Jim White,
Sir Alex Ferguson’s brain haemorrhage has sparked universal outpourings of shock and best wishes
The reaction to the news that Sir Alex Ferguson had suffered a brain haemorrhage and, after emergency surgery, is in a serious condition in hospital said everything about the man. It was not just that it was almost universally respectful, generous and considerate.
It was the note of surprise in the comments made on radio, television and social media. No one saw this coming. No-one had the remotest inkling. This, after all, is the man who seemed indestructible, unassailable, unbreakable, a permanent fixture on our footballing landscape. This is the man who appeared to be if not immortal, then so robust in character and physical presence that he seemed very likely to outflank the lot of us.
He was last seen in public only a week ago, cheerfully handing Arsene Wenger a memento on his last visit to Old Trafford as Arsenal manager. It was a grand gesture, a mark of class, a recognition that, whatever their immediate rivalry, Ferguson was full of fellow feeling for the departing Arsenal boss. He knew better than anybody what Wenger had given English football over the past two decades. As Ferguson grinned and chivvied his old foe, the jokes doing the rounds were immediate: that was the only bit of silverware he had ever willingly handed over to Wenger. He would have enjoyed that line. Indeed, he probably used it himself even as he delivered the token of esteem.
But that was not the only time we had seen him latterly. Despite no longer working in the game, his face was an almost permanent fixture of commentary and analysis. He didn’t even need to say anything to make his presence felt. There he would be, always picked out by the television cameras up in the directors’ box, his expression as a useful visual guide to the current condition of his club.
In victory his smile would be reckoned an endorsement for his successors. In defeat, his glower would stand as a chastening critique of Manchester United’s direction since his retirement. Even on Friday, when his absence from United’s game with Brighton was due, we have subsequently learned, to the catastrophic deterioration in his health, his assumed reaction to his former team’s performance was widely discussed. One prominent United fan tweeted that had Ferguson still been in charge of his club, there would not have been a tea room in Brighton still in possession of a full set of cups, such would have been his fury at the team’s tame surrender. Hundreds replied agreeing with such an analysis.
The fact is, such is Ferguson’s prominence within the game that five years after he departed from the dugout to spend more time exploring his extensive hinterland, what he says and thinks still matter. He remains, even while no longer in day-to-day connection, the colossus of football, the giant of management who redefined its meaning. Everything – every success, every failure, every achievement, every disappointment – is measured against what he achieved. Nobody can do anything without being compared to him. The shadow he still casts is inescapable.
Those lucky enough to have met Ferguson agree his presence is extraordinary. He doesn’t just enter into a room, he illuminates it, radiating charm, bonhomie, enormous kindness. Funny, engaged, interested in others, in private he is quite different from the snappy, surly, steely determinist of public image.
But that public image was not an invention: that is as much Ferguson as the delightful personal companion. If the rest of us have half-a-dozen characteristics, Ferguson has 20, some of them apparently wholly contradictory. He can be as duplicitous, tricky and misleading as he can be warm, straightforward and decent. That was what made him such a remarkable football manager: he combined intelligence, astuteness, acumen with a cunning second to none.
Plus he had an ability to adapt and learn. Over his 25 years at the top of his game, he was a past master at learning new tricks. He never rested on his laurels, never assumed he knew everything. There was no hint of complacency about him. He built not one but three great teams, he faced down the challenge of dozens of pretenders to his throne. His competitiveness never once relented. For sure his success can be measured in silverware – those 13 titles, the two European Cups, the five FA Cups and four League Cups. But more pertinently it can be measured in his standing, his meaning, his reach. Not just in football, but in British public life there has not been a character of his scale in our lifetime.
Which is why we have all been so taken aback by his sudden descent into ill-health. He is such a giant that any hint of weakness suggests the whole edifice is crumbling. Get well soon Sir Alex. The game needs you.