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Sir Alex Ferguson is being missed by Manchester United. That is a fact that needs no saying aloud. Perhaps, the world of football misses him even more. Fergie time, characteristic of last minute comebacks, brutish gut-check times, and the famous hair-drier treatment that seemed to upturn, even the bleakest of afternoons into the finest hours of football one could witness have been badly missed since the retirement of the legendary United manager.
In comparison, Arsene Wenger has amassed a paltry sum of trophies, a relative vulnerability that is all too identified with him in football forklore and the incredulous tendency to make the odd ludicrous decision - footballing and otherwise.
Preamble
Ferguson’s reign as United supremo was characterized by a push for global domination, synonymous perhaps, with capitalism that had seeped into European football in the early 90’s. Manchester United one of the richest clubs across Europe, and the toast of the ever growing market of the Premier League at that time capitalized, having left the then global lynchpins of World football, the Italians behind – and went swiftly from Football Club A to Football Brand B.
Financial success aside, United delivered on the pitch as well, with their overbearing sense of grandeur of being the biggest and the best club in English football, if not the world.
Along came Arsene Wenger, the thin, weary-eyed Frenchman with more on his mind than his deductible skills with English, as a language - let alone the game - when he took over at Arsenal in 1996. 18 years later the levels of success achieved by Wenger and Sir Alex are not even comparable.
But then arises the dogmatic question, appending every story ‘labeled’ as a success in footballing books – How do you define success ? If it is the cumulative sum of winnings - Alex Ferguson is way ahead of the pack. Jose Mourinho might get there and even do better. On the other hand if success is relative to the significance of one man’s contribution, evaluated merely in terms independent of mathematics and magnitude, Arsene Wenger has an easy shutout.
Wenger’s raiders of the midfield
Arsene Wenger can never be trusted to do, what everyone thinks he should do. As a man who chases his dreams by delineating his dedication to ‘pure football’, Arsene has been defiant of the convention - that the English game is inherently dirty. Having to endure a change of stadium during his reign, and the financial crunch that accompanies it, Arsene Wenger, to his credit has overseen the thespian equivalent of football artists graduate under his patronage.
He has always bought them young, and only a few have failed to develop and grow. While the talk of world football in recent years has been about Guardiola’s fabled engagement with tiki-taka, little is it acknowledged that the roots for such mesmerizing football had been laid down by Wenger, years before.
Jose Mourinho finds his suitors, and his admirers. And one should admire the Portuguese’s growth in the last decade. But is there a definable print to whatever Mourinho has done in football? Perhaps, the same question can be extended to Sir Alex’s quota. Apart from the identifiable attitude, spirit etc of a Fergie team, is there an imprint, a footballing map that he left behind? Both managers, successful in their own right have employed ‘reactive’ football, especially against the better sides – a sort of post-meditation on philosophy, if any is at all required.
Wenger’s imprint is for everyone to see. The first real garnishing of football with beauty – the silky midielfders – the one touch wonders. The day Arsene Wenger leaves, and leaves with only a handful of more trophies – with the ‘invincibles’ being his greatest achievement still – he is sure to leave a footballing hole, more than a managerial one at the helm at Arsenal. The absence from the Premier League of Arsene Wenger would leave one at the mercy of the cross-eyed wingmen, the towering centre-forwards, the bullish midfielders and the counter-counter-counter-attacking teams.
The beauty of Arsene Wenger’s work lies in the eyes of the beholder, a cup of tea that suits only the purists, the romantics. So much so is his brand of football suited to underpinning romanticism that defines twentieth century poetry, that the inconsequence of deliberations or the attritional absence of an end product seem secondary to the passing of time – as a room to wait in. Haven’t we always hated that feeling, but with Wenger and his footballing philosophy the wait has always been worth it.
Success, in another dimension however, may continue to elude him, but the maestro seems like the only one who can weave magic and football into one sentence – at least in English football.
