as someone who knows how lucky he has been in life and doesn’t take any of it for granted. It’s also obvious how much he idolises our manager!
 
imager said:
He just comes across as a normal guy, you know he’d be decent company for a pint and a gab, also a far better player than he gets credit for.
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Like Emile Heskey, England seemed to do far better with him in the team
 
He comes across as a really sound guy that knows how his cards have been dealt.
quote-had-i-not-become-a-footballer-i-think-i-would-have-been-a-virgin-peter-crouch-67-26-77.jpg

Anyone that can take the piss out of themselves is alright by me.
 
Gary said:
It's a new one, out tomorrow apparently.
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Do you know what it's called? Going on holiday in a few weeks, so I fancy reading this.

Had a quick look in Amazon and he seems to have two books, both published this year, "How to be a footballer" and "I, Robot, How to be a footballer 2".

Is it one of these or something different?
 
He’s a very likeable big chap is Crouch.
Must love a trip to the hall of mirrors at the funfair to see how he’d look normal!
 
Gringo said:
He’s told this story many a time..

I’m 24 years old, I’ve just been signed by the reigning European champions, and it’s gone to my head. Specifically, I’ve bought myself an Aston Martin, and I’m driving round Hale Barns in Manchester with the windows down, sunglasses on, elbow resting on the sill, steering with two fingers, speed garage blasting out of the stereo.

I don’t even like speed garage. I’m certainly not sure I like this car. A little voice deep down keeps telling me that an Aston Martin really isn’t me, but a louder voice is telling me that as an England international playing up front for Liverpool the old rules no longer apply. Big voice: Peter, you’ve never looked cooler. Little voice: Peter, you’re a monstrous bell-end. And so I’m cruising around, trying to convince myself I look like Steve McQueen or Daniel Craig, ignoring the old Peter telling me I’ve become everything I swore I wouldn’t, and I pull up at a set of traffic lights and there’s Roy Keane in his car right next to me.

Ah, there’s a man who understands my vibe. Fantastic footballer, winner of multiple league titles and FA Cups and League Cups and the Champions League, captain and heartbeat of Manchester United through the most successful period in their history. I give him a nod. I give him a wink. I may even point my index finger at him and make a clicking sound at the same time. All of it saying, you and me, eh, Roy? Same game, same level. In it together. Rivals yet friends who just haven’t met before. Alright, Roy?

He looks back at me. Even through my shades I cannot miss the disgust on his face. It’s like he’s looking at something which has just curled out of the backside of his dog Triggs. He shakes his head and stares back at the road ahead. I’m frozen in my pose, grin slipping off my face, and when the lights change and he drives off without a backward glance I’m left there with the handbrake on and an awful realisation: oh my God, I’ve become one of those twats.

I sold the Aston Martin the next day. A £25,000 hit on it, and I considered myself lucky. All because of Roy Keane – Roy, as my absent conscience, Roy as a modern-day footballer’s spiritual guide.
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This makes me want to buy his book. The boy can write! And he's funny too.
 
In the middle of his book just now,good read,not afraid to laugh at himself,some good story lines-old away days,cans of Foster’s on team bus,followed by stop off for fish and chips!fast forward to recent times chef on team bus,and fish dish is sushi.,doesn’t seem to say many negatives about Roy keane??
 
Gringo said:
He’s told this story many a time..

I’m 24 years old, I’ve just been signed by the reigning European champions, and it’s gone to my head. Specifically, I’ve bought myself an Aston Martin, and I’m driving round Hale Barns in Manchester with the windows down, sunglasses on, elbow resting on the sill, steering with two fingers, speed garage blasting out of the stereo.

I don’t even like speed garage. I’m certainly not sure I like this car. A little voice deep down keeps telling me that an Aston Martin really isn’t me, but a louder voice is telling me that as an England international playing up front for Liverpool the old rules no longer apply. Big voice: Peter, you’ve never looked cooler. Little voice: Peter, you’re a monstrous bell-end. And so I’m cruising around, trying to convince myself I look like Steve McQueen or Daniel Craig, ignoring the old Peter telling me I’ve become everything I swore I wouldn’t, and I pull up at a set of traffic lights and there’s Roy Keane in his car right next to me.

Ah, there’s a man who understands my vibe. Fantastic footballer, winner of multiple league titles and FA Cups and League Cups and the Champions League, captain and heartbeat of Manchester United through the most successful period in their history. I give him a nod. I give him a wink. I may even point my index finger at him and make a clicking sound at the same time. All of it saying, you and me, eh, Roy? Same game, same level. In it together. Rivals yet friends who just haven’t met before. Alright, Roy?

He looks back at me. Even through my shades I cannot miss the disgust on his face. It’s like he’s looking at something which has just curled out of the backside of his dog Triggs. He shakes his head and stares back at the road ahead. I’m frozen in my pose, grin slipping off my face, and when the lights change and he drives off without a backward glance I’m left there with the handbrake on and an awful realisation: oh my God, I’ve become one of those twats.

I sold the Aston Martin the next day. A £25,000 hit on it, and I considered myself lucky. All because of Roy Keane – Roy, as my absent conscience, Roy as a modern-day footballer’s spiritual guide.
Click to expand...

Haha that's brilliant
 
bluebells272 said:
Do you know what it's called? Going on holiday in a few weeks, so I fancy reading this.

Had a quick look in Amazon and he seems to have two books, both published this year, "How to be a footballer" and "I, Robot, How to be a footballer 2".

Is it one of these or something different?
Click to expand...
They’re both his, the second one comes out tomorrow. His first book is absolutely brilliant, read it while on holiday last year and was genuinely laughing out loud at points next to the pool, got some funny looks off others.
 
Met him at Clapham Station last November-time. He was laughing away with the train staff at the platform and signed a few autographs/took pictures. I said hello, he asked how I was, if I lived in London, etc. Top guy.

Funnily, he was wearing an odd beanie when I saw him and on his podcast a week or so later he spoke about how 'he just looks like Crouch in a hat so can't really disguise himself'.
 
Laidlaw Loyal said:
Met him at Clapham Station last November-time. He was laughing away with the train staff at the platform and signed a few autographs/took pictures. I said hello, he asked how I was, if I lived in London, etc. Top guy.

Funnily, he was wearing an odd beanie when I saw him and on his podcast a week or so later he spoke about how 'he just looks like Crouch in a hat so can't really disguise himself'.
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Cool story bro

sorry, always wanted to say that :D
 
On another note, his wife has been squeezing kids out on a regular basis and she’s still as fit as butcher’s dog. :drool:
 
Gringo said:
He’s told this story many a time..

I’m 24 years old, I’ve just been signed by the reigning European champions, and it’s gone to my head. Specifically, I’ve bought myself an Aston Martin, and I’m driving round Hale Barns in Manchester with the windows down, sunglasses on, elbow resting on the sill, steering with two fingers, speed garage blasting out of the stereo.

I don’t even like speed garage. I’m certainly not sure I like this car. A little voice deep down keeps telling me that an Aston Martin really isn’t me, but a louder voice is telling me that as an England international playing up front for Liverpool the old rules no longer apply. Big voice: Peter, you’ve never looked cooler. Little voice: Peter, you’re a monstrous bell-end. And so I’m cruising around, trying to convince myself I look like Steve McQueen or Daniel Craig, ignoring the old Peter telling me I’ve become everything I swore I wouldn’t, and I pull up at a set of traffic lights and there’s Roy Keane in his car right next to me.

Ah, there’s a man who understands my vibe. Fantastic footballer, winner of multiple league titles and FA Cups and League Cups and the Champions League, captain and heartbeat of Manchester United through the most successful period in their history. I give him a nod. I give him a wink. I may even point my index finger at him and make a clicking sound at the same time. All of it saying, you and me, eh, Roy? Same game, same level. In it together. Rivals yet friends who just haven’t met before. Alright, Roy?

He looks back at me. Even through my shades I cannot miss the disgust on his face. It’s like he’s looking at something which has just curled out of the backside of his dog Triggs. He shakes his head and stares back at the road ahead. I’m frozen in my pose, grin slipping off my face, and when the lights change and he drives off without a backward glance I’m left there with the handbrake on and an awful realisation: oh my God, I’ve become one of those twats.

I sold the Aston Martin the next day. A £25,000 hit on it, and I considered myself lucky. All because of Roy Keane – Roy, as my absent conscience, Roy as a modern-day footballer’s spiritual guide.
Click to expand...

Thats great :D
 
The big man is really down to earth. Always taking the piss out himself. He does a phone ad and almost every time it switched back to him, he has a different shirt on, taking a poke at how many clubs he has played for.
 
Superb player and his first book is excellent. The chapter on Gerrard would even convince the doubters of all doubters that he is the man to take us back where we belong :))
 
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