In 1960, Di Stéfano was a man at the peak of his powers. He was one of the four players who had appeared in all five previous finals for Real, as well as winning multiple league titles. Born in 1926 in Argentina, he had become an iconic, patriarchal presence at the club, renowned the world over as a phenomenal goalscorer with power, touch and vision. The consensus was that he was one of the greatest footballers to grace the game. Di Stéfano played a central role in the evolution of Real, dapper in their pristine white kit, into a club of vast international appeal. Though his glittering playing career ended in 1966, and he then served other clubs, his emotional bond was always with the Bernabéu.
Nearly quarter of a century later, the great man would be sitting in the opposite dug-out to Ferguson for the final of the 1983 European Cup Winners’ Cup in Gothenburg. By then, Di Stéfano had been a manager for sixteen years in Argentina and Spain. While Ferguson was still turning out for Falkirk in 1971, Di Stéfano was winning La Liga with Valencia. In 1980, he won the Cup Winners’ Cup when Valencia beat Arsenal in a penalty shoot-out.
He had returned to Real at a particularly fallow period in their history. The club was still emerging from the era of Santiago Bernabéu, the formidable president whose reign lasted nearly quarter of a century. Since his death in 1978, aged eighty-two, Real’s dominance had waned and they would fail to win the league for six years between 1980 and 1986. In the 1982–83 season when they faced Aberdeen, they played arch-rivals Barcelona in five league and cup games and could not win any of them. More to the point, the club who were nonpareil in the early years of European competition had not won a trophy on the Continent since their sixth European Cup in 1966. Like the man he was about to come up against, Di Stéfano also had something to prove.
When Ferguson took his seat in the Bernabéu for Real’s semi-final against Austria Vienna on 20 April, he was able to watch his opponents with a cool, dispassionate eye. Real won the second leg 3–1 for a 5–3 aggregate, but it had been level at 1–1 on the night with twenty minutes left. One more Austrian goal would have swung the tie on its head. Ferguson saw flaws and weaknesses in the Real team; they were certainly not as strong as Liverpool, Ipswich, Hamburg or Bayern Munich. Later that evening he phoned Dick Donald and said: ‘I think we’re a certainty.’ The old chairman was not quite ready for that; he wanted Aberdeen to be heading for Sweden as underdogs. He told Ferguson firmly: ‘For God’s sake don’t tell anybody.’
Someone else had reached pretty much the same conclusion, though. Vienna’s coach Václav Halama walked into the Bernabéu press room after the match and refused to indulge the Madrid media with the platitudes they expected. ‘I would like to wish Real Madrid well with the final,’ said Halama. ‘But I think Aberdeen will win. Player for player they are the better side, and much stronger.’ What Ferguson did say publicly about Aberdeen’s chances was less bullish than his private words to his chairman, but not by much. ‘We have reached the final of this tournament by being brave and we’ll have to be brave in Gothenburg. Remember, Celtic won the European Cup in Lisbon in 1967 by showing a bit of bravado all through that tournament and that is something my players must keep telling themselves. I haven’t seen anything from Real Madrid yet which should frighten us.’
Aberdeen’s directors knew they were in completely uncharted territory. History warned there was a danger the occasion would prove too big for the club, and not simply on the pitch. They needed help in the boardroom, and employed a Glasgow-based sports promotion agency to handle the commercial side and create a revenue pool to maximise the players’ earning potential. ‘There was little to be done commercially because it was a short time-frame from semi-final to final,’ said Alan Ferguson, the sports marketing expert who travelled to Sweden with the club. He was known as ‘Fingers’ because his connections were so broad he seemed to have a digit in every pie, and he had negotiated the Scotland players’ off-field deals at the 1982 World Cup finals. But Aberdeen was different. ‘Regrettably, the very annoying attitude of Corporate UK was that it was a wee team from a wee town up in the north of Scotland. Who cares? My view was it was a remarkable achievement and especially to be meeting Real Madrid managed by Di Stéfano. So we said, “Let’s enjoy it”.’
The window of opportunity was short, so planning had to be swift. The players recorded a cup final single–‘The European Song’–and suddenly the media was asked to pay for exclusive interviews and photographs. Alex Ferguson had already announced that his senior players would be attending fewer social functions until after the game. Satisfying the sudden national and even international media interest in the club would take priority for the meantime. Gothenburg had the compelling narrative of a mighty footballing superpower being challenged by an unknown club from a supposed backwater. Ferguson knew the game tapped into the David versus Goliath archetype. ‘There will be millions of people seeing Aberdeen for the first time through their televisions,’ he said. ‘Winning a major European trophy would give the club the kind of publicity money can’t buy. And we want it.’
The weekend after the semi-finals Di Stéfano journeyed to Pittodrie and watched Aberdeen beat Celtic 1–0. After qualifying for the final, Aberdeen played five league games, winning four and drawing the other. The unbeaten run meant they could still win the league on the final day even though Dundee United and Celtic were first and second. Di Stéfano went home impressed by Aberdeen’s aggression, strength, vigour and resilience. The old man was shrewd enough to recognise that Real Madrid would have a game on their hands. He described Mark McGhee as ‘a born fighter, unpolished, rough and tough, like the classic British tank’. His classy Dutch centre-half Johnny Metgod had watched them, too: ‘Aberdeen are like lions. They hunt their opponents through every minute of a match. Strachan is the eyes of their team, their intelligence.’
At the same time, Ferguson and his players had cast a spell over Scotland. The Daily Record said: ‘It’s football’s biggest night for years.’ Aberdeen estimated there would be around 14,000 supporters making the 530-mile trip from north-east Scotland to south-west Sweden. Almost fifty flights were booked including some leaving from Inverness and the Scottish islands. Airport staff handed out rosettes and pennants and many of the flight crews wore red and white. The duty free shop sold a month’s worth of alcohol in three days. Almost 500 supporters travelled on the passenger ferry St Clair, leaving Aberdeen at 1pm the day before the match and arriving in Gothenburg twenty-six hours later. Over the course of the round trip they put away 14,000 cans of lager. Several trawlers were commandeered by fans who worked in the fishing industry. Another couple of fans took a week to make the trip by motorbike. Aberdeen versus Real Madrid became one of Scotland’s lead news items. In the North-East the Press & Journal and the Evening Express, the two local newspapers, devoted page after page to the final. Doug Rougvie remembered: ‘Aberdeen was bubbling. Everywhere you looked it was “Cup Winners’ Cup”. It was just a fantastic time for the whole city. We were verging on stardom. Everyone knew it had been eleven years since a Scottish team had won anything in Europe.’
For the official club flight the plane had its nose painted with the phrase ‘The Flying Dons’. Everyone officially connected to the club, from reserves, ground staff, office workers, players’ wives and girlfriends, to friends and family, was invited on one of the flights. Politicians and Scottish football figureheads were on the guest list; most importantly for Ferguson, it included his managerial mentor, Jock Stein. It was impossible to miss the sense of fun and anticipation. Willie Miller’s wife, Claire, secretly organised a singing telegram girl who turned up at the airport departure lounge dressed in Aberdeen kit, stockings and suspenders to give the players a good luck message. Ferguson had given the wives and girlfriends a spoof itinerary: the plane would depart at 4am, and they were to bring their own sleeping bag and a knife, fork and spoon as accommodation would be in dormitories. It was all part of a concerted attempt to do as much as possible to maintain a relaxed atmosphere around the players. If
Ferguson, Archie Knox, Teddy Scott and the rest could remain calm, there was less likelihood of the team being spooked by the enormity of the occasion. But Ferguson also called the ladies in for a meeting and urged them to do whatever they could to ensure their men had no domestic stress to contend with until the final was out of the way. If any of them had any issues they were to come directly to him. And that included Dougie Bell’s pregnant wife.
On the way to a game against Dundee the players were given their first sight of Real Madrid when Ferguson slipped a tape of their recent game against Barcelona into the bus’s video machine. Rougvie said: ‘It was so boring I fell asleep halfway through…’ Ferguson might not have minded such a display of indifference from his men. He was wary of them being intimidated by the name, the very aura, of Real Madrid, and remained studiously unmoved when discussing them. Stuart Kennedy said: ‘Usually you could be playing Inverurie Locos and he’d build them up as if they were Brazil. He never, ever said, “This is an easy game today, boys”. But he had watched Real and–inwardly, without expressing it to us–I think he felt, “We’ll win this game, we’ve got better players than them, and we’ve got more to offer”. He got the balance right between letting you know you were up against a hard team, but always that he still felt you could beat them.’
There was no saturation coverage of overseas football in the 1980s. In fact full, live coverage was restricted to very few fixtures each season: Scotland international games, occasionally one of the club’s major European ties, and the cup finals. Fans knew far more about Real Madrid’s past than their present. The same knowledge deficit applied to the Aberdeen players. ‘It wasn’t as if Real Madrid were on the telly every week in those days,’ said Eric Black. ‘You didn’t know their team inside out. You knew them as bigger names, but not as you would know Barcelona or Real Madrid these days. So we needed a little dossier. But with Fergie it was more about ensuring we didn’t get overawed by the Real Madrid badge or the white strips. He didn’t talk them up too much. They were good at this, they weren’t so good at that, this is how we can win the game. He tried to calm it down a bit.’
Mark McGhee was impressed by Ferguson’s clear determination to puncture any sense of awe his players might have about Real Madrid. ‘I don’t ever remember having a feeling of even knowing who we were playing,’ McGhee said. ‘It was all played down. Maybe it was just me, but I’m sure he was aware and played a part in that. Fergie was incredible. If he watched a team like Argeş Piteşti once he would come back and talk to you about their players as if they were as familiar as Ayr United or Partick Thistle. Maybe he was making it up, but he’d say, “The central midfielder’s left-sided, he’s weak on the turn”, or whatever. We’d be going, “How the fuck does he know that?” It was as if he could say, “The striker’s got five children but he’s a bad father”. Eh? What? He’d claim to know all that! But he genuinely was thorough. He always had the knowledge.’
Despite the lack of television coverage, there was no mystery about Real Madrid, nor any shortage of information on them. Their key men were German midfielder Uli Stielike, Spanish international left-back Antonio Camacho and forwards Juanito and Carlos Santillana. Stielike, compact and hard, had won multiple titles in Germany and Spain, lifted a Uefa Cup and faced Liverpool in a European Cup final. He had even played in the 1982 World Cup final. Juanito was a squat, dribbling winger, temperamental and exciting. Santillana was a Real veteran who led the line for the Spanish national team. Though not tall, he was good enough in the air to be a major threat to Alex McLeish and Willie Miller. It was not a vintage Real side, but not a weak one either. Losing to Valencia on the final day of the league season meant they finished one point behind champions Athletic Bilbao. Di Stéfano told the Spanish media that meant beating Aberdeen had become ‘doubly important’. They lost fewer La Liga games than any other club that season, and they won fifteen of seventeen league matches at the Bernabéu. Just before the final they beat Gijón 6–0 in the first leg of the Copa del Rey semi-final. Ferguson was still sure he had the men to deal with them even if Kennedy was out and, cruelly, Bell had failed a fitness test two days before the flight to Sweden.
Ferguson’s confidence was buoyed with the discovery that Real Madrid players were taking ten penalties each during their training session on the eve of the game. Real Madrid were evens with the bookmakers and Aberdeen 2–1, but Di Stéfano was evidently expecting a difficult night. The Dons manager did not carry the same sense of awe he had twenty-three years before. ‘We are dealing with the present Real players, not the side who last won a European trophy seventeen years ago. Spanish football is not totally convincing at the highest levels. Real’s back four are not as disciplined or as talented as Bayern Munich’s. And Santillana as a penalty box player isn’t in the same class as Rummenigge. I doubt if Stielike is fully fit after being out injured for five weeks. We will soon find out when he’s had Neil Simpson breathing down on him. There is no sign of excitement [for me] although that will come. No doubt I’ll be reaching for the Valium nearer the time.’
Real Madrid would be taking only around 3,000 supporters to the final, but that number was a misleading sign of weakness. Fans travelling in big numbers to away games has never been a part of Spanish football culture; support in Spain is intense and local. At the second leg of Real’s semi-final against Austria Vienna 75,000 flooded into the Bernabéu to see if their club would get through to meet Aberdeen. And on the night of the final itself, the Plaze de Cibeles, the focal point of Madrid where Real fans congregate to celebrate their great triumphs, would be primed for a long-awaited party.
Venues for the European finals were not chosen years in advance back then, as they are now. It was only when the quarter-finalists were known that Uefa announced the showpiece would be in Gothenburg’s Ullevi Stadium, a distinctive ground with an undulating, clam-like roof. With a capacity of 52,000, one potential problem was removed right away: there would be more than enough tickets to satisfy demand. The place was familiar to Ferguson. In 1964 he had played his first European game there when Dunfermline faced Örgryte in the Fairs Cup. Aberdeen had chosen to stay in a complex fifteen minutes’ drive to the north of the city in the Fars Hatt Hotel. In ‘Doric’, the Aberdeenshire dialect, ‘far’s ’at’ translates as ‘where’s that?’ The coincidence amused Ferguson and his players. He felt the secluded location, beside a river and woodland, was more appropriate than the faded grandeur of the city centre hotel Real Madrid had chosen.
On the day before the game Ferguson conducted the two biggest media events he had faced as a manager. The first was for the British journalists who had been invited out to Fars Hatt; the second for the international reporters among the 200 accredited by Uefa at the Ullevi. As well as doing the commercial deals, ‘Fingers’ was also on the payroll to act as Ferguson’s media advisor for the final. As soon as Aberdeen beat Waterschei, Ferguson had phoned Jock Stein and asked: ‘What will be my biggest problem?’ Stein, who had won the 1967 European Cup with Celtic and reached another final three years later, gave an unequivocal reply: ‘Dealing with the media.’ When the British reporters congregated at the team hotel, Ferguson was charm personified, even handing out the biscuits. Fingers recalled: ‘The English lads didn’t know him so they were thinking, “Gee, this guy really knows how to treat us”. All the Scottish press corps are going, “Eh, what’s going on? We don’t recognise this guy”. I travelled to Gothenburg believing I would be there to kinda cool him down a bit, with a word in the ear or an arm around the shoulder or whatever. But he was calm throughout the whole thing. It was like an out-of-body experience, as if he was looking down on the whole thing. There weren’t a lot of the main English “number ones” because it was Aberdeen and it was Real Madrid, a foregone conclusion. Why go? But there were a few. They didn’t know Alex at that point and they were taken aback by the courtesy they were shown.’
David Begg would go on to become a huge figure in Scottish football broadcasting, but in 1983 he was an i
nexperienced radio commentator unsure of how he would be treated by a manager with an intimidating reputation. ‘The thing I remember most about Fergie was how he was around Gothenburg. He could not have been more helpful. Every single journalist was met, warm handshakes, “Come in boys, nice to see you, sit down”. He was absolutely fantastic. He said to me, “Is there anything you need?” I said, “I’ll tell you what would be handy, Alex: your team. And also if you would tell me how you think Real Madrid are going to play.” He looked at me and said, “Come on then.” We sat down for five minutes. He gave me his Aberdeen team, his tactics, how they were going to play, and I wrote it all down and had it for my notes. That was on the day before the game. He trusted me. It was fantastic. He did trust people.’
As far as Ferguson was concerned it was simple: injuries apart, his team had picked itself. Yet the openness was so unfamiliar that when he repeated it at the second press conference the Spanish media politely dismissed what they were being told. Even when Fingers distributed a printout of the Aberdeen team to all the reporters they did not believe it. ‘There was a Spanish reporter who said, “I thank you for your courtesy in providing us with this information, but can you tell me when you are naming your real team.” Fergie said, “I’ve got nothing to hide. This is the team who got us here and this is the team who are going to win it.”’ The printout even gave the foreign press a little line by including the Aberdeen captain’s middle name: by coincidence he was William Ferguson Miller.
Alex Ferguson’s managerial career spanned thirty-nine years and 2,133 competitive games. Only once did he make an individual selection which was not intended to help his team win. The uncompromising pursuit of victories was not compatible with picking a player or a substitute who was literally useless to him. Occasionally he would bring a prominent favourite off the bench, maybe to involve him in a league or cup triumph, or to make a farewell to supporters before a planned departure. But these players were always still able to make some sort of contribution. There was only decision that was based entirely on sentiment. And he made it in Gothenburg.
Fergie Rises Page 16
