Fergie Rises

by Michael Grant

  Ferguson was not always so lucky with walkie-talkies. In one game at Pittodrie he could not get the handset to work and got angrier and angrier as Garner shouted above the crowd trying to get a message to him. ‘Press the green button…the green button!’ Ferguson started banging the handset so vigorously it slipped out of his hand and smacked the bald pate of the person sitting in front of him. It was the head of Aberdeen’s most senior civic dignitary, Lord Provost Alex Collie. The accidental blow caused a cut which left Collie wiping away spots of blood with his handkerchief. Ferguson spent the game alternating between managing and apologising.

  Chapter 19

  ‘IT’S IBROX, DON’T BE SCORING FIVE, SIX OR SEVEN AGAINST THEM’

  When Alex Ferguson’s interest in football was first kindled, there was only one team that mattered. The walk from his boyhood home in Govan Road to Ibrox Park was under a mile and took twenty minutes. By the early 1950s Ferguson and his brother, Martin, were attending matches every second week, drawn the length of Broomloan Road to the vast stadium that rose up before their eyes. The crowds sometimes topped 80,000, and if that was not enough to impress them, there were the dimensions of Ibrox itself: a mighty testament to the power and prestige of what was seen as the Protestant half of the Old Firm. There were unmistakable symbols of tradition and class, from the red-brick facade of the main stand, the uniformed commissionaire at the front door, and the marble staircase and wood-panelled corridors within. Ferguson was a proud product of his environment. He could never be anything but a Rangers supporter.

  However, the two harrowing years he spent there as a player changed his relationship with the club forever. Ferguson made profound and lasting friendships while at Rangers, not least with John Greig. He was the club’s top scorer in his first season, but fell out of favour in his second, and by the start of his third campaign had been banished to train alone and turn out for the third team against the likes of Glasgow Transport and Glasgow University. He was appalled by Rangers for two reasons: first, for sacking the successful and popular manager Scot Symon–they sent an accountant to deliver the news–and, secondly, for employing Willie Allison as a public relations officer. In Managing My Life he wrote of Allison as a ‘despicable’ religious bigot who quietly spread poison about Cathy Ferguson being a Catholic. On a pre-season tour in Denmark in 1968 Ferguson learned the papers back in Scotland had carried reports that he was finished at Rangers. The leak had the whiff of Allison about it. Demoralised, he got drunk and tried to confront the PR man, but Greig had the sense to restrain him and shepherd him away. Through the five years when their Aberdeen and Rangers teams kicked lumps out of each other, Ferguson’s respect and loyalty towards Greig would never waver.

  But Rangers as a club lost its mystique and magic for Ferguson. He said no other experience in his decades as a player and manager produced a ‘scar’ comparable to being humiliated at the club he supported as a boy. He was not motivated by revenge when he faced Rangers as a player for Falkirk or Ayr United, or as a manager with St Mirren or Aberdeen. But he saw himself as a victim of mistreatment, pettiness and bigotry, and was disgusted at how Symon was summarily dismissed; it left him with an entirely different attitude to the club. The hold Rangers once had on him was broken. His refusal to defer to Rangers made a profound impression on his players. Frank McDougall included a revealing story in his autobiography. When he played at Ibrox for the first time with Aberdeen, Ferguson told the team to go and stretch their legs on the pitch. McDougall was first out but when he got to the trackside he saw a stern-faced groundsman presiding over a sign which said, ‘Keep off the grass’. McDougall duly turned, jogged back to the dressing room and told Ferguson that he had been told to warm-up in the dimly-lit, shale training area under the main stand instead. Ferguson was enraged. He marched past McDougall up the tunnel to confront the groundsman:

  ‘What’s the fucking problem?’

  ‘No one’s allowed on the grass until kick-off, that’s the rules.’

  ‘Fuck your rules.’

  According to McDougall the sign was booted up in the air and Ferguson stood guard beside the pitch as the rest of the Aberdeen players ran on to it and warmed up. The moment was an eye-opener for McDougall. No one at St Mirren, where he had come from, would have dared to defy Rangers like that.

  Three decades on, the animosity that still exists between Aberdeen and Rangers is usually attributed to the deterioration in relations between the clubs during the Ferguson era. In fact, the Aberdeen-Rangers rivalry also taps into the decades of mutual wariness and distance which existed between their two cities. As Scotland’s most successful, best-supported club, Rangers naturally provoked resentment among supporters of every other team. From as early as the 1950s most Aberdeen fans felt victories over Rangers were even sweeter than those over Celtic, and defeats more keenly felt. Until Ferguson came along no club, except Celtic, had offered a lasting challenge to Rangers. Aberdeen’s aggressive, uncompromising rise transformed the balance between the clubs and on-field clashes stirred the latent hostility between the fans.

  Aberdeen versus Rangers in the 1980s became the nastiest game on the Scottish calendar. The furore over the fracas between Doug Rougvie and Derek Johnstone in the 1979 League Cup final had caused enormous bitterness at Pittodrie. Every incident, fight or flashpoint intensified the rivalry. In a 1980 cup tie at Ibrox, Rangers winger, Willie Johnston, was sent off twelve minutes after coming off the bench for stamping on John McMaster’s chest. It was wrongly reported that McMaster required the kiss of life on the pitch, but the foul did leave him with marks from Johnston’s studs on his skin. McMaster said: ‘I was a human trampoline for Willie Johnston. I don’t know what went through his mind. He was one of the hardest guys to play against, but all of a sudden this maniac jumped on my chest with his studs. If big Dougie Rougvie had got a hold of him he’d have killed him.’

  When Ferguson stepped on to the team bus after the match he approached McMaster and said: ‘Anything that happened out there, don’t say anything.’ The red card was the thirteenth of Johnston’s career and Ferguson was loath to increase the pressure on John Greig. Years later he would describe the stamp as ‘disgusting’, but at the time he kept his own counsel. Johnston gave his version of events in a 2009 autobiography, saying he was not proud of his actions but thought his victim was Willie Miller. ‘Unfortunately I got the wrong player,’ he said in misguided mitigation. ‘Willie was a great player but he was a hard man and deserved some of his treatment back.’

  No fixture was more demanding on referees than Aberdeen against Rangers. The red card rarely remained in their pocket. In addition to those shown to Rougvie and Johnston, there was a long list of others. In 1983 Rangers’ John MacDonald went off for butting Dougie Bell at Pittodrie. Eric Black and Ally Dawson were shown red cards a year later at Ibrox. Twelve months on and Stewart McKimmie was sent off for a sliding challenge on Dawson, who also went for retaliating by angrily grabbing McKimmie’s shirt. That same year Rangers were reduced to nine men at Ibrox when Craig Paterson and Hugh Burns were dismissed in an especially poisonous encounter. Five months later two players who had swapped clubs–Jim Bett to Aberdeen and Dougie Bell now at Rangers–trooped off at Pittodrie. The tally of bookings in these battles was eye-watering.

  Even a character as composed and self-contained as Eric Black succumbed to the heat of a Rangers game. His red card for grabbing Dawson by the throat was the only one he received in Scottish football. Black said: ‘You ended up playing against teams so often that there was always a score to settle. You were constantly coming up against the same people and obviously there were memories from the previous meeting. I wasn’t noted for my fighting qualities. One or two others were a bit better than me at that. I suffered one or two smacks in the face, elbows, punches, everything else. You just got on with it and tried to react and get your own back when you could. I don’t remember what Fergie said that day at Ibrox, but he didn’t like players being sent off. It was one per cent c
omplimentary and ninety-nine per cent blasted.’ Ferguson wanted aggression, confrontation and strength, but only so long as they did not result in anything which might weaken the team. Steve Cowan said: ‘I remember one day against Rangers, up against Craig Paterson and John McClelland, and I burst both their noses. After it Fergie was going, “Well done, Stevie, brilliant, great performance.” Not just for doing that but for being physical against them and not being intimidated.’

  Ally McCoist emerged as an outstanding striker in the Rangers team during the 1983–84 season when Aberdeen were at their most formidable. He became a permanent presence at a time when the fixture was especially bruising and physical. Twice he suffered a broken nose inflicted by Willie Miller. McCoist said: ‘I remember one time smashing him back at half-time. I waited on him playing one up the line and I went over and did him. He got up screaming the odds and I said, “It’s still 14–1 to you.” They could handle it. They could all handle it. That Aberdeen side had a spirit that big Jock Wallace would have loved in his own team at Rangers.’ In one respect the admiration was mutual. Ferguson tried to buy McCoist from Rangers. At St Mirren he had taken McCoist, then thirteen, to train with the club’s apprentices once every week. When the apprentices finished McCoist would wait around eating chips, while Ferguson attended to some paperwork and then drove him back to his home in East Kilbride. Back then Ferguson decided not to sign him, fearing he was too small. But by the summer of 1984 McCoist had yet to win over the Rangers support and Ferguson tried to talk Jock Wallace into a move. McCoist said: ‘Would I have gone to sign for Fergie? Of course. Absolutely. He had a chat with Jock Wallace about it. And that was as far as it went. Big Jock told me, but he didn’t give much away. He growled, “I’ve had Ferguson on the phone for you.” That was it! I didn’t dare ask him any more about it.’

  Broad parity in the wages paid to the players in the early 1980s meant trade between the leading Scottish clubs was minimal. Direct movement between Rangers and Celtic was unthinkable because of the animosity among the supporters, and to a lesser extent the same applied between Rangers and Aberdeen. Ferguson sold Dom Sullivan to Celtic but never signed anyone from them, nor from Rangers, in his time at Pittodrie. The move for McCoist was unsuccessful and he also admired the Rangers midfielder Jim Bett. He eventually signed him in 1985, but only after Bett had left Rangers and spent two seasons in Belgium. Neale Cooper said: ‘Fergie used to say to me, “Jim Bett hates playing against you, you torture him, he never gets away from you, he’s no use.” One day I pick up the paper and it’s “Ferguson signs Jim Bett”! It was a wee game he played.’

  In the summer that Bett arrived, Dougie Bell left to join Rangers. As usual the departure was on Ferguson’s terms after he decided the midfielder’s mobility had been impaired by injury. Bell said: ‘I couldn’t believe Rangers signed me. Jock Wallace said, “You’ve failed your medical, son, but do you want to play for Rangers?” I said, “Aye”, and he goes, “Well, sign there.” The first time I went back to Pittodrie I was sent off. The Aberdeen fans were shouting “reject”. So I gave the king’s salute to them. The police chief inspector was going to charge me but I was very apologetic.’ Bell kicked Bett and then elbowed him when he retaliated. Both received red cards.

  Bell’s eagerness to join Rangers was down to the fact he had supported the club as a boy, as had McLeish, Leighton and, of course, Ferguson himself. Team-mates like McGhee, Cowan and Joe Miller had grown up supporting Celtic. Strachan had followed Hibs, McMaster Morton. The Aberdeen fans in the dressing room included Simpson, Cooper, Weir and Hewitt. Willie Miller, despite being raised in the Rangers stronghold of Glasgow’s Bridgeton, had not supported anyone. What Ferguson fostered was a collective so strong that past allegiances did not matter. No one asked or cared how Celtic or Rangers got on after a game unless the result directly impacted on Aberdeen. Bell said: ‘I hated Celtic when I was growing up. I was a Rangers supporter so every time I played Celtic I didn’t need any motivation. But at Aberdeen I ended up feeling the same way when we played Rangers. All that mattered was Aberdeen. You just wanted to beat everybody.’

  The Scottish Premier Division, in which teams played each other four times a season, was introduced in 1975. Rangers took seven years and thirteen attempts to win at Pittodrie. Aberdeen made nineteen trips to Ibrox under Ferguson and lost only five. They finished above Rangers in seven consecutive seasons. Under Greig, and then Wallace, Rangers were weak and impotent. They regularly finished fourth and even fifth in the league. Mediocrity was hard for their supporters to swallow, especially when the teams above them included not only Celtic but also Aberdeen and Dundee United. In January 1985 Rangers went to Pittodrie and suffered their heaviest league defeat in nineteen years. McDougall scored a hat-trick in a 5–1 rout. The Rangers team was taken by assistant manager Alex Totten because Wallace had been diagnosed with a hernia and advised not to travel north. ‘Lucky Jock,’ said the Sunday Mail’s headline.

  Eight months later Aberdeen administered another dose of punishment, this time at Ibrox. It deteriorated into the most toxic of all the games during Ferguson’s tenure. All of Rangers’ frustrations bubbled over on 28 September. Within thirty-five minutes Hugh Burns and Craig Paterson had been sent off to reduce them to nine men. When McLeish and Stark scored to put Aberdeen 2–0 up before half-time the Rangers support was incandescent. Ferguson reacted to the unmistakable sense of menace pouring from the stands with what, for him, was a unique instruction to his players: take it easy. Stark said: ‘At half-time it’s the only time I can remember him taking that tone where he basically said, “Make sure the game gets finished, don’t be going scoring five, six, seven, just make sure we’re in control of the game and we come out with the three points and get away”. You could sense a real nastiness in the air. Anything could have happened. He just wanted us out unscathed, three points in the bag.’

  Shortly after half-time the referee had to stop the game and take the players up the tunnel for four minutes when Rangers fans spilled from the standing area on to pitchside. Almost fifty were arrested that day and the SFA later launched an inquiry into violence and coin throwing. Enough order was restored for the game to resume. ‘Aberdeen played out the second half as if at a training exercise,’ wrote Jim Reynolds in the Glasgow Herald. Hewitt added another goal to make it 3–0. ‘I can say in all honesty that I have never been so pleased in my whole career to see a match end and get on the way back home,’ Ferguson wrote in his next programme notes. ‘That reaction has nothing to do with the scoreline. At no stage did I feel any concern that we would be held to a draw, much less get beaten. The fact was that I had a genuine fear for people’s safety as the widely-publicised problems developed. It was a relief to get it all over and behind us.’ With some justification, Aberdeen were furious when the SFA fined them £1,000 for their ‘involvement’ in the scenes. Their culpability extended no further than four bookings. Rangers were fined £2,000. ‘We went out to win a game and within twenty minutes three players were booked, all of them from Rangers,’ said Ferguson. ‘What they are saying, in effect, is don’t beat Rangers at Ibrox because you might cause trouble. This decision sets a terrible precedent.’

  Watching Scottish football in the 1980s could be dangerous. After the riot between Celtic and Rangers fans at the 1980 Scottish Cup final legislation was introduced banning the sale or consumption of alcohol at matches. That reduced drunkenness and put an end to the hail of bottles that rained across segregation fences and littered terraces with broken glass. But the grounds were still primitive, dark and unsafe, and attacks and ambushes in and around them were common. Spontaneous outbreaks of violence continued and there was a rapid increase in organised hooliganism. Aberdeen’s rise coincided with a parallel development which the club was less keen to celebrate. From 1980 a swaggering, violent streak, previously unknown in the Aberdeen support, began to show itself. For the big games in Glasgow, Edinburgh or Dundee up to 500 youths, with trademark side-shed haircuts and designer clot
hes, would march from the train stations to the grounds looking for trouble with rival hooligans. At Pittodrie there could be around 1,000 of them, massed as close as they could get to the away fans. None of them wore Aberdeen colours, but the ‘Aberdeen Soccer Casuals’ established themselves as the first and biggest ‘firm’ in Scotland. Their expensive clothes reflected the city’s affluence. For five or six years a large casual following was a permanent feature of Aberdeen games. Fighting was frequent, especially on trips to face Hibs, Motherwell and the Old Firm. The casuals were unpopular among mainstream supporters and condemnatory media coverage followed in their wake. But when Celtic and Rangers supporters came to the city, some Aberdeen fans were quietly grateful for the casuals, seeing them as a vigilante force who kept the visiting hordes in their place.

  The club’s attitude to the casuals was surprisingly vague. Violence was total anathema to the douce figures of the boardroom, who identified Aberdeen with old-fashioned decency and civility. Yet public condemnation from the club was infrequent and rarely fierce. Whatever damage the casuals did to Aberdeen’s image, there was an inextricable connection between the football club and the city’s youth culture. Several hundred young men coming to every home game provided valuable income, not to mention a noise and energy which enlivened Pittodrie’s otherwise sleepy atmosphere.

  Ferguson had often tried to encourage the supporters to be more vocal and expressive during games, but he was also frustrated by the size of the attendances. He began to criticise the level of support openly soon after winning the league in 1980. When Joe Harper’s testimonial match against a select XI attracted only 14,000 three months later he pressed his point: ‘We must all remember that these games are part of our efforts to reward loyalty and service of players in Scotland. It’s so easy to lose them to the attraction of more lucrative contracts in the south.’ Weeks later he returned to the theme: ‘I just wonder how much more the club must achieve this season to win the confidence of more supporters. Apart from the Rangers and Celtic games our attendances have been extremely disappointing. If we cannot attract good, healthy crowds when the side stands out as the best in the country, what prospect is there for Pittodrie if Aberdeen should fall below such standards?’ He said the team felt ‘let down’ when the ground was only half full. One attendance in particular was singled out in Managing My Life: the home crowd when IFK Gothenburg visited in the European Cup quarter-final first leg on 5 March 1986. ‘My first disappointment with the occasion was the meagre attendance of 17,000 at Pittodrie on that March evening,’ he wrote. ‘It crossed my mind that perhaps the Aberdeen supporters were spoiled and took success for granted, and the suspicion planted seeds of restlessness in me.’