Sir Alex Ferguson, best wishes from us all.

Sir Alex Ferguson, best wishes from us all.

When Sir Alex Ferguson arrived at Manchester United in 1986, the club were, not to put to fine a point on it, in a terrible mess, floating around in old First Division obscurity and in a desperate need of a sharp injection of something anything to re-invigorate a team that had for so long remained deeply rooted in the rich tapestry of English football.  Then again of course we always think of  Manchester United in a much wider global context before realising that for a while back in the 1980s United had temporarily fallen asleep and somebody had forgotten to wake them up.

Before the Ferguson era, Ron Atkinson, he of the flashy, ostentatious appearance and controversial turn of phrase, had admittedly won a couple of FA Cups but was no nearer the promised land of the old First Division championship than most of their most devout supporters felt they had a divine right to win.

Manchester United were, remain, and always will be one of the most globally recognisable names within the vast footballing universe, a team whose name so readily trips off the tongue that  when those at dinner parties run out of things to talk about conversation invariably turns to Sir Matt Busby, George Best, Denis Law and the equally as inimitable Sir Bobby Charlton. Our thoughts then turn poignantly to the Munich air tragedy  which bring a flood of tears to our cheeks. But then we think back to more recent times and think of one man. Sir Alex Ferguson.

Yesterday it was announced that Sir Alex Ferguson, the former United manger, had to be rushed into hospital for emergency surgery on a brain haemorrhage. For several long moments the world stopped and then paid its respectful wishes to one of the greatest football managers in the history of football. We could hardly believe the news because here was a man who, to all outward appearances, seemed to be in the rudest health, full of beans and somehow indestructible.

Of course there was Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley and United's very own saviour Sir Matt Busby. And you could rightly make a case for Bill Nicholson and Arsene Wenger at Arsenal but Ferguson was popular, hugely successful, no nonsense, a ruthless disciplinarian, a man with an almost pedantic attention to detail. Ferguson was a footballing connoisseur, a man who drank from the richest of red wines and a man who, after an almost torrid couple of months at the start of his United tenure, remarkably salvaged a slowly deteriorating Manchester United side who seemed destined for nowhere in particular.

But in the third round of an FA Cup tie against Nottingham Forest, United found a peaceful haven away from the hellish hullabaloo around them. Mark Robins, a promising if workmanlike striker, scored the only goal of the match and that was the decisive turning point. Within a year or two United had reached their first FA Cup Final for what seemed an age. United demolished Crystal Palace in the 1990 FA Cup Final but only after a replay. The rest, to quote the most obvious cliche, is history.

For the ensuing decade Ferguson would transform, blend, concoct, mould, cut and paste, encourage and inspire what would become one of the most handsomely talented teams ever to tread football's theatrical boards. The glamorous generation of David Beckham, Nicky Butt, Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs gelled together so powerfully and shrewdly that some of us thought here was a man with the Midas touch. Ferguson was a magician, an oracle, the finest tactician and technician ever to manage a top flight club.

During the 1990s Ferguson won so many Premier League titles, FA Cups and European Cups( the Champions League) that the trophy cabinet at Old Trafford must have been groaning under the sheer weight of silverware on show. But there was one night that even Ferguson must have thought would never ever be bettered or surpassed. It was the night United won their second European Cup, a match with the ultimate in melodrama, pathos, passion and football at its most discriminating.

When Ole Gunnar Solksjaer, the lithe and athletic Norwegian striker, turned the ball home for United's enthralling, last gasp winner for United against a tiring Bayern Munich to not only win the European Cup for United but also complete the remarkable Treble for United, Ferguson, in grey suit, immaculately ironed white shirt and United's club tie, lifted the European Cup and smiled broadly from ear to ear.

It would though take almost another decade before Ferguson would renew acquaintance with the European Cup when Chelsea were beaten in the Champions League final on a soggy night in Moscow. By now though the name of United had become so celebrated throughout the land that even a deeply disappointing Champions League final victory could dilute the sheer size of United's achievement.

Then, after cleaning up 20 Premier League titles in the most attractive of styles, Ferguson would begin to slow down, winding down from the Olympian heights of success. None could even remotely touch Ferguson's record breaking feats, none had his knowledgeable air, that walking encyclopedia of footballing wisdom, that ability to craft and re-construct, to resurrect and rebuild, fashioning the teams he wanted rather than the ones others may have thought preferable.

But as Sir Alex now rests and recovers from major surgery, he may have time to reflect on the world footballing stage that he once graced and remember how one FA Cup tie during the 1980s was so vitally pivotal in the first stage of the United reconstruction. We must hope that once on the road to recovery he will sit up in his bed, glance through the pages of the Racing Post and smile at those marvellously groomed horses that he has now taken possession of.

To those who have followed football and always appreciated the game's prettiest shades, the name of Sir Alex Ferguson is the one that will always command enormous respect from everybody connected to the game. There was Ferguson's unwavering faith in the unique genius of Eric Cantona and his emotional attachment to the kids who were Beckham, Scholes, Giggs and Butt before the kids became men.

So Sir Alex you have our best wishes for a full recovery to both you and your family as the well as the family unit you were once responsible for as United manager. When the compilers of any history of football have completed their work they may think that one man would have several chapters devoted to him exclusively. Manchester United and the entire footballing community are thinking of you and wishing you a speedy recovery.