Scott took to Ferguson straight away, feeding off his energy, ambition and integrity. He had worked under eight Aberdeen managers and as early as 1980 had declared that Ferguson was the best of them. Ferguson quickly saw that Scott was an invaluable lieutenant, and the pair became exceptionally close. Scott would not dream of imposing his views, but he could cleverly get his point across. Sitting beside Ferguson on the bench during a game he might say such-and-such a player didn’t look himself today. Ferguson would say nothing in reply, but he might fidget for a minute or two, then make a substitution to take the guy off.
Now and again Pittodrie’s inner circle would be visited by a small, charming elderly man in a suit and a soft hat. Bobby Calder had a unique football career. He was a leading referee who had taken charge of the 1947 Scottish Cup final when Aberdeen won their first major trophy. After briefly managing Dunfermline he was appointed Aberdeen’s chief scout in 1949. It was a job he held for thirty-two years. Rangers and Hibs, among others, tried to lure him away but he remained loyal. Aberdeen famously failed to spot a young Denis Law, the city’s greatest football talent, who went straight from school to Huddersfield Town. ‘If we were to lose a Denis Law again the man responsible would be sacked,’ said Ferguson. But Law was an Aberdonian who had been right under their noses, whereas Calder lived and worked in the central belt. Ironically they would have been more likely to spot and sign Law if he had emerged from around Glasgow. When manager Eddie Turnbull performed a ruthless cull of the club’s scouting network in the 1960s, Calder was considered invaluable and kept on.
He worked in Glasgow along with his deputy Jimmy Carswell. Calder could not drive and Carswell acted as his wheels. They were quite a double act. Both had an excellent eye for talent and Calder was especially blessed with an easy manner which convinced parents to release their boys into the care of a club 150 miles away. He would turn up at the front door with chocolates or flowers for the boy’s mum, cigarettes or cigars for his dad, and even loose change for any brothers or sisters who might be around. He would tell boys of fourteen or fifteeen: ‘Son, you’re signing for Aberdeen and signing for Scotland at the same time.’ His instincts and network of contacts allowed him to repeatedly beat other clubs, notably Rangers and Celtic, to outstanding young players.
There was a sense of mischief, too. When he turned up at a match, he relished the ripple that went round as the other scouts suddenly became anxious about his potential target. He persuaded a teenaged Charlie Cooke to move north from Fife by first signing one of his best pals and making sure Cooke found out about it. When he learned Rangers wanted goalkeeper Bobby Clark he nipped in and beat them to it. When he discovered the winger Arthur Graham was going to sign for Celtic on the Sunday, Calder watched Graham play for his junior team on the Saturday, got on his team bus after the game, went home with him, and persuaded him to join Aberdeen instead. Celtic were furious. He beat the Glasgow clubs to the punch on outstanding talents like Tommy Craig, Jimmy Smith and Willie Young.
Of the squad Ferguson inherited in 1978, Willie Miller, John McMaster, Alex McLeish and Jim Leighton had all arrived via the Calder-Carswell conveyor belt. Calder also wanted Aberdeen to sign an 18-year-old Andy Gray in 1973, but the club told him they already had enough forwards. Gray signed for Jim McLean’s Dundee United instead and later became Britain’s first £1.5 million player. Calder tried to snare the teenage winger Davie Provan only for his parents to insist it was too early for him to go full-time. Provan went on to a decorated career with Kilmarnock, Celtic and Scotland.
Once Calder and Carswell had delivered a young player he came into Ferguson’s orbit. The Aberdeen youth programme and coaching sessions were under the control of Lenny Taylor, deputy headmaster at a local school, helped by Teddy Scott and the oldest first-team player, Bobby Clark. Ferguson was staggered to learn Taylor and Clark were doing the work voluntarily. Clark said: ‘I remember when Fergie came in and he said to Lenny and me, “You two have never been paid for this? You’ve been doing it for nothing?” And he had us back-paid immediately!’ When Calder relinquished the chief scout role to Carswell in 1981, Ferguson became more involved and put an even greater emphasis on identifying, recruiting and developing young players. Aberdeen opened coaching schools in Glasgow and Edinburgh, taking on the Old Firm, Hearts and Hibs in their backyards. Ferguson was determined to land a higher proportion of Scotland’s best raw talent and shape them for his first team.
Pittodrie was energised by the hubbub of young players in the corridors, the dressing rooms, the pitch or the red blaes car park-cum-training pitch. There were sixty under-13s, thirty under-14s, twenty under-15s, all training three nights a week. When Clark left the club he was replaced by George Adams, a player Ferguson had signed at East Stirlingshire. ‘The standards were fantastic,’ said Adams. ‘Alex was always there, asking, “Who are the good ones?” He was always helpful and supportive. He was so confident in his own ability, so confident in the structure and organisation. Everything had to be right. He would make sure the boys were looked after, he would guarantee that to the parents. The boys would be put up in digs where landladies would look after them. He would go to their digs unannounced. He looked after the landladies at Christmas or whatever with presents and boxes of chocolates. The landladies were expected to grass, of course, if any of the lads misbehaved. And they did.’
Ferguson was as shrewd when it came to scouting teenagers as he was with managing seasoned internationals in his first team. He would assess not only the boys’ talent but their attitude and body shape. He would surreptitiously size up their parents, either on the doorstep of their homes or on the touchline at a youth game, to gauge how the boy himself would fill out. He would ask his scouts: ‘Is the dad big? Is he a smoker?’ ‘I can spot a winner a mile away,’ he said. ‘When a boy walks into my office I can tell by how he stands, how he holds himself, if he has the competitive instinct. You can’t instil it into a player; it’s got to be there.’
Aberdeen were doing everything right: one talented young player after another emerged through the system into Ferguson’s early teams: Jim Leighton, Neil Simpson, John Hewitt, Ian Angus, Neale Cooper, Bryan Gunn and Eric Black. All of them would go on to win leagues, cups, Scotland caps or even European medals. Within a month of taking the job in 1978 Ferguson had surprised Black’s teacher at a remote Highland secondary school by calling him personally. The school was 120 miles from Aberdeen and Ferguson had never seen Black play. But Billy McNeill had invited the 14-year-old to Pittodrie for summer training and Ferguson wanted to reassure the highly-talented schoolboy that the invitation still stood despite the change of manager. ‘We changed near to the first team and he would come to the sessions, he would watch the games,’ Black recalled. ‘Alex Ferguson knew exactly what he required from his players and it was pretty clear what you had to do. If you weren’t doing it, you were told. As a striker you had to put defenders under pressure, you had to link, you had to work extremely hard. Press. Constantly make runs.’
Ferguson’s ambition did not come without a price. Paying the youth coaches and meeting the bills of running sessions in Glasgow and Edinburgh amounted to additional expenses and Dick Donald was not a man for unnecessary spending. Every penny was a prisoner around Pittodrie. Ferguson decided the players should travel to away games wearing all red Adidas tracksuits. This fashion statement was relayed in an amusing snippet in the match programme, which had no name beside it but doubtless echoed Donald himself: ‘It sounds a sensible move that will do away with the prospect of spoiling or creasing of expensive clothing on lengthy coach trips.’ Donald was fastidious about paying all his bills on time. ‘It was a tight board, in more ways than one,’ said Ian Taggart, the secretary. ‘Dick was very careful with money. If you wanted money for something you just went and asked him. Sometimes you got “yes” and sometimes you got “no”, but if he turned it down it wasn’t because of limits, it was because he didn’t think it was a good idea and it didn’t stand up on its own merit
s. His instincts were good.”
Even so, Donald often deferred to his vice-chairman, Chris Anderson. Taggart revealed: ‘Dick Donald was a very strong character. But he was happy to take a more background role and let Chris Anderson front it up. He didn’t feel as eloquent as Chris, so he was happy to let him do that. They worked well together.’ It was Anderson who pushed hardest for Pittodrie to be modernised and expanded. Both ends of the stadium were converted from terracing to bench seating by the middle of the 1970s. From Ferguson’s position in the Main Stand dug-out he could look across the pitch to where the vast south terrace was seated and then covered by a £500,000 roof in 1980. Aberdeen’s crush barriers would not stand up to new safety standards and because grants were available to subsidise seating that was a cheaper option. Complete covering was necessary because supporters could not be expected to sit exposed to the North-East’s cold winds and rain. All the same, the result was that Aberdeen could proudly declare that they had the first all-seated, all-covered stadium in British football. Anderson wanted electronic scoreboards and there was talk of a double-decker stand at the Merkland Road end to increase Pittodrie’s capacity from 24,000 to 30,000. Planning problems meant neither of those proposals came to fruition. There was one further innovation, though: Aberdeen became the first club in Britain to have executive boxes where corporate guests could eat, drink and watch a match behind glass.
Ferguson had a board of directors who shared his ambition. He was building up the club from a foundation of scouting and youth coaching, with young players continually refreshing an already powerful squad. The city of Aberdeen, and the whole of north-east Scotland, was buying into a growing club. Taggart was entrusted with the job of selling the executive boxes and could barely believe how easy it was. The whole lot were immediately snapped up on three-year leases. He was pushing at an open door: ‘In those days everyone seemed to be an Aberdeen supporter.’
Chapter 10
IPSWICH FALL TO THE JOCK BASTARDS
If there was a club in England that should have been twinned with Aberdeen at the beginning of the 1980s the natural candidate was tucked away in the pastoral Suffolk countryside. Just over 540 miles separate Pittodrie and Portman Road, yet the home of Ipswich Town was in many ways the Scottish club’s mirror image. Aberdeen and Ipswich were geographically remote from the bigger clubs they challenged. They were well-run ‘family’ operations. They were located in one-club cities, with the undivided attention of their local support, and had comparable populations to draw on. And both were enjoying the best years in their history under charismatic managers.
There is a compelling argument for saying that in the autumn of 1981 Ipswich had the best team in England. Terry Butcher, Paul Mariner, Eric Gates and Mick Mills all played for the national team, the latter sometimes as captain. John Wark and Alan Brazil were Scotland internationals. Arnold Mühren and Frans Thijssen were capped by Holland. In the previous season Ipswich had finished second in the league and won the Uefa Cup. They had drawn twice with the Liverpool side who pummelled Aberdeen and they had beaten the eventual league champions, Aston Villa, home and away. When Aberdeen were drawn against Bobby Robson’s team in the first round of the 1981–82 Uefa Cup, Ferguson took a deep breath. His first European tie since the scarring ordeal of Anfield could not have been any tougher. He was deeply impressed by Ipswich and Robson. He had once contacted Robson and asked if he could spend time with him during a pre-season trip to Holland. The Ipswich players were intrigued to see him on their bus, showing great interest in their formation and tactics. Ferguson watched Robson giving his team a dressing down. ‘Robson went right through the lot and I thought, “That’s the way to do it”,’ Ferguson recalled.
The first leg was at Portman Road on 16 September and few thought Aberdeen would cope. In Ipswich’s two games immediately before the tie they beat Manchester United and Liverpool. England remembered Aberdeen folding against Liverpool and expected Ipswich to pile on new misery. They duly went ahead just on half-time. Thijssen elegantly deceived Andy Watson and Doug Rougvie before driving a shot which spun over the line despite Jim Leighton’s attempt to save. So far, so predictable. But six minutes into the second half Aberdeen earned a corner. The kick was straight out of the Ferguson training manual: a high cross to the edge of the box, a powerful header into the goalmouth, and a nimble forward pouncing to score. It was a move which brought them goals time and time again. On this occasion Peter Weir crossed, Alex McLeish connected with the header and John Hewitt reacted in the goalmouth to nip in front of the goalkeeper and score a precious away goal. Aberdeen held on comfortably for a 1–1 draw and suddenly Ipswich realised what they were up against.
Ferguson and his players had gone down and taken them on, toe-to-toe, in a gruelling physical battle. Weir and Gordon Strachan had been told to play deep and wide to run at Ipswich’s full-backs and also help tighten the midfield. That forced the Dutchmen, Thijsen and Mühren, into territory being policed by the rugged Neale Cooper and Andy Watson. Doug Rougvie marked Paul Mariner and Willie Miller swept up behind him. Ferguson had shown himself to be a match for Robson. ‘We all thought, “Aberdeen, nah, we can beat them”,’ said Terry Butcher. ‘But they were a really difficult team to play. Tough bastards. Fucking hell, really strong bastards. We really didn’t know much about that Aberdeen team before being drawn against them. We went into the first leg thinking we were going to be OK, but we were taken aback by their power. Jeezo, they were a strong side. An away goal wasn’t good, but we still felt confident that we could win.’ Alan Brazil felt the same way: ‘At the time we had a bloody good side and we honestly felt that we would beat anyone. But we came off the pitch thinking, “Christ, we’ve got a game on our hands here”.’
Ipswich were entitled to interpret the result as a blip. By the time they went to Pittodrie they had won three more league games to go top of the table, unbeaten in seven matches in the old First Division. Paul Mariner was back in the team having missed the first leg through injury, and he told reporters: ‘Aberdeen will be forced to be more adventurous in their home leg and that will mean more chances for us. They are bound to leave holes at the back if they come out and take us on in an attacking, open game.’ What really caused a stir was a remark made by Robson at his press conference on the eve of the game. ‘Aberdeen did surprise us at Portman Road, but I have a feeling that may be as well as they can play. We, on the other hand, can do a lot better. Although Aberdeen will be tough, it is not an ordeal.’ Even if it was not meant to be provocative or condescending, that was how it was interpreted around Pittodrie. Ferguson made sure his players knew about it and they took it as badly as the supporters.
Stuart Kennedy said: ‘I don’t like to talk badly of Bobby Robson, I loved him, but he gave a bad interview. He said he felt Aberdeen were lucky and that Ipswich had played the better football. We took it as an affront. It was like getting spoken down to! He thought he’d come and play us off the park at Pittodrie…oh no, no, no.’ In his 1984 autobiography, Gordon Strachan wrote that Robson had ‘shown some of that arrogance for which his nation has been known’. Ferguson did not share his players’ view. He had exploited the notion of English arrogance to fire a reaction from his team, but he understood Robson’s comments and sympathised with them. ‘What he said was for the benefit of his own team,’ Ferguson said later. ‘Not for anyone else.’
Aberdeen’s confidence was quiet and understated and it derived from a belief they had improved their team over the close season. Only one signing had been made, but at around £300,000 (plus Ian Scanlon) Aberdeen had set a club and Scottish record transfer fee to bring Peter Weir from St Mirren. Weir was a left-winger with a stooping, unusual run, which could make him look a little awkward. But he was quick and blessed with magnificent technique and balance. Crucially he could dribble and shoot off either foot, which meant full-backs did not know whether he would go past them down the line or cut inside. Against Ipswich, he did both. Weir’s gentle, placid personality left him
vulnerable to Ferguson’s insatiable demands. ‘He used to kick my backside, many a time,’ he said. Ferguson always felt he lacked confidence and could have developed into a truly world-class talent had he shown more belief. But he also knew this much: when Weir was in the mood he could be unplayable. Mick Mills was thirty-two when he played at Pittodrie on 30 September 1981. Ipswich’s short, moustachioed captain was still playing for England, still the darling of his club. Weir looked at him and saw vulnerability. He sidled up to Hewitt before the return leg and told him: ‘If I’m on form I can destroy this guy.’ His reasoning was sound: ‘Mills was still an England international but he had slowed up a bit. I felt if I could get the right service I could really run at him. On the night it happened: I got two goals, right foot, left foot.’
Pittodrie was packed and electric. Ferguson was facing one of his biggest tests. ‘We stirred up a hornets’ nest when we drew at Ipswich and they will react to that,’ he said pre-match. It was a night when Knox made an intriguing discovery. In the minutes before kick-off he was standing on the trackside when he realised he could hear a man talking from deep inside the stadium. An air vent was carrying the noise from inside, all the way from the away dressing room. Knox said: ‘I could heard it quite clearly. It was Bobby Robson talking to his players. That was the first time I heard that. I could stand and listen in to what they were saying in the dressing room. But we didn’t do it every week!’ That night he heard Robson addressing his Ipswich players, telling them how much better they were than the ‘Jock bastards’, telling them to go out and show it. He was writing off Aberdeen. Knox and Ferguson knew it was all done for effect, but they used it to wind up their own players and produce a counter-reaction.
The stage was set for a pulsating night. Strachan scored a penalty to put Aberdeen 2–1 up overall, but John Wark levelled the aggregate score with another penalty before half-time, and the away-goal advantage was gone. Andy Watson and Neale Cooper had a grip of Thijssen and Mühren, but Ferguson felt his team were sitting back too much and allowing Ipswich to press. That had to change. At half-time he turned to Weir. It was not a left-midfield player he wanted, it was a left winger. He told Weir to push forward. After fifty-five minutes Weir ran at Mills. Ipswich’s captain backtracked and backtracked until Weir cut inside and drilled a low, right-foot shot into the far corner. Pittodrie sensed an English kill. Half an hour later Weir staged an almost perfect re-enactment. This time he ran at Mills and went outside on to his left foot, flashing another shot across goalkeeper Paul Cooper into the net. Aberdeen were home and dry and the holders were out. If Strachan had converted a second penalty in stoppage time it would have been a rout.
Fergie Rises Page 11