Fergie Rises

by Michael Grant

  But it was rarely a good idea to sit next to Ferguson on the bus going to a game, especially when he joined in the card school, playing for £1 a hand. Striker Steve Cowan said: ‘He would mutter and moan at you for the cards you’d given him. Mental torture.’ On the way to a match at Partick Thistle, Cowan knocked Ferguson out of the card game. ‘I was due to be a substitute and by the time we got there he had changed the team-sheet and put in Andy Harrow. Maybe it was a wind-up, I don’t know. But half an hour before the game it was, “Right, fucking Cowan, get stripped, you’re back in”.’

  Neither were the players safe when they were out of the manager’s sight. Aberdeen is not a particularly large city and Ferguson’s network of contacts and informants, which included publicans and nightclub staff, allowed him to keep close tabs on their extra-curricular activities. A 1984 interview in the Daily Star suggested that he did not object to them enjoying themselves in moderation: ‘I don’t expect them to be goody-goody monks. A pint after a match or a little lovemaking beforehand doesn’t do any harm.’ The likes of Cooper and Gunn, however, as young, single men, had a slightly different interpretation of what counted as moderation, and they saw going out without getting caught as a challenge.

  Cooper recalled being in a bar with a Bacardi and Coke, thinking himself safe, when Ferguson suddenly appeared as if from behind a pillar. ‘He said, “What’s that you’re drinking, Cooper?” I get a sweat on. I said, “It’s Coke.” He came really close to me and he took my drink and he smelled it. He just looked at me and said, “That doesn’t smell like bloody Coke to me.” I says, “It is, it’s Coke.” So he tasted it and he looked at me. He came closer and he just said: “You’re dead.” I said, “What?”, and he said, “You’re dead.” Quietly, he said, “Monday morning I’m going to run the bloody bollocks aff you. You won’t know what’s hit you.”’

  Over time some of the senior players became bolder. The likes of Strachan, McGhee or Leighton would occasionally answer back when Ferguson got going. Sometimes whoever was on the receiving end of the hairdryer would look over the manager’s shoulder to see his team-mates making funny faces or hand-gestures, trying to make the helpless player laugh. Rougvie said: ‘If you laughed, you were dead. If he turned round really quickly they were all suddenly as still as statues. It was hilarious.’ Garner remembered the sense of excitement among the risk-takers: ‘Strachan used to sit behind Fergie making gestures with his hands while he was letting rip on somebody. I’m thinking, “Oh wee man, don’t do that, he’s going to erupt at some point”.’

  There were occasions, however, when the manager’s confrontational style could push a player too far. While heads were clouded by alcohol the day after Gothenburg he had an angry clash with McGhee. The players were lined up in the tunnel, about to show off the cup to an adoring Pittodrie, when McGhee spotted the trophy lying on its side on the floor. As he went to pick it up Ferguson suddenly appeared and snatched it from his hand, saying, ‘Willie’s taking that.’ McGhee was incensed by the implication that he wanted to usurp his captain or hog the limelight. The red mist fell and he grabbed Ferguson by the lapels, pushed him through a doorway and took a swing. Others rushed in to grab his arm and Ferguson landed a retaliatory blow of his own before they were separated. McGhee was taken away to cool off in the boardroom and missed the players’ lap of honour and team photograph. He sobered up and spent a sleepless night fearing he had blown his relationship with Ferguson and ended his Aberdeen career. Ferguson forgave him instantly and the incident was never mentioned again. If a player was important to him, Ferguson was enough of a pragmatist to turn a blind eye.

  Nor was the provocation one-sided. On one occasion, when Aberdeen were down at half-time, things threatened to boil over between Ferguson and Stewart McKimmie, the tough and competitive full-back signed after Kennedy retired. Garner said: ‘Fergie had a go at a lot of them, and then had a go at McKimmie. McKimmie said something back, Fergie grabs him, McKimmie’s trying to stand up, getting off the seat, and Fergie’s still got a grip of him. I come across and pull Fergie away and say, “Woah, this isn’t doing us any good.” Some of the boys got McKimmie away and it settled down. Fergie then switched just like that, straight back to the game: “Right, this is what we have to do…”’

  That ability to move suddenly from apparent fury to clinical analysis gives credence to the theory that Ferguson’s hairdryers were acts of premeditated theatre designed to assert control. (Indeed, having shredded some poor soul it was not uncommon for him to turn away and wink at one of the other players.) The tactic even extended to the younger and emerging players. On 7 May 1985, Aberdeen’s teenagers played Celtic in the BP Youth Cup final at Pittodrie and were 2–0 down at half-time. Garner was in charge and was trying to lift them when Ferguson suddenly appeared. The left-back, David Robertson, was sixteen at the time: ‘The dressing-room door burst open. Hairdryer treatment. Up in people’s faces. It was amazing. We had some guys there fourteen, fifteen years old and he just completely crucified everybody. We were 2–0 down and not playing well, but we beat them 5–3 after extra-time. I know for a fact if he hadn’t come in at half-time we’d have lost.’

  Some figures in the dressing room, such as Willie Miller, Stuart Kennedy and Alex McLeish, were generally spared his rants. And to them, the few occasions when they were singled out felt like token exercises. Kennedy said: ‘I did get some. Maybe one a season. I got my hairdryers on trumped-up charges. I was framed now and again just to show I wasn’t exempt.’ For the rest of the team, though, Ferguson’s verbal assaults on his most senior, talismanic players were all the more astonishing for their rarity. They were taken aback one Friday afternoon when he started angrily criticising Miller, McLeish and Leighton following two consecutive losses. Billy Stark said: ‘We were all looking at each other. I was sitting there thinking, “If those guys are getting it, this must be serious.” It was only much later I found out he’d taken them into his office beforehand and said, “Listen, on Friday I’ll lay into you so just sit there and take it.” It was all for show.’

  Chapter 16

  EUROPEAN TEAM OF THE YEAR

  In the autumn of 1983 Aberdeen were contacted by France Football and given some surprising news: they had been voted European Team of the Year by the prestigious magazine. An invitation arrived for a club delegation to attend the awards ceremony in Paris. Alex Ferguson, Chris Anderson and Ian Donald, Dick Donald’s son who had replaced Charlie Forbes on the three-man board, made the trip over. The trophy was small, gold and in the shape of the logo of the award’s co-sponsors, Adidas. Ferguson was thrilled to lay his hands on it. The runners-up were Hamburg, despite the German club having won the European Cup two weeks after Aberdeen’s triumph in Gothenburg. During the evening Ferguson had detected coolness from Hamburg’s general manager, Günter Netzer. ‘Netzer was certainly none too pleased when we received that Adidas award,’ he said. ‘It rankled with him.’ Netzer confirmed that in comments to the German media: ‘The wrong team got the award. What more can we do? We won the European Cup as well as lifting the Bundesliga title. We should have had that award. No doubt about it.’

  Hamburg were back on Ferguson’s radar. In the two years since putting Aberdeen out of Europe they had reached the 1982 Uefa Cup final, won the European Cup and been back-to-back Bundesliga champions. Now it would be Hamburg versus Aberdeen over two legs for the European Super Cup. Ferguson took the event so seriously that he broke off from a summer holiday in Florida to watch the German club play a pre-season friendly against New York Cosmos. Fixture congestion briefly cast a doubt over whether the games would go ahead at all, but eventually dates were found with almost a month between the two legs. Aberdeen travelled first to play on a November night of rain and biting cold in the Volksparkstadion. The awful weather and live coverage on German television meant fewer than fifteen thousand fans turned up. Those who did saw Aberdeen give another sound defensive performance. Willie Miller and especially Jim Leighton were resolute in a goalless
draw. They had not looked like winning it, though, and Ferguson was unmoved: ‘OK, a draw against the European Cup holders away from home must be classed as a good result. But I didn’t think we played that well.’ Hamburg were still coached by the great Austrian Ernst Happel, as they were for the clubs’ previous meetings. ‘There is a big difference in Aberdeen from two years ago,’ he said. ‘They are now a much more aggressive side.’

  The first leg had left the Super Cup in need of a revitalising return game in Scotland. It got one. All 24,000 tickets were sold. Ferguson placed such huge stock in the Super Cup because, for many onlookers, the rise of the New Firm still seemed fragile. If Aberdeen failed to build quickly on the peak of Gothenburg, the old questions, doubts and jibes would soon return. ‘I don’t want people saying we were just a flash in the pan. I would like to think that we can build a reputation like Liverpool’s. That’s what we’re aiming for. The structure of this club is perfect for that kind of thing. We’re financially sound with a first-class ground, and in a trouble-free atmosphere the fans, entire families, are turning up in their thousands.’

  On the rainy night of 20 December 1983, Aberdeen became the first Scottish club to win a second European trophy, and the first to win the Super Cup. After a sleepy first half they scored through Neil Simpson, then pummelled Hamburg and added another from Mark McGhee’s tap-in. By full-time they had shown too much strength, stamina and guts for the champions of Europe. Pittodrie roared its approval. As captain, Miller already knew he would not be getting an actual Super Cup; there wasn’t one. Vice-chairman Anderson had visited Uefa’s Swiss headquarters and been stunned to make the discovery. ‘I was told that no one had ever asked for one before. It’s ridiculous.’ The best Uefa had to offer was a commemorative plaque, like something they had taken down from the president’s office wall.

  Trophy or no trophy, Netzer had decreed that whoever came out on top over the two legs could regard themselves as the best team in Europe. That team was Aberdeen. But acknowledgement of Aberdeen’s second European trophy has always been given grudgingly, even in Scotland. Stewart McKimmie said: ‘Others called it a Mickey Mouse trophy, but for us it was a major trophy. Hamburg didn’t like it when they got beat.’

  Stuart Kennedy provided a characteristically colourful defence of Aberdeen’s twin European triumphs. ‘The Cup Winners’ Cup lifts Aberdeen, along with the fact it was against Real Madrid. If anyone’s trying to get the better of me I’ll go, “We won that trophy, that European trophy, I’m trying to remember who we beat again? Was it Roma? Nah. Real Zaragoza? Nah. Bayer Leverkusen? Nah. Oh…it was Real Madrid, the club of the Millennium, how could I forget? It was Real Madrid, pal, Aberdeen beat Real Madrid. If you want to beat anyone in a final it has to be Real Madrid. The Super Cup? That’s two European trophies. What kind of cup was it again? Super. And we beat the European champions, easy, over two games. You’ve got tankers and you’ve got super tankers. Why are they called super tankers? Because of how big they are”.’

  By the time they won the Super Cup Aberdeen were making good progress towards becoming the first team to successfully defend the Cup Winners’ Cup. The bookmakers had them as joint second favourites with Barcelona and Juventus to go all the way and win the final in Basle. Manchester United were 11–4 favourites, with Porto 12–1 outsiders. As holders Aberdeen had enjoyed a straightforward path to the last eight. They had beaten Akranes of Iceland more comfortably than the 3–2 aggregate scoreline suggested, and then looked convincing against Beveren. The Belgians had reached the semi-final of the competition in 1979, knocking out Inter Milan en route before losing to Barcelona. They were top of the league when they faced Aberdeen in 1983–and would go on to win the championship–but after a goalless away leg, Pittodrie savoured a comfortable 4–1 win.

  In the quarter-final, the Dons were drawn against the Hungarians Újpest Dózsa. Again there was a long gap between European rounds, and in between Aberdeen extended their unbeaten run in all competitions to twenty-seven games. They were still involved in four tournaments, but a major wobble was coming. Újpest Dózsa seemed humble. ‘Aberdeen are the best team we have met since I came here,’ said Temesvári Miklós, who had been their coach for three years. He also said his men were not yet fully fit after Hungarian football’s winter shutdown. If it was all an act it was very well performed. In the first leg their snow-lined Budapest stadium was crammed with 25,000 fans for a bitterly cold afternoon kick-off. They saw a startling 2–0 home win. The goals came in the second half and Aberdeen were guilty of bad misses by Eric Black, Gordon Strachan and Mark McGhee, though his team-mates contended that McGhee’s shot had gone over the line before it hit the goalkeeper. Long after full-time the Scottish reporters found Ferguson in a corridor outside the Aberdeen dressing room, predictably furious. ‘I can’t trust myself to go inside,’ he told them.

  Dougie Bell knew he had been slightly more complicit than most in the defeat and hoped Ferguson’s hawkish eye for detail had, for once, let him down. Újpest’s opening goal had come from a free-kick when Bell was placed on the edge of Aberdeen’s defensive wall. He thought Sandor Kisznyer’s shot was going wide, but it bent around him into the top corner. This looked like sure-fire hairdryer material. ‘I thought, “He’s going to kill me.” But after the game he didn’t say a word. Next day, plane back, he still hasn’t said a word. I thought, “That’s no’ bad, maybe he didn’t realise.” So then it was Celtic on the Saturday in the second leg of the League Cup semi-final. I was playing OK but went for the ball and Tommy Burns just dived over my leg. Celtic got a penalty and they scored. 1–0. That put us out. ‘We get back into the dressing room and Fergie says, “Who pulled down Tommy Burns in the box?” I said, “It was me, boss, but I never touched him, he dived.” He looks at me and goes, “You fucking bastard…you’ve knocked us out of the Cup Winners’ Cup and the League Cup in a week.” He’d seen me in that bloody wall after all.’

  Aberdeen were not out of Europe yet, though. A mighty effort in the second leg was required and Ferguson was determined they would deliver. The fans responded by filling Pittodrie again on 21 March, and Ferguson used his programme column to whip them up: ‘There is no doubt about it, anyone among the capacity crowd in the ground tonight will be watching one of the most exciting and competitive matches ever seen at Aberdeen. As far as this club is concerned, it is the challenge of a lifetime. Újpest Dózsa are going to have one of the hardest matches in their entire history.’ In three seasons of stirring European football at Pittodrie, the supporters had seen sixteen Aberdeen goals in wins against Ipswich, Hamburg, Bayern Munich, Waterschei and Hamburg again. Now they needed to see at least two more to stand any chance of keeping their hold on the Cup Winners’ Cup. They got them. Újpest were battered. McGhee buried a header just before half-time. The visitors held on, wasted time, and got within two minutes of going through before McGhee scored again. Extra-time was a formality because the Hungarians were dead on their feet. McGhee completed a hat-trick and Újpest’s goalkeeper was sent off for butting Alex McLeish.

  The semi-final draw looked kind towards Aberdeen. Now 2–1 favourites, they avoided Manchester United and Juventus and were paired with Porto. Ferguson sent his assistant to watch Porto play at Sporting Lisbon. Waiting for Willie Garner at the airport was a man Ferguson had asked for a favour: Sven Göran Eriksson. The Swede was the manager of Benfica at the time and turned up with an attractive girlfriend. Garner remembered: ‘We went to the game and we were so high up in the stand I couldn’t make out what was going on. Eriksson says, “I can’t help you here; if I’m seen to be helping you against a Portuguese club I’ll get shot.” His girlfriend took the pen and wrote down the players’ names for me.’ Nonetheless, by the time of the first leg in Oporto on 11 April, Ferguson had enough information on the opposition to claim that Porto knew ‘every trick in the book’. In conditions thirty degrees warmer than Scotland, the vast bowl of the Antas Stadium was packed with 65,000 enemy fans. Fireworks and chanting created pr
ecisely the intimidating atmosphere Porto intended. Their star was the captain, Fernando Gomes, a Portuguese international striker with great penalty-box instincts and a terrific goalscoring record. After fourteen minutes he headed the ball past Leighton from a corner. Later he miskicked another chance and forced a fine save. Porto were well worth their 1–0 win.

  Ferguson reproached himself for picking Dougie Bell after a hamstring injury had kept him out for weeks. He substituted him at half-time. After the game he told reporters: ‘I took a chance against my usual principle by playing Bell after a month’s absence. It didn’t work. Dougie felt the pace too much.’ It was a classic example of Ferguson’s belief that an individual member of the team should never be criticised publicly. What he said to Bell in private, however, was merciless. Bell recalled: ‘He played me wide in a four. Porto’s right-back was a flying machine, bombing on. I hardly touched the ball! At half-time he went ballistic at me, “This game’s live on the TV, you’re a disgrace to Scottish fitba.” I felt like saying, “I’ve no’ played.”’

  More than twelve years later the game in Oporto was at the centre of a baffling allegation that Porto’s chairman, Jorge Nuno Pinto da Costa, had bribed the Romanian referee to guarantee a win. In November 1996, when Ferguson was long gone, a former coach and club official called Fernando Barata claimed he had acted as Porto’s intermediary to bribe referee Ioan Igna. Barata said he had been asked by Pinto da Costa to ‘mediate with the referee, arranging the result and everything’. Uefa investigated the allegations, but nothing came of them. Besides, they did not square with Aberdeen’s own recollection of the game, or Igna’s refereeing; Porto had even had a penalty claim rejected. ‘The Romanian referee, close up to the action, refused the frantic Portuguese claims for a spot-kick,’ wrote Ian Paul in his report for the Glasgow Herald. The following day he mentioned Igna again: ‘Aberdeen were impressed by the fairness of the Romanian referee, Ioan Igna, who refused to be overwhelmed.’ McGhee had no sense of anything untoward: ‘I have to say that in the game I never had any sense that referee was bribed. They only beat us 1–0, but they really stretched us. It never felt like there was anything wrong. We were beaten by the better team.’