This is the One: Sir Alex Ferguson: The Uncut Story of a Football Genius

by Daniel Taylor

  THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF THEIR LIVES

  19.11.05

  Charlton Athletic 1

  Manchester United 3

  And so the great Manchester United soap opera rumbles on, minus one of its most entertaining characters. Ferguson turns up at The Valley grinning broadly, signing autographs, ruffling a ballboy’s hair. He appears determined to make it clear that it is business as usual, even though it patently isn’t. He looks totally at ease and with an hour to kick-off, there is only one thing on his mind: finding somewhere to watch the horse racing. The Charlton manager, Alan Curbishley, lets him use his office. They have a glass of wine, and Curbishley finds his old friend ‘as happy as can be’.

  The world keeps turning, of course, and one view today (the cynical one) is that the team play as though a weight has been lifted from their shoulders. Van Nistelrooy scores twice, there is a first of the season for Smith and Ferguson tells MUTV it is their most impressive away performance of the season. Whether that has anything to do with Keane it is impossible to tell, but Ferguson’s theory seems to be that the other players should feel liberated by his expulsion.

  The logical step for Keane is to find new employers, and there will be no shortage of high-profile clubs wanting to take him on. The other option would be to retire from playing and try his hand at management, but it is unlikely he will go down that route just yet. Television crews have been camped outside his house in Hale Barns, a village for Mancs-done-good, on the edge of the city. They have followed him through the meadows as he walks Triggs, his golden Labrador. They have knocked on his door and they have been ordered off his land. Everyone is desperate to hear his side of the story but, as yet, he has refused to say anything.

  Ferguson has also adopted a policy of omerta. MUTV’s post-match questions are structured sympathetically to touch upon Keane only very briefly. Sky Sports are obligingly reluctant to press the issue and journalists waiting by the team coach are cold-shouldered.

  All Ferguson offers are bland fudges (‘we wished each other well … pleased to hear the fans pay tribute’). Then he is gone, joking with the bus driver, patting Queiroz affectionately on the back.

  GAME, SET AND MATCH

  21.11.05

  Villarreal are at Old Trafford tomorrow and we sit down for today’s press conference determined to get some proper answers. Pathetically, we even try to bribe one of the Spanish journalists to ask about Keane, employing the logic that Ferguson is more likely to entertain questions from a foreign reporter than from one of us. Our tactics are becoming increasingly desperate.

  We still haven’t heard anything from Keane, despite rumoured six-figure offers from the tabloids. He is still walking Triggs but, that apart, the only sighting has been at a chippie in Altrincham. Good luck to him. Under the transfer window regulations, he cannot register for another club until January anyway. He is entitled to a bit of mush in a tray.

  The supporters are grieving but Ferguson seems like he would be happy if Keane were temporarily airbrushed from the club’s history. He takes his seat, scanning the room, and the first question lands like a stick of dynamite round his toes.

  ‘Alex, can we ask you about Roy Keane’s departure?’

  The shutters go up immediately. ‘What has that got to do with the Villarreal game?’ he says, reminding us that it is a press conference to talk about the Champions League.

  ‘Alex, this is clearly a massive story. Could you please explain some of the reasons behind Roy’s departure?’

  His face is hard. ‘I’ve already given them.’

  Really? A proper explanation?

  ‘Well, that’s all you’re going to get from me … nice try, though.’

  Groans.

  Thirty-nine out of forty newspaper, television and radio reporters give up. One presses on. Surely, Alex, you would like to offer some thoughts? Surely you realise there are United fans waiting to hear from you?

  ‘I’m sure they are,’ he replies, and we know he isn’t going to buckle.

  He stares at us, we stare back.

  He stares harder.

  We lower our eyes. General Zod couldn’t beat Ferguson in a staring contest.

  Emergency action is required. The programme is sold in Manchester city centre the day before every game. So we drive in convoy to Deansgate, pick up a copy from the Evening News stand outside Kendals and turn to page four – Ferguson’s column.

  It is in his programme notes that Ferguson feels most at ease to get his message across without fear of a mischievous headline or a careless sub-editor twisting what he says. Surely, we assume, he will offer some explanation to the supporters. What else could he possibly write about?

  As you are well aware, Manchester United and Roy Keane have parted company, a decision we consider to be in the best interests of club and player. As I said at the time of the announcement, Roy has been a fantastic servant for Manchester United. The best midfield player in the world of his generation, he is already one of the great figures in our club’s illustrious history.

  Roy has been central to the success of the club in the last twelve years and everyone at Old Trafford wishes him well in the rest of his career and beyond. It’s always sad when a great player departs the scene of his triumphs but football doesn’t stand still and I know Roy will be the first to agree we must all focus now on tonight’s match as a crucial moment in our bid to reach the knockout stage of the UEFA Champions League.

  And that is it. That is all Keane merits. His life and times, his leadership, his longevity, his part in winning all those trophies, condensed into two measly paragraphs. No explanations, no reasoning, no promises of replacements. Just some cop-out line that ‘football doesn’t stand still’ and then he moves on.

  A HUMDRUM TOWN

  22.11.05

  Manchester United 0

  Villarreal 0

  Champions League, Group D

  The front cover of the new Red Issue fanzine depicts Ferguson next to Keane, with a speech bubble saying: ‘You shouldn’t be saying things like that about the players.’

  Keane’s reply is: ‘No – you should.’

  Mutiny is in the air. Before kick-off Ferguson accepts an award from UEFA for his ‘services to the Champions League’. There is a polite cheer when he steps on to the pitch but, within seconds, a smattering of boos and the first defiant chant of the evening.

  Keano! Keano! Keano!

  Too much can be read into a song. There are probably fans chanting Keane’s name solely as an act of gratitude for what he did for the club and to let him know, if he is watching on television, that he still has a place in their affections. Others, though, have less innocent motives for bellowing his name. It feels rebellious, their way of making it clear that they do not agree with what Ferguson has done and that they will not tolerate Keane being consigned to history.

  It is the theme of the evening. Everywhere you look there are shirts bearing Keane’s now-obsolete number sixteen. Irish tricolours flutter from the stalls on Sir Matt Busby Way. High up, in the old Scoreboard End, there is a banner carrying the words: ‘Keano, 1993–2005, Red Legend’.

  One Red Issue contributor writes:

  As much as we love Roy, and while many of us have genuinely come to despise Fergie, the boss should always be the boss. But once the dust has settled Keane will be forever remembered and adored, with the affection and respect of all Reds. As for Fergie, it’s too late. Too many errors of judgment, too many wrong decisions, too selfish and too greedy. Too bad, Alex. This latest balls-up will be added to the growing list of this old man’s mistakes.

  Emotions are dangerously high if there are now supporters claiming to ‘despise’ Ferguson. It seems very unfair – but we should not be totally surprised. The atmosphere surrounding the club has been poisonous all season, starting with the Glazers, going on to the Blackburn game and now Keane. The fans are angry and disillusioned, even those who have remained loyal to Ferguson, and with every bad result it gets worse. Ton
ight is another lousy performance, full of misplaced passes and lacking any sense of guile or creativity. The supporters drift away at the final whistle in the queasy knowledge that there is now a serious danger United won’t even make it through the qualifying stage.

  Champions League football after Christmas is something the fans assume they are buying into when they pay for their season tickets. But United have managed only one win and two goals in their opening five group games and it is playing havoc with the crowd’s nerves. To qualify now, United will have to go to Lisbon in their final group game and beat Benfica on their own ground, the famous Stadium of Light. A draw might just squeeze them through, depending on other results. But a defeat will feel like a plague of locusts is on its way to Old Trafford.

  PUNCH AND JUDY

  25.11.05

  The tone is set today from the moment Ferguson comes down the stairs at Carrington and orders everyone out of the pressroom except Dave Anderson from the Daily Mirror. Ferguson has a long and acrimonious history with the Mirror, going back to when Piers Morgan was editor and the newspaper was openly and aggressively anti-United. Morgan was sacked in 2004 but Ferguson is convinced the Mirror still have an agenda against the club. He has decided to ban them for a week to give them something to think about. Anderson gets the full hairdryer treatment and is ordered out with a message for his sports editor that the newspaper is risking a permanent ban.

  The door is swung open. Anderson shuffles out and we nervously make our way in. The door slams shut and Ferguson bursts into laughter. ‘Right, that’s one down – who’s next?’

  He is a bit cranky at the moment. He is worrying about the Benfica game and the way we are hyping it up as a make-or-break moment for the club’s season and, possibly, for Ferguson too. Some of the newspapers have started speculating that the Glazers will move him on at the end of the season if United fail to qualify. The Sun reckon Glasgow Rangers want him as their next manager.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he says. ‘Can we get that clear? I shouldn’t have to respond to this nonsense just because some idiot has written a stupid story.’

  The person he is calling an idiot is sat on the second row. ‘Actually, Alex, Rangers have confirmed that story is true.’

  ‘They have not. They’ve confirmed nothing.’

  ‘They confirmed it to reporters in Scotland.’

  ‘They did not.’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘I’m not lying.’

  ‘YOU’RE A LIAR!’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘I’m a liar? This time last week you told us Roy Keane would be staying, thirty minutes before announcing that he’d gone. Who was lying then?’

  This is possibly the most courageous thing any journalist has said to Ferguson in the last ten years.

  ‘YOU’RE STILL LYING! RANGERS HAVE NOT CONFIRMED THAT STORY TO ANYONE.’

  ‘Yes, they did.’

  ‘No, they didn’t – you wrote a story knowing fine well it wasn’t true.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘We could go on like this for hours.’

  Ferguson is semi-shouting, semi-laughing. ‘I’ll go on for as long as you want – it was a ridiculous story.’

  ‘It wasn’t ridiculous at all.’

  ‘Yes it was.’

  ‘No it wasn’t.’

  ‘Yes it was.’

  ‘No it wasn’t.’

  Everyone is laughing now.

  Diana Law: ‘Right, I think we’ll call it a day there. Thank you everyone.’

  LISBON

  6.12.05

  An early-morning flight to Lisbon and the press are out in force. Television cameras follow Ferguson through passport control at Manchester airport and he stops for a couple of interviews. He looks confident, really up for it, as he always is before a big game. He has been upbeat all week: ‘People outside the club must be loving this situation but we’ll get through, don’t worry about that. I’m not even thinking about failing to qualify.’

  When we thump down on the tarmac at Lisbon airport he has some good news. We had all assumed he would never do airport briefings again, but Diana Law comes over to say he has had a change of heart and that we should wait for him by the carousel. After a few minutes Ferguson strolls over, claps his hands together and smiles broadly.

  ‘Right lads, ready to do some work for once?’

  We take this as a minor breakthrough. But a flight carrying 300 supporters has landed at the same time and trying to get Ferguson by himself is hopeless. They spot us, mid-interview, and suddenly they are all around us, singing and cheering and snapping with cameraphones. Beery and boisterous. Shouting ‘Well done’ and ‘You tell them, Alex’ every time he says something positive. Then breaking into the old chant, arms in the air.

  Every single one of us loves Alex Ferguson

  Every single one of us loves Alex Ferguson

  These few minutes are an ordeal for Ferguson. They smother him, slap him on the back, shout how much they love him. When he tries to break free – the interview is impossible – there are so many of them that he has to fight his way through the scrum. They chant his name and try to carry him shoulder-high towards the exit, grabbing at his arms and legs. You would think this is a man who has just won the European Cup rather than someone on the verge of elimination.

  It is an outpouring of tribal emotion, genuinely good-natured, but it is interesting to see how he copes with it. He is smiling, trying his best to look happy and appreciative, but you do not need to know him well to see he just wants to collect his case and get out of there as quickly as he can. He doesn’t want to be jigged about, hoisted in the air and bounced up and down in an airport full of holidaymakers. Not at his age. He is bright red, looking about him for help, but none is forthcoming.

  He makes it to the exit and his first words are, ‘Jesus Christ!’

  The next time we see him he is sitting between Queiroz and Ronaldo behind a long table, in the ballroom of the team hotel, for his pre-match Champions League press conference. He has straightened his tie and smoothed down his hair. Once again he looks happy and relaxed, back in control. UEFA’s translator has phoned through to say he is stuck in rush-hour traffic and Queiroz, who speaks five languages, has volunteered to help out.

  Everything is very good-humoured. Ferguson responds to some harmless questions with equally harmless answers. He is bright and positive, and at one point he starts to tease Queiroz for not keeping up. Queiroz is very apologetic and a little embarrassed. Ronaldo is having a fit of giggles.

  Everything is ticking along. Then comes a moment that no journalist in that room will ever forget.

  Oliver Holt, the Daily Mirror’s award-winning chief sports writer, asks The Question. ‘Alex, if the team were not to get through, and we all hope that’s not the case, would it be valid to speculate about the ramifications for your own future?’

  Ferguson blinks, as if he can hardly believe what he has just heard. He tilts his head, squinting to make out where it has come from, working out how to respond. It is a question that goes against every rule he has put in place in his dealings with the press. A question that tramples over the Ferguson etiquette about what we should and should not ask.

  It feels like we are in that moment of a cowboy film when the wind is whistling and the tumbleweed blows past.

  ‘I’m not even going to respond to that,’ he says.

  But Holt carries on. ‘Is it not a legitimate question?’

  ‘Listen,’ says Ferguson, much more fiercely, ‘I’m here to talk about the game, not my future.’

  ‘But are the two not linked?’

  Ferguson’s mood can usually be gauged by the colour of his cheeks. Now he is flushed with anger. He changes the subject but is clearly distracted. He glares at Holt again. It is a glare
that reaches across the table, grabs Holt by the collar and suggests they take it outside, the old-fashioned way.

  GOODBYE TO ALL THAT

  7.12.05

  Benfica 2

  Manchester United 1

  Champions League, Group D

  Classical music is being played on MUTV. For the first time in ten years United have been eliminated from the Champions League before the knockout rounds. They are bottom of their group, which means there isn’t even an escape route to the UEFA Cup. By the standards of any top European club, it is failure. By United’s, it is cataclysmic.

  The inquest will be long and painful and we take care to look suitably morose as we file past Ferguson on the flight home. Our match reports are going to hurt him tomorrow. Football can be brutal sometimes, and victory over Chelsea is quickly forgotten in the context of a December exit from the Champions League. One of the fans’ websites is already running a feature entitled ‘Ten Reasons Why Fergie Must Go’, accompanied by a mock-up of his P45, bearing the signature of Malcolm Glazer.

  Sir Alex Ferguson sacked?

  It feels strange even typing those words. Strange and surreal. Yet it is very clear some supporters want Ferguson out, as long as there is a dignified way of doing it. There have already been headlines this week such as ‘End of the line?’ and ‘Fergie on the brink’. Glazer, like most multi-millionaires, has a reputation for being ruthlessly unsentimental and tonight has cost him a minimum £10 million in terms of the prize money and gate receipts that United will be missing out on. As a businessman, does he grin and bear it? Or does he make changes at the top?