Glenn Gibbons: Sir Alex Ferguson’s 25 years at the top: it’s all in the attitude

The day nobody could possibly have foretold dawns tomorrow, when Sir Alex Ferguson celebrates the silver jubilee of his accession to the Old Trafford throne. His has been a tenure that has coincided precisely with what may fairly be described as football’s modern era, the first stirrings of the commercialism that would alter the game almost beyond recognition having been noted in the autumn of 1986.

It seems entirely appropriate – perhaps even spookily providential – that Ferguson’s move from Aberdeen to Manchester United should have coincided with the mould-breaking arrival of the first £1,000-a-week players, followed by satellite broadcasting, the revolutionary Bosman judgement and all the other great sea changes that have transformed a sport/business that had been virtually static for the previous 100 years.

He has been, after all, at the heart of the action throughout those two-and-a-half decades, a monument to ambition and achievement whose impact and influence on his profession may be measured in global terms. It has also left no-one with even the most superficial interest in the game unaffected – or without an opinion (no matter how flimsily-based) on Ferguson himself.

Having been born on the cusp of an old and a new year – on Hogmanay, 1941 – he has, throughout a managerial career that began in 1974, appeared to renew himself at the start of all of those 37 seasons. Each succeeding campaign has been accompanied by a re-invigoration which, on the final approach to his 70th birthday, does not even hint at fading.

Impossible energy levels since childhood have underpinned the drive and commitment that was first noticed by a neighbour from two ‘closes’ along Govan Road on the south-west bank of the Clyde. He was himself extraordinary; Joe McBride would become one of the most prolific strikers in Scottish football.

“I’m three-and-a-half years older than Alex and another year older than his brother, Martin,” said McBride, “and I had already signed for Kilmarnock at seventeen when old Alex, their father, asked me what I thought of the boys’ chances of becoming professionals. Like every Scottish boy back then, they played football from morning to night. I told him I thought Martin had more natural talent, but Alex had a better chance of making it. It was his attitude. Fiercely competitive, outright refusal to accept defeat, ever since he was a kid. You couldn’t miss it.”

That conviction would be reinforced by the kind of readiness to assume leadership and impose authority on others with which most people would be uncomfortable. It can rarely have been more emphatically demonstrated than it was on Manchester United’s first trip to London after Ferguson had succeeded Ron Atkinson. This necessitated an overnight stay on the Friday and, with the team coach ready to leave for the match, the manager was at the check-out desk to sign the bill. This, he noticed, was impossibly high for one night. His enquiry elicited the revelation that it comprised mainly overseas phone calls by players.

He told the hotel manager to print out itemised bills for each room, boarded the bus, distributed the bad news and ordered every player to go back inside and settle his personal phone bill. With this demonstration of command, he served notice that the “holiday camp” culture that had invaded and colonised Old Trafford some years before had just been officially terminated.

Since then, of course, there has been an entire parade of players whose comportment, for a variety of reasons, has not conformed to established standards. These include such celebrated figures as Paul McGrath, Norman Whiteside, Paul Ince, Jaap Stam, David Beckham and Ruud van Nistelrooy.

Reputation and status have never been sufficient to preclude repercussions that were swift and decisive.

In such instances, doubts about the soundness of the manager’s judgement have been expressed not just by critics, but by United fans themselves. It is indeed a hard school when 25 years of unparalleled success isn’t enough...

Terry case reminds us players not above law

Whether or not the Chelsea and England captain, John Terry, is charged with racially abusing his Queens Park Rangers counterpart, Anton Ferdinand, his case raises a point that deserves special attention in the context of the Scottish Government’s determination to take serious punitive measures against religious and/or racially motivated offenders.

The new law proposed by the SNP-led Holyrood legislature has been the subject of widespread and intense criticism on the grounds that, not only are its conditions so ill-defined as to be unenforceable, but that it may discriminate against certain groups. Rangers Football Club, for example, have frequently made clear their unease over what they fear is an unseemly readiness to prosecute their fans, while ignoring misbehaviour elsewhere.

The Terry affair provides a powerful reminder of the need in Scotland to bear in mind that the law does not apply exclusively to spectators at football matches or supporters airing illegal forms of abuse on the internet. If the evidence warrants it, charges will also be made against anyone involved in football, even players.

While the FA are investigating Terry’s alleged comments to Ferdinand, the Metropolitan Police, galvanised by an official complaint from a member of the public, have also asked for footage from Sky television, who covered last month’s match at Loftus Road. Officers from the Hammersmith & Fulham division of the Met will scrutinise film from around 20 cameras before deciding whether to take the matter further. The possibility that police action could supersede any disciplinary moves the football authorities may have had in mind should bring some re-assurance to supporters’ groups. The downside, of course, is that the forces of law and order – already beginning to diminish because of economic restraints – could be wastefully pre-occupied by frivolous complaints from the brotherhood of crackpots.