OCT 26 — Why, Fergie, why?

Why risk sullying your legendary status by needlessly digging up dirty old stories and criticising some of the players who helped propel you to greatness?

Yes, the dominant sports story in the UK this week has been the publication of Sir Alex Ferguson’s autobiography, accompanied by predictably hyperbolic headlines about his re-opening of old disputes with former players such as Roy Keane, David Beckham, Ruud van Nistelrooy and Wayne Rooney.

I’m struggling to understand why Ferguson thought it was necessary to release his life story less than six months after his departure from Manchester United following more than two decades at the helm at Old Trafford.

This isn’t to suggest the book won’t be worth reading; it will be fascinating to gain an insight into the mind of the modern game’s most successful manager and discover a little bit more about how he built the Manchester United empire.

And the rushed release of an autobiography (perfectly timed for the Christmas gift market, of course) is nothing unusual. It has become accepted convention for former players and managers to cash in on their career achievements while they are still in the forefront of collective consciousness, often egged on by the parasitical money-sucking influence of leech-like agents who seem to regard any commercial deal as a deal worth making.

But the argument “everyone else does it, so why shouldn’t I do it?” doesn’t wash. Thanks to his unique standing within the game, Ferguson was big enough to turn his back on normal procedure by refusing to sell his soul. He’s certainly intelligent enough and mentally strong enough to have easily rejected the advances of publishers and agents. Yet, for his own reasons, he has succumbed to the autobiographical lure.

Book-writing (or ghosting) is standard practice amongst celebrities, but don’t forget this key point: it is not compulsory. It is not part of their job requirement. If I write a book, it’s because writing is my profession – it’s what I do for a living. If Ferguson writes a book, it’s an additional and discretional option taken by his own volition.

It’s a question of dignity. Ferguson, upon his retirement, had earned the respect of every follower of football, everywhere in the world. Even Liverpool fans – though they may despise him with ferocious intensity – would have to quietly acknowledge that his achievements were simply astounding. He was legendary, mythical, immortal.

And now he has allowed – even encouraged – that peerless reputation to be tainted by voluntarily raking over a bundle of petty old stories that could have easily been left in peace.

Ultimately, Ferguson’s book will be relegated to the status of a minor footnote in his career and his god-like status will not suffer long-term damage. Thirteen Premier League titles, two Champions League crowns and all the other glittering components of his over-stocked trophy cabinet will ensure that his legacy is safe.

But for a short while, the utterly unnecessary publication of his memoirs has allowed us to temporarily put aside the image of an all-conquering managerial genius and remember the other side of Fergie: the aggressive, confrontational fire-starter who viciously harangued referees and opposing managers and frequently descended into bitter disputes with former allies.

So why has he done it? He certainly doesn’t need the money. Quite rightly, Ferguson ensured that he was very well compensated by Manchester United during his long spell in charge of the club. He is already a wealthy man. And if he really felt the need to continue to generate income, a small fortune awaits in the lucrative worlds of television punditry, corporate speaking and product endorsement.

I can only conclude that the real explanation for Ferguson’s decision to write his autobiography lies with his ultra-competitive personality.

The motivation behind Ferguson’s greatness – and by extension his teams’ greatness – was his ferocious will to win. He was not a tactical genius like Arrigo Sacchi; he was not a wonderful operator in the transfer market like Brian Clough; he was not a great innovator like Arsene Wenger.

But the quality that made him unique and made him so successful was his relentless competitive instinct. He was intensely consumed by the need – the absolute, deep, burning personal need – to win, win and win again.

Now he is retired, there are no more games to win. But there are personal battles to win; and Ferguson is staging them through the book market. Ultimately, none of us can fight against our own personalities, and this uniquely driven, belligerent old Scotsman did not simply cast aside his deep inner spirit when he left the Old Trafford dug-out for the last time.

With his retirement at the end of last season, Ferguson is out of the race. But he couldn’t allow himself to drop entirely out of the game. His book ensures he is still out there and fighting. He can’t help it; it’s in his nature.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.