BELIEVING HE’LL WIN IS PART OF HIS MAGIC
His 26 major trophies should have provided the biggest clue but the true depth of sir Alex Ferguson’s worth to Manchester United has become clear only since hhe retired.
Ferguson built the modern United piece by piece over two decades and more and only he knew how he did it. The genius, theh structure and the method was w all locked inside his mind. When he finally ceded to the wishes of wife Cathy and walked away in 2013, he took most of it with w him.
At some really big clubs, the manager is just a piece of something bigger. That was not Ferguson at United. The 76-year-old built the club in his own energetic and irascible imagem and when he retired it disappeared. d
As one executive said during the t troubled tenure of Ferguson’s successor, David Moyes: ‘WeW thought Alex would leave a blueprint for us to build on but theh truth is that there wasn’t one. o it was all in his head.’
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the end of his time at Old Trafford Ferguson had lost some judgment in the transfer market but he had lost absolutely none of his ability to manage, none of hhis knack of squeezing the very bbest from people.
it is this that sits Ferguson naturally alongside greats such as Jock stein, Brian Clough and Bob Paisley. Had Ferguson not been leading footballers to glories they could never have imagined,m he would have been ddoing it somewhere else.
From that point of view, his final title was one of his most remarkable. The 2012-13 United team was a modest one but, desperate to avenge the lastminute loss of the Premier League crown to Manchester City the previous season, Ferguson drove them to victory by an 11-point margin. That was the essence of Ferguson.
There is a myth surrounding the scot’s management that points to intimidation. There was some of that but it was always built on something more subtle. He knew players would not run through walls for a man they were scared of but they would if they were driven by respect and common purpose.
Ferguson’s style was built on a human touch. When the midfielder Darren Fletcher had to take time out with chronic illness, Ferguson told him: ‘it’s hard to walk off these training pitches now but just imagine what it will feel like when you walk back on to them again.’
A few years later, i interviewed Fletcher and we talked about his mentor. Afterwards, he followed me to the car and asked if he could check over what i wrote. ‘i am not scared of upsetting sir Alex,’ he said. ‘i just don’t want to let him down.’
Not everybody has liked Ferguson. Generally, in his eyes, you were either with him or you weren’t. No shades of grey. But if he liked you, he would not forget you.
Out- of- work managers — young and old — would receive letters, phone calls and even scouting work to sustain them. One manager embroiled in scandal a few years ago sat at home wondering if he would ever hold his head up again. One afternoon there was a knock on the door. Ferguson.
‘Get your chin up and get out there,’ he said. ‘ This is something that you have done. A mistake. Don’t let it define who you are.’
He could be cruel at times. sometimes he knew it and other times he didn’t. it was not always a good look but the stresses of the game weighed more heavily on him than many would have known.
seven years ago Ferguson called me to Carrington to discuss something i had written. What began as an argument soon morphed into a conversation about the pitfalls of modern management.
Ferguson revealed he hated ‘being put on the spot by you lot’ in front of TV cameras at Friday press conferences that had grown into something much bigger and more theatrical than the small gatherings at the old Cliff training ground in the 1980s.
He spoke also about the growing influence of social media in his dressing room and the steps he had taken to keep it in check. it was early 2011 and Twitter was in its infancy but Ferguson was ahead of the curve. ‘i have told them they can use it,’ he said, ‘but if they tweet about this club they are in trouble.’
Ferguson has always been a sociable man but management can be lonely and that part never suited him.
When United’s Carrington training ground was being remodelled seven or eight years ago, he found himself housed in a portable cabin for a while. He loved it simply because people had to walk past his door.
‘i can call them in and talk and they can’t escape,’ he laughed.
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changed the moment Ferguson stood down. To some it will never be the same. Time-served supporters lament the passing of a style of play and a cussedness that once ran through the dressing room. staff, meanwhile, just miss the man they still call ‘The Boss’.
Ferguson always thought he was right and could be dreadfully stubborn. He could walk into a Football Writers’ lunch and refuse to talk to half the room because of a slight — perceived or real — that he could not shake from his head.
But this was part of the gift, part of the magic. There was rarely any doubt with his management and that ran to the soul of his teams, the great ones and the merely very good ones.
He faced every battle convinced he would win it. The world of football hopes that spirit can sustain him now.