Page 122 - Alex Ferguson: My Autobiography

starting XI. One night I made my usual confident prediction about who would play. When the team
came under the door, for a Champions League game, René announced, ‘Boss, they’ve made six
changes.’
I froze, then saw my opportunity. Indignation would get me out of this hole. ‘See this?’ I barked at

the players. ‘They’re taking the piss out of us. They think they can come here with their reserve team!’
An early experience was playing Coventry in the FA Cup, at Old Trafford, after we had knocked
Man City out in the third round. The week before, I had been to watch Coventry play Sheffield
Wednesday. You wouldn’t believe how bad Coventry were. Archie Knox and I drove home without a
care. Guess what? Coventry were brilliant against us at Old Trafford. Teams who came to our ground
often became a different species. Different tactics, different motivation; everything. From those early
lessons, I learned always to prepare in home games for the opposition’s best team, best tactics, best

performance, and make sure they were not in the game.
The better teams would always come to Old Trafford looking to give us a fright. Arsenal,
especially; Chelsea, to an extent, and often Liverpool. City, when the Sheikh Mansour era started,
would also arrive with noticeably enhanced ambition. Clubs managed by ex-Manchester United
players would also be bold. Steve Bruce’s Sunderland, for example, were not shy on our turf.
My longevity rendered me immune in the end to the normal whispering and speculation that would

envelop other managers after three defeats in a row. My success insulated me against the media
calling for an execution. You saw that with other clubs but not with me. That gave me strength in the
dressing room. Those benefits transferred themselves to the players. The manager would not be
leaving so nor would the players. The coaches and the backroom staff would not be leaving because
the manager was staying. Stability. Continuity. Rare, in the modern game. In a bad run we didn’t
panic. We didn’t like it, but we didn’t panic.
I like to think, also, that we were conscious of the spirit of the game. Johan Cruyff said to me one

night back in the 1990s, ‘You’ll never win the European Cup.’
‘Why?’
‘You don’t cheat and you don’t buy referees,’ he said.
I told him: ‘Well if that’s to be my epitaph, I’ll take it.’
A certain toughness is required in professional football and I learned that early on. Take Dave
Mackay – I played against him at 16 years old. At the time I was with Queen’s Park and playing in the

reserves. Dave was coming back from a broken toe and was turning out for the reserves at Hearts,
who had a great team during those years.
I was inside-forward and he was right-half. I looked at him, with his big, bull-like chest, stretching.
The first ball came to me and he was right through me. In a reserve game.
I thought: ‘I’m not going to take this.’
The next time we came together I wired right into him.
Dave looked at me coldly and said, ‘Do you want to last this game?’

‘You booted me there,’ I stammered.
‘I tackled you,’ said Dave. ‘If I boot you, you’ll know all about it.’
I was terrified of him after that. And I wasn’t afraid of anyone. He had this incredible aura about
him. Fabulous player. I have the picture in my office of him grabbing Billy Bremner. I took a risk one
day and asked him, cheekily, ‘Did you actually win that fight?’ I was there at Hampden Park when
they picked the best Scottish team of all time and Dave’s name was absent. Everyone was

embarrassed.
I could criticise my team publicly, but I could never castigate an individual after the game to the