The Magnificent Sevens. Frank Worrall
Duncan Edwards in George … the same brilliance, the same mastery of all the football arts and, in those days at least, the same professionalism. That sounds daft now, but in those days George lived for football, nothing else … just like Duncan. Dad nearly did give up after Munich; Duncan’s death was a terrible shock, and it was only Mum who talked him round. But it was Bestie who restored his faith in football in many ways.’
One particular way in which Best restored Busby’s faith was by helping ease the screaming demons of Munich in his own head by playing a key part in bringing home the European Cup. The pursuit of the trophy had become Busby’s great obsession – he led English teams into Europe against the great reservations of the domestic football authorities. He would later admit to feeling guilty about surviving the crash that had killed so many of his Babes – Geoff Bent, Roger Byrne, Eddie Colman, Mark Jones, David Pegg, Liam Whelan, Tommy Taylor and superstar-in-the-making Edwards – especially as he had been the man who had dragged English football into the maelstrom of European competition.
After the crash, doctors in Munich had insisted the news of the deaths be kept from Busby as he recovered from what had been life-threatening injuries. Later, he would recall the anguish he felt as he learned the full tragic truth from his wife Jean. ‘I said, “What happened?” She said, “Nothing.” So I began to go through the names. She didn’t speak at all … she didn’t even look at me. When they were gone, she just shook her head. Dead … dead … dead … dead … dead … dead … dead … dead.’
Devastated by the loss of his babes, he vowed never to return to football. ‘Well, Matt, just please yourself…’ said his wife. ‘But the boys who have died would have wanted you to carry on.’
It was only after winning the European Cup that he finally felt some sort of peace, admitting, ‘That moment when Bobby Charlton took the Cup, it, well … it cleansed me. It eased the pain of the guilt of going into Europe. It was my justification.’
Busby also believed strongly that George Best would not have strayed so dangerously had Duncan Edwards survived Munich. Edwards would undoubtedly have been the skipper of the side that George excelled in, and Busby was confident he would have kept the wayward Irishman in line, ‘He was like George in a lot of ways. The bigger the occasions, the better they both liked it. While other players would be pacing up and down the dressing room rubbing their legs, doing exercises and looking for ways to pass the time, Duncan and George would always remain calm. They would glance through a programme or get changed casually and wait without a trace of tension.
‘Duncan was a good type of lad. When I brought [centre-half] Ronnie Cope into the team for that last match at Highbury, I asked Duncan to keep an eye on him and he revelled in that responsibility. Off the field, Duncan did not want to know about the high life. He just wanted to train, play or go back to his digs or home to Dudley. He lived for his football. Maybe some of that would have rubbed off on George if Duncan had survived Munich.’
Given the nature of his own personal exorcism, it is easier to understand why Busby took his hand slightly off the tiller at United after 1968. But for United and Best, the consequences would be little short of disastrous. Without a clearly defined path, United would struggle to regain the glory days; in fact, they were on an inexorable journey of decline that would lead to relegation from the top flight, while George – now working without Busby’s discipline – would accelerate towards his own personal oblivion, missing training, getting drunk, fighting, running away and getting involved in some outrageous love affairs, including a just-married bride whom he took upstairs from a hotel bar while his team-mates plied her husband with drink.
In much the same way as you could argue Ferguson should have retired from Old Trafford in 1999, so Busby should have walked away in 1968. The reason why neither left is also much the same – who could possibly have taken over? The club had been built up by Busby, then was rebuilt by Ferguson three decades later. Who had the qualities and talent to walk in their shoes? Nowadays, you could make a case for Martin O’Neill; back then, the only man suitable was the late, great Jock Stein. But, after giving the nod to United in the early Seventies at a secret motorway rendezvous, he then changed his mind at the last minute when his wife Jean demanded he stay at Celtic Park because she simply could not bear the idea of moving away from Glasgow.
At the start of the 1968–69 season, the problems at United were crystal clear – the club needed direction from the manager and some inspired buys in the transfer market. In the previous four years, Busby had splashed out just once – for goalkeeper Alex Stepney. It meant there was nothing to keep the players on their toes – the established stars knew they would play week in, week out, as there were no serious rivals breathing down their necks.
The season would be a wash-out for George. He was sent off for fighting in the World Clubs Cup against the South American champions Estudiantes of Argentina. United’s league form was poor and they finished the campaign in eleventh place. They got as far as the semi-finals in the European Cup and, by the end of the season, the glory days were clearly at an end.
George wanted Busby to buy class acts – he knew that Mike England and Alan Ball wanted to come to Old Trafford. Instead, they would end up at Spurs and Everton respectively – and Busby would plump only for winger Willie Morgan. The boss also laughed off George’s suggestion that he should be made captain of the team. George could see the downward trend, and his views are eerily similar to those voiced by Keane at Old Trafford. George said, ‘I think quite a few players thought we had done what we set out to do, and relaxed a bit. I certainly didn’t see it that way. I was only 22 … I wanted to keep winning things, and felt we had every chance of retaining the European Cup.
‘My goals became all important, because others weren’t scoring them so frequently. Instead of revolving around me, the team now depended on me and I lacked the maturity to handle it. I began to drink more heavily and, on the field, my list of bookings grew longer as my temper grew shorter.
‘When the bad times started, I couldn’t bear the thought of going out on the pitch. I used to drink so I didn’t have to think about it. Which came first? The bad times then the drinking, or the drinking then the bad times? I’m still sure it was the thought of playing in a bad team, of not winning anything, of not having a chance to play in Europe that drove me to it. All right, you could say that if I’d trained and lived properly, United might have stood a better chance of doing well. That’s true, but I just couldn’t see myself doing it single-handed.’
It would be 31 years before the club were once again crowned champions of Europe and, just eight months after the 1968 triumph, United would announce that an exhausted Busby would move upstairs at the club. Chairman Louis Edwards said, ‘Of course, we knew that it had to come but this does not mean that Sir Matt will be any less involved with Manchester United. In fact, the post of General Manager carries even wider responsibilities….’
Indeed, it did – for Busby’s hapless successor, Wilf McGuinness, it would take on the form of a poisoned chalice. Every time he made a decision – including dropping George for poor commitment at training or going AWOL – Busby would overrule him. It would be the same problem for McGuinness’s successor Frank O’Farrell, and the situation was only truly resolved when Tommy Docherty – hardly a shrinking violet and certainly not in thrall to Busby – took command.
I asked a couple of United experts – Andy Bucklow and Martin Creasy – what they made of the messy end of the Busby reign and how the restructuring at Old Trafford upset George. Bucklow is a senior journalist on the Mail on Sunday, and has followed United’s fortunes for 40 years. He had some sympathy for Busby’s situation in dealing with Britain’s first pop star footballer, but felt he should have built his team around George. Bucklow told me, ‘It has become common legend down the years that an increasingly benign Busby was too tolerant of his errant, adopted son Best, a tolerance seen by many as an indicator of the decline of the great man’s managerial powers. There is, no doubt, a generous dollop of truth in that. George – and his increasingly challenging boozing and birding activities – certainly broke the mould when it came to the disciplining of star players.
‘Sir Matt’s mettle had been tested before, certainly, most notably