I never thought something so obscure from the rudiments of daily life would have such an effect on me. But here we are. So agitating has it been, in fact, that one shudders to think what the effect would be if the issue pertained to certain GAA teams and/or entities in the realm of horse racing.
Even if what follows here might pale in terms of importance compared to the other examples listed above, the latest chapter of utter shambles at Manchester United is annoying and upsetting in equal measure.
Shame on them is all I can say. Shame on them, the way they have treated Michael Carrick is nothing short of disgraceful. Michael Carrick is not or was never the problem at Old Trafford.
The players carry a sizeable percentage of the responsibility for that, yes, but the vast majority thereof lies squarely with the incompetent, selfish, careless dirt birds who currently – to the misfortune of those of who have a fondness for and connection to the club – own it.
Both lots of them. Plus the two half wits they have employed to do their dirty work. Before getting to their unforgivable destruction of what was once one of the greatest sporting institutions in the entire world, you must go back even further and many miles from Old Trafford, Carrington or anywhere of the sort.
To the Rosegreen area of Cashel, Co Tipperary in Ireland. Ballydoyle. Coolmore Stud. A Group 1 level thoroughbred colt (male racehorse prior to castration) called Rock Of Gibraltar.
Officially the steed was down to be owned by “Mrs John Magnier and (Sir) Alex Ferguson”. I am not sure whether the other Coolmore ‘Lads’ – Derek Smith and Michael Tabor – were also in on it, but, this corner has always suspected JP (McManus) was silently the proprietor of a few hairs in the nag’s rear end also.
What is known with certainty is that Magnier and JP were, at the time, the two controlling shareholders in Manchester United. Which is why the racehorse ended up playing such a pivotal part in the destruction of the Red Devils as they once were.
Allow me to explain. You see, even though Ferguson was listed as an owner and the colt actually ran in his silks, Magnier et al contended that the great Scot was only gifted a share in the animal, to put it simply and, as such, therefore, had no claim to any breeding rights which accrue from the animal.
For those not au fait with horse racing, bloodstock or the vernacular thereof, when horses retire from racing they go to ‘stand’ at a particular stud farm. Yes, in one sense, it essentially means live at, but here’s the small print. As horses that run in Flat races generally retire from racing aged 3 or 4, they then move into the second and quite possibly most important phase of their careers – in the breeding shed.
To fill in some blanks again, the more successful an animal is on the track, the more lucrative it will be to be producing their progeny. For example, any stallion deemed good enough to stand on the Coolmore roster, €100,000 might get you into a lottery to have your mare covered by some of their stock. And that wouldn’t get into the ha’penny place regarding having a colt or an entire (uncastrated older horse) book a date with one of the Coolmoore mares.
Thus, even as a minor shareholder, Ferguson would notionally have been entitled to a serious windfall from any breeding work done off Rock Of Gibraltar. The snag from his perspective, though, is that Magnier (in particular I would imagine) and McManus’ side of the story was that the then Manchester United manager hadn’t fully bought into the ‘syndicate’ and therefore had no claim over the breeding rights.
Like most things in life, the truth probably lies somewhere in the middle. However, it would be my guess that it came down to Fergie having his stake in the horse or his job at Old Trafford. If that were the case, then essentially there was no decision to be made.
Be that as it may, the Govan growler hasn’t got where he is in life by being a softy. Balancing that, though, would’ve been the knowledge that very few people take Magnier on in court and win. That said, similar to when he had a cut at Leeds United all those years ago, in so far as was possible and viable, he was going to come out swinging and whoever got in his way was going with him.
Which is how we arrive back at football matters. Because, the collateral damage appended to Fergie’s swinging fightback resulted in Mr McManus and the other auld crank divesting themselves of their shareholding within the club.
And that, my dear people, is how the grotesque Glazers got their dirty maulers on the once gleaming global institution and turned it into the rundown ramshackle mess it embarrassingly is now.
Yes, numerous underperforming ‘high profile’ players have to ship quite a large amount of the culpability for that, but, they didn’t become Red Devils of their own volition. Their services were solicited and, in some cases, grossly overpaid for. Names could be named here but you would need a rainforest’s worth of paper.
Suffice to say, those who have either taken or been left in charge of the club’s transfer operations obviously know as much about football as a cow would about Bank Holidays. That in itself would be dereliction of duty at any club, let alone the most famous and high profile in the world.
However, in perhaps the greatest condemnation of the Glazer regime, as well as destroying the nuts and bolts of the club from a football perspective, they have, literally, let the place (Old Trafford) fall down around them. Literally. Scarcely believable though it may be, to the point that the roof in at least part of the stadium.
Can you imagine paying what are most likely exorbitant ticket prices for a match at Old Trafford and then getting soaked and/or your clothes destroyed into the ‘bargain’. For context, the local Co Board of the GAA (amateur organisation) is known to have compensated one individual who, quite literally, had their Sunday best destroyed by an unmarked wet paint job.
You wouldn’t know whether the blundering idiots now running the club (into the ground) would have the cop on or decency to do such a thing. Their one and only solution to everything seems to be sack the manager. Doesn’t it say everything about the strong individual Ferguson is and was that he not only stuck around for eight years of their meddling, mismanaging chaos but continued to deliver trophies for as long as he was in situ.
Then again, David Moyes, Louis Van Gaal, Jose Mourinho and Erik ten Hag all oversaw the annexation of silverware during their respective stints in charge. Granted, it may not have been either of the top gongs a club such as United should be aiming at, but beggars can’t be choosers.
And yes, in the current global football scheme of things Manchester United have become paupers. Not only in a football sense either. As the current dilapidated state of what it would be an insult to now call a Theatre Of Dreams fully attests. More like a chamber or horrors.
The most dispiriting thing about the whole sad sorry mess? It’s a steaming dung hill that was entirely foisted upon the club. Out of a situation that had absolutely nothing to do with it. Specifically, Glazer greed. In particular, their – ultimately successful – quest to, basically, buy a Super Bowl title for their Tampa Bay Buccaneers NFL franchise with the acquisition of Tom Brady.
All while one of the greatest sporting institutions on the planet fell down around them. For shame. Worse still, some of us (maybe just me) were foolhardy enough to believe Jim Radcliffe coming on board would improve the situation. If anything, it has become inexorably worse.
As, once again there is a pollution of outside noise to the effect that his INEOS company may be about to purchase a stake in Everton. Now, aside from the fact that it would very difficult to see how a competition authority or something of the sort would sanction such a thing, would it not be an outrageous conflict of interest?
A worse one than the scenario with the racehorse and the shareholders. In an environment such as the current one prevailing at what was once Newton Heath FC, you’d imagine there wouldn’t be the queue for a spot in the home dugout – either for players or managers – as would once have been the case.
Which makes you wonder what kind of tall tale the spoofers in the corridors of power flogged to Mauricio Pochettino to persuade him to take on the poisoned chalice.
Whatever it was, you’d hope for his own sake he leaves the suitcase fairly near the door!
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