This is the One: Sir Alex Ferguson: The Uncut Story of a Football Genius

by Daniel Taylor

  Not quite everyone. Ferguson dropped a bombshell today by playing Saha instead of Van Nistelrooy – an astonishing decision, given that Van Nistelrooy has been a fixture in the team, averaging thirty goals a season, since he joined the club from PSV Eindhoven five years ago.

  He is the club’s top scorer again this season, with twenty-one goals in thirty-five appearances, and when the team-sheets are brought to the pressbox an hour before kick-off we cannot help wondering whether Ferguson has taken leave of his senses. Saha plays magnificently, scoring one and setting up a couple more. Rooney gets two, Ronaldo one, and Wigan are completely overwhelmed. Nonetheless, it is a remarkable snub, one which Van Nistelrooy doesn’t seem to have taken well. His body language as he sits on the bench is sullen and aggrieved. He is clearly in a huff, and he is conspicuously isolated when the celebrations begin at the final whistle.

  The other players seem oblivious to his torment. They bob up and down on the winners’ podium and pull on T-shirts that say ‘For You Smudge’, in honour of Alan Smith. They kiss their medals and take turns raising the cup before linking arms and belting out ‘We are the Champions’. At first, Van Nistelrooy tries to join in, but it is a half-hearted gesture. When it is time for the lap of honour he gives up the pretence. He is detached from the group, hands on hips, head bowed. He puts on his T-shirt and queues for his medal, but he cannot raise a smile to pretend everything is OK. Eventually, when he has seen enough, he leaves everyone to it and heads to the tunnel.

  His medal is stuffed in his pocket when he leaves the stadium an hour later. He is alone, utterly dejected, and he doesn’t want to talk to the media. When he passes through the interview area and we ask him to stop he completely blanks us, which is out of character.

  Ferguson, wearing his poker face, tells us that Van Nistelrooy accepted the decision that he should be left out. But we are not sure whether to believe him. The team was leaked beforehand to the Daily Mirror, whose Manchester reporter, David McDonnell, is convinced there has been a major fallout and, potentially, an irreparable rift. Ferguson, it is said, doesn’t like Van Nistelrooy’s attitude. Van Nistelrooy is alleged to have reacted badly to the news, angry enough to challenge his manager in front of the other players. There are rumours of a huge row in the dressing room. But Ferguson denies everything. Nothing sinister should be read into it, he insists. His explanation is that nobody can take a place for granted at a club such as Manchester United, not even the most prolific goalscorer in the country. Van Nistelrooy is disappointed, he says, but he cannot please everyone. Saha deserves his chance because he has scored in earlier rounds of the competition. That, he insists, is all there is to say on the matter.

  ‘I’ve explained my reasons to Ruud. It’s not about who the best player is or who has scored the most goals. It’s about who deserves to play. And how could I leave out Saha?’

  Soon afterwards things go pear-shaped. A guy in the front row changes the topic to bring up Ferguson’s future.

  ‘Alex, there has been a lot of talk in the build-up to this match about you being under a lot of pressure,’ he says. ‘Do you think this victory buys you some time?’

  ‘Buy me time?’ Ferguson says incredulously. Suddenly his mouth is twisted and his eyes have narrowed into ominous slits. ‘Buy me time? Dearie me … that’s a good one, son.’ He is smiling, shaking his head as if he finds it hugely amusing. But his eyes scream: how fucking dare you?

  ‘Let me tell you something,’ he says, his voice steadily rising. ‘The problem you press have got is that you don’t get any titbits out of Manchester United any more. The Glazers are in America and won’t speak to you. David Gill gives you nothing, absolutely nothing. All your wee sources have been cut off at the very top of the club. And because of that, you invent stuff in your own minds. Your imagination is amazing. But listen, you haven’t got a clue! Not a bloody clue! And on that note …’ He rises from his seat.

  ‘Congratulations anyway,’ someone pipes up.

  ‘Bye bye.’

  THE COMEDOWN

  6.3.06

  Wigan Athletic 1

  Manchester United 2

  When you win eight Premiership titles in eleven seasons, as United did from 1992 to 2003, the bar tends to be set rather high. ‘Thanks, Sir Alex, but now go,’ is the headline on the United Rant fans’ website. ‘Take this trophy as your last hurrah and let the club make a fresh start. It’s a trophy – not an important one – but some silverware nonetheless. Go with your head held high.’

  It is no way to say thank you. When Ferguson took over at Old Trafford the club had not won the league for nineteen years. Since then, they have won seventeen major trophies compared to Arsenal’s twelve, Liverpool’s ten and Chelsea’s five. They have won the double twice, an unprecedented treble and they had their boot on the head of English football for a decade until Abramovich stepped off his helicopter. At the height of Ferguson’s powers, a full-page advert for MUTV in the matchday programme showed a skip outside Old Trafford overflowing with empty tins of silver polish.

  And yet this year the facts are stark. No Europe. No Premiership. No FA Cup. No open-top bus parades. If they close Deansgate to show off the Carling Cup, can you imagine supporters shinning up lamp posts and hanging over balconies to get a better view?

  Chelsea fans are getting merry on las Ramblas tonight ahead of a glamour tie against Barcelona and Champions League billboards are being bolted into place at Arsenal and Liverpool. All United have is a Monday night game on a soulless industrial estate on the outskirts of Wigan. They win again, courtesy of a late own-goal and with Van Nistelrooy once more on the bench. But the JJB Stadium is not the Nou Camp or the San Siro. The Champions League feels a lifetime away as we look across the pitch at hoardings advertising Poolies Pies and Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls.

  Cardiff was a good day out and the supporters inside the Millennium Stadium seemed genuinely happy, but tonight the reality sinks in. United usually have the loudest away following in the country, yet they watch long spells in virtual silence. This is not where they want to be.

  MOVING ON

  12.3.06

  Manchester United 2

  Newcastle United 0

  Ferguson skipped his press conference yesterday but popped up later in Salford, opening a new sports centre and generally charming everyone – until he realised a small group of journalists had been invited. He agreed to take a few questions, but couldn’t resist having a little dig first. ‘Do you have to follow me everywhere?’

  He has been sore since the Carling Cup final because of the negative reaction in the newspapers. The Times, for example, has described it as ‘a significant trophy only to those who haven’t got a pot to pee in’. The final was not sold out and some of the United fans did not even stay to see the presentation of the trophy. The Daily Mail has likened the crowd to ‘a suburban father whose daughter had just married an anarchist with a bolt through his nose – it wasn’t the one they wanted but they did their best to look delighted and not to wince when the champagne started flowing’.

  Ferguson has taken it personally. ‘Some bright spark might have dubbed it the Worthless Cup but we have never regarded it in that light,’ he says in his programme notes today. ‘I find it irritating when people suggest we changed our tune when it became our last chance of a trophy. Nothing of the sort. We’ve never regarded it with anything but respect.’

  He has been banging this drum ever since United reached the final. But it is not an argument he is going to win. Before kick-off today, souvenir stalls on Sir Matt Busby Way are selling T-shirts commemorating the 1999 treble, along with photographs and posters of past cup finals and victories over sworn enemies such as Liverpool and Manchester City. But there is nothing to commemorate the Carling Cup – no T-shirts, no flags, no banners. Inside the stadium it is the same. The trophy isn’t paraded before the match, the public announcer doesn’t introduce the team as the ‘2006 Carling Cup winners’ and there are no chants of ‘Championes’ or pho
to opportunities beside the silverware. It isn’t even the main picture on the front of the programme. United play some outstanding football, with Rooney scoring twice and twenty-one efforts on goal, but this is no victorious homecoming.

  ‘This is Manchester United we are talking about,’ according to Red Issue. ‘This is a club whose fans christened that trophy the Worthless Cup. Will our win in Cardiff be talked about for years to come like so many fantastic finals in the club’s history? Not a chance. A lot of Reds have probably forgotten about it already.’

  THE GOOD COP

  17.3.06

  There are still two months of the season to go but at Carrington it feels as if preparations for summer are already under way. The car park is virtually empty today, there isn’t a single truant or Japanese tourist hoping to snatch a glimpse of the players from behind the electronic barriers and the guy in the security cabin waves us through without lifting his eyes from his copy of the Daily Star. Ferguson is in Glasgow for the funeral of Jimmy Johnstone, the former Scotland international, so Carlos Queiroz takes the press conference.

  Queiroz is a polite, intelligent man and it is difficult not to warm to him. He has kind eyes, a genuine smile and time for everyone. He has become an object of ridicule to some supporters but Ferguson won’t hear a word said against him. He has worked on four continents, he is multi-lingual and, at Real Madrid, he was in charge of three former World Footballers of the Year. Queiroz, more than most, knows what it takes to be a top player.

  This is his second stint at Old Trafford. During his first spell the media had even begun to talk of him as manager-in-waiting. Queiroz was the approachable half of a good-cop/bad-cop partnership. He frequently lost us with his funny little sayings – ‘it is not right to sit behind the tree and spit’ – but there was something endearing about his long, rambling speeches and his Tony Ferrino accent. We appreciated the fact that he was generous with his time and happy to pass his numbers to journalists he trusted. We liked him and we genuinely thought he liked us.

  But earlier this season he fell out with us. And it was a silly row, totally avoidable.

  Queiroz was interviewed by the Portuguese newspaper O Jogo after the home defeat to Blackburn. When the interview appeared in print, a Lisbonbased freelance journalist by the name of Victor Vago sent the English newspapers a transcript. ‘People have been crying out for us to use a 4-4-2 formation but in the Blackburn game we tried the system the fans have been demanding and we lost,’ he quoted Queiroz. ‘That’s why football is a game in which imagination and, on many occasions, stupidity has no limits.’

  Supporters were furious at the use of the word ‘stupidity’ when it appeared in the English newspapers. Football fans tend not to appreciate being described as stupid when they are spending fortunes following their club. Outraged messages were posted on internet chatrooms and angry emails sent to the newspapers before a statement appeared on United’s website: ‘Carlos Queiroz says comments attributed to him in the English press were falsely translated. “The fans of Manchester United deserve more than this blatant attempt to divide the club,” Queiroz commented.’

  Quotes can often be misinterpreted from foreign newspapers. But this was all rather odd. One by one, we started ringing journalists in Portugal and every time the same message came back: that Queiroz had been quoted accurately.

  ‘Por isso é que o futebol é um jogo em que a imaginação e, muitas vezes, a estupidez não têm limites.’

  He was waiting for us at Carrington the next day, shaking his head and wringing his hands, extremely agitated.

  ‘After thirty-five years in the game I shouldn’t be surprised by what football can throw up but sometimes it is hard to believe these things can happen,’ he told us. ‘Thanks to you, this has been a very uncomfortable period for me. You are trying to create factions between the club and the supporters.’

  ‘But Carlos, we’ve double-checked and triplechecked that quote and we’ve been told it’s word perfect. Maybe if you could explain exactly what you said we could look again to see if there was a misunderstanding.’

  This was the only time we have seen him lose his temper. He didn’t pin anyone up against a wall, he didn’t rant or rave and he didn’t swear. But we could detect his anger. We let him say his piece about being misquoted and treated unfairly and then we left.

  SUNDAYS

  25.3.06

  Another no-show from Ferguson today, although he has sent a message that he will see us for ten minutes on Tuesday, his first midweek appearance since the 74-second walkout in December. The official line is that we are being rewarded for our good behaviour. United have won five in a row and words such as ‘shoddy’ and ‘dismal’ have stopped appearing in our match reports. Ferguson no longer has to pick up the newspapers with industrial gloves and metal tongs.

  The twist is in his relationship with the Sunday newspaper journalists.

  These guys are, on average, a few years older than us and, traditionally, they have always got on better with Ferguson than we have. They have been on the circuit longer and he knows their faces better, so he feels that he can trust them more. He’s willing to debate with them delicate subjects that he refuses to discuss with us. They are older and greyer and he feels safer in their company.

  Except that Ferguson has been in a foul mood with them since a 3–1 defeat to Manchester City in January, after which they reported that he had flown into a rage with the referee, Steve Bennett, at half-time. Ferguson thought Ronaldo was being kicked out of the game and, according to the Sundays, he allegedly screamed in Bennett’s face: ‘You fucking cheating bastard. You’re going to need a police escort to get you out of here.’

  There was talk of the FA getting involved and of Ferguson facing a fine, maybe even a touchline ban. But the FA’s disciplinary department didn’t think it necessary to do anything when they looked at Bennett’s match report. What’s more, Ferguson says the quote about needing a ‘police escort’ was invented. He has admitted having a go at Bennett but categorically denies making the threats that appeared in the newspapers. He says there was libellous spin attached and he has demanded a letter of apology, signed by all the reporters and stating, unequivocally, that their stories were exaggerated and inaccurate.

  The Sundays say they have nothing to apologise for and that their source is impeccable, but they are under the impression that if they do what he asks he will call a truce and go back to giving them separate briefings rather than all-in press conferences. Desperate to reopen their best lines of contact, they have swallowed their pride and drafted a request for forgiveness that does not admit to any serious wrongdoing. There is something along the lines of ‘we’re sorry if you have taken any offence’, but nothing that amounts to an admission of guilt. Nonetheless, it is an apology, which is what Ferguson asked for.

  All that is left is for the relevant journalists to sign it and deliver it to Old Trafford – but then Ferguson has a sudden change of mind.

  He has decided that he has been far too easy on everyone. An email has been sent to the reporters, via United’s press office, explaining that he has been thinking it over and now wants an apology printed in every newspaper that carried the offending quote.

  We daily reporters have been watching this affair unfold with a mixture of relief and bemusement. Relief because it is not us in the firing line, bemusement because Ferguson understands our industry well enough to know he is asking for something that will never happen. No national newspaper is going to print an apology for a story they believe to be true – and they are definitely not all going to do it simultaneously.

  An impasse has been reached. The best the Sundays can hope for now is that Ferguson, in time, will be able to put it behind him. Everything is so fast-moving at Old Trafford that these arguments eventually get brushed under the carpet.

  THE LOCALS

  13.4.06

  Ferguson gives a reporter on the Manchester Evening News a blast at the end of his press conference today. S
tuart Mathieson is a really good guy and a respected journalist but Ferguson is notoriously suspicious of the Evening News and takes offence to a question about FC United of Manchester.

  FC United have divided opinion in Manchester and they are high on Ferguson’s list of taboo subjects. They were set up by a splinter group of supporters so disenchanted with the politics at United after the Glazers’ takeover that they decided to form a breakaway club and since then they have gone from strength to strength, developing a loyal following and becoming recognised as having the best away support in non-professional football.

  It has started to irritate a few people at Old Trafford. Little United, as they have become known, have attracted bigger crowds in the North West Counties Football League than some professional clubs get in League One and League Two and their aim is to be in the Football League before 2012. After they won their first promotion this week, the Evening News had visions of carrying a back-page story about Ferguson offering the ‘Rebels’ the hand of friendship.

  ‘Alex, do you have any words of congratulation for FC United and their manager, Karl Marginson?’ Mathieson asks.

  He has waited until the end, just as Ferguson is preparing to leave. But it is immediately obvious that the Evening News has made an error of judgement. Ferguson’s eyes narrow and he peers menacingly over the table.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Karl Marginson, and the job he’s done at FC United?’

  ‘You’re joking, right?’ says Ferguson, instinctively rising from his seat.