The end of an age

The end of an age


I was asked on a few occasions in the last week why I should be so shocked at the retirement of a 71-year-old man.
I tried to explain the impact that the Scottish manager of an English soccer team has had on my life to date. But, to non-believers, the bare facts lead to bemused looks. I told them to try to imagine a benevolent Taoiseach in charge of this country for that length of time, giving you reason to be thankful and spoiling you virtually every year and you might get the picture. More bemused looks.
To those who prefer to not let sport, and in this case soccer, dominate their lives Alex Ferguson might amount to the one sports question you’d get right in a quiz. Or maybe not. But to those whose youth was full of Saturday afternoons watching Aertel page 221 for Premiership results and whose summers were mixed between pretending to be Willie Joe Padden or Paul McGrath in the back garden, Alex Ferguson did not engender indifference.
If, like me, you were lucky enough at a young age (seven for me, in 1989) to opt for Manchester United as ‘your team’, Fergie was the man who enlivened so many dark winters, a man who by sheer force of will and personality dragged an entire football club up by the bootstraps to become one of the greatest clubs in the world. Winning thirteen out of 21 Premierships was, I explained to the non-believers, like Enda Kenny and Michael Noonan toppling the Troika. But then I have to try to explain what the Troika is.
The highs were all the more rewarding because there were plenty of lows too. I remember vividly starring into my glass of Coke in Rocky’s old bar in Castlebar when United couldn’t score until the cows came home at Upton Park and Blackburn lifted the Premiership in 1995.
In 1999 I was banished from the house by my justifiably irate father when I threw and broke the TV remote off the wall after Juventus went 2-0 up inside ten minutes in the Champions League semi-final. He was caught by the bug too though and came roaring out with excitement to bring me back in as Roy Keane led the most remarkable of fightbacks.
A few weeks later United topped it off with an injury time double to turn defeat into victory in the final against Bayern Munich and we were singing on top of the tables in McGoldrick’s in Castlebar.
You see, it wasn’t just what United won under Ferguson, it was how they won it. With verve, tenacity, spirit, always entertaining. Their Champions League final wins summed them up. Ferguson’s teams never knew when they were beaten. Thanks for all the memories Fergie, it was some roller-coaster ride.