LIFE, George Best once observed, seldom works out the way
you plan it. He had intended, with that glorious God-given
ability, to touch a new pinnacle of a career already
acclaimed at 22, in the European Cup final of 1968. How
alarmingly close was the final of 1999 to being the same
anti-climax as it had been 31 years ago for the first 90
minutes.
"I was going to score a hat-trick, in my mind, to take
Wembley by storm," Best recalled. "I had it all worked out.
Instead, chopped, harried and bruised, I had to settle for a
single goal." The sudden, liberating transformation as the
inimitable winger, the most accomplished British player of
my lifetime, took a long clearance by Alex Stepney, that was
glanced on by Brian Kidd, past lunging centre-half Humberto,
then round goalkeeper Henrique, and rolled into an empty
net, was only slightly less climactic than the extraordinary
conclusion at Nou Camp.
Best rescued Matt Busby's dream that night, made reality of
the perished ambitions of the revered Babes, and in an
instant turned what had been a dull occasion into a rampant
celebration. Kidd and Bobby Charlton, with his second goal,
triumphantly completed the rout of Benfica. How many
remember now that Eusebio, the black pearl from Mozambique,
should have buried United with only minutes of normal time
to run, when attempting to score a great goal instead of a
simple one, blasting rather than placing an easy chance and
allowing Stepney to make a brilliant reflex save?
In years to come, few will remember, or care, that United's
performance in their second victory was for much of the
match as ordinary as in the first. History's judgment can be
perversely generous or cruel regarding our would-be heroes,
be they political, military or sporting. Split seconds can
make or break a lifetime's work, and now again fortune
smiled upon United.
If the somersault of the unforgettable climax left luckless
Bayern emotionally desolate, at least they had lost only a
football match, not their lives as Duncan Edwards, Tommy
Taylor, Roger Byrne, Eddie Coleman, David Pegg and the
others did at Munich. For them, strident in their youth and
potentially about to dislodge Real Madrid as Europe's
foremost team, there would never be another chance. Bayern
live to try again.
On the way home, I met Ruud Gullit, still nursing his
disappointment with Newcastle, from the FA Cup final.
Without a trace of bitterness, he reflected that he had
never seen a side enjoy so much luck - the factual twist of
events as opposed to being undeservedly, colloquially lucky
- as United in the past month.
"Giggs's late equaliser at Old Trafford against Juventus,
Arsenal's missed penalty in the FA Cup, Arsenal's defeat at
Leeds, Sheringham's instant goal at Wembley, Bayern hitting
the post and bar, everything has turned for United as though
it were decreed in advance," Gullit said. "And I believe
they, and Alex Ferguson, deserve it. They have been so
persistent, they have attacked, and they deserved it last
night for the way they kept going when all seemed lost. Alex
took a chance with his formation, with Beckham for Keane in
the middle. What happened was part of the joy of football,
even if it was unbelievably cruel on Bayern."
Ferguson's gamble, so worthy in its positive principle, in
playing Beckham and Ryan Giggs out of their normal
positions, and even pushing Dwight Yorke on to the
unfamiliar right flank when sending out Teddy Sheringham for
Jesper Blomqvist, was an echo of Busby's own unfailingly
wilful attitude: when United, for instance, were trailing
Real at Bernabeu in the semi-final second leg, and when
forced into extra time at Wembley. "Attack them. Surprise
them."
Other clubs and their followers may be excusably envious of
the wealth of Old Trafford, of the ability to buy the best,
yet for 50 years the club have maintained that sense of
glory which is the essence of the game at its finest, which
is what draws admiration all over Britain and around the
world.
Ferguson, although skirting so close to epic failure, has
remained true to Busby's tradition, including the
development and promotion of youth, and in doing so his
players gained a miraculous victory. In a simple, yet
sensational match, they epitomised one of life's prime
lessons: nothing is ever over till it's over.
Substandard the performance may have been, yet there is
little doubting that the new champions when at their peak
are superior to 1968, not withstanding the genius of Best
and the then fading mastery of Charlton and Paddy Crerand.
Nobby Stiles, too, was by then past his best. If Ferguson
can find another goalkeeper, there is the prospect of United
emulating Real, Benfica, Inter, Ajax, Bayern, Liverpool,
Nottingham Forest and AC Milan in retaining the trophy.