Smudger Smith: Alex Ferguson played a part in my downfall

At long last, a Manchester legend who came to prominence in the 1980s has finally put pen to paper and released an autobiography in which he settles scores with a variety of old foes. Enough about Morrissey though, this is a football column and, although it’s hardly been mentioned in the press, Sir Alex Ferguson has also just released his memoirs.

For Fergie watchers, this is standard fare. The halfway point sees the legendary manager employ the caps lock for 15 pages and use language that would put a sailor to shame. Say what you will about this unorthodox technique but it gets results – the remainder of the book sees the level of performance really pick up. The chapter about the 1999 Champions League final is nail-biting stuff but I won’t give away what happened for those who would prefer to read without spoilers. The only real flaw I could spot was the fact that the final chapter seems to go on forever.

Discretion is the better part of valour and I am eternally grateful to Sir Alex for refusing to dwell on my, frankly disastrous, spell under his tutelage. In fact, he doesn’t mention my name once in the entire book. That is what I call class. Still, in the interests of full disclosure, here’s how it went down.

I actually came through as one of Fergie’s Fledglings. Giggsy, Butty, Becksy, Nevilley, Nevilley and co. Great days. I came through under Sir Alex at Aberdeen of course so I’m very much one of the original Fledglings though I still think those Man United lads deserve the tag too. I was a pacey front man back then and I recall the bossman singling me out for particular attention after one training session.

“You’re ******* ****’ he said. “The biggest pile of **** I’ve ever seen in all my years. **** knows how you’ve got this far you lanky streak of **** but you’ll never play for this club, there’s no doubt about that, you utter ******* ****. Now **** in the ******* or I’ll **** in your *****. There’s no question about that.”

What a man. Strong words, but effective. He knew what he was doing. Sure, he could have put an arm around me and told me where I was going wrong. Sure, he could have actually played me and not released me on a free transfer. But he knew the best way to motivate me. He understands the human psyche better than anyone. I’d have died for the man from that day forth. OK, maybe I didn’t end up playing for Aberdeen and winning the title but would I have got as far as I did, sub keeper at Chesterfield, without those wise words? Somehow I doubt it.

Cheers Fergie, the next bottle of Blue Nun is on me.