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I always half-joked that Sir Alex Ferguson would see me to my grave before he retired. It wasn’t, thankfully, that fatal but I was pretty much dead to the world when news broke last Tuesday night that he could be hanging up his hairdryer.

As the football world was reeling at the revelation, I was digesting the historic moment while heaving into a paper mache bowl generously provided by the NHS.

In the mayhem, moaning, shouting and general activity on Ward C6 at Stepping Hill Hospital, nobody seemed to notice that the guy in bed 12 was rather popular judging by the calls and texts he was receiving as he slipped in and out of post-anaesthetic consciousness.

When Old Trafford finally made the announcement last Wednesday, I was still in too much agony to give a monkeys’ or be of any assistance whatsoever to my colleagues back at the M.E.N. who were coping manfully covering what should have been the biggest story of my journalistic career.

For 18 years I have covered Fergie’s triumphs, tantrums, contract controversies, Rock of Gibraltar horse rows – you name it. And as this paper’s United reporter I’ve had long days, sleepless nights, unforgettable occasions and experiences thanks to Fergie’s explosive and complex mix of genius, geniality and temper.

Then the biggest story of the lot – Ferguson calling it a day – and I’m out of it.

It has been one incredible journey from when I started in the job on May 1, 1995. Fergie is box office material, but deciphering whether that material is the truth, half-truth, white lie, carefully constructed smokescreen or complete untruth is a difficult business.

One such moment came the weekend before last when I read Sir Alex’s programme notes for the Chelsea match.

Fergie used to say how much he loved the dramatic arrival of Kevin Keegan as a Southampton player at the Dell in 1980. Nobody had a clue until they drew the curtains back and in walked the former European Footballer of the Year. That piece of theatre appealed to Sir Alex and that was always in my mind when the guessing game about his farewell came up.

So I did suspect that announcing his departure on the microphone following the match against Swansea at Old Trafford would have been just up his street. It was a personal notion, but nothing was pointing to it coming true.

With my surgery inked in for last Tuesday, I was delighted when I read his programme notes declaring: “I certainly don’t have any plans at the moment to walk away from what I believe will be something special.”

That’s it then, I thought. It looked like I would be chalking up two decades dealing with the Scot as manager of United.

True, I’d miss the trophy celebrations while I was in hospital, but I’d reported on 10 previous ones and once you’ve seen one choreographed ticker-tape and bubbly moment, you’ve seen them all.

So I got gowned up last Tuesday safe in the knowledge I wouldn’t miss that much.

Eighteen years and I still can’t work him out!

To paraphrase a quote I have heard someone utter somewhere once before, “Football reporting, bloody hell!”

Covering the Reds under Fergie has been a concoction of the good, the bad and the ugly.

For around 12 years, before Fergie ended the close working relationship because of the M.E.N.’s coverage of FC United, I had the unique privilege as the local United reporter of being able to ring Fergie more or less every morning for news on the Reds. It was an unpredictable daily call. You just never knew what would await you when he answered the phone whether it was in his car, at home, at the Cliff or Carrington.

Some days he’d chat to you like you were in the pub with your best mate and when he started a conversation with the words ‘this is between you and I’ I knew it was going to be great copy that I would never be able to use. On the good quotable days you could fill your boots, while on the bad days when he was in a foul mood you’d get off the line as quick as possible because you knew you were flogging a dead horse. Some days you’d have the phone slammed down on you, other times he’d erupt mid-conversation and you’d have to hold the earpiece away as you got the full force of the famous hairdryer.

Over the next three days I will reveal some of the printable memories of that amazing working relationship.

THE GOOD

On my very first day on the M.E.N. payroll on May 1, 1995 I went to help David Meek - the man I was to succeed in the Reds role – cover United’s match against Coventry City.

The Reds were in a tight league battle with Blackburn Rovers and had booked a place against Everton in the FA Cup final. United won at Highfield Road and I was hoping to arrange to see Gary Pallister later in the week at the Cliff training ground.

I caught up with Fergie in a corridor at Coventry’s old stadium as he left the post match press conference and I asked him about seeing Pally. He put his arm around my shoulder as we walked the full length of the corridor. “No problem son,” he said. “Better not make it on Tuesday or Wednesday because I’m giving them the day off. See you on Thursday OK?”

And off he went. How cordial and helpful I thought. This job is going to be a piece of cake! Ferguson went on his end-of-season holidays to America in the first month after I officially became the United man for the M.E.N. and while he was over The Pond, the summer of discontent erupted at Old Trafford.

As Paul Ince, Mark Hughes and Andre Kanchelskis all left, the fans back home were in uproar. The Reds boss returned from his holidays and soon after I received a call from his secretary Lynn Laffin. “I’ve got the boss on the line for you,” she said.

I asked him: “Did you have a good holiday?”

“What do you think?” I think I’d be safe in saying there was an expletive in there somewhere. “Anyway,” he continued, “I’ve spoken to the national newspapers about what’s been going on and if you give me a ring in the morning I will give you a new story.”

Next day I rang and firstly we chatted about the Ince, Hughes and Kanchelskis issues and I kept thinking when is he going to give me this new back page line he’d promised?

Clearly it wasn’t going to be that easy and I had to work for my exclusive. I probed and eventually managed to fit the pieces of the jigsaw together.

Without revealing his actual name, Fergie was telling me to print the story that United were interested in Tottenham’s winger Darren Anderton.

It was a big deal at the time and one that would get the fans off his back. A good story for me and a good piece of PR for the United manager. We both came out of it well.

THE BAD

Sometimes you couldn’t win with Fergie when it came to stories, even when he handed them on a plate to you!

Several incidents led me to believe that he was unhappy with the honest, working relationship I had with former Old Trafford chairman Martin Edwards.

I suspect when I wrote about Aston Villa’s keeper Mark Bosnich being lined up by the Reds as a replacement in the summer 1999 for Peter Schmeichel he though it had come from the chairman’s office.

It hadn’t, and I wasn’t 100 per cent about it when I first heard the rumour so I buried it well down in a piece. Next day I rang Fergie and we were chatting amicably for ages when suddenly the words Aston Villa triggered his memory.

It clicked and he realised I was due a mother of all rollicking for it. From nice as pie, out of the blue the pressure valve was released and he exploded.

I was finished with the club, would never be able to call him again, etc, etc before he slammed the phone down.

Next day I rang him and nothing was mentioned! On one occasion Ferguson revealed to me Chelsea had wanted him as their manager soon after Roman Abramovich’s takeover. I thought it was one of those off-the-record nuggets I wouldn’t be able to use.

So I asked did he want that going public.

He clearly wanted it out there because he said I could use it no problem, but it was on the understanding I didn’t reveal where it came from.

I did have to use some quotes in the piece from him on his desire to stay at Old Trafford.

The M.E.N. splashed the story on the front page and I was pleased with my exclusive and I assumed, as Fergie was happy for me to run it, so would he. When I rang next day I asked in all innocence “Did you see the Chelsea piece?”

“Yes,” he barked back. “And you made it pretty obvious where it came from too!” Bang, the phone went down!

THE UGLY

Even before I had become the official M.E.N. United reporter I was freelancing for this paper on Reds stories and felt the full force of the hairdryer.

One Saturday when news broke that United were signing Roy Keane from Nottingham Forest in a record £3.5m deal I was asked to go down to the Cliff to see if I could get a word with the new signing and Fergie for that night’s edition of the Pink. I drove into the deserted training ground and waited at the entrance to see if they’d turn up.

Not long after, in swept Keano’s car followed by Fergie’s. I’d known Roy a bit from a couple of interviews I’d done with him at Forest in a previous chapter of my journalist career. Similarly with Fergie.

As they walked over Keane recognised me and smiled, but Fergie went ballistic. In no uncertain terms, and plenty of industrial language, the United boss told me to leave and he didn’t care what I’d come for.

Now, remember Keano had been a player under the volatile Brian Clough and had even been thumped by the Forest boss on one occasion. And the Irishman could dish out a few verbal attacks himself, even then. But even Roy looked taken aback at the ferocity of the assault and looked sheepish and almost apologetic as he walked past me. Welcome to Fergie’s world Keano!