HAD this been the fourth hour of ‘heretismata’ at a wedding you could forgive the chaotic scenes that were unfolding all over the conference room at Limassol’s Four Seasons hotel.
But this wasn’t a celebration of some newly-wed young couple handshaking their way through receiving gifts from people they barely know, this was the Manchester United supporters club of Cyprus celebrating their 20th anniversary with Sir Alex Ferguson as a special guest.
More than 250 people additional ‘fans’ had descended on the all-ticket affair, which coincided with the 20th anniversary of the Scot’s trophy-laden reign at the club.
The hotel’s car park was full, as was every single space on the street for three blocks. In the lobby young kids wearing replica shirts above their button-down collars were being stepped over by assorted WAGs in high-heels and dignitaries chomping on cigars. This was a sadly familiar scene for veterans of the Cypriot wedding season.
Gigantic posters of Britain’s most successful manager with the supporter’s club president, Ronis Soteriades, were plastered on the walls; suitably, they were holding champagne and trophies.
I say suitably because the tables were decorated with red and white balloons with ‘Champions’ emblazoned on them. I’m sure Jose Mourinho would have had something to say about that.
At 9pm precisely, Ferguson made his entrance to a standing ovation. You felt that now the great man had arrived, somehow, some form of order would be restored, and for a short period it was. Too short though.
Before he could have barely gotten comfortable in his seat he was bombarded with requests for autographs and pictures.
Calmness personified, he accommodated everyone until some authority figure fended them away in order to get the proceedings started.
The idea had been to allow the guests to eat before a nine-course banquet of speeches and presentations were to be digested.
The founding members of the supporters club, all dressed like corporate bankers flanked Ferguson and the two ex-players, Paul Parker and David May, who had accompanied him to the event. I’m not sure if it was a coincidence, but at 9.45pm when all Champions League games kick-off simultaneously the speeches started.
Out of nowhere plaques and awards appeared as if the trophy room at Old Trafford had been raided.
Speeches proclaiming the supporters club’s history and the roles of the founder members unfolded. The audience’s attention was captured for a minute, possibly two, until the rising din meant poor Ronis, was virtually shouting down the microphone in an effort to make himself heard. Manfully he carried on, displaying his skill at public speaking in Cyprus and his knowledge of coffeeshop conversation etiquette: it’s the loudest voice, not the one making the best argument, that gets heard.
Now it was time for Ferguson to speak. Surely, this audience of Manchester United fans had waited all their lives to listen for their greatest ever manager to address them personally. Surely, his presence at the microphone would finally bring about the quiet order a man who had achieved so much deserved.
Sadly, not even for a second.
It was embarrassing. It felt disrespectful and like a spoilt child no notice was given to the ‘shh’s’ that occasionally rose above the din.
To his credit Ferguson carried on regardless. His reputation of being a tough, icy, uncompromising character melted away behind the indulgent smile of a gentle grandfather.
For those who missed it, he spoke passionately about the club he so clearly still loves and how a scouting trip to Barcelona’s Nou Camp, as he and Sir Bobby Charlton plotted to bring Mark Hughes back to England had been the catalyst and inspiration behind turning the £20 million pound operation that United was then into the club that was bought for £900 million by entrepreneurial Americans two years ago.
He re-stated his fears for the system of youth development in the English game. He reflected on the glorious mid-nineties success that was derived from the nucleus of players referred to as Giggs, Beckham et al and it felt like a confession that a team so heavily reliant on home-grown talent might never emerge again with the same level of success.
It was stirring stuff, for those who bothered to listen.
As if making one final attempt to recapture the audience’s attention he paid tribute to the fans, claiming that even when a World Cup star like Argentina’s Juan Sebastian Veron joined them he had been amazed by the level of support the team would receive wherever in the world they travelled.
From a table buried somewhere in the corner a familiar terrace chant rang out: ‘Fergie, Fergie give us a wave’. The message was clear, you’re wasting your breath.
With a relaxed smile he descended from the stage to reclaim his seat with autograph hunters poised.
There were six more speeches to come as well as a raffle with some signed memorabilia among the prizes.
Incredibly, that refocused everyone’s attention. The audience remained quiet enough to hear if their ticket number was going to yield a prize. It’s just a pity they didn’t realise the most compelling voice in the room had already stopped speaking long ago.
