By far the most decorated and long-serving of his
contemporaries, an Old Trafford great has garnered ever more
accolades for his longevity, his quality and his dignity. His
ability to excel at an age when others have retired has been
rightly praised, his attitude described as an example to others.
Enough about Ryan Giggs, though: Sir Alex Ferguson differs from his
greatest servant. Indeed, having taught the winger for more than
two decades, he could learn from him now.
Whereas the Welshman's popularity outside Old Trafford has
mushroomed, the Scot's appears to be shrinking. There is a natural
constituency of Ferguson haters in Liverpool, Leeds and parts of
Manchester. The significance is that others are increasingly being
alienated as Ferguson grows old gracelessly.
It is a shame. The outstanding manager of his generation has a
case to be called the greatest of all time. His achievements brook
admiration and envy in equal amounts. His remarks, however, invite
frustration and even derision from those normally well disposed
towards Ferguson.
Saturday provided a case in point. Darren Fletcher's dismissal
at Birmingham may have been harsh. It was not, as Ferguson branded
it, ridiculous. The previous week, his use of the phrase "an insult
to football" to describe either the amount of stoppage time awarded
in the defeat to Leeds (though one former referee timed it and
argued it was completely correct) or the system whereby referees
determine injury time is already acquiring infamy.
Managers as combative, controversial and constantly successful
as Ferguson are never going to attract universal sympathy. It is
notable, however, that "Fergie time" has entered the footballing
vocabulary to such an extent that it has become a chorus from
opposing fans. Becoming a serial critic of officials runs risks,
though, when his own grasp of the facts is imperfect. The ProZone
statistics showing that the apparently "not fit enough" Alan Wiley
had covered more ground than all bar four of his own players in the
2-2 draw with Sunderland was an example.
The consequence is that Ferguson has an image problem. The
Manchester United manager's view of himself is at odds with the
popular perception. Ferguson appears to believe he is a persecuted
underdog, not the most powerful manager - or even, some would say,
man - in the English game, who is invariably supported by a cabal
of loyal allies.
A man who likes to present himself as a moral victor as well as
a winner seems to regard himself as a bastion of righteousness, but
being a brilliant manager does not tend to provide a qualification
for sainthood.
Especially not when there are such levels of distrust. There are
occasions when Ferguson has said he wouldn't sign a player only to
go out and buy them, or that a player is injured, only for him to
subsequently appear on the team-sheet 24 hours later. Having said
he would field a full-strength side against Leeds, he promptly made
seven changes.
Some regard dissemination as a duty. It is a manager's
prerogative, though there is a case for suggesting the fans merit a
truthful answer even if the media don't. But it jars with the sort
of moral crusading Ferguson regularly embarks upon.
And it produces a credibility gap that explains the current
mystery at Old Trafford. As often as Ferguson insists that the
Glazers haven't banked the proceeds of Cristiano Ronaldo's sale for
their own purposes and that the funds are available for him to
spend, many remain unconvinced.
It may be an instance of Ferguson's attributes being obscured by
his rhetoric. Deprived of his premier match-winner and without his
first-choice goalkeeper and much of his preferred defence for the
majority of the campaign, his team remain in contention for the
historic 19th title and a record-breaking fourth in succession.
Thus far, that has brought comparatively little acclaim.
It is a reason it is dangerous to suggest, as many did four
seasons ago, that Ferguson is in terminal decline. But intemperate
outbursts, even if they are diversionary tactics to deflect from
some of United's less impressive performances, are taking a toll on
his standing.
A pronounced competitive streak may make cogent commentary
harder. Arsene Wenger has admitted he is a bad loser - and there is
plenty of evidence to support that admission - while some of Rafa
Benitez' claims scarcely stand up to analysis. Perhaps, in time,
the same will be said of Carlo Ancelotti and Roberto Mancini as
well.
But now the most distinguished manager around is in danger of
tarnishing his reputation on the comparatively few occasions he
allows a microphone to be turned on in his presence. Ferguson's
losses of temper, his attacks upon officials and his attempts to
influence decisions are reasons that, no matter how many trophies
he wins, for some he will never rank as the greatest figure to lead
Manchester United. Sir Matt Busby was equipped with a genuine
understanding of tragedy and injustice. It had nothing to do with
four, five or six minutes of stoppage time.