been fitted with a pacemaker he brushed aside any notion of
infirmity. "Business as usual," he declared. Words that were
meant to reassure Manchester United's supporters and pre-
empt any fresh media speculation had, however, an
unavoidably hollow ring.
‘In the context of Ferguson's towering achievements, these
are not normal times at Old Trafford. Last week, Manchester
United were eliminated from the Champions League by a
moderate Porto side, failing for the first time in eight
years to reach the quarter-finals, with a subsequent loss of
millions in revenue. Domestically they remain in the FA Cup,
where Arsenal bar their way to the final. But in the
Premiership they have fallen so far behind the rampant north
London club that Ferguson has privately conceded the title.
‘If the look on Ferguson's face following last week's
failure conveyed a sense of shock, it seemed to be touched
by the realisation that his grip may be weakening. The loss
to Porto was symptomatic of Manchester United's failings
this season, their disjointed play debilitating proof that
the force is no longer with them.
‘Until this season Ferguson was seldom exposed to the public
in a vulnerable position, where he was not in control of
everything within a 10-mile radius; his legendary temper was
an instrument that communicated fear, frustration, passion.
Thus he became the big daddy and the players his children,
whose only desire was to please him.
‘Nobody has argued more convincingly than Ferguson that
respect and authority have to be earned, not enforced by
binding contracts, that it takes hard work to win things.
This exists beneath the tough exterior of his tougher words,
the ranting at officialdom, his raging at ills, real and
imagined. From the blank expression on Ferguson's face last
week it seemed that he couldn't, or wouldn't, grasp the fact
that Manchester United had suffered more than an unexpected
defeat. At 62, he may have sensed a loss of faith. Perhaps
the end of an era.’