By the time Alex Ferguson sat down, late in 1999, to compose the first of his several memoirs, he had already accumulated a slew of honors. Championships in his native Scotland and in England. An assortment of cups, at home and abroad. And his most recent, most treasured: a long-awaited victory in the Champions League.
As he and Hugh McIlvanney, his ghostwriter, cast back through his career, though, one evening stood out above all the others. Ferguson recalled Manchester United’s party on May 14, 1994, as “one of the best occasions I have known.” With good reason, too: That was the day United, and Ferguson, had done what only the truly great teams did.