Perhaps the greatest suckerpunch in our curious little existence, is the singular truth that all things, no matter how great in scope, will come to an end. The finest Bordeaux will lose its fruit as it approaches its century. Empires established bold in blood will one day crumble. All of our great loves and their every embrace will one day be lost and forgotten to time. Entropy is the ultimate motherfucker.
For my part I am sure that the definitive force that propels life forward in the face of entropy is one of the most fascinating and inspiring traits of our kind. Inevitability has got nothing on our drive to make our mark. To leave our legacy. Goddamnit WE WERE HERE.
For nearly 27 years, my entire life spent in football, Manchester United has known only one man as boss. While ends came crashing in on the hearts and minds of supporters of other clubs for all this time, Sir Alex Ferguson laid his claim on the very thrown of the sport. His record astonishing beyond words, his achievements without peer in the history of sport. Perhaps we were too busy celebrating to consider that this too would come to its end. Easy enough in the gold standard of glory forged by the Great Scot. "Manchester is my Heaven" reads the banner along the Stretford end of Old Trafford, and perhaps there was the fallacy that we were amongst immortals. The Theatre of Dreams is an ideal place to lose oneself.
At 71, having achieved beyond the scope of imagination, Sir Alex Ferguson announced his retirement from football.
This shouldn't surprise any of us. He leaves the game Champions of England. He leaves behind a club, not just a team, that seemingly stands on the shoulders of giants. Which it truly does. What has been built in these decades at Old Trafford is not a singular achievement, but rather the collective culture of the likes of Eric Cantona, Ryan Giggs, Roy Keane, David Beckham, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, Paul Ince, Cristiano Ronaldo, Paul Scholes and right on through to every flash in the Kiki Macheda pan that delivered not trophies, but a fundamental belief that every man wearing the crest of the Red Devil could not be stopped. Its a belief that was built not from nowhere but from the glorious legacy left by a club that decided losing nearly an entire team to the Munich Air Disaster would not keep them from returning to the top of the European stage. There is nothing this club cannot do. Never has been. Sir Alex's greatest achievement lies not in tactics, recruitment, or managing personalities, but instead on building upon the storied heart of Manchester United, and introducing decades of footballers and supporters alike to the relentless BELIEF in this great club.
For me the spark came in 1999. As a Canadian kid with no real roots in football I had no real allegiances (nor any great interest) in the game or this club. Fueled in parts by Beckham-mania and by the great Kung Fu Kick from Eric Cantona I had developed a passing interest in the Red side of Manchester. At best it was a novelty. Then came that most epic of occasions at the Camp Nou in Barcelona. Bayern Munich, those everlasting monsters of European football dominated the Red Devils to a 1-0 lead as 3 minutes of injury time were added to conclude the European Championship. Those final 3 minutes became enshrined in the souls of millions, and came to define the very spirit of the club. 2 corner kicks, 2 goals, the most improbable of comebacks complete with a celebration like no other. I remember that moment as clear as any first kiss. In every moment of darkness since, I remember that day. When I was 6 over par after 6 holes in my playing test to become a CPGA professional, I thought of 2 things. My grandad, hospitalized from a recent stroke, what it would mean to him if I could turn this thing around...and Sir Alex Ferguson and how he had taught me that I ABSOLUTELY COULD turn this thing around. BELIEVE.
Players have come and gone throughout his tenure. Legends allowed to move along, because Sir Alex always had some kids ready to fill the biggest of shoes. This club was never about individuals anyhow. Its whats always seperated us from the free spending Galacticos (or more recently the Billion dollar boondoggle from our noisy neighbours). Mercenarial mentality may win games, but clubs win championships.
A lifelong supporter of the Portugese national side (Simcoe Ontario represent), I was initially delighted by Ronaldo sucking Rooney into an ill-tempered red card in the 2006 World Cup quarter-final. It would set up my the most romantic football match in my life when my 2 all time favourites, Figo and Zidane would square off in their final World Cup campaign against each other in the semi's. But as the moment faded I began to worry. Would this row tear apart the fabric of United, having its 2 great stars locked in controversy? I should have known better. Under Sir Alex the boys would together hoist many more trophies for the adoring faithful of MUFC.
Indeed for every star that United has born under Sir Alex, the satellites have just as much to say about our triumphs. I was filming an incredibly terrible film project (youtube Head Dicks for a puzzling take on the Buddy/cop comedy) in April 2009. While the crew was setting up the set, I insisted upon having the Manchester United v Aston Villa match on the tube. It was a pivotal match down the stretch toward another title run and I simply could not miss it. My heart was heavy as it appeared the match (and perhaps the title) was slipping through our grasp. Cue 17 year old substitute Frederico Macheda and his game winning strike that delivered us a last second win from nowhere. As tears poured down my cheeks the cast and crew looked at me as though I bombed the cookoo's nest. "Trust me this is big" i said laughing and crying at the same time.
It was no different the day I made my first pilgrimage to Old Trafford. It was April 2011. Having arrived at the Seven Oaks in downtown Manchester as some Canadian fellow who travelled across an ocean to see his beloved Manchester United, I was instantly a made man at one of the city's best kept late night secrets. Many dirty pints and mad shenanigans later I still count my friends at the Oaks as family. Matchday arrived and I was taken in by a pair of Irish lads who had flown in that morning from Belfast. There were many many beverages at the steps of Old Trafford and fueled by beer we descended upon the Theatre of Dreams as if we were childhood mates. In many ways we were. We've shared all the same moments for decades. Sir Alex was a grandfather to us all. Everton would prove a prickly foe. David Moyes band of underdogs play heavyweights tough. It was 0-0 going into the final minutes and the tension was like a straightjacket upon 70,000 fans, fearing the title would fall upon this failure. This time it was just another super sub, Javier, Chicharito, Hernandez. The little pea and the biggest of moments. His head to ball into the netting sending to the heavens the loudest noise I have ever experienced. Once again, victory from defeat. Once again, an English title would be ours (the 19th...placing us forever ahead of Liverpool's 18).
As the praise for Sir Alex descends this day, as the Great Flood, I am sure my piece is to be lost in the tides. Lost forever in that endless entropic tide that tugs at us harder than any gravity ever could. But that doesn't stop me from writing it. THAT is Sir Alex Ferguson's great legacy. Futility is nothing next to our spirit. And this is why I do not fear an August without him at the helm of this great club. It has never ever been about one man. It may have taken one great man for us to see this...but the foundation is there, for the next man to lead a club, standing on the shoulders of giants. Moyes, Mourinho, Klopp, hell, ME. It doesn't matter. There is NOTHING we cannot do.
Manchester Is My Heaven.
Thank You Sir Alex.
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