David Beckham flew in from Los Angeles and was encouraged to glide off down memory lane, all the way from the obscurity of Chisinau, Moldova to the bright lights of Paris, France. En route, he took in an awful little trip in St Etienne, a bit of argy bargy and sweet revenge in Sapporo, a unique one-man show in Manchester and a couple of horror stories down Wembley Way.

And as he charted a road movie full of bumps and pot holes - "the highs have been extreme highs and the lows have been extreme lows," he said with unerring accuracy - you were reminded that if his new neighbours had tried to sell such a preposterous script about one athlete they'd have been laughed out of Hollywood.

They might, however, have liked their imagined climactic scene; that of the one-time matinee idol, long forgotten at some retirement home for ex-movie stars on Sunset Boulevard, suddenly being offered a last chance - by some gruff Italian impressario who secretly possesses a heart of gold - to make his country proud by earning the one missing Oscar of his career.

Chuck in a blubbing celebrity wife and kids, a few accordions and a cast of 80,000 Parisian extras and there wouldn't be a dry eye in the house. Except that this incorrigible showman, helplessly addicted to the spotlight as he is, won't buy into the widespread conviction that the winning of his 100th cap for England in the Stade de France here tomorrow night ought to be his farewell performance, a valedictory reward for his Rolls Royce service before a Bentley speeds in stage right.

Becks's last tango in Paris? No, he sees it as the first waltz on an exciting new road leading somewhere in the vicinity of Johannesburg around 2010.

Playing in his fourth World Cup finals at the age of 35? In truth, three years down the line it's easier to imagine him being the owner of an MLS franchise than still playing for one, let alone England.

Even now, the swift young guns like David Bentley, Shaun Wright-Phillips, Aaron Lennon and Theo Walcott are gathering by the right wing to sprint past the paceless one who's always going to keep finding it difficult to persuade Capello of his worth when turning out at Dallas's Pizza Hut Park or Dick's Sporting Goods Park, Colorado.

Yet the kids haven't skinned him yet and, amid all his reminiscing yesterday, one observation stood out. "I'm quite a stubborn person," noted Beckham almost apologetically.

That's right; forget the impossible fame and glamour and forget all the silly goldenballs glitz and the nonsense-strewn celebrity circus which surrounds him, the stuff he's nurtured pretty neatly himself. All this madness only ever happened because of the bloody-minded, workaholic streak in his day job which even now has Beckham dreaming new football dreams at 32.

Who, with any degree of confidence, would put that prospect of another World Cup finals appearance past him, even if the previous three were studies in considerable under-achievement? After all, this is a man everyone, himself included, had assumed to have won his last cap when Steve McClaren rang him 19 months ago with the message that he was surplus to requirements.

Not even the lowest lows in his England career - he felt they were the 1998 sending off against Argentina in St Etienne, the defeat by Germany in the last international at the old Wembley in 2000 and last year's new Wembley calamity against Croatia - could compare to his misery when that phonecall came.

"Deep down I hoped it wasn't the end, but deeper down I felt I wasn't going to get the chance to play for my country again," he said. "When I had that phonecall, I was shocked and I was hurt. That was probably the lowest point."

Yet he kept fighting until the call came again, just as he kept fighting at Real Madrid when Capello once cast him adrift brutally. At the Bernabeu, his sheer professionalism and hard work forced the Italian to recall him and Capello was eventually rewarded for his climbdown by Beckham playing a major role in helping him win the title.

That's why no one should underestimate just how significant Capello's selection of Beckham now is. Presuming he does give him access to the elite three-figure club - and if he doesn't, then he really will be seen to be football's answer to Michael Corleone - it won't be out of sentiment or because he's pandering to England's great obsession with Becks.

No, it will be because he has a first-hand understanding and appreciation of Beckham's qualities, whether it be just as one of the great dead-ball maestros, as a leader fuelled by inspirational pride or simply as a 110 per cent tryer.

David James could have told Capello that the bloke going through training so diligently in the snow at London Colney was no different to the bright-eyed boy who so impressed him when he first joined up with the squad in Moldova a dozen years ago.

"When he first came in, he'd spend hours practising those free kicks and doing annoying things like trying to hit the crossbar. After a while, though, you understand why the guy's so dedicated," said James. "I'd argue with anybody that he should already have won that 100th cap because there's no doubt he's one of the all-time great players. Not only that but he's a decent bloke too."

A decent footballing bloke? That in itself, as Sir Bobby Robson suggested at the weekend, makes Beckham worth saluting after a week when the indecent behaviour of Ashley Cole and Javier Mascherano poisoned the domestic game. You may not buy James's verdict on his place in the pantheon but you would have to have a heart of tungsten to want to deprive a stubborn cover boy of his Paris match.