Ferguson: The Official Trequartistas Response

The old man knew it was time to go. His mind was willing but his flesh was weak; decades in dogged pursuit of his goal left him exhausted, nearly broken. There were those who implored him to stay, to fight one last fight and give all a proper chance to say goodbye. After all, he had been dismissed as old for years, but a dogged, fervent belief had kept him far elevated above his peers. A relentless pursuit of what he saw as right, trouncing his frailties with a fire which burned deep within him, a pure, white hot hatred for his enemy. His was the will which could not be dominated, which flickered the same whether in the depths of defeat or the dizzying heights of victory. His departure was predictably greeted with tears and despair; boundless misery at the passing of a giant, whose demise surely signalled an inevitable end, a crushing defeat. They, of course, were wrong. In his absence he became stronger than they could possibly imagine. Obi-Wan Kenobi lived on. Alex Ferguson will do the same.

 I apologise for the laboured metaphor, but it was one that struck me this morning. I, as a United fan, was utterly devastated when I head Sir Alex is to retire. I do not bemoan him his rest, he has more than earnt it, but I have known nobody else; I couldn't conceive of an day in which he didn't stand animatedly on the touchline, bemoaning whoever had the unfortunate task of being fourth official that day. We at Trequartistas Towers breathe football, and for me Ferguson is football. I cried when we lost in Rome just as a I roared when we won in Moscow. I watched through my hands as Wiltord gave Arsenal the title at Old Trafford and screamed at my friends as Michael Owen (Michael Owen of all people!) scored THAT goal. When football dominates your life and one man dominates that game his departure has an unexpectedly visceral effect on you. This morning I despaired.

And then the force ghost analogy came to me. For the unitiated, as I was until I googled it 10 minutes ago, a force ghost is what Kenobi became when he died; a sort of nerdy holy spirit. I don't particularly like Star Wars, but I vividly remember Alec Guinness' wry smile as Vader cut him down; a silent, dignified look which signified so much. He knew, unlike Luke, that he had to go. Ferguson, unlike us, knew the same. The sands of time are changing; there are new challenges to be met by younger men. Yet Ferguson, like Kenobi, is not really going anywhere. Of course, he will still attend games in his vague ambassadorial role, but more than that. The iron will of the man has become the iron will of club. His determination to succeed at all costs, to never give in, to uphold the United way has slowly suffused into into the very walls of Old Trafford, the very DNA of the club. It will take a generation before those who pull on the shirt forget what it means; forget the expectation and power Ferguson imbued it with. Long after he is gone the foundations he laid will stand firmer than ever.

Looking back, this will is the most remarkable thing about Ferguson. He is not, and has never been, a master tactician. He is often out-thought; repeated defeats to Barcelona showed that, although there is no shame in losing to that team of 2009. Instead his brilliance is strategic. He purchases players who he can mould his way, who can embody him on the pitch. O'Shea, Neville, Fletcher, even Keane; men who had technical deficiencies yet won through sheer force of will. The 1999 team, surely the greatest British team for a generation, were tactically chaotic. They had beauty through Scholes and Giggs, but too often were they torn apart defensively or stifled in midfield. Yet they won every game when it mattered. It was if Ferguson has managed to singularly hold back the march of the tactical age; triumphing over nuance with a team that was built on character, not tiki-taka. It was a blueprint he has always followed, with his teams still lining up in 4-4-2 and with traditional wingers long after such play had gone out of fashion. One of my favourite United memories was beating Arsenal with a midfield of Rafael, O'Shea, Darron Gibson and Fabio; 3 suspect full-backs and a central midfielder who couldn't pass the ball. They won handily. It didn't seem to ever really matter where the individual units in a Ferguson team played, all that mattered was they knew what he expected of them, they knew how to win and they knew how to do it; with that old United refrain of "Attack, Attack, Attack!".

The tactics may change now he has gone, the personnel come and go, the trophy cabinet may even remain barren. But this will not. Whoever replaces him will have an impossible task in replacing the greatest manager who ever lived. Yet they will also have the simplest mission in the World; to win with a team, and a club, with winning in its soul. Like Kenobi before him Ferguson will watch over. In his absence he will become an idol, an ideal to aim for in the stars for every United team to come. For me there will only ever be one manager of United. For the club there will only ever be one philosophy: The Ferguson Way.