Fergie Rises

by Michael Grant

  Stuart Kennedy had been around the block often enough to know the trouble he was in after Waterschei. His knee was swollen, angry and painful. The only chance of getting any game time against Real Madrid would be if he could fool Ferguson: a few white lies and downplaying the seriousness of the injury which was causing him agony. It was his one hope. When Kennedy was in the Pittodrie treatment room in the weeks leading up to the final Ferguson would walk in and start asking some gentle questions. It became a game of cat-and-mouse. Ferguson knew his player might try it on because he was desperate to make the final. Kennedy knew a brilliant act of deception was required to outfox a streetwise manager he had served for five years. Ferguson would point at Kennedy’s knee:

  ‘That looks a bit swollen.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘There, that big huge swollen bit there.’

  ‘That? Oh no, not at all. That’s fine.’

  Kennedy missed all five games between the Waterschei second leg and Gothenburg. The days ticked by without real improvement. The time came to make a decision. Ferguson asked him to come out to the Pittodrie trackside and told him to make a run to the halfway line. Kennedy put on a ‘can-do, no problem’ face while trying to hide the numbing pain. When he got to the 18-yard area Ferguson shouted at him to stop and come back. Kennedy walked towards him. ‘Fergie says, “How do you think that went?” I said, “It felt great.” Actually it was a nightmare. He said, “Come here…in you come…closer…come right in here.” It was almost a cuddle. He says into my ear, “I’m putting you on the bench, guaranteed, you can stop the charade with your knee. Right, how is it really?” I looked at him and said, “Where do you want to amputate?” Now that’s man-management. There was nobody else there, just the two of us. I loved him saying that. He’s ruthless, we know that. He doesn’t make kind gestures in terms of team selections. But he showed a lot of compassion to me.’

  Uefa struck sixteen winners’ medals for the 1983 final. One for each of the team and the five named substitutes. At that time only two substitutions were allowed during a game and Ferguson figured that he had enough cover and versatility in the squad to sacrifice one of the five places and give it to a player who was unfit. He explained his thinking to his assistant Archie Knox. ‘He just said to me, “Stuart deserves to be there, what’s the point of putting a young boy on the bench who doesn’t deserve to be there?” He took the risk of not needing to bring all the substitutes.’ The decision was useful to Ferguson in another respect: it went down extremely well with the other Aberdeen players. Kennedy was one of the boys, extremely popular in the dressing room, and it was grotesquely unfair that he had been cut down by serious injury so close to the greatest occasion of his career. Putting him on the bench showed a different side to Ferguson. It was his thank you to Kennedy.

  At one point Kennedy thought Ferguson’s kindness might go even further. It has sometimes been suggested that he was on crutches on the Gothenburg bench, but with the aid of cortisone injections he was able to move freely and even run, almost to his usual full speed. Only quick twisting and turning was beyond him. ‘I thought if we got two- or three–nil up he might put me on with five minutes to go, up front or something. Late in the game he sent me out to warm up. The fans are shouting, “On you go, Stuarty”. I actually believed I was getting on! I’m saying to the fans, “I’m going on to sort this out”, having a bit of craic with them. Then I get back to the dug-out and he says, “Right, Johnny, get stripped.” He was putting Hewitt on! I said, “Hey, I’m warmed up here”, and he says, “I was just giving you a run in front of the fans, you stupid cunt.” Ach, deep down I knew he couldn’t put me on. When Johnny got the winner I said to him, “Not a bad substitution, boss.”’

  If he had been fit Kennedy would have started the final, probably at the expense of John McMaster. It has often been suggested that Dougie Bell might also have started had he been fit, possibly instead of Neale Cooper or Neil Simpson. But the muddy midfield would not have suited Bell’s running with the ball even though Ferguson did tend to prefer him in the big games. What Ferguson could not do was have two injured players on the bench. The kindness shown to Kennedy was denied Bell. Ferguson took Bell aside to break the bad news. He told him he had decided Kennedy would have a place among the substitutes but he could not do anything for him. Bell offered to take painkillers for his damaged ankle, but Ferguson insisted he could not take the risk. Bell said: ‘He told me Dunfermline had left him out when they won the Scottish Cup final, but I wasn’t caring about that. I could see he was genuine, though. It wasn’t bullshit. He wanted me to play.’

  There were eleven games in the European run. Andy Watson appeared twice and Ian Angus once and both received medals as unused substitutes in the final. Reserve goalkeeper Bryan Gunn was awarded a medal without playing a single minute. Bell started eight of the games, was man of the match in Munich, and was the architect of the semi-final rout of Waterschei. He was a central figure in the campaign, but he remains the only ‘Gothenburg great’ not to have a medal to show for it. The inescapable injustice of it has always been a source of regret within the team. When Gordon Strachan wrote his autobiography in 1984 he said the likes of Gunn and Angus had nothing to feel guilty about, but ‘they would be the first to agree that they made virtually no contribution to the victory and were less deserving of the award.’ Bell recalled: ‘After the game we went back to the hotel, the wives were there as well. Somebody, it might have been Archie Knox, read out the team that had played and said, “You will always be legends.” I felt it a wee bit then. I always remember that. There was talk for years of them getting a medal for me and I’ve been to a few things half-expecting a medal, but it never came. Strachan put it in his book that Andy Watson offered me his, but I can’t remember that. I wouldn’t have taken it anyway. I’m just glad to be associated with it all. Every time Gothenburg comes up I get quite a lot of mentions, whether I was sub or not.’

  Putting Kennedy on the bench showed a different side to Ferguson, at least for those outside Aberdeen who had him pigeonholed as a despotic sergeant-major. The simultaneous rise of Ferguson and Jim McLean at Dundee United led to them being bracketed as similarly intense and uncompromising figures, men who ruled by fear. In truth, Ferguson’s management was more nuanced than that. McLean’s temper was such that it could darken the whole of Tannadice and he kept his players at arm’s length. Ferguson had a warmer relationship with his players. He knew when to joke and join in the fun, using humour to relieve stress as they prepared for big matches. There was always plenty of laughter around Pittodrie. It was a crucial difference between the two managers, and one vindicated by Aberdeen’s superior record in cup finals.

  The eve-of-final visit to the Ullevi served two purposes: the press conference and a late afternoon training session to allow the players to familiarise themselves with the surface and its surroundings. There was one additional little incident. Stein had told Ferguson that he should take a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label whisky and present it to Di Stéfano as a gift. That little act entered Aberdeen folklore as a classic example of Ferguson’s mind games; a gesture that portrayed him and his club as grateful and awed to be in the presence of the mighty Di Stéfano and Real Madrid. John McMaster remembered: ‘He took Jock Stein to the ground. Fergie thought we would be in awe of Di Stéfano at training. But the boys didn’t care, didn’t even give him a look. The next minute all the Real Madrid boys are staring at Jock Stein. Fergie was miles ahead in his thinking.’

  Back at Fars Hatt that night the players were divided into two teams for a quiz session. The contest became so engrossing they were still arguing over the outcome at breakfast next day. As an exercise in taking their minds off Real Madrid it worked brilliantly. Fingers had banned Ferguson from taking part on the grounds that he would be too competitive. Instead the manager agreed to act as referee. Ferguson also found time for a team talk on the Tuesday. He warned that the ball would stick in the mud and any passes back to goalkeeper
Leighton should be lifted slightly above the surface. Miller had looked at the Ullevi pitch and felt the grass was a little long for his liking. No one realised quite what a factor the weather, and the pitch, would become. It had rained on and off during the morning and early afternoon of 11 May, but around 3pm the sky over Gothenburg truly opened. Around 3,000 Aberdeen fans converged on a city centre shopping mall, drawn initially to gain shelter and then by the word-of-mouth news that the European Cup Winners’ Cup itself was temporarily on display in a jeweller’s shop window.

  Meanwhile, the Aberdeen players and management were taking their afternoon nap, unaware of the rain lashing down. Ferguson woke around 4.30pm, took a look out of the window and muttered ‘Oh, Christ.’ A quagmire of a pitch would do nothing to help ball players like Strachan, Weir, Black and McMaster. Stein was on the team bus from Fars Hatt to the Ullevi. During the journey he turned to the players: ‘Lads, I prayed for rain for you because I thought it would give you a better chance, but I think I’ve overdone it.’ For a while there were fears that the game would not go ahead at all. There were Chinese whispers about the need for a 24-hour postponement, which intensified when the deluge continued after the Ullevi’s covers were taken off. Fingers said: ‘The big issue was the weather. All this indecision, was the game on or off? If you’re building up to a game and there’s the prospect of it being off, and then it’s on, that can play on your mind. It wasn’t the best preparation.’ Occasional thunder and lightning added to the drama, but both teams wanted the game to go ahead. So, crucially, did Gianfranco Menegali, the Italian referee.

  The occasion was too big for the rain to dampen the atmosphere. Fans stood in the Ullevi bowl and got soaked. It was cold, too, and plenty cursed themselves for not checking the weather forecasts and packing the right gear. But drink had fortified thousands of the Aberdeen supporters. Their excitement was palpable. The lightning was not the only electricity in the air. The team selection was already public knowledge: Leighton in goal, Rougvie, Miller, McLeish and McMaster across the back, Strachan, Simpson, Cooper and Weir in the middle, Black and McGhee up front. By kick-off the incessant rain meant their red shirts were dark with water. The strips stuck to their skin, their hair was plastered to their heads.

  Ferguson thought Real Madrid would not vary their short passing game and would want Aberdeen to come on to them so they could counter-attack. He trusted his boys to cope. Aberdeen went for them from the start. When Strachan sent a cross to Black in the third minute the 19-year-old leapt to connect with a glorious volley only for it to smack off the crossbar. Nonetheless, it was a declaration of intent. When Strachan floated in a corner McLeish came powering in to connect with a header. A Real defender took a swipe at it and the loose ball broke for Black to pounce and sweep it across the goalkeeper into the net. Black said: ‘The goal? It was just a reaction really. It just fell and I was first to react. I wish the earlier volley had gone in. Now that would have been remembered.’ The goal was a move Aberdeen practised in training: an out-swinging corner, McLeish making a late run to smash it into the box, confusion with the chance of something breaking to Black or McGhee around the goalmouth. Real had been caught out by a set-piece, just like Bayern.

  And still it rained. There were pools of water around the edge of the pitch. When players ran into the corners water splashed up around their feet. Leighton tried to bounce the ball and it died on the ground. Unfortunately, it would be the team from rainy Scotland who fell foul of the conditions. McLeish undercooked a long pass back to Leighton which slowed in the mud and allowed Santillana to get there first. Leighton could only claw the striker’s feet away to concede a clear penalty. McLeish was horrified at his mistake. ‘Well, that’s a shocker,’ said Ian St John on the ITV commentary. It could have been worse. The rules had yet to be changed, otherwise Leighton would have been sent off automatically. Juanito sent him the wrong way from the spot. 1–1. Ferguson stared darkly at McLeish from the dug-out. A few yards away, Di Stéfano smoked a cigarette.

  Ferguson was relieved to reach half-time without further damage, not least because Real had followed the equaliser with their first spell of ascendancy. McLeish knew what was coming when they reached the dressing room. ‘I came in and I thought, “He’s going to start.” It’s the European Cup Winners’ Cup final. I’m highly strung as well. I’m giving it back to him. Archie’s involved. I think he then realised he’d better back off. Let’s just say he wasn’t saying to me, “Alex, what were you thinking, my dear boy?”’ The crucifixion of McLeish was abandoned. Ferguson had more important points to press home in the brief time available. He reprised a message he had used at half-time in the 1982 Scottish Cup final. Rougvie recalled: ‘He said, “Do you want to win the cup? Are you feart to find out how really good you are? Get out there and do it.”’ Specifically he wanted the midfield to get closer to Stielike, who had surprised him by being more influential than he had expected for a player just back from injury. Crucially he told Weir and Strachan to push up and act more as wingers than deeper midfield men. McGhee and Black had been cut adrift and were taking some punishing treatment. They needed support.

  Aberdeen had started the final brilliantly and then gone quiet. But in the second half they looked a different side. Weir and Strachan lit them up. Strachan almost scored a volley. Black forced a terrific save with a powerful downward header to the bottom corner. Then he put a far easier chance over the crossbar after Weir beat four Real defenders in a thrilling run. Aberdeen were getting closer and closer. They even tried the messed-up free-kick routine a couple of times, though they came to nothing. Still the rain poured down, water collecting in the trophy itself as it stood unclaimed on an exposed table beside the pitch.

  Tension steadily rose. Suddenly Di Stéfano and Knox were embroiled in a shouting match across the few yards between the dug-outs. Knox said: ‘It was a foul or something and he’s gesticulating away. I’m wound up to the heavens. I’m across, shouting at him. It’s Alfredo Di Stéfano and I’m saying, “Shut the fuck up, you.” Even as I was saying it I’m thinking, “I remember watching you playing at Hampden, you’re one of the greatest players there’s ever been, and I’m telling you to shut the fuck up.” We just got carried away with it all.’ The pitch sapped the strength from the players’ legs and Black and McGhee also had to contend with bruising attention from Real’s back four. Black tired visibly. When he went up for yet another header he landed heavily and hurt his ankle. He hobbled on for a few more minutes but clearly needed to be substituted. After eighty-seven minutes his final was over and John Hewitt’s was about to begin.

  On the bench Hewitt was so cold he wore two Aberdeen tops and still had both on when he replaced Black. He struggled to pick up the pace of the game and irritated Ferguson by dropping too deep as he chased possession. The cameras caught Ferguson howling at him from the edge of the pitch: ‘John…you fucking stay up!’ In the twenty-second minute of extra-time, Hewitt was twenty yards inside the Aberdeen half when he started to make a run straight up the middle of the pitch. Real Madrid were attacking but Weir intercepted the ball when Juanito tried to go past him. Weir turned to give himself space in front of a Real player and then lofted the ball over another one to find McGhee up the left wing. Real were stretched. A defender came over but did not do enough to close down McGhee before he hoisted a left-footed cross just over the head of Stielike and the hands of the diving goalkeeper. Augustin had hesitated for a fraction of a second before deciding to come for the ball, a fatal decision. No one had tracked Hewitt’s run. The ball landed perfectly and he dived in to connect with a glancing header deep into the corner.

  He had become the third and, for the time being, last man to score a Scottish club’s winner in a European final. Only sixteen months earlier he had scored the goal on a January afternoon at Fir Park that started the Scottish Cup run and took Aberdeen into the European Cup Winners’ Cup competition in the first place. Now he had popped up again to clinch their place in history. Hewitt’s goals
bookended a run which took Aberdeen past Motherwell, Celtic, Kilmarnock, St Mirren, Rangers, Sion, Dinamo Tirana, Lech Poznań, Bayern Munich, Waterschei and now Real Madrid.

  When Aberdeen celebrated their centenary in 2003 permanent messages were engraved on concrete slabs in the shadow of Pittodrie’s newest stand. Most were placed by supporters, but one stood out for its three-word message: ‘I scored it.’ Underneath was Hewitt’s name. Hewitt said the club was responsible for the wording because he worried it made him look big-headed. But no one was in any doubt what ‘it’ was. That header, which left him landing on his hands and knees in a muddy goalmouth, transformed his life.

  The move and the finish are still shown regularly, yet they are often misremembered. Weir eventually gave up correcting people who congratulated him for putting in the cross. The run and the delivery from the left wing looked like classic Weir, yet it was McGhee. ‘It’s amazing how many times I’ve been described as–or told I was–the guy who crossed for the winning goal in Gothenburg. I remember when I later worked at Celtic I went with Danny McGrain to present a trophy at a school in Glasgow. There were three or four hundred kids there. I was introduced as “The guy who played for a great Aberdeen team and who made the cross for a boy called John Hewitt to score the winning goal against the great Real Madrid”. I just looked across the audience and thought, “Ach, I’ll just milk it this time.” Sometimes I let it go, other times I’ll say, “You know what, you’re wrong, it wasn’t me.”’

  The final was over. There was one late scare when Real Madrid took a free-kick just outside the Aberdeen area. The players in the defensive wall heard Weir saying, ‘Please, God, don’t let them score’ before the kick fizzed inches wide. The full-time whistle sparked mayhem. Aberdeen fans leapt and surged forward, not caring about the risk of hurting themselves on the wet and slippery terracing. Those on the bench exploded out of the dug-out: Ferguson, Knox, Teddy Scott, Black, the unused substitutes, the doctor and the physio, they all ran to the pitch. As they did so, Ferguson cut across the big reserve goalkeeper, Bryan Gunn, who accidentally clipped the manager’s heels. He went sprawling. Gunn said: ‘Everyone else ran over the top of him. I was in the middle of the pitch looking for Johnny Hewitt and celebrating with the rest of the lads. I have this vision of the boss running towards me with this red ash from the track streaming down his face and over his Adidas coat. I have a memory of Alex doing his first interview with this red ash and water coming out of his hair.’