Obviously I had a great run at United and accumulated a lovely set of trophies. But when I look at my name on the stand that’s opposite my seat at Old Trafford, I wonder, from time to time, whether I deserve that recognition. This is not an attempt at false modesty, but sometimes I think that, with the teams and players I had at my disposal, we should have done more.
My most acute disappointment is with the Champions League. We lost three Champions League semi-finals and two finals. When I retired, United had won the trophy three times, but we really should have won it five times. Real Madrid has won it ten times (including five in a row), Bayern Munich has won it five times (including three in a row) and Barcelona, AC Milan and Ajax have taken it home more often than United. But the comparison that really hurts is with Liverpool, who have won the Cup five times. It is not much consolation that they only won it once during my time at United. It still stings.
I could argue that for three years the regulations were stacked against us, but every club faced the same restrictions about the number of foreign players that were permitted. After we won the Double in 1994, we had a strong squad, but the rules–until they were changed in late 1995–allowed teams to field only three players born outside the country in which they were employed, plus two ‘assimilated’ players who had come through their youth set-up. Unfortunately our squad included Brian McClair (from Scotland), Denis Irwin and Roy Keane (from Ireland), Peter Schmeichel (from Denmark), Andrei Kanchelskis (from Ukraine/Russia/Soviet Union), Eric Cantona (from France), and Mark Hughes and Ryan Giggs (from Wales).
We were also unlucky on a couple of occasions–but that’s football (and life). We should have won when we played Borussia Dortmund in the Champions League semi-finals in 1997 but we lost our goalkeeper the night before the game and against Bayer Leverkusen in 2002 we went out on the away goals rule at the semi-final stage of the Champions League, having drawn 2–2 at Old Trafford and 1–1 in Germany. We could have won both the 2009 and 2011 finals against Barcelona. The first was played in Rome and, through poor planning, we stayed in a lousy hotel and several players felt groggy after uncomfortable nights. At Wembley in 2011, Barcelona were very clever and rattled us by maintaining a lot of possession. Instead of staying patient and sticking to our plan, a bit of panic set in and our attacking impulse became our undoing. We were overcome by primal instincts.
Fresh Challenges
But those are the yesterdays and now, after a lifetime of getting ready for work at six in the morning, I like waking up at eight, having breakfast with Cathy (which I had not done for 30 years), reading the paper, and going to have lunch in the village. I suppose retirement, for some people, can be like bereavement. Immediately after you retire, there are lots of things to do and plenty of people around. Normally, after the players had disappeared at the end of the season, I would be in my office at Carrington every day until we left for our annual holiday in France in early June. In 2013 I found there were other things that filled my time. There was a fair amount of press attention after I retired, and I was helping to put the finishing touches to my autobiography. After that the summer got chewed up, with a pair of notable firsts, one more pleasurable than the other: a boat trip up the coast of Western Scotland, and a stint in hospital for a hip replacement.
The first reminder that I had retired came when we were on holiday in France that June. In previous years I would be on the telephone several times a day, usually dealing with players we wanted to buy or were willing to sell. David Gill would make frequent visits, and the club was never far from my mind. I would also have to meet players, and sometimes their parents, when we wanted to convince them to stake their futures to United. It was always the arrival of the fixture list for the upcoming season that would jolt me out of any propensity to put all cares aside. In 2013, for the first time in my life, my most pressing need, as I relaxed by the Mediterranean, was to beat my brother-in-law, John Robertson, at Kaluki.
When I recovered from the hip surgery and started going to games at Old Trafford, it felt a little odd. I had never had lunch in the directors’ lounge before a game, and for the first time I also really noticed the noise of the crowd. While I had been managing, I had usually been able to block out the sound from the stands, and it rarely ever registered with me.
It is only now, a couple of years into this new chapter of my life, that I really have come to appreciate the change in circumstances. While I was working I had never fully appreciated that I was not in control of my life. I know this will seem peculiar, given how much I value the virtues of control and discipline, but when you sit atop any organisation, you are imprisoned by the calendar and the relentless needs of others. It doesn’t matter if you work 24 hours a day, there will always be something or someone that demands your attention.
It was no wonder I always sensed–though I am not complaining–that the hamster wheel never stopped spinning. I was always looking at my watch–and not just in the closing minutes of games. So after I retired, for the first time in my life, I was in charge of my life in a way that I had not been since the school holidays of my childhood, when the only thing I needed to do was be home for lunch and dinner. It was a liberating and refreshing experience and has allowed me to do things that I could never have done while I was at the helm of United.
I have tried to balance things so that I stay vital and engaged, while also leading my life at a different pace. Apart from Manchester United games, the regular fixtures in my diary are appearances for the club in my role as a board member and club ambassador; the classes that I teach at Harvard; and the work I do as a UEFA coaching ambassador. In the UEFA role, I chair the annual Elite Coaches Forum in Geneva. In advance I will meet Ioan Lupescu from UEFA and we will structure the agenda. The forum itself is attended by the coaches of the teams competing in the Champions League and Europa League, as well as experienced coaches like Gérard Houllier, Roy Hodgson and UEFA president Michel Platini and his committee. The retired Italian referee, Pierluigi Collina, also attends, and we discuss with him the performance of referees but, in general, we cover the issues related to the previous season’s competitions and look at ways we can continue to improve the game. I’m also a member of the technical study group of the Champions League and the Europa League; we meet the day after the finals to analyse the trends and tactics from the previous night’s game.
During the horse-racing season, barely a week goes by without some kind of activity. Together with a few pals, I have ownership interests in a number of horses. We buy them usually when they are two year olds. I have enjoyed watching What A Friend winning two Group One races, or going to race meetings at York or Doncaster, and being able to linger at the track without feeling the need to bolt back to Manchester.
I like going through the sales catalogues and trying to understand the bloodlines and pedigree of the horses. Every now and again, when one of these horses turns into a winner, we have made some decent money–although this is the exception. I don’t kid myself: horse racing is a pastime; it is not a way to build a durable investment. I always try to either watch or listen to a race when one of our horses is running, and invariably get a chuckle when the phone rings, or the texts arrive, at the end of the races.
I found myself getting absorbed by The Brothers, Stephen Kinzer’s account of the lives of the Dulles brothers who were the US Secretary of State and head of the CIA in the 1950s. This was not a subject I knew much about, and the litany of their endless interference in countries all around the world during the Cold War kept me riveted. Coincidentally, at about the same time, I also picked up Ben Macintyre’s A Spy Among Friends, another study of the Cold War era, which explains the way the double-agent, Kim Philby, betrayed his closest friends, as he spent decades leading a treacherous life in broad daylight. I’m glad the Dulles boys and Philby weren’t working for United. Though I don’t read many books about football, I have found myself going back to my roots and enjoyed two works about the sport north of the border. The first, Black Dia
monds and the Blue Brazil, is an affectionate portrait of Cowdenbeath FC written by a long-time fan, Ron Ferguson, who, despite the name, is not a relative. The second is a biography of Sean Fallon, Celtic’s Iron Man, by Stephen Sullivan. Fallon was Jock Stein’s right-hand man at Celtic for many years, and this book is a detailed account of the life that, to all intents and purposes, they led together.
Retirement has presented the opportunity to indulge myself in trips and excursions that I would not have taken while at United. I fulfilled one ambition in 2014 when I attended the Oscars in Los Angeles. The Kentucky Derby horse race and the US Masters golf are also on the wish-list.
There have also been some really special experiences, like the tour I received of the vast State Hermitage museum in St Petersburg, which has the largest collection of paintings anywhere in the world. Mikaël Silvestre, who was a stalwart of United’s defence for many seasons, was kind enough to line up a dinner, while Cathy and I were visiting Paris, at Le Taillevent, one of Europe’s gastronomic treasures. Mikaël ensured that we were spoiled rotten, but he also couldn’t resist playing a practical joke; he had instructed the sommelier to tell me that, unfortunately, he could not serve us any wine, because we had chosen to dine on Tuesday–the one day in the week when the restaurant did not offer alcohol. I also spent a couple of pleasurable days at Notre Dame, the university just west of Chicago, where Bobby Clark, the former Aberdeen and Scotland goalkeeper, is the football coach. Bobby gave me a tour of the Notre Dame campus, which has a staggering collection of stadiums and gyms that are better than those of most Premier League sides.
Sharing stories and memories with Mikaël or Bobby reminds me of what I miss about my old life. It isn’t the open-top bus tours, the pleasure of spotting a youngster with great talent or the thrill of a closely fought game. Rather, it is all those shared experiences and the camaraderie that emerges between people who live and work together for a long time. I miss talking to Mick Phelan; seeing Albert Morgan, our kit man, every day; giving stick to Tony Sinclair and Joe Pemberton, our head groundsmen at Old Trafford and Carrington. I also used to relish the daily exchanges with the laundry team and Carol Williams and Rita Gaskell from the canteen. But most of all I miss being around the company of young people eager to take on impossible challenges–whether they were the players or the eager crew of video analysts. Just thinking about all these people and the scenes inside a winning dressing room makes me chuckle. But, as I said, those are the yesterdays and right now I keep remembering a short piece of advice about tomorrow that I was given before I retired. It was, ‘Don’t put your slippers on.’ The line has stuck with me. It’s why I put my shoes on right after breakfast.
EPILOGUE
SIR ALEX FERGUSON–THROUGH ANOTHER LENS
Since his retirement, match days for Sir Alex Ferguson have brought a fresh ritual. Gone are the times when he would leave The Lowry Hotel, where the Manchester United squad often stay on the night before home games, for the ride in the team bus to Old Trafford. Instead he arrives in one of the Chevrolet SUVs supplied by United’s largest sponsor, and makes his way to the executive suite for a pre-game lunch.
These days, when Sir Alex watches a game, it’s no longer from the manager’s seat but rather from the directors’ box–a perch that would have seemed inconceivable to a child growing up, as he did, in 1940s Govan. At kick-off he takes his seat–among the eight inscribed with ‘Reserved for Sir Alex Ferguson’–opposite the triple-decker North Stand, the largest football stand in the United Kingdom, which, since 2011, has borne his name in large red letters. He no longer chews gum throughout the game, but instead repeatedly clears his throat. He keeps his thoughts to himself, particularly on days when United are not at their best, but every now and again, when a player in red is on the attack, he will mutter, ‘Take him on, son. Take him on.’
After the game, he will retreat to his own suite, which has few of the trappings of the luxury boxes found at American stadiums or new football grounds like the Emirates, Arsenal’s London home. It is the size of a windowless railway carriage: three black couches line the wall, a small bar stands at one end, a television is mounted near the ceiling and, occasionally, after the end of a game, the door opens and a security guard ushers in a new visitor.
Sometimes the door opens and a familiar face appears–a talk-show host, a film star or a former player. There might be a couple of people, dressed smartly in suits and ties, who have won a prize at a charity auction to watch a game with Sir Alex. People come to obtain an autograph, shake his hand or pose for a photograph. Drinks are passed around, glasses are raised and Sir Alex genially introduces everyone–urging them all to try the steak pies.
Eventually, the crowd thins down to a smaller group, most of whom have known Sir Alex–or Alec, as his Scottish relatives and friends call him–for the better part of a lifetime, and are now in their sunset years. At this point in the proceedings, it is hard to believe that the man on the receiving end of much good-natured teasing managed Manchester United for 26 years–first as Alex Ferguson OBE, then as Alex Ferguson CBE and, finally, as Sir Alex Ferguson, during which time he won 38 trophies, including 13 Premier League and two Champions League titles.
For those in the suite, the facts that, under his leadership, United won their 20th League championship, eclipsing the record set by Liverpool, or that, by the end of a truly remarkable career (although he would be the last person to mention this fact), he had become the most successful manager in the history of football, are beside the point. His career, an extraordinary mix of personal stamina, willpower and leadership, is not what draws these people to Old Trafford. There may be a friend, who tells how, when he was lying despondently in a hospital bed receiving life-saving treatment, Sir Alex came and spent several hours lifting him out of his gloom. There might be the wife of a former player, glowing with the satisfaction that comes from knowing she and her husband are sitting there because Sir Alex answered her letter and invited them to spend the afternoon with him.
Manchester United’s long-time kit man, Albert Morgan, proudly wearing his club blazer, will sit quietly and act as the occasional straight-man. Ferguson’s brother, Martin, invariably introduced as ‘the greatest scout in history’, might be there, along with one or two of Sir Alex’s grandchildren. John Robertson, Sir Alex’s wry brother-in-law, who was a compositor for the Glasgow Herald, will be muttering amusing and sardonic asides. Then the good-natured jousting begins and the conversation enters familiar stomping grounds, with stories, the comfort of recycled jokes and past embarrassments plucked out of the air. There will be prolonged discussion over whether St Patrick was Welsh. Somebody will try to remember the starting line-up for St Mirren in the early 1970s, and soon everyone is pitching in until the faded team-card is complete.
It’s hard to imagine anyone less qualified than me to fill out a musty team-card or to write a book about football with Sir Alex Ferguson. As a ten year old in Wales in the 1960s, my peak footballing accomplishment was to stand on the touchline as the ‘physio’, holding a sponge and a bottle of water, lest any of my schoolmates might get injured, and to guard the Thermos and slices of oranges that served for their half-time refreshments.
Though I had followed Manchester United since the team won the European Cup for the first time in 1968, and, like every British schoolboy, knew the names of its troupe of players, I don’t qualify as a diehard fan. Manchester United’s former captain, the blunt and confrontational Roy Keane, would dismiss me as a member of the ‘prawn sandwich’ crowd. When I moved to the US in 1980 to become a journalist at Time magazine, I kept half an eye on the team, but it wasn’t until the late 1990s that I began to follow the club more closely–partly, no doubt, because more games were being broadcast in the United States. The other reason I was drawn back to the game was because of a fondness for the theatre and gossip that surrounds the Premier League: the big-ticket transfers, the rash managerial sackings, the intensity of the local derbies and, more often than not thro
ugh this period, another trophy for Sir Alex Ferguson’s United team.
As a journalist at Time, before, in 1986, joining Sequoia Capital, the California-based private investment partnership, I wrote two books about companies dominated by strong leaders. The first was an account (written with Barry Seaman) of Lee Iacocca’s turnaround of Chrysler almost 40 years ago. The second, published in 1984, was a study of the very early years of Apple and the influence of its co-founder, Steve Jobs.
As the years slid by, I became increasingly interested in the ways one person can shape and influence an organisation, particularly the handful who maintain their hunger for success and can coax others to perform at high levels for prolonged periods. When, in the mid-1990s, I found myself primus inter pares among Sequoia’s partners, I became even more aware of the challenge. Like any organisation, Sequoia Capital has to constantly fight for its place in the world. While we have an affinity for winning, I don’t pretend for a moment that we resemble Manchester United. For a start, our lineage is nowhere near as long. We only came into being in 1974 when Don Valentine, a veteran of Silicon Valley’s semiconductor industry, organised our first investment partnership. We operate beyond the glare of public scrutiny, although that has changed to a modest degree in the past few years, since Silicon Valley is now awash with journalists and bloggers. There is now even a popular HBO series titled Silicon Valley.
While few know the names of Sequoia’s principals, that is not the case for some of the founders or companies with whom we have been involved since their inception. The most successful of these–Apple, Cisco, Google, Yahoo! and PayPal–have become every bit as visible in the business pages as United is on the sports pages. The same is true for some of our more recent investments, such as LinkedIn, Airbnb and Dropbox or, in China, VIPShop and JD.com. The combined market capitalisation of companies that received their first investment from Sequoia Capital is about $1.5 trillion.
Leading: Learning from Life and My Years at Manchester United Page 28
