764 My Successor (1/2)
Three months ago, in the away team's dressing room at Fulham's home stadium, the King of the Red Devils, Manchester United, was throwing a tantrum at his soldiers.
”You lost to Fulham! What? Fulham! You dare lose to a team not even worth mentioning? You didn't even score a goal! Look at your performance in the game! I dare to bet that prostitutes can even perform better than you! No fighting spirit, no initiative, I see no ambition from you guys! If you don't want to play, tell me in advance. I will not sign you up!”
Ferguson was already 69 years old. Like Twain, he had a pacemaker in the left side of his chest. Although, from how he had been behaving the past few years, it was difficult to believe that an energetic old man like him had one. In this moment he was red, but it was not necessarily a sign of health. On the contrary, the people who really cared about him had to be worried about the old man's heart. It had been some time since Manchester United's players last saw Ferguson so angry.
They lost their away match to Fulham, completely and utterly. It was as if they raised hands early to surrender. The TV commentators were wondering why Manchester United had played so badly in this game.
After a long time of swearing, Ferguson suddenly shut his mouth. This unusual move caught the attention of the players, with some daredevils quietly raising their heads and seeing Ferguson gasping for breath in his chair. His face was still red, but there was a fine layer of sweat on his forehead. He was sitting on the chair in that manner. His shoulders shook as he breathed. It looked as if he was exhausted.
”Go home, run back to your car.” Ferguson waved.
The players were relieved to get up and walk out of the dressing room.
When everyone was gone, and Ferguson was left alone in the locker room, he was still sitting in his chair motionlessly. The gasps and red on his face faded, but the sweat on his forehead was still there, though Ferguson did not wipe it. He was 69. Even scolding people seemed to be draining his strength, requiring him to rest for so long after. What would that group of rabbits think of his aging? Would they think that they could do as they wished now that he was unable to control them?
He thought of the scene of Brian Howard Clough leaving the City Stadium. Ferguson did not want to leave his coaching position like that. He was a great coach and deserved a decent ending.
After the break, Ferguson felt the strength return to him. He got up and walked out of the dressing room.
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Two days after the game, David Gill, the chief executive of Manchester United involved in the English FA's work in London, got a call from Manchester. It was the manager, Alex Ferguson. This time, he did not reach out to the club for money or say which young talent he saw he wanted Gill to arrange for him to meet. He did not ask for anything and gave no explanation for the unexpected loss to Fulham two days ago, but he did not call specifically to simply just talk.
He said only one thing, ”David, I'm tired. Find a successor.”
David Gill was shocked. In his mind, the FA meeting was no match for this news. He immediately pushed the meeting back and flew to Manchester on the earliest flight. He was going to talk to Ferguson in person to see if he was being serious.
Ferguson had repeatedly expressed his desire to retire. Sometimes, he did it just to put pressure on the club. The other times he had been sincere, but the club successfully discouraged him. Ferguson's 24 years at Manchester United had long been integrated with the world-famous club. No one in Manchester United had seriously considered even a one-day absence of Ferguson, They did not think that was going to happen. Everyone wanted the Old Scotsman to die at Manchester United.
If Ferguson wanted to put pressure on the club, Gill needed to know what he wanted. If Ferguson was serious about retiring, he would still keep the old manager anyway. We already managed to keep him three times, so this time it should still be OK!
As soon as he got off the plane, Gill kept going, straight to Carrington. The team would have finished training, but Ferguson would not leave the training base so early. If there was no traffic jam on the road, Gill should still be able to catch up. In order not to go on an empty trip, Gill called Ferguson on the way, hoping that he would wait for him in his office. Ferguson had no objection. It was clear he wanted to have a good talk with Gill.
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As soon as they met, Gill could not even take off his coat. He said to Ferguson, who had been waiting for a long time, in a half-joking tone, ”What do you want, sir?”
”This is not a scare tactic, David.” Ferguson sat on the sofa with his legs crossed.
”Are you really serious?” Gill turned and stared at Ferguson.
Ferguson smiled. ”I have decided to retire after this season.”
”I've heard that many times, but I'd like you to think it over,” Gill said.
”I've also heard that many times,” Ferguson replied. ”I thought it over for two days before I decided to call you.”
”It's only been two days. The team needs you, Alex.” Gill pulled a chair and sat in front of Ferguson, looking at him.
”I'll be 70 next year, David,” Ferguson said. ”Don't you think it's cruel to ask a 70-year-old man to continue working such a stressful job?”
”Well...” Gill had to admit that there was no way he could outtalk the manager who was once invincible in the Premier League. He hesitated and decided to use another way to convince him. ”Don't you want another European Cup? You once said to me your biggest regret was winning only one Champions League.”
Ferguson laughed. ”Of course I'd want to win another. I still haven't given up on that, even now. This season is still not over. I think this season is very promising. ”
Either way, Gill did not think Manchester United could win the Champions League again this season. The team's performance had been unsteady, which was one of the reasons he did not want Ferguson to leave. But, it seemed that Ferguson had decided that he could not be persuaded with just a few words.
”Start looking for a successor, David,” Ferguson said. ”You'd better decide on the candidate before I retire. The last thing I want to see before leaving is a soulless Manchester United.”
”Do you have someone in mind?” Gill asked.
Ferguson replied, ”After all these years, there would always be those few...”
Gill clearly knew who Ferguson was referring to. He started listing names, ”Mike Phelan?”
It was the result of a dive from within after Queiroz left Carrington, a close confidant of Ferguson. Mike Phelan's advantage was that he came from the Manchester United system and had a good understanding of the essence of Ferguson's use and tactics.
Ferguson shook his head. ”No, he's better suited to be an assistant coach.” He paused, perhaps realizing he already had too many assistants, before adding, ”At the very least, he's not the right person for the job at this moment.”
”Then, Moyes?”
This time, Ferguson thought for a moment before shaking his head. ”I'm not sure he can do as well in this position like he did at Everton. You know, coaching a big team and a regular team are two different jobs. ”
”Hm, Roy?”
Ferguson continued to shake his head. ”Wait until he's 50 before considering.”
That meant he was too young. His resignation from Sunderland was, of course, due to poor results and too much pressure that made Keane feel like things were out of his control. All in all, he was not really ready to become a professional manager, let alone Manchester United's manager. He had previously said he wanted to replace Ferguson as Manchester United's manager, but he had not said that again in recent years. It seemed like he had learned the gap between reality and ideals.
”José Mourinho?”