Knowing what I know today, I would not have held that meeting but, instead, made an example of one or two players after they had crossed the line, rather than cast aspersions on everyone. It was too early for me to force a confrontation on an issue, but in the long run it didn’t hurt. It is all well and good, as a new arrival, to feel the impulse to issue your own version of the Ten Commandments, but actions speak so much louder than words. My message about alcohol would have been more effective if I had just quietly gone about getting rid of one of the players who had the wrong priorities. In the end it took a long time to eradicate the drinking habit at United, but after I sold some of the main culprits, people could see I was not just full of hot air and things slowly started to improve. Eventually, the drinking stopped, apart from the occasional outings.
The second mistake I made was to wait too long to reshape the team. Some of this was out of my hands, because we had a limited budget for transfers and our pool of talented young players was thin. Nonetheless, I let the prospect of what was possible, rather than what was probable, cloud my judgement. In my heart I knew that I would never be able to turn some of the players into the sort of performers required to consistently win trophies. I gave some of them too much benefit of the doubt and, had I moved a bit more quickly, I suspect we could have become a winning club a couple of years earlier.
If you are a new boss, there is always a fine line to walk when you first appear. You want to eliminate as much uncertainty as possible because that can paralyse an organisation. Yet you also do not want to make promises you know you might not keep. At United, I hope I made it clear to people–particularly the non-playing staff–that they were secure and I wasn’t about to put them in front of a firing squad. All I sought was performance and, as long as they performed, they were going to be part of the journey ahead.
When a former player, who is new to management, asks me for advice, I usually tell him not to seek confrontation. Whenever you show up in a new role, it will not be long before you have to face trouble and a clash over something. There is nothing to be gained by stirring it up yourself. Trouble will find you quick enough.
Leaving
Leaving is complicated, and almost impossible to get right. Gallons of ink have been spilled on how David Moyes became my successor as manager of United. I understand why critics, particularly in light of the results of the 2013–14 season, say we should have handled the transition better. That season was a real disappointment, which culminated in the failure to qualify for the Champions League for the first time since 1995. It was not a happy time. But not much has been said about the challenge of picking a manager at a top-tier football club. It is not an easy undertaking.
At United the issue was complicated by the length of my tenure. I do not want to sound vainglorious, but no manager in the post-Second World War era has led a team for as long as I led United. Sir Matt Busby managed United (in two spells) for 24 seasons, Bill Shankly was at the helm of Liverpool for 15 seasons, and Arsène Wenger has been at Arsenal since 1996. I’m sure the length of time I had been in the role made things trickier. I know it did not make them easier. Picking a successor was never going to be a piece of cake.
I’m sure football clubs could learn a lesson or two from companies that have a successful history of navigating management transitions. For example, I was never asked the question that I have since learned is commonly posed to the CEOs of many companies: ‘If you get hit by a bus, who takes your place?’ It is a good question, because it forces people to pay attention to the issue. However, I am not sure that it would have changed anything at United because, without trying to make any excuses, there are peculiarities associated with picking a Premier League manager.
Like other organisations on the prowl for a leader, United’s board of directors had the freedom to survey the field. We had the opportunity to look within the club or cast our net further afield. Either way, we had far fewer candidates than a normal company. The trouble with football clubs, particularly those in the top tier of the Premier League, Bundesliga, La Liga or Serie A, is that there are not many candidates qualified to become their manager, and owners and boards of directors invariably find that their choices are further limited by the men who are available and not bound to another commitment from which they cannot extricate themselves.
It’s not as if any of the clubs in these leagues have hundreds, let alone thousands, of employees in their coaching ranks. If the criterion for the search for a successor to a United manager is limited to those who have managed a Premier League club in the previous five years, there are probably around 50 candidates; if the desire is to find someone who has managed a club that’s finished in the top six, then the number dwindles to 12; and if you add the hardest criterion of all–a consistent history of winning–then you are left with about 3 who are already at top clubs. Managers just have a very tough time maintaining a winning record. David O’Leary was manager of Leeds from 1998 till 2002, when he reached the semi-finals of both the UEFA Cup and Champions League and secured a fourth-place finish in the Premiership. For a brief time he was on the top of every club’s list. Then Leeds faded, O’Leary’s lustre was tarnished, and he hasn’t managed a top-tier team since 2006.
We obviously had a preference for a manager with experience of top-flight football, who had persevered through hard times and demonstrated that he could handle the pressure of the press coverage and the relentless trickery of agents. Personally, I have a bias that favours managers who have been solid players. Even though there are a handful of examples of managers who either did not play much professional football or did so at mediocre clubs (José Mourinho and Gérard Houllier being the two prime examples), I have a bias towards candidates who have done well on the pitch. They just have more experience and greater credibility with players.
At United we didn’t have an obvious internal successor, though it was not for want of trying. Even before the Glazer family arrived in Manchester, I had been thinking a lot about potential successors. During my entire time at United, the only real internal candidate for the manager’s role was Carlos Queiroz. Unfortunately, he spoiled his chances by leaving United twice–first for Real Madrid and then by going to manage Portugal. I was always encouraging some of the best United players–Ryan Giggs, Gary Neville, Darren Fletcher, Nicky Butt, Dwight Yorke and Andy Cole–to earn their coaching credentials, yet it was unrealistic to expect any of them to switch from being a player to immediately becoming manager of the club for which they had just finished playing.
United tried that once when Wilf McGuinness succeeded Matt Busby in 1969, having retired from playing in 1959. It was a disaster. Forget about the tensions caused by the fact that Sir Matt kept his office and was a daily presence at the club, McGuinness–or anyone else for that matter–was always going to have a tough time managing his former team-mates. Ryan Giggs is eventually going to be a great manager–he has intelligence, presence and knowledge–but there was no chance that I would ever have asked him, or any other player, to consider being my successor while he was still fortunate enough to be playing. A footballer needs to squeeze every last possible moment out of his playing career. There is more than enough time for management later in life. Had Ryan Giggs retired in his mid-thirties, rather than when he was 40, there is every chance that he would have been my assistant in my final five years at Manchester United, alongside Mick Phelan. He would have had to start at a lower coaching level, but he would definitely have been alongside me and Mick, learning the trade.
But, assistant managers can get itchy feet. It is very hard to keep them, particularly if they know their boss has no intention of retiring. Former Manchester United coaches and players are all over the place. Mark Hughes has flourished, although–because he is such a retiring and quiet man–I had always wondered whether he had the personality to pull it off. He did a good job as the Wales manager, followed that with a stint at Blackburn before going to Manchester City, where I thought the new owners treated him unf
airly when they sacked him. Now he is at Stoke City and in his element.
Assistant managers who stay in the role for a long time do so because they aren’t cut out for the top job. René Meulensteen, who was United’s technical skills coach for the youth academy between 2001 and 2006, wanted to manage a club; against my advice he departed for Brøndby in Denmark. After about six months it wasn’t working out for him, so I brought him back to United as a first-team coach. He then left again, but he had bad experiences as a manager at Anzhi Makhachkala and Fulham. I think he now understands his forte is as a wonderful first-team coach.
We also always kept track of what was happening in management circles elsewhere. For example, I had dinner with Pep Guardiola in New York in 2012, but couldn’t make him any direct proposal because retirement was not on my agenda at that point. He had already won an enviable number of trophies with Barcelona–two Champions Leagues, three La Liga titles, two Copa del Reys (Spanish Cup), two UEFA Super Cups and two FIFA Club World Cups–and I admired him greatly. I asked Pep to phone me before he accepted an offer from another club, but he didn’t and wound up joining Bayern Munich in July 2013.
Life is such that the best of theories, or the best of intentions, sometimes don’t translate into practice. Believe me, the United board wanted nothing more than to select a manager who would be with the club for a long time. All of us knew the history of the club and the success and benefits that come from stable leadership. When we started the process of looking for my replacement, we established that several very desirable candidates were unavailable. It became apparent that José Mourinho had given his word to Roman Abramovich that he would return to Chelsea, and that Carlo Ancelotti would succeed him at Real Madrid. We also knew that Jürgen Klopp was happy at Borussia Dortmund, and would be signing a new contract. Meantime, Louis van Gaal had undertaken to lead the Dutch attempt to win the 2014 World Cup.
We could obviously have taken the risk on a young manager who had not been tested, but eventually, as everyone knows, we selected David Moyes. Many people seem to have forgotten his performance at Everton where, despite being under severe financial constraints, he achieved strong League performances.
Sadly, things did not turn out for David as he and we all wished. Despite what people might think, the board of directors at United wants nothing more than for its manager to succeed. If the manager succeeds, the club succeeds, and the virtuous cycle is renewed. When David was appointed to a six-year contract, it was done with the best of intentions. Everyone hoped he would have a very long run at United. But it did not work out like that. I also know the Glazers well enough to understand that removing David was the last thing they wanted to do.
I’m sure there are some things that David would do differently if he had the opportunity to relive his time at Old Trafford, such as keeping Mick Phelan, who would have been the invaluable guide to the many layers of the club that Ryan Giggs is to Louis van Gaal today. The results were obviously disappointing, but it is difficult to imagine what it is like to walk out of the tunnel into a packed stadium knowing that every person is wondering about your future. I had experienced that feeling once or twice and it is very lonely. It is obviously fair to ask whether the transition at United could have been managed better. But the club did a good job, working through a discreet process in a professional manner. Right now, I hope that Louis van Gaal stays for a long time and, obviously, with Ryan Giggs at his side, there is a path towards a healthy, long-term succession plan.
About the only manager transition in top-flight English football that has gone well for the club was when Bob Paisley succeeded Bill Shankly at Liverpool. Shankly had rebuilt the club, gaining promotion back to the top division, winning three top division titles, two FA Cups and a UEFA Cup during his tenure, and Paisley, who managed the club between 1974 and 1983, topped it by winning three European Cups. As an outsider, I would never have guessed that Paisley would pull off what he eventually accomplished. In fact, when Shankly recommended Paisley, he initially refused the job. He had been the physiotherapist and then first-team coach prior to assuming the role; he was as quiet as Shankly was ebullient. He kept Shankly’s team intact, understood the system, and gradually improved his squad by adding quality players and continuing the principles put in place by Shankly. Whoever selected Paisley deserves a lot of credit.
I had two attempts at retirement as a manager. I botched the first one–which is, perhaps, why I did a better job of it the second time around. My first run at retirement was a textbook case for how not to do it. I was turning 60, which in my father’s time was a watershed age, but these days has far less significance. Nonetheless, I found myself contemplating my age. I was also irritated with the club who, in response to questions from the press, had announced that there would be no position for me in the organisation after retirement, lest there be a repeat of what happened after Matt Busby retired.
I could not help but think of what happened to Jock Stein and Bill Shankly after they had retired from Celtic and Liverpool, and I was determined that would not happen to me. I made matters worse by not having a plan for what I would do after I retired and by announcing my intention prior to the start of the 2001–02 season, which made the players go to sleep. It was as if I had put chloroform over their mouths. I knew when I made the decision and announced it to the players that I had made a mistake.
By Christmas 2001, Cathy and my boys persuaded me to change my mind. I was relieved they did so because, left to my own devices, I’m not sure that I would have summoned up the courage to phone Maurice Watkins, the club’s solicitor, and announce my change of heart. He just said, ‘I told you that you were stupid.’ In retrospect, it all worked out well enough. It was as if I had inadvertently given myself a half-time breather. After 15 minutes, I was raring to get back on the field.
Had it not been for the death of Bridget Robertson, Cathy’s sister, in October 2012, I would have continued managing United. I really wanted to win another Champions League and I had been planning for the future. In my last summer as manager of Manchester United, when I met Robin van Persie during the process of signing him from Arsenal, one of the questions he asked me was, ‘How long are you going to carry on for?’ I told him the truth. Retirement was not on my agenda. We’d tied down a number of our squad to new deals and, with an eye on the future of the club, signed Powell (18), Henríquez (18), and Zaha (20), as well as agreeing contracts with some of the most promising youngsters. It was business as usual. Also, I had already started work on a couple of new signings for the following summer. It would have been interesting, if I had stayed on, to see if we could have got those deals over the line. But Bridget’s death was the watershed moment. It is hard to conjure up a more tangible reminder of mortality, and I felt that, after all those years during which Cathy had put me first, it was time that I took care of her needs. Bridget had not just been Cathy’s sister but also her closest friend. When I decided to really retire, I just went with my instincts.
There were no demons in my mind about the horrors of not going to work. I also had a list of things that I wanted to do, so I could not imagine that I was going to be bored. Maybe things had just run their course and 39 years of management had been enough. I just sensed it was time to go. I knew that I would miss the players and the staff, and I was not quite sure how I would adjust to not going at full tilt, but I also felt a great sense of relief about not having to do certain things–particularly contending with the press and dealing with agents. Once I made the decision, I found myself looking forward to retirement.
I was fortunate because I got to retire as a football manager. Most football managers do not have that opportunity. Some lose a few games, get fired and never find another management job. They just disappear and are never heard from again. Or there are people like Bill Shankly who, after his retirement from Liverpool, discovered that the audience that used to lap up his stories had vanished. He was a lost soul. He used to go and watch the training sessions at Tranmere R
overs and Everton. He was only 68 when he died.
I imagine that some people thought I would have trouble letting go and ceding the authority that I had enjoyed for so long to others. But I was not confused about the difference between the role of being a United director and ambassador and the club’s manager. After anyone retires from a position of responsibility and remains associated with the same organisation, it is unfair to your successor to try and retain the authority you once possessed. You have to let go and let the new man and the new regime do what they think is best.
I had heard the stories of what happened after Matt Busby had retired. He stayed in his office at Old Trafford, continued to show up at the club most days and was the power behind the throne. That was all a bit far-fetched, but I did not want to intimidate my successor with my presence in his day-to-day working environment. This is why I cleared out my office at Carrington straight away and, apart from attending games, and activities with sponsors, I maintained my distance. Carrington was off-limits and I chose not to join the other directors when they went to the dressing room after games; that remains the case today. I was not about to meddle in somebody else’s business. I realised that when I watched a United game, the television directors kept a camera trained on me to gauge my reaction. I think they hoped they would catch me acting like Statler or Waldorf, the two curmudgeons in The Muppets, who are always criticising what is happening on the stage. I just wanted David and United to win–just as I do these days with Louis van Gaal. When the club made the decision to remove David, there were some who wanted me to return to the sidelines. But I was not tempted for a moment. I had made my decision to retire. My time was over.
Leading: Learning from Life and My Years at Manchester United Page 27
