Remembering Ryan Giggs On The 25th Anniversary of His League Debut

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports UK.

I suspect that most people find it hard to conceive of time existing before they were born. I know I do. Trying to comprehend a vast expanse of human history during which you simply did not exist is an extremely difficult task for the human mind – which, after all, is defined by consciousness. I can't get my head around.

In a similar way, I cannot conceive of a football universe without Ryan Giggs. I know that this time existed – I've seen the videos, read the books – but I can't truly comprehend it. How can I be expected to? Giggs has always been there.

This week marks the 25th anniversary of the Welshman's league debut for Manchester United. On 2 March 1991, the 17-year-old came on as a substitute against Everton, beginning an incredible career in which he won more honours than any other player in British football.

It's important to remember just how good Giggs was in his prime, and how effective he managed to remain long after it. He was a truly world-class player, possessing devastating pace, wonderful control, and an incredible left boot. He could make goals, he could score goals. When an opposition player walked on to the pitch with him they saw the symbol of Alex Ferguson's success at United made flesh; even in his autumn years, he'd have been unnerving simply because of what he had achieved.

I was four years old when Ferguson dispatched the gangly teenager on to the Old Trafford pitch. By the time I started to really understand football, Giggs was winning PFA Young Player of the Year, and United were Premier League champions. He was front and centre and has not left the stage since.

A dozen more titles followed over almost 1,000 appearances for the club, as well as a pair of Champions Leagues and innumerable other cups, awards and accolades. Upon finally retiring in 2014, aged 40, Giggs became assistant manager at United, keeping him on-stage as part of the weekly tragicomedy that is post-Ferguson Man United. He has simply never gone away.

Growing up in nineties Wales, Giggs was a colossal, if largely silent, figure. He was on the wall of our secondary school, next to some unclear message about the importance of 1. regular exercise and 2. being Welsh. I even remember a classmate crying when there were rumours Giggs would move to Inter (though back then, Manchester felt just as far away as Milan).

He was not a full-blown national hero for a couple of reasons – it was and is very difficult to warm to him, and perhaps more importantly he does not play rugby – but he was certainly a role model for our country. I had a certain respect, maybe even reverence, for our most gifted player.

Through all of this, I had always thought of Giggs as belonging to the very bland breed of human that is predisposed to a life in professional football: unbelievably talented on the pitch, monosyllabic and lacking charisma off it. Go and watch one of his interviews, then come back and tell me how much insight or unique perspective he provided. The answer is none. A writer penning a script for Doctors about a footballer suffering chronic knee injuries would come up with about the same. Giggs has gone toe-to-toe with Zidane, with Messi, with both Ronaldos, with Puyol and Maldini and Buffon – and yet he has precious little of interest to report. "Obviously it's an honour to go up against players of that quality, but we just try to play our own game."

Similarly, his private life appeared to be nothing to write home about. He seemed like one of those footballers whose existence away from the game was as exciting as the tone of his voice. We were vaguely aware that he had a wife and children, but no more so than you're aware that Paul Scholes or Phil Neville or the postman all have wives and children.

Obviously I didn't hold any of this against him. Scholes, Neville, the postman – they all have every right to be as dull or exciting as they like. And I was particularly willing to ignore it in Giggs' case, to see it as the simplicity that allowed him to so excel at his game. I wanted to like him. We're both Welsh, see.

Do you know who else is Welsh? Imogen Thomas.

I don't know if I was alone in completely misjudging Giggs' behaviour away from football; I can't imagine that's the case, but then I never canvassed opinion. Whatever others thought, I was suitably surprised when, in 2011, it was revealed that he had been leading one of football's most complex personal lives. It's not worth wading through it all again here – I honestly cant imagine anyone doesn't know – but suffice to say that Giggs did a number of things that a lot of us would consider morally unjustifiable, and repeatedly betrayed some of those closest to him over an extended period.

His father, Danny Wilson, felt this impacted on his position at United: "I don't see how the players can trust him after what he did to his brother," Wilson remarked, referring to Giggs' eight-year affair with his own sibling's wife. I don't think Wilson's assessment is necessarily true – footballers seem capable of simultaneously adhering to two moral codes, one that applies to the game and another for the rest of their lives. It's the same reason John Terry was able to have an affair with a teammate's partner, yet also be the absolute best man to captain Chelsea. Captain, Leader, Legend. There's no room for 'Immoral Arsehole' on that banner.

Should there be? Can we be expected to view footballers in isolation from their lives away from the pitch, or should what they get up to in their private lives colour the way we see them? I can't imagine any of us – save for the most sycophantic of United supporters – have looked at Giggs in quite the way since the revelations about his affairs. We can't help this. Like Ryan Giggs, we're only human.

There is a reason for this divergence into Giggs' private life in a piece that is supposed to be about his 25 years in the professional game. Combined with his ever-presence in the football culture I have known, he should be the player I understand the most. There should be some feeling of familiarity, of affection for what he achieved in his career, and the abilities he once possessed. At the very least, I should feel that I can grasp who he is.

And yet – despite the hundreds of post-match interviews and the Football Focus features and the salacious articles about flirty texts and long-running affairs – I feel we know nothing about Giggs. His life has been laid bare, yet he still feels like a stranger, no more familiar now than when he replaced an injured Denis Irwin against Everton a quarter of a century ago. When I spot him sat next to Van Gaal on the Old Trafford bench, I might as well be seeing his face for the first time. There is a flicker of recognition, as if he may be someone I briefly met on a night out once, then a realisation that I absolutely do not know this man.

Perhaps this is inevitable. There is simultaneously too much to understand and too little to help us make sense of it. Just as the human mind is not built to comprehend time prior to its own existence, nor can it begin to fathom Ryan Giggs.

@jim_weeks