Football – Bloody Hell! (31 page)
Read Football – Bloody Hell! Online
Authors: Patrick Barclay
As more than worthy champions nonetheless, United proceeded to Wembley, where Cantona, already Footballer of the Year, used immaculate technique in driving the only goal. The ball flew past a Liverpool goalkeeper, David James, who had been among the most fetching models of the off-white suits in which, to their eternal shame – and even now it is cited as evidence of the club’s decline – a team now managed by Roy Evans had taken their pre-match stroll on the pitch.
Ferguson’s side, by contrast, was built to last. The kids were barely out of their teens (or, in Phil Neville’s case, still in them), Keane and Giggs were in their early twenties. There appeared plenty of mileage in Cantona and Irwin. Only the thirty-five-year-old Bruce, whose place went to David May in the Cup final, was deemed past his best and allowed to move to Birmingham City, dropping a division.
As the Double was celebrated, there were few toasts to absent friends – football is not like that – but it does seem extraordinary to reflect, at a distance, on the widespread belief that United had been reckless in jettisoning Hughes, Ince and Kanchelskis.
Ferguson had known that, with the kids, United would be all right. But he had thought some more ready for the fray than others. Beckham he had put in the latter category. He was not alone among the United staff, some of whom cited Beckham’s apparent diffidence as evidence of a lack of fire inside. Ferguson even thought about buying another right-winger – and considered Darren Anderton and Marc Overmars – before replacing Kanchelskis’s pace with youthful craft. Butt was to shoulder the central-midfield burden with the discipline Ince had lacked, forming a solid central axis with Keane. And this, with Beckham and Giggs on the outside and Cole ahead of Cantona, was to be the shape of things to come, a formation that, with the odd coming and going here and there, would win two more Doubles and the first Champions League of the Ferguson era.
That it was still not quite ready for Europe had, however, been emphasised by a first-round Uefa Cup knockout on away goals at the hands of the Russian club Rotor Volgograd. Even Raith Rovers did better than that, reaching the third round before succumbing to Bayern Munich.
Gordon Brown would have been proud of Raith. Born, like Ferguson, in Govan but brought up a son of the manse (child of a Church of Scotland minister) in Kirkcaldy, he had been a Stark’s Park regular from boyhood to his election as MP for Dunfermline East in 1983, while Tony Blair was winning Sedgefield, and was never to waver in his affection for the little Fife club.
Blair would have been pleased to see his favourite club, Newcastle, challenging the best. Yet he was to go one better than Keegan and lift a most coveted trophy: the keys to 10 Downing Street.
He had been elected Labour leader in 1994, after the sudden death of John Smith, and was soon being praised by Lady Thatcher as probably the most formidable since Hugh Gaitskell. ‘I see a lot of socialism behind their front bench,’ she said, ‘but not in Mr Blair. I think he genuinely has moved.’
Ferguson, for all his continuing protestations of allegiance to the traditional Labour cause, would have perfectly understood that. He had been introduced to Alastair Campbell by the ubiquitous Jim Rodger – both had worked on the
Daily Mirror
, Campbell as a political correspondent and Rodger as a chronicler of football’s comings and goings – and formed a friendship with not only the power-in-waiting behind New Labour’s throne but, in the run-up to the general election that was finally to oust the Conservatives, Blair himself.
Daily Mirror
, Campbell as a political correspondent and Rodger as a chronicler of football’s comings and goings – and formed a friendship with not only the power-in-waiting behind New Labour’s throne but, in the run-up to the general election that was finally to oust the Conservatives, Blair himself.
In the summer of 1996, less than a year before the election, Ferguson sent a Cantona shirt to Campbell to auction at a dinner and, as Campbell recorded in his published diaries, it fetched £17,500.
That was the summer of Euro 96. The European Championship was held in England and ‘Football’s Coming Home’ grated on the ears of those, like Ferguson, whose hearts favoured visiting teams. Ferguson did, however, dutifully approve Terry Venables’s selection of Phil Neville, aged only nineteen, and his brother Gary for the England squad.
Scotland, under the management of Craig Brown, had qualified and been drawn in England’s group. A memorable goal from Gascoigne, volleyed after a flick over Colin Henry, sealed their fate. Nor did the reigning champions from Denmark, with Schmeichel in goal, last long. Gary Neville was an ever-present for England until the semi-finals, in which they lost to Germany on penalties. The Germans beat the Czech Republic in the final and Ferguson, for whom I was ghosting a column in the
Sunday Telegraph
, identified the unsung hero as the midfield workhorse, the thirty-one-year-old and hitherto barely known Dieter Eilts, of Werder Bremen. But he had been quietly sizing up a couple of others for Manchester United.
Sunday Telegraph
, identified the unsung hero as the midfield workhorse, the thirty-one-year-old and hitherto barely known Dieter Eilts, of Werder Bremen. But he had been quietly sizing up a couple of others for Manchester United.
The first indicated Ferguson’s uncertainty about whether Beckham would settle on the right or in a central role. This was Karel Poborsky, a star of Euro 96, the scorer of a delicious goal for the Czechs against Portugal – having chipped the goalkeeper without breaking stride, he described his virtuosity afterwards as ‘the easiest thing to do in the circumstances’ – but destined to leave little impression on Old Trafford. The other was Jordi Cruyff, son of Johan, the Barcelona equivalent of Darren Ferguson and, likewise, to prove not good enough for United.
To think that Alex Ferguson could have had Zinedine Zidane – or at least made a more determined bid for him. Zidane, suffering the after-effects of a car crash in his final season with Bordeaux, was a pale shadow of himself at Euro 96. Juventus still had faith in him and, although Ferguson was to try to buy him from the Turin club for £10 million a year later, the boat had been spectacularly missed
Relatively inexpensive though they might have been, Poborsky and Cruyff were poor buys, lucky to end the season with League championship medals after making only twenty-six starts between them.
Ferguson obtained infinitely better value on the Norwegian market cornered by Rune Hauge. He got Ole Gunnar Solskjær, who immediately took over from Cantona as Ferguson’s leading goalscorer. Not that Cantona minded: as a partner, he clearly preferred the intelligent Solksjær to Cole. At the back, Ferguson tried to replace Bruce with another Norwegian, Ronny Johnsen, a fine player who never seemed far from his next injury; though the same was true of Solskjær, both were to earn Champions League medals, in Solskjær’s case unforgettably.
Putting on Spectacles
P
erhaps the most significant development of 1996/7 was the emergence of Beckham as a major influence. He was given an England debut early in the season, being instantly called up by Venables’s successor, Glenn Hoddle, to start the World Cup qualifying process in Moldova and, for his club, saw off the flimsy challenge of Poborsky and Cruyff for a place on the right, where Ferguson soon became convinced he was best suited with his wonderful gift for crossing.
erhaps the most significant development of 1996/7 was the emergence of Beckham as a major influence. He was given an England debut early in the season, being instantly called up by Venables’s successor, Glenn Hoddle, to start the World Cup qualifying process in Moldova and, for his club, saw off the flimsy challenge of Poborsky and Cruyff for a place on the right, where Ferguson soon became convinced he was best suited with his wonderful gift for crossing.
Early exits from the domestic Cups focused midweek attention on Europe. This was a slightly better Champions League campaign, even though Ferguson, only too aware that United had never lost at home in Europe, was obliged to suffer the personal indignity of being the man in charge when they finally went down, 1–0, to Fenerbahçe of Istanbul. They were to lose by the same margin at home to Juventus and, in the semi-finals, Borussia Dortmund.
The home match against Borussia had brought about a change in Ferguson’s appearance. ‘It was after it that I started to wear glasses,’ he was to recall. The subject of his memory had come up when I observed that, unlike many managers of the early twenty-first century, notably José Mourinho, he never took notes. ‘I’ve a great memory,’ he modestly explained. ‘I rely on it. What I say at half-time is important and it has to be accurate. That’s why I started wearing glasses after the Borussia game.’ Lars Ricken scored for the Germans after seven minutes and, at half-time, Ferguson blamed Schmeichel for letting the shot in. Schmeichel defended himself on the grounds that it had taken a deflection. ‘There was no fucking deflection,’ said Ferguson. ‘There was,’ interjected Gary Pallister. ‘It came off my leg.’
The spectacles Ferguson, then nearly fifty-five, had been given years before but never worn were brought out. ‘You can’t be wrong at half-time,’ he said. Later he thought about having a screen in the dressing room on which incidents could be replayed. He discussed it with Carlos Queiroz, his assistant at the time, but decided against. ‘You only have fifteen minutes at half-time and while you were showing something somebody had done wrong you’d be ignoring everybody else. A team talk is about everyone. Say Gary Neville’s made a mistake – you don’t want all the others sitting around watching it.’
So everything was logged mentally; there were no bullet points to consult. ‘When I’m walking along the touchline, when I’m walking towards the dressing room, I’m thinking about the first thing I should say. Then, after seven or eight minutes, I take a break and my assistant comes in. And then I start working on the last thing to say before they go out for the second half. It’s usually a summary of where they are and where they are going. Because there’s always a road. And these next forty-five minutes are your last chance of reaching the destination. This is the time on which you’re going to be judged.’
Trying to work out Ferguson’s motivational principles was often difficult. For example, he rejected the screening of mistakes at half-time or the end of a match but would seldom hesitate to bawl out the offender or offenders in front of their team-mates. And his attitude towards the players’ feelings during the week was different again, he stressed: ‘I never criticise a player in a training session. When you’re building towards a match, everything is geared towards going into it with confidence.’
Similarly, that last thing they would hear before rejoining the fray would be positive: about honesty of endeavour, about being part of Manchester United. ‘And we don’t under-emphasise their ability, put it that way. We
overplay
their ability. At our level, there’s no point in being negative.’ At one stage, if United were 1-0 up, he would say, ‘You’ve won the game – now make sure you don’t lose it.’ Then he came to the conclusion that ‘Now go out and kill them off’ was a safer bet. But on the night they lost their semi-final to Borussia Dortmund, they were 1–0 down and, whatever directions Ferguson might have given them, could not find the road back.
overplay
their ability. At our level, there’s no point in being negative.’ At one stage, if United were 1-0 up, he would say, ‘You’ve won the game – now make sure you don’t lose it.’ Then he came to the conclusion that ‘Now go out and kill them off’ was a safer bet. But on the night they lost their semi-final to Borussia Dortmund, they were 1–0 down and, whatever directions Ferguson might have given them, could not find the road back.
Ferguson, it seemed at the time, had turned Old Trafford from a fortress into a haven. After forty years without a defeat there, United had incurred three in a season.
But there were consolations along the road to the last four, not least the class demonstrated by Beckham, who scored in open play against Rapid Vienna and Fenerbahçe away as United finished second in their group. After soundly beating Porto in the quarter-finals – all four goals came amid a coruscating performance in the first leg at Old Trafford – they avoided the favourites, Juventus.
Although United were to meet, in Borussia, even more formidable opposition, Juventus were the team regarded by Ferguson as the example to follow. ‘All that skill,’ he would say, ‘and they work like beasts!’ Gary Neville was listening. ‘The manager was desperate to win the European Cup,’ he recalled, ‘and Juventus were the benchmark.’ By now, Neville added, such a high priority was given to the European quest that Ferguson and Brian Kidd would prepare extra-meticulously. ‘Sometimes they’d even set up the team for a League match on Saturday with the European game on Wednesday in mind.’
Ferguson admired none of his counterparts more than Marcello Lippi, who had led Juventus to the European title the previous year with victory on penalties over the still-powerful Ajax. ‘That Lippi,’ he had been in the habit of groaning, ‘he’s got us all beat.’ Not Ottmar Hitzfeld he hadn’t. Not the Hitzfeld whose Borussia put out United and went on to overcome Juventus – Zinedine Zidane, Didier Deschamps, Christian Vieri, Alen Boko
̆
i
ć
and all – by 3–1 in the final.
̆
i
ć
and all – by 3–1 in the final.
Ferguson had obtained a formidable new rival and Hitzfeld, after moving to Munich, was even to recover from the shock of being beaten by Ferguson’s United in the 1999 final and to lead Bayern back to the summit, where finally they planted their flag after a penalty contest with Valencia in 2001. Hitzfeld thus became only the second manager to win Europe’s top prize with two clubs, after Ernst Happel, (Feyenoord 1970, and Hamburg 1983). Mourinho (Porto 2004, Internazionale 2010) was the third.
By the time United took their next European title in 2008, Hitzfeld was leading Bayern to one more Bundesliga title before taking charge of Switzerland, whom he guided to the 2010 World Cup. Lippi, in 2008, was once more the toast of the entire coaching fraternity, the man who had them all beat; his Italy were champions of the world, having triumphed in Germany two years earlier. All three of these men were standing the test of time.
New Labour: His Part in its Victory
B
ack in that spring of 1997, Ferguson had been fighting on three fronts. Their order of importance to him was not known, though clearly he devoted most of his attention to United’s domestic and European quests.
ack in that spring of 1997, Ferguson had been fighting on three fronts. Their order of importance to him was not known, though clearly he devoted most of his attention to United’s domestic and European quests.
At home, Cole’s return provided extra goals for a final spurt in which the challenges of Roy Evans’s temporarily resurgent Liverpool and Arsenal under the new management of Arsène Wenger were seen off; it had been a strange season for United, especially in October, when they lost 5–0 at Newcastle. Attempts to ascribe this to the absence of Roy Keane, the cement of the team by now, were somewhat lamed by his presence in the next match at Southampton, where United went down 6–3.
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