Slipperduke
The Camden Cad
You would think that Sir Alex Ferguson would know better, wouldn’t you? The last time he announced retirement plans, before the start of the 2001/02 season, Manchester United completely lost their focus and slumped like a Tottenham player at closing time. Between October and December of that awkward season, with constant speculation on the identity of his successor, United won just once in seven games, losing five and dropping to ninth in the table as Christmas approached. As the festive period arrived, his family told him to consider staying on and the victories returned. It was too late to save the title that season, but with Ferguson committed to the future, they snatched it back in 2002/03.
“Maybe three years more,” reported the Daily Mirror yesterday, “then I’ll finish.”
What on earth did he say that for? Now we’re going to have to put up with 36 months of speculation on his replacement. Ferguson will recommend his assistant Carlos Queiroz as the next in line for the throne, but after his disastrous season at Real Madrid, I think I’ve got as much chance as him of landing that job. Keep in mind that Steve McClaren also had Fergie’s favour in 2001, but the board had other ideas and stepped in to prevent what could have been the most hilarious change in fortunes in the history of the game. You know, whenever I feel blue, I like to sit back and ponder how that one would have worked out. It always cheers me up.
Ferguson is, I think, the most successful British manager of all time now. Bob Paisley may have won bigger at Liverpool, but he didn’t have to rebuild a borderline relegation side first. Brian Clough won the European Cup twice with Nottingham Forest and the League with Derby County, which is unfathomable now, but he couldn’t hold a dynasty together at the very top for nearly 20 years. Unfortunately it is Ferguson’s unparalled success that prevents him from seeing the danger approaching on the horizon.
Veteran players often ruefully joke that, for them, there is no such thing as an off-day. When an thirty-something struggles in a game, people assume that they’re past it. Unfortunately the same prejudice applies to managers. Sir Bobby Robson discovered this at Newcastle in 2004 when his fifth place finish and a run to the Semi-Finals of the UEFA Cup was judged to be evidence of his waning powers. Freddy Shepherd refused to offer him a new contract, announced that Robson was off at the end of the following season and then sacked him anyway, just four games into the next campaign. What would Newcastle fans do if Keegan managed a top five finish? They’d be delirious, wouldn’t they? Ferguson may think himself immune to this irrational syndrome, but he’s not.
Just bringing up the subject puts doubt in everyone’s mind. Granted, he’s not lost the edge yet, but what about the next defeat? Will that be the product of his age, his loss of desire? No? What about the next time he loses two games back-to-back? What about next season if United start slowly again? After all, Ferguson is popular now, but remember that 18 months ago, United fans were protesting against him outside the Carrington training ground. Sooner or later, they’ll hit a bad patch of form and then people will start to question whether it’s worth waiting three years to make a change.
Ferguson deserves to have a triumphant exit with silverware in his hand and applause ringing in his ears, but I fear that this innocent comment will only hasten an undignified departure.
“Maybe three years more,” reported the Daily Mirror yesterday, “then I’ll finish.”
What on earth did he say that for? Now we’re going to have to put up with 36 months of speculation on his replacement. Ferguson will recommend his assistant Carlos Queiroz as the next in line for the throne, but after his disastrous season at Real Madrid, I think I’ve got as much chance as him of landing that job. Keep in mind that Steve McClaren also had Fergie’s favour in 2001, but the board had other ideas and stepped in to prevent what could have been the most hilarious change in fortunes in the history of the game. You know, whenever I feel blue, I like to sit back and ponder how that one would have worked out. It always cheers me up.
Ferguson is, I think, the most successful British manager of all time now. Bob Paisley may have won bigger at Liverpool, but he didn’t have to rebuild a borderline relegation side first. Brian Clough won the European Cup twice with Nottingham Forest and the League with Derby County, which is unfathomable now, but he couldn’t hold a dynasty together at the very top for nearly 20 years. Unfortunately it is Ferguson’s unparalled success that prevents him from seeing the danger approaching on the horizon.
Veteran players often ruefully joke that, for them, there is no such thing as an off-day. When an thirty-something struggles in a game, people assume that they’re past it. Unfortunately the same prejudice applies to managers. Sir Bobby Robson discovered this at Newcastle in 2004 when his fifth place finish and a run to the Semi-Finals of the UEFA Cup was judged to be evidence of his waning powers. Freddy Shepherd refused to offer him a new contract, announced that Robson was off at the end of the following season and then sacked him anyway, just four games into the next campaign. What would Newcastle fans do if Keegan managed a top five finish? They’d be delirious, wouldn’t they? Ferguson may think himself immune to this irrational syndrome, but he’s not.
Just bringing up the subject puts doubt in everyone’s mind. Granted, he’s not lost the edge yet, but what about the next defeat? Will that be the product of his age, his loss of desire? No? What about the next time he loses two games back-to-back? What about next season if United start slowly again? After all, Ferguson is popular now, but remember that 18 months ago, United fans were protesting against him outside the Carrington training ground. Sooner or later, they’ll hit a bad patch of form and then people will start to question whether it’s worth waiting three years to make a change.
Ferguson deserves to have a triumphant exit with silverware in his hand and applause ringing in his ears, but I fear that this innocent comment will only hasten an undignified departure.
