The Magnificent Sevens. Frank Worrall
Johnny Giles, who was summarily dispatched to Leeds following a row over being played out of position.
‘Indeed, during the transitional days of the early Sixties, some of the other more experienced players bought in were openly disrespectful of Matt on coaches going to away games. But these were all football-related activities. Best’s off-field behaviour, just as much as his sublime skill, transcended all that had gone before from any previous member of the awkward squad, but Busby should have clamped down on him much harder, and much earlier.
‘For all Sir Matt’s experience, he never did quite get a handle on Best as the first of the pop star footballers. Sir Matt’s later dealings with Best would have been an irrelevant footnote in history had United enjoyed any sort of continuing success after the 1968 European Cup Final win. The old man’s failings were more down to failing to build for the future with the Irishman at the fulcrum of a new team, not being too accommodating of his greatest player. Had that happened, Best, as he later admitted himself several times, would have had the incentive to carry on, providing countless more treasured memories for the archives.’
Martin Creasy is a United nut – what you would call a ‘superfan’. He has followed the club since the 1960s and has been a season ticket holder since he was a youngster. The first time he witnessed the sublime skills of Georgie-boy was at Stamford Bridge in the 1967–68 season ‘when he was kicked all over the park by Chopper Harris and it finished 1-1. George played a part in United’s goal, which was scored by an 18-year-old Brian Kidd.’ Creasy makes the important point that ‘the fact that the number 7 shirt at United is iconic at all is down to George Best. Every subsequent superstar number 7 was proud to wear the shirt in his honour,’ and goes on to defend the Irishman’s reputation. He told me, ‘George was clearly irked during his retirement years when people would say to him that he blew his United career because of the playboy partying and boozing. He would reply that he spent his 11 best years at Old Trafford, a lot more than most players, and he went on to play for years after that.
‘As fans, we were regularly put through the wringer as George’s personal life unravelled. But, on reflection, I don’t think there would have been a happier ending for United, or Georgie’s Old Trafford career, if nothing stronger than orange juice had passed the Belfast boy’s lips. United were in terminal decline after 1968 and even Besty at his mesmerising best could have done nothing about that. If he was going off the rails, the team was already heading for the buffers. There’s no way he could have carried that team. It was a combination of things – lack of motivation, ageing players, injuries – they all played their part.
‘It became obvious that achieving Sir Matt’s dream of winning the European Cup was enough for those players. The blood, sweat and toil and emotional rollercoaster that ended on that glorious May evening at Wembley in 1968 just couldn’t be followed.
‘When a player of George’s calibre implodes the way he did, the first person under the microscope is the manager. Sir Matt felt the same as a lot of his players. He had completed the dream and he was starting to feel old in an age when the coach was coming to the fore. He believed United needed a younger man at the helm with the energy to get out on the training ground with the players.’
But wasn’t Busby too lenient with him when he skipped training after heavy drinking sessions? Creasy said, ‘People always said Sir Matt had an iron fist in the velvet glove, but it was never apparent in George’s case. He must have been tearing his hair out. He certainly tried everything – sending Georgie back into digs with a landlady as he did when he was a teenager. George even stayed with Paddy Crerand and his family for a while, but that didn’t work either. Frank O’Farrell and Wilf McGuinness had no chance of getting through to George, who had been treated more like a son than a player by Sir Matt. Maybe that was the problem, although the only two people who can answer that one for certain are sadly now no longer with us.’
Of course, George knew that the years after 1968 were wasted in terms of career progress. He would say, ‘In the end, I became a monster to myself [but] I gave millions of people hours of pleasure for years.’ Indeed he did, and the fact that he could still turn it on and enchant the fans after 1968 seemed to bring him some solace, although he would always feel he – and United – could and should have achieved much more.
One of those magical days when he proved he could still turn it on like no one else came in the FA Cup fifth round tie at Northampton in 1970. Inevitably, all eyes were on Georgie-boy after he returned from yet another suspension – this time George had been banned for knocking the ball out of referee Jack Taylor’s hand after a League Cup semi-final defeat to Manchester City. Some players return from suspension a little rusty, and it takes them a little while to adjust back into the hurly-burly of top-rank competition. Not George. With a point to prove, he scored six goals that day, the pick of them being the final one when he left a defender for dead and then dribbled round the keeper. Stopping the ball on the goal line, he saluted the United fans like an all-conquering matador before rolling it into the net.
But the days of joy would be fewer and fewer and it would eventually all end in tears at Old Trafford one bleak midwinter’s day in 1974. McGuinness and O’Farrell had come and gone, Busby had returned for a temporary stint at the helm, and then, finally, the United board made an appointment that made sense. Enter the Doc, a brash, abrasive Scot, the man who would take United down, but bring them back stronger, the man who would bring the smiles back to Old Trafford with his brilliant, adventurous team of 1976. Gordon Hill and Stevie Coppell would spend their time marauding down the wings and Stuart ‘Pancho’ Pearson grabbed the goals up front with Sammy McIlroy.
The Docherty era meant a new start at United, a sweeping away of the cobwebs that had gathered as the Busby years had ended in rusty lethargy. For George, though, the new regime would spell the end. Eleven years at the club and not so much as a word of thanks from the new boss, let alone the offer of a testimonial. Yet, looking look back on the bust-up between George and Docherty, many feel – including me – that the Doc got it right. Not easy to say, or to admit, as we are not talking about any journeyman player here. George had given his heart – and talent – to Manchester United, and may have been able to offer even more in the ensuing years.
The time had come for someone to finally stand up to George and say, ‘Look, you can still be the greatest player in the world or you can piss it all up against the wall by continuing as a spoilt playboy. Which is it to be?’ Docherty was the man who finally had the guts to tell Georgie the truth rather than wrap him up in cotton wool, protecting him from the realities. The facts were undeniable – George was out of control; his excesses had to be curbed once and for all. Credit to Docherty for his bravery, and for seeing the bigger picture, that of United’s long-term goals.
Inevitably, the pair would disagree about the catalyst that led to the final parting on 5 January 1974. Docherty claimed George had missed training due to a New Year’s Eve party that had extended into 2 January, and claimed that when the Irishman eventually did materialise, he had a girl on his arm and stank of booze. George denied all the allegations, saying the Doc had given him an extra day off and that he did not arrive with either a girl nor boozed up.
What’s absolutely clear is that after United had beaten Plymouth Argyle in the FA Cup on that 5 January, Best sat alone in the empty stands at Old Trafford, tears streaming down his face. He knew the game was up; he had threatened to quit in the past, and had even announced his retirement at a press conference in Marbella in May 1972, just days short of his 26th birthday. But this time it was for real and his tears were a mix of regret, at what had been and what should have been, and rage. He would later lay the blame for his ignominious departure firmly on Docherty’s doorstep, saying, ‘Tommy Docherty is the reason I finally, unequivocally, quit Manchester United … I walked out on the club I loved, that had been my family, my life for 11 years, because of Tommy Docherty.’
OK, Bestie was one of the kindest, most generous people you could have hoped to have met when not sozzled, but when under the influence he was, without doubt, stubborn, proud and unwilling to budge an inch … no wonder it all ended up pear-shaped.
But Docherty certainly was not the cause of George’s downfall; George himself was the only man responsible for that. At the