Page 89 - Alex Ferguson: My Autobiography

knew every trick in the book. Arsenal, on the other hand, played the right way.
They had one of the worst disciplinary records in football in Arsène’s early years, but you could
never say they were dirty players or a dirty team. Steve Bould and Tony Adams would kick the life
out of you – everyone knew that. They would come through the back of you all the time. But in

essence, his teams were never filthy. Volatile and macho would be a more accurate term. They were a
combative bunch. Bould and Adams, I’ve mentioned. Then they bought Patrick Vieira, a big
competitor who could mix it, get about people. And Nigel Winterburn was a bit of a nark; always
chipping away. Ian Wright, their leading striker in those early days, also had a nasty streak.
In 2010, Arsène delivered a surprising criticism of Paul Scholes, telling reporters he had a ‘dark
side’. There was no reason for him to pronounce on one of my players. We were not due to play
Arsenal that week, and there had been no friction between us. At that time Paul Scholes had won ten

Premier League titles and a European Cup, and there was Arsène discussing his ‘dark side’. Baffling.
Players surprise you. They can surprise you in the level of performance they rise to and the levels
to which they sink. Arsène struggled to accept that as a contributing factor in a defeat. Football brings
out the best and the worst in people because the emotional stakes are so high. In a high-stakes game, a
player can lose his nerve for a minute and he can lose his temper too. And you’re left regretting it.
Arsenal had a lot of those moments, but Arsène struggled to believe that internal failings and

weaknesses can sometimes cause you to lose. The explanation is sometimes within.
I’m not saying managers see everything, but we see most things, so Arsène’s stock defence after a
game of, ‘I didn’t see it’ was not one I used. My preferred line was: ‘I’ll need to look at it again.’ It
was the same basic message, but this one bought you time. By the next day, or soon after, it’s likely to
be old news. Something else will have happened in the great churn of events to move the attention
away from you.
I was sent off eight times in my career – and the last one was the most stupid, because I was the

manager. An opponent had been kicking lumps out of one of our players and I said to my right-hand
man Davie Provan, ‘I’m going to go on and do that guy.’ Davie said, ‘Don’t be so stupid, sit still.’
‘If he takes our boy Torrance on again, I’m on.’ And, of course, he did. ‘That’s it,’ I said, ‘I’m on.’
Two minutes later I was back off again.
In the dressing room I said: ‘If. I. Ever. Hear. A. Word. Of this getting out, you’re all dead.’ I
thought the referee’s back was turned when I whacked him. He was 6 feet 3 inches, an army player.

My first clash with an Arsenal manager was with George Graham. I watched the denouement to the
1989 title race upstairs in my bedroom and told Cathy, ‘No calls, don’t put anyone through.’ When
Michael Thomas scored the goal against Liverpool that won Arsenal the title, I went berserk. Two
years later, Arsenal won it again, beating us 3–1 in the year we won the European Cup Winners’ Cup.
I stayed with George after our Highbury game one year. He has this fantastic collection of malt
whiskies. ‘Do you want one? he asked. ‘I don’t drink whisky,’ I said. So George opened a bottle of
wine.

‘Which of those malts do you open for guests?’ I wondered.
‘None of them. Nobody gets a malt,’ he said. ‘I’ve got blended Bell’s here.’
‘Typical Scot,’ I said.
George laughed. ‘This is my pension.’
Our first meeting at Old Trafford was a war. Afterwards, George was persuaded by a mutual friend
to come up to my office. My word, it was hard playing against his Arsenal teams at that time. When

Arsène took over after Bruce Rioch’s brief spell, I didn’t know much about him.
One day I asked Eric Cantona: ‘What is Wenger like?’ Eric said: ‘I think he’s overdefensive.’ ‘Oh,