Wayne Rooney had stolen the show in a 2-0 Manchester United win. The visit of the Premier League champions to Aberdeen in the summer of 2008 provided the kind of carnival occasion always guaranteed after Alex Ferguson’s defining move from Pittodrie to Old Trafford. This particular friendly was to mark the 25th anniversary of Ferguson leading Aberdeen to Cup Winners’ Cup glory. Friendly it was … until post‑match media duties.
Frank Gilfeather, a household name in the north east, asked Ferguson about the potential impact of Carlos Queiroz’s recently announced exit from United to take over as the Portugal head coach. Ferguson, hitherto unaware Gilfeather was in the room, shot a glance so vengeful it made the four horsemen of the apocalypse look like cartoon characters. After a pause of three seconds – which felt like three months – Ferguson answered the question in perfectly articulate terms. As the press conference concluded a group of us dived towards Gilfeather, desperate to know the basis for Ferguson’s extraordinary reaction. Gilfeather had reported throughout Ferguson’s spell in Aberdeen and, it was always assumed, had a decent relationship with the managerial icon.
“Michael Crick,” came the reply. “I spoke to Michael Crick for his book.” Indeed Gilfeather did. It was just that Ferguson had not encountered him in the six years between the release of Crick’s book The Boss and that July afternoon. Gilfeather had recounted to Crick that seeking a soundbite from Ferguson for Grampian Television in the early 1980s was seldom a straightforward process.
In the book, Gilfeather says: “‘The first thing he always asked was: ‘How much?’ And I’d say, ‘Look, Alex, it’s only for a couple of minutes.’ And he’d say, ‘Yeah, well, how much will I get? I get £35 from STV when I do a thing for Scotsport, so how much from you guys?’”
In Ferguson’s latest interaction with directors he has been stripped of more than £2m a year by United after the club called time on his ambassadorial duties. “Such a lack of respect,” Eric Cantona screamed. “It’s totally scandalous.” That this supposedly original-thinking Frenchman knows plenty about lucrative post-football pursuits is demonstrated by his unavoidable presence on betting adverts as you sit down to enjoy Super Sunday.
“Sir Alex Ferguson should be able to do anything he wants at the club until the day he dies,” Cantona said. Ferguson can – of course he can – he just will not be paid a chunky seven figures for the privilege. Rio Ferdinand soon piped up. “No one is safe,” the former United defender cautioned, ignoring the fact that the sword of Damocles has not dropped on a batch of players floating around the bottom half of the league or a manager who is only ever one game away from a crisis.
Those definitely not “safe” from a Jim Ratcliffe‑inspired austerity drive are the 250 United employees made redundant as the club looks to claw back £10m a year. The average saving there is £40,000 per head. Staff were told during a 15-minute meeting about the nature of the belt-tightening. At that point, it is actually staggering Ferguson didn’t make a beeline for Ratcliffe (if he had, we would surely have heard about it) and offer to give up his stipend, which has been paid since 2013.
It should have been plain that paying a managerial legend close to £200,000 a month to gladhand and spread the good word of all things United was completely superfluous. That applies to Ferguson as much as to United themselves, who doubtless feared negative headlines from the likes of Cantona if they cut ties with the man who revolutionised their on-field fortunes. What would the young Ferguson, an ardent trade unionist, have made of a scenario where £2m was bestowed on someone who is essentially retired as those on low incomes were deemed dispensable? Ferguson turns 83 in December; it is legitimate to ask whether he thought he could simply receive the United wage in perpetuity or whether this devout socialist has had a form of political reawakening? In Ferguson’s defence, he made no fuss over the end of his paid ambassadorial duties.
Ferguson insisted in a recent discussion with Ally McCoist that he no longer bothers with tactics or associated detail when attending games. True though that may be, images of him talking to executives as United have burned through coaches since he stepped down sits uneasily with some. Ferguson will still pick up the phone to those at other clubs to protect a manager considered under pressure. Kind in one way, the indicator of somebody who cannot let go in another.
Money was integral to a much more high-profile dispute, between Ferguson and fellow owners of Rock of Gibraltar. The fall-out from that eased the Glazer family’s passage into Old Trafford. Ferguson’s pursuit of half of the stud rights from the horse led to him being the victim of a memorable polemic from one Scottish columnist who was once his good friend.
There is nothing wrong with someone in Ferguson’s position accentuating their own value. This approach did him no harm in his pomp, as the abundance of trophies delivered at Aberdeen and United illustrates. His legacy as one of Britain’s greatest managers is firmly intact. Top Premier League players would not get out of bed for £2m a year. It is merely that the optics behind this situation, which have been exposed only because United decided it was a fiscal excess they could do without, are far from clever.
These are times of mediocrity at Old Trafford. Whether Ratcliffe and chums can break that mould remains to be seen. The removal of Ferguson from a formal role is not callous, or even likely to make impact beyond the balance sheet. It just feels unsatisfactory that Ferguson, clearly so conscious of reputation, did not come to this conclusion himself some time ago.
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