Manchester United’s Seven Deadly Sins: #6 – Lust

Best’s greatest game

George Best

Matt Busby’s reputation is as a coach who had won things, rather than a coach who had done things. History would argue that he was no tactician; instead, like many others at the time, he was handy at man-management, a true motivator who helped inspire the most symbolic European Cup win in the game’s history.

For us, his response to a straightforward question — “How do we play, Boss?” — sums him up best: “We play football.” There are apparently many variations to this exchange with full-back Noel Cantwell; indeed, it may never have even happened. But, crucially, it sounds as if it could be true.

None of this is supposed to reflect badly on Busby; his true genius can be found in the big results he managed and the big crowds they drew in. And even Busby must have known that to simply ‘play’ was not always so wise: the opposition would not always be a Leicester City, or a Northampton Town.

The one team United certainly could not afford to ‘play’ against — that is, hope the quality of their players alone could overwhelm the opposition — was a side with similar aspirations, one they would jostle with two years later for the boast of being Europe’s best.

Benfica did not have George Best, Denis Law or Bobby Charlton, but a fan of the Portuguese outfit might have pointed out that Manchester United did not have Eusebio, Jose Torres or Antonio Simoes.

These players, writes Joe Lovejoy in his biography of George Best, formed a “trinity of their own [just] as revered”. With a 3-2 aggregate lead over Benfica coming into the second-leg, Busby ordered his players to keep it tight. “It was one England’s champions seemed destined to fail,” Lovejoy said. “A fragile one-goal lead was unlikely to be enough in one of the great cathedrals of the game, where Benfica had never lost a European tie.” To play it safe was the logical thing to do.

Manchester United, as underdogs, went on to win 5-1. Busby would not have expected such a margin of victory, but could still feel slightly vindicated: it was clear that his philosophy — an expressive playing style all the best sides possessed — was all his players were really familiar with. “We didn’t know how to keep a game tight,” George Best would later say. “We just knew how to batter teams, which is what we did.”

If Busby, by default, had some responsibility for the win, then the rest would go to Best. It was said to be his finest hour in a red shirt, where he ignored the instructions of his manager because he envisaged so much more than everyone else. This lust was typical of Best (as well as many other kinds): good players are naturally confident, but Best took it further.

He would recall the game in his autobiography ‘Blessed’, stating that he could barely remember half-time, perhaps “because I was so wrapped up in my performance.” He had scored twice early on, stunning the hosts into inaction. Lovejoy wrote that “Benfica were nonplussed. Briefed to expect opponents in backs-to-the-wall defensive mode, they were still trying to adjust when their tormentor-in-chief laid on the third, for John Connelly.”

“I told them to play it tight for a while, for 20 minutes or so until we got their measure, but George just went out and destroyed them,” said Busby, proudly. “[Benfica] were also prepared to play it tight for a while – that is what always happens in European games. Then out comes this kid, as if he’s never heard of tradition, and starts running at them, turning them inside out. I ought to have shouted at him for not following instructions, but what could you say? He was a law unto himself. He always was.” Technically, there was no sin. Not yet, anyway. Best lusted after glory, and got it. Nobody could resent him for that.

The Portuguese paper A Bola declared the next day: ‘A Beatle called Best smashes Benfica’. Bobby Charlton thought it was “probably George’s best game”. Denis Law, too, saying it was “the start of all the hype.” Best started to believe that hype, according to Lovejoy.

“The morning after found the man of the moment feted like John, Paul, George and Ringo rolled into one. Playing up to the El Beatle image, Best went out and bought the biggest sombrero he could find. He was still wearing it when he got back to Manchester, a heaven-sent picture for the phalanx of photographers awaiting him on his return. A star was born.

“It was post-Benfica that George Best’s popularity mushroomed to pop star heights, unprecedented for a footballer.” The sinning would soon start.