I don't write much about football. Despite it taking up a large proportion of my television-watching leisure hours, I suspect my knowledge of the beautiful game is a rather too patchy compared to dyed-in-the-wool fans: the sort who actually go to football matches, who manage to watch dozens of live games every day on satellite, who succeed in topping fantasy football leagues because they can predict exactly which players are about to hit top form or succumb to season-devastating sprains and strains. Compared to men and women of such genius (and I have known several as friends over the years), I must admit I am merely a novice, and a pretty witless one at that. And I also get put off by the comments I occasionally read on football websites: it seems that ardent football fans are sometimes not the most broad-minded or generous-hearted of people. They can be a little one-sided in their allegiances. Whereas I find myself empathising with both sides of the argument. Which doesn't always go down well.
I only mention this because it seems appropriate to say a few words in tribute to Sir Alex Ferguson, who announced his resignation yesterday after 26 years in charge of Manchester United. The greatest football manager this country has known, they say, and who am I (especially with my aforesaid pathetic knowledge of the game) to argue. I grew up in Old Trafford – the district, not the actual football ground. I am sure someone would have noticed had I been trying to live there for years, camping out on the pitch, or having a shower in the away team changing room. With nothing to eat but pies. It would never have worked.
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