Our man on the pitch, the Secret Footballer, has called up two pals close to Man United's Alex Ferguson – and his successor David Moyes – to get the inside story on him as he retires

Thirty-eight trophies, including 13 league titles, two Champions Leagues, five FA Cups and four League Cups. Not bad for a man that was a Mark Robins goal away from the sack. The king isn't dead, he just has nothing left to prove.

When a story of this magnitude breaks, it's normal protocol to phone a person who is as close to the action as possible. That person turned out to be a former team-mate of mine who played under Sir Alex Ferguson during the glorious treble-winning season, and who just so happened to have called the Scot's retirement when I spoke to him in January. In fact, he has an uncanny knack for calling big moves before they happen at Old Trafford, coupled with a healthy appetite for sharing them with me – which is just as well because, believe me, finding people willing to talk about Ferguson is tough.

"One word, mate," said my friend. "Respect. You daren't even breathe when he walked in the room. He was the big man."

I replied: "That sounds like a lot of managers, to be honest. I've played for managers like that." I goaded him a little more, and eventually he cracked.

"OK," he said. "After I left United, I signed for a couple of Premier League teams, and obviously I'd have to go back to Old Trafford to play every year. One season I went back with my new team – we had to win to have a chance of staying in the Premier League. Unfortunately, United were going for the league and they murdered us. Why does football always work out like that?

"Anyway, we were more or less relegated at Old Trafford, and as I was walking off the pitch and up the tunnel somebody grabbed my arm. It was Ferguson. He looked at me and said: 'I'm really sorry. I had to play that team, we had to go for the win.' Bear in mind, this was six years after I'd left the club, and who am I? I'm nobody to him. He probably just wanted to get home as soon as possible and prepare his team for the FA Cup final. But he stayed in the tunnel and waited for me. He didn't have to do that; things like that go such a long way. Every time I go back to Old Trafford he shakes my hand and takes the time to talk to me. He's a legend, mate, pure and simple."

"That's amazing," I said. "I've definitely never played for a manager like that. One thing that I've been struggling with, though, is how you knew he was going to retire this season?"

"You're pushing your luck now," he said. "My honest opinion is that if United had won the league last season, then he'd have walked, no question. It was all set up for last season, but Ferguson was never going to finish as a runner-up. He chose this season because United won the league. Next year City will be even stronger; Chelsea will be much stronger. He's 71."

"Yeah," I said, "But how did you know?" There was a very long pause.

"Because I use the same lawyers as him, mate." He said: "Trust me, his retirement was all in place for the end of last season. Now I'm going before you ask me anything else."

The respect my friend has for Ferguson also extends to opponents, including me. After a match against United a few years ago I opened my Sunday paper to read a quote from Ferguson that has stuck with me to this day, even though it was a throwaway, run-of-the-mill comment. It simply said: "[TSF] caused us problems all afternoon."

I think I grew an extra foot after reading that, and the confidence that it gave me in the following games was extraordinary. He had actually mentioned me by name – he knew who I was. When I look back on that I feel the same as my friend does: "Who am I? I'm nobody. And yet here is a legend of the game complimenting me in the newspapers." Forget all the shirts footballers pin to the walls of their games room – I could frame that quote in my bathroom so I can see it as I sit on the throne, and live happily ever after.

I've referred many times to an old saying in this game, namely that "there are no friends in football, only acquaintances". Well, I have made a couple of dear friends during my time as a footballer, and they happen to have played under Ferguson and David Moyes. And so I made the second of my calls to a player signed for big money by Moyes during his time as Everton manager.

"If players do well for him, he'll look after them, no question," said my friend. "That sounds like a lot of managers, to be honest, mate. I've played for managers like that," I said. I goaded him a little more and eventually he went on.

"OK," he said. "Every year during the international week in early February we'd go on an unbelievable trip, all geared to what we were doing on the pitch. The players all pulled together in everything they did – that was Moysey's biggest strength.

"Later on, though, we fell out a little bit, because he promised me when I signed that we were going to play a certain formation. After a few games he reverted back to his favourite formation and it became harder to play consistently. The following season he bought another player and it got even harder.

"When I eventually left, I still had a lot of pals at Everton, and that was mainly because of the unity between us that Moyes had cultivated, so I'd go back quite a bit to watch matches and catch up with a few of the lads. Later I bumped into him after a game at Goodison. I hadn't spoken to him for years. They'd just beaten United, funnily enough. He walked up to me, put his arm around me and said: 'Hello, mate, how are you? How's things? How's the family? Come down to the changing rooms, the lads would love to see you.' After that he sent me an email saying how good it was to catch up and that I was welcome back to Goodison Park any time I liked. He didn't have to do that, that was a gesture above and beyond and it meant a lot to me."

"That's amazing," I said. "I've definitely never played for a manager like that."

Trust me, managers treating ex-players with that amount of respect is not that common, unless of course they happen to be a bona fide legend at a particular club, and even then it can be frosty. Perhaps Moyes is Ferguson's natural successor. As my United friend commented when we were discussing the appointment of Moyes: "He's Alex, mate, just 20 years ago."

For me, the great unknown, where Moyes is concerned, lies not in the fact that he is yet to win a trophy or manage a team that has got beyond the qualification stage of the Champions League; it's whether he has the ruthlessness to be as successful as Ferguson, both in terms of putting household names out to graze and grooming the managers around him for his own ends.

The greatest trick Ferguson ever pulled was convincing his contemporaries that they should be grateful to him while he weakened their own chance of success. I remember one of my managers waving a bound A4 booklet in the air during a team meeting and saying: "I've phoned Alex up and he's sent me United's scouting report (on Chelsea, who we were playing that weekend)." He seemed blissfully unaware that if Fergie was doing it for him, then in all likelihood he was probably doing it for everyone else, too. The problem was that our manager refused to see past the fact that, in his eyes, Ferguson had done him a personal favour.

If you can convince your rivals you're doing them a favour and they should be grateful for it, while at the same time weakening any chance they ever had of competing with you, then yours are the spoils for as long as you have the hunger. With Ferguson pulling the strings, Moyes might just have a chance.

The Secret Footballer's memoir, I Am The Secret Footballer, is published by Guardian Books at £12.99. To order a copy for £7.99 with free UK p&p, visit theguardian.com/bookshop or call 0330 333 6846.