Page 29 - Alex Ferguson: My Autobiography
P. 29

semi-finals of the Champions League, losing to Bayer Leverkusen, but there were to be no trophies in
  the year of my U-turn. This after a run of three straight Premier League titles.
     That summer we spent heavily on Ruud van Nistelrooy and Juan Sebastián Verón. Laurent Blanc
  came in, too, after I sold Jaap Stam – an error, as I have admitted many times since. My reasoning

  with Blanc, as I said at the time, was that we needed a player who would talk to and organise the
  younger players. The early part of that campaign was most memorable for Roy Keane throwing the
  ball  at Alan  Shearer  (and  being  sent  off)  in  the  4–3  defeat  at  Newcastle,  and  our  incredible  5–3
  victory  at  Spurs  on  29  September  2001,  in  which  Tottenham  scored  through  Dean  Richards,  Les
  Ferdinand and Christian Ziege before we mounted one of the great comebacks.
     It is such a vivid memory. As they traipsed into the dressing room, three goals down, the players
  were braced for a rollicking. Instead I sat down and said: ‘Right, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.

  We’re going to score the first goal in this second half and see where it takes us. We get at them right
  away, and we get the first goal.’
     Teddy Sheringham was the Tottenham captain and, as the teams emerged back into the corridor, I
  saw  Teddy  stop  and  say:  ‘Now  don’t  let  them  get  an  early  goal.’  I’ll  always  remember  that.  We
  scored in the first minute.
     You could see Spurs deflate while we puffed ourselves up. There were 44 minutes left in the half.

  On we went and scored four more. Just incredible. Tottenham’s standing in the game imbued that
  victory with more lustre than a five-goal comeback at, say, Wimbledon. To beat a great football club
  in  that  manner  has  historical  ramifications.  Our  dressing  room  afterwards  was  some  place  to  be:
  players rolling their heads, not quite believing what they had done.
     Teddy’s warning to the Tottenham team that day reflected our success in frightening opponents with
  well-timed retaliatory goals. There was an assumption (which we encouraged) that scoring against us
  was a provocative act that would invite terrible retribution. Most teams could never relax in front

  against us. They were always waiting for the counterpunch.
     I tapped my watch in games to spook the other team, not encourage mine. If you want my summary
  of what it was to be Manchester United manager I would direct you to the last 15 minutes. Sometimes
  it would be quite uncanny, as if the ball were being sucked into the net. Often the players would seem
  to know it was going to be hoovered in there. The players would know they were going to get a goal.
  It didn’t always happen, but the team never stopped believing it could. That’s a great quality to have.

     I always took risks. My plan was: don’t panic until the last 15 minutes, keep patient until the last
  quarter of an hour, then go gung-ho.
     Against Wimbledon in the Cup one year, Peter Schmeichel went up to chase a goal and we left
  Denis  Irwin  on  the  halfway  line  against  John  Fashanu.  Schmeichel  was  up  there  for  two  minutes.
  Wimbledon  were  kicking  the  ball  up  to  Fashanu  and  wee  Denis  was  nipping  in  front  of  him  and
  sending it back into the box. Great entertainment. Schmeichel had a physical prowess. He and Barthez
  liked to play out. Barthez especially was a good player, though he thought he was better than he was.

  On tour in Thailand he kept on at me to let him play up front, so I relented for the second half. The
  other players kept battering the ball into the corners and Barthez would come back with his tongue
  hanging out after chasing the ball. He was knackered.
     No team ever entered Old Trafford thinking United might be persuaded to give in. There was no
  comfort to be gained from thinking we could be demoralised. Leading 1–0 or 2–1, the opposition
  manager would know he faced a final 15 minutes in which we would go hell for leather. That fear

  factor was always there. By going for the throat and shoving bodies into the box, we would pose the
  question: can you handle it? On top of our own frantic endeavours, we would be testing the character
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