I realised Alex Ferguson was special long before I arrived at Old Trafford in 1991. It took him two years to sign me and the work he put into ensuring that I chose Manchester United was incredible. He strives to ensure that every player who joins his club has the right character, and during the 1989-90 season I became aware that United were asking people in Denmark about me, running background checks.
Fergie came over to see me, and soon he had a scout at every game Brondby played. The attention to detail was amazing. On the morning of an international versus England at Wembley, my agent rang to say United, Liverpool and Queens Park Rangers had tabled bids. There was no question where I wanted to go.
When Brondby held out for a bigger fee and I was stuck there for another season, Fergie got in touch to say: "Don’t worry. Keep playing well and I’ll come back for you." Throughout all the pre-season runs, on all those tough days when you train so hard you feel your arms are falling off, I had only to think of his words. He visited me in Copenhagen again and sent his goalkeeping coach, Alan Hodgkinson, to monitor my progress. The pride in United that Fergie projected was powerful.
You have to earn his respect, but it’s clear what he wants. He doesn’t care how you live your life as long as you give him consistent levels of effort and performance. Do that, and he trusts you. In eight years at United, I never once had a problem getting a day off. Fergie could be so explosive and aggressive, yet once he’d got a problem out into the open and dealt with it, it was gone. He never bore grudges.
One minute he’d be furious, the next he’d ask: "How’s your family?" It took me a while to get used to that. When we lost 6-3 at Southampton, after losing 5-0 to Newcastle, he was fuming. In the dressing room there was screaming and shouting, yet an hour later, on the team bus, he was up at the front playing cards with two of the individuals he’d just yelled at.
Steve Bruce, Gary Pallister and myself were often the ones he picked on when he wanted to show the lads he was angry. He knew we could take it. There were guys he’d never have a go at, such as Eric Cantona. I think he knew that would be counter-productive. At times, the fact that Eric was treated differently was a source of frustration to the other players. We recognised we had to play as a team and occasionally felt that Eric did not. Yet we also knew what Fergie was getting out of this special player and that, overall, his approach was right.
One minute he’d be furious, the next he’d ask: "How’s your family?" It took me a while to get used to that. When we lost 6-3 at Southampton, after losing 5-0 to Newcastle, he was fuming. In the dressing room there was screaming and shouting, yet an hour later, on the team bus, he was up at the front playing cards with two of the individuals he’d just yelled at.
Steve Bruce, Gary Pallister and myself were often the ones he picked on when he wanted to show the lads he was angry. He knew we could take it. There were guys he’d never have a go at, such as Eric Cantona. I think he knew that would be counter-productive. At times, the fact that Eric was treated differently was a source of frustration to the other players. We recognised we had to play as a team and occasionally felt that Eric did not. Yet we also knew what Fergie was getting out of this special player and that, overall, his approach was right.
Fergie never shouted at the quieter players and he never picked on you when you’d played badly. I made a mistake against Charlton that cost us the FA Cup, but he put his arm round my shoulder and said: "Don’t worry. You’ve done well for me, Peter." (Ed. I think he means Barnsley)
There are thousands of better coaches. Coaching isn’t Fergie’s strength. But management? The handling of men? There’s nobody better. Once, during a run-in with him, I went too far. It was after our 1994 New Year’s derby against Liverpool, when we went 3-0 up in 24 minutes but Liverpool fought back to draw 3-3. It was my fault. That’s what Fergie said.
All my goal kicks had gone straight to Razor Ruddock and that’s why we lost three goals. It was ridiculous and I reacted. Usually Brian Kidd, the assistant coach, would step in to calm things down, but on this occasion our argument escalated into a very angry confrontation. I gave him a lot of verbal abuse.
We were off the next day, but the following morning he called me into his office and sacked me. "I can’t accept players talking to me like that," he said. I didn’t want to stay anyway. I’d been on to my agent about 15 times saying: "I just want away." So I said: "Fine. But for what it’s worth, I apologise. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way."
He then called a team meeting where he told all the players that what had happened in the Anfield dressing room was unacceptable. He left and I stood up and apologised to the other players. "I was unprofessional," I said. What I didn’t know was that he was listening from behind the door. He gave me another chance and, as usual, bore no grudge.
The kind and understanding side to his personality is something people outside United don’t see. I came back from the 1998 World Cup sick and tired of football and by November I was struggling. Against Sheffield Wednesday, the softest shot ever went through my hands. The press were criticising me and I wondered: "How do I get it back?" I went to see Fergie and explained how I was feeling. "I need a day or two off," I said. He took out this big desk diary and opened it at Christmas week.
"Okay, if you go away there and come back here, how would that be? Take the family and go get yourself some sunshine," he said. He’d offered me 10 days off! We went to Barbados and I returned to Carrington on a Friday. "Are you ready?" he asked. I replied: "Yeah!" The team was leaving for Leicester that afternoon and he smiled and said: "Go home and get your stuff." We won 5-2 the next day and I played great.
Fergie is hard, he is ruthless. But there are other sides to him as a boss.
He’s got a great secretary in Lyn Laffin, who absorbs a lot of his huge workload. In the same way, he takes as much pressure as he can off his team, especially in the way he handles the media. Like most of his former players, I miss being around his workplace. He’s got a great sense of fun. You’d often hear him singing in his office or as he walked down the corridor, some stupid song from a musical or a 1950s film.
And when you can’t see or hear him, he possesses one of those personalities where you can sense whether he’s in the building or not.
One thousand games is an amazing achievement, and I’m proud to have been part of Fergie’s history. I’m also glad he didn’t sack me one day back in 1994.