In fact the club’s own histories put the crowd at 22,000 and newspapers at the time reported that more than 20,000 were present, which would have made the ground look and feel almost full. When Ferguson was mildly critical of the crowd in his subsequent column for the programme it was for not doing enough to rouse the team in the first half. ‘I feel at that time the supporters could have made a positive contribution by giving the players a lift just when they needed it,’ he wrote. He did not mention any disappointment about how many turned up. But Aberdeen’s inability to increase their support was always likely to gnaw at him. In each of his first four seasons the average league attendance at Pittodrie was lower than the season before. An average of 16,115 for league games in McNeill’s season had dropped to 11,360 by 1982, despite the team delivering a championship and a Scottish Cup. Only in 1983, the Gothenburg year, and the following season, were there year-on-year increases, peaking at an average of 17,138. The figure for 1986 had dropped back to 14,326, lower than Rangers, Celtic and even Hearts. There was no obvious explanation, other than that the supporters had quickly grown complacent, taking annual success for granted without feeling the need to support it.
Ferguson’s reaction to the IFK Gothenburg game confirmed that he had outgrown Aberdeen. ‘I was finding that the afternoons at Pittodrie were becoming a bit of a drag,’ he admitted in Managing My Life. ‘The club was so well run that the challenge for me had diminished. I was feeling the need for the painful stimulation of again having to build a successful team.’ During one of his daily chats with Dick Donald, in April 1986, he told him he was thinking about leaving at the end of the season. Donald calmly replied that there was only one job worth leaving for: Manchester United.
Chapter 20
THIS ISN’T THE REAL FERGIE
Games between Aberdeen and Celtic in the 1980s were not known for moments of reflective silence and calm. Even displays of respect were given grudgingly. What happened on the afternoon of 14 September 1985 amounted to football tribalism being put to one side and a display of normal human decency breaking out. Almost 40,000 people filed into Parkhead that day and before a ball was kicked both sets of fans stood motionless, heads bowed, in an expression of shared mourning. Four nights earlier Jock Stein had collapsed at the end of Scotland’s strained World Cup qualifier against Wales and within minutes he was pronounced dead. The man Scottish football knew as ‘Big Jock’ was gone at sixty-two.
There was no prospect of the minute’s silence being interrupted by petty taunting. Aberdeen supporters had laid a wreath behind the Celtic goal and were generally as stunned by Stein’s death as those at the club he had served for thirteen years. Several Aberdeen players who knew Stein from international duty had arrived in Glasgow earlier than usual to join Alex Ferguson at the funeral the day before. Jim Leighton, Alex McLeish and Jim Bett had all played in Wales and were there again ready to play at Parkhead, along with Willie Miller, who was captain for both managers. The players grieved, but none was hit harder than Ferguson. His father had died in 1979 and now he had lost his managerial mentor.
Their careers first crossed in 1964 when Stein was manager of Dunfermline and he tried to sign Ferguson from St Johnstone. However, the deal only went through after Stein had left for Hibs. The first time they bumped into each other, and Stein said ‘Hello, Alex’, it made such an impression on the younger man that he wrote about it in his autobiography thirty-five years later. He had not presumed that Stein would know who he was. They encountered each other again when Ferguson was playing for Rangers and Stein was in charge of Celtic. On Saturday nights both would occasionally frequent The Beechwood, a pub-restaurant near Hampden, and Ferguson often found himself blurting out in-house secrets, unable to stop himself spilling information to the wise Stein. ‘I was utterly helpless. It just came out without my even realising it. That was the effect he had on people.’ He joked that Stein knew everything that was going on at Rangers because he was the one who told him. ‘You have that power as a manager. People want to tell you things.’
Ferguson’s thirst for knowledge, his fascination with Stein’s methods, as well as the sheer magnitude of the occasion, took him to Milan to watch Celtic’s 1970 European Cup final against Feyenoord. It was a remarkable trip given that only six months earlier he had still been a Rangers player. The broadcaster Archie Macpherson saw him at Milan Malpensa Airport the day after Celtic had lost the game. ‘In this mass of green and white, sitting there was this one bluenose, Alex Ferguson. He had gone all that way to see a European final. He was getting barracked by the Celtic support–good-natured, mostly–because he was recognisable. He was in amongst “the enemy”. Most ex-Rangers players wouldn’t have watched the game, even on television.’
As Ferguson moved into management and grew into a compelling figure in his own right, the pair were inevitably drawn together. He regarded Stein as a one-man university. When he was uncertain about whether to leave East Stirlingshire for St Mirren in 1974 he was sufficiently confident of his relationship with the older man to telephone for advice. Contact between them continued. Coincidentally, on 29 April 1978, Stein’s final game in charge of Celtic was also Ferguson’s last with St Mirren, not that anyone knew at the time. In hindsight it can be seen as a clash between sorcerer and apprentice, with the apprentice winning 3–1. Within a month Stein had left Parkhead, and had made a private call to Chris Anderson recommending Ferguson for the Aberdeen job suddenly vacated by Billy McNeill. The relationship deepened with the regular contact necessitated by Stein, as Scotland manager, having to notify Ferguson and seek his insight when selecting Aberdeen players. Stein’s background was in Lanarkshire coalmining, Ferguson’s in Govan shipbuilding. Culturally and politically they were cut from the same cloth and shared the same beliefs and interests. Stein had been invited into the official Aberdeen party for Gothenburg in 1983, and when Jim McLean stepped down as Scotland’s assistant manager the following year Stein immediately offered the job to Ferguson. There was a 19-year age difference between them and Stein enjoyed being exposed to Ferguson’s youthful energy and drive.
They were together for eight Scotland games over thirteen months. The first was a startling 6–1 rout of Yugoslavia in a friendly on 12 September 1984. There was a vintage 3–1 World Cup qualifying defeat of Spain, and a 1–0 win over England in another friendly at Hampden. But the six-game campaign to reach the 1986 World Cup in Mexico had been marked by defeats in Spain and at home to Wales. Scotland had travelled for that awful night in Cardiff needing a point to be certain of at least a play-off place. Wales, led by world-class strikers Ian Rush and Mark Hughes, had only to repeat the beating they had given Scotland in Glasgow. Scotland had qualified for the World Cup finals in 1974, 1978 and 1982 and pressure was heaped on Stein to ensure they did so again. He was not helped by the fact that key players like Kenny Dalglish, Graeme Souness, Alan Hansen and Mo Johnston were all unavailable because of suspension or injury. Stein went into the Cardiff game conscious of press coverage questioning whether he was still the same manager of old. He was suffering from a heavy cold, but as usual ignored doctor’s orders by not taking diuretic tablets on the day of a match. The pills were an important part of his treatment for a heart muscle defect detected several years earlier, but they made him need to pee and he did not have time for that before and during a match. On the night before the game he had called Ferguson and coach Andy Roxburgh into his hotel room for a long blether. Uncharacteristically he talked about himself, going over his long career, rather than about the impending fixture. When the two younger men left him they looked at each other, asking: ‘What was all that about?’ Others who saw him in the hours before kick-off noticed him sweating and thought he looked grey.
Ninian Park felt tight, suffocating and claustrophobic. Scotland had 15,000 fans to Wales’s 20,000, and there was scarcely room to breathe. The tension was cranked up when Wales took the lead through Hughes in the thirteenth minute. Scotland struggled throughout the first half and near the
end Leighton uncharacteristically misjudged a cross and almost let in Hughes to score a second. At half-time the reason for the error became clear. When the players went into the dressing room Leighton immediately headed to a separate part of the shower room and called SFA physiotherapist Hugh Allan to follow him. Moments later Stein and then Ferguson came in, too. Leighton had been at fault with a number of crosses and shots because one of his contact lenses had been knocked out during the first half. Without it he was half blind. Not only did he not have any spares, neither Stein nor Ferguson had known that he needed lenses in the first place. Both of them were stunned and then furious. Ferguson felt embarrassed that he was unaware of such a crucial fact about one of his own players–and because it had come to light in front of Stein.
Throughout his long, distinguished career Jim Leighton was an exemplary professional. He was also a deep character who gave little away. Only a handful of people knew he wore contact lenses. He had not told the physiotherapist at Aberdeen, nor even his own father. The reason? He was fearful that Ferguson would see it as a weakness and look for another goalkeeper. Leighton said: ‘I was the first person in Aberdeen to get soft contact lenses. Fergie was always very negative about contact lenses. I was building myself up to tell him about them, but if I ever dropped anything into the conversation about lenses he would shoot them down. I came back from the 1982 World Cup in Spain, where [goalkeeper] George Wood had worn them. I decided that the day before pre-season training started I was going to tell him. I mentioned Wood wearing contact lenses and he goes, “How the fuck can he play in goal when he wears contacts? There’s no way he can play.” So I thought, “I’ll tell him tomorrow.” Tomorrow never came. He was so negative about them, and remember at that time lenses were still pretty experimental. Nowadays it doesn’t make any difference if you wear contacts or not, but at that time there was a stigma about it. It could have been detrimental to my career in terms of what he thought. I apologised unreservedly about a million times to him after Cardiff. He shouldn’t have found out the way he did. But he let me know about it.’ With only one lens Leighton had no depth perception. The only option was to replace him with the goalkeeper on the bench, Alan Rough.
The players made their way back up the narrow tunnel and Stein retook his place in the cramped, busy dug-out. Allan sat on one side of him, Ferguson the other. Scotland grew into the game and turned the pressure on the Welsh. Stein took off Gordon Strachan and sent on winger Davie Cooper. With ten minutes left, Scotland striker David Speedie tried to lift the ball over David Phillips and it struck the Welsh defender’s arm. Wales vehemently disputed the Dutch referee’s decision to award a penalty, but Cooper remained calm and buried the ball low in the corner. Scotland had the goal they needed to stay in the World Cup.
Throughout the second half Ferguson shot glances at Stein, worrying about his colour and apparent frailty. Photographers had crowded around the dug-out and the encroachment of one in particular irritated Stein. With a couple of minutes left he mistook a free-kick decision for the final whistle and came off the bench. As he returned to his seat he stumbled and collapsed. Allan caught him and a moment later Ferguson leapt in to help keep him up. Paramedics and police officers took over and carried Stein up the tunnel. In the medical room he said a few words to those desperately treating him, reassuring them that he felt better, and then slipped into unconsciousness. Resuscitation attempts failed. He had suffered a cardiac arrest, though the formal cause of death was recorded as heart failure. Failing to take the diuretic pills had caused a build-up of fluid in his lungs.
Outside Ferguson thought on his feet. He ordered the jubilant Scottish players to stay out on the pitch at the final whistle. He made his way into the tunnel and bumped into Graeme Souness, who had missed the game through suspension. Souness had found the tense final minutes unbearable and had gone inside the stand, unwittingly putting himself close to the drama unfolding around Stein. By the time Ferguson saw him, Souness was in tears. ‘I think he’s gone,’ Souness told him. It was quickly confirmed. When the happy players flooded into the dressing room they saw Ferguson ashen-faced. He told them Stein had died and then took on the responsibility of phoning Stein’s wife, Jean, to deliver the news. There was no answer, but on a subsequent attempt Stein’s grown-up daughter Ray picked up the phone. She found out she had lost her dad from Ferguson. It was Souness who eventually emerged in front of the waiting football writers and said simply: ‘He’s gone.’
In his 1999 autobiography Ferguson wrote that the night after Cardiff he had to be back in Aberdeen for a game against Partick Thistle, and that during the car journey north he had pulled into a layby and cried. In fact he had blurred the memories of what happened after Stein’s death and the loss of his father six years earlier. The Partick game had been on the night of his father’s funeral in 1979. The slip is insignificant, except that it reveals something about the impact Stein’s death had on him. It was like losing the very closest family member.
Scotland had thirty-six days until a friendly against East Germany, the only fixture before the World Cup play-off double-header against the as yet unknown winners of the Oceania section. ‘I don’t want people to think we are being callous, but the Scotland team needs leadership. It is our duty to find the man to give it,’ said Ernie Walker, the SFA secretary. The short-term solution was obvious. Walker sounded out Ferguson, Dick Donald and Chris Anderson. A sense of duty compelled all three to agree that Ferguson should be in charge for the East Germany game. ‘It would be a one-off basis and no one should assume anything else,’ said Walker. ‘It should be remembered that Alex Ferguson is the manager of a Premier Division club.’
Aberdeen were eight games into the 1985–86 season when he took the Scotland job. They had made an unbeaten start, were second in the league and had reached the semi-finals of the League Cup. That tournament has always been the little brother of the three major Scottish competitions, yet it remained the one trophy Ferguson had never won. After losing in the final to Rangers and Dundee United in his first two seasons, Aberdeen had twice gone out in quarter- or semi-finals to Dundee United, and been beaten by Dundee and Celtic. And in 1984 there had been the shock second-round defeat by the minnows of Airdrie. The League Cup had been modified in 1979: the competition was shortened and accelerated so that the final could take place as early as October. Ferguson attributed Aberdeen’s lack of success to the fact that the rounds were played when seasons were in their infancy. ‘We know from experience that we tend to build slowly and improve as we go along. You could say that we are a “second half of the season” side.’ That was a claim he made about his teams throughout his career and which, he admitted on his retirement, was a psychological ploy to make opponents believe they remained vulnerable right to the end of a campaign.
The signing of Jim Bett in the summer had brought great passing and intelligence to the centre of Aberdeen’s midfield. He had won both cups while at Rangers, which further persuaded Ferguson he was a winner who would quickly settle into the squad. ‘The fact is that we have at Pittodrie a nucleus of players who have been bred to win,’ he said. Peter Weir had echoed that in an interview just before Ferguson became Scotland’s caretaker manager. ‘This is not just any club. The Dons are the best team in Scotland. Aberdeen are one of the best clubs in Britain. What player could ask for more than we have achieved in recent years? Because of the standards we have set ourselves it looks like a failure when we draw the odd game.’
For once United were beaten home and away in the League Cup semi-final and Aberdeen eased through to face Hibs at Hampden. Hibs had done the hardest work, beating both Celtic and Rangers, but they had not won anything in thirteen years and few expected them to upset Aberdeen. The game was remembered as ‘the twelve-minute final’ because that was how long it took Aberdeen to build an unassailable two-goal lead. Superb play from John Hewitt created headed goals for Eric Black and Billy Stark. When Black added another in the second half the Dons had a consummate 3–0 win.
It had been a mismatch. Later Leighton learned that Hibs had been beaten before a ball was kicked. ‘I remember speaking to Tommy Craig, the Hibs coach. He felt they lost the game in the Hampden tunnel. When the two teams were lined up to come out it was Willie, then it was me, then it was Alex. The focus the three of us had at the front! We had Vaseline across our brows, everything. The Hibs players were looking at us. Tommy said, “Our players were beaten before they started.” We did have an aura about us.’
As Miller lifted the trophy the television coverage cut to a shot of Ferguson watching from the pitch. He was smiling but swallowing hard as though there was a lump in his throat. Some emotion was inevitable because Ferguson had finally completed his set of Scottish football’s major honours. In his next programme notes, when Celtic visited Pittodrie on 2 November, he wrote: ‘A lot of people were making the point that it was a magnificent day for me personally because the League Cup was the one trophy we had not won since I came to Pittodrie. I can honestly say that particular point did not enter my head. It’s not just important to get to finals, it’s important to keep winning them. As I said at the start of this season, we are not satisfied to win one honour.’
Fergie Rises Page 26
