Paddy Crerand: Never Turn the Other Cheek. Paddy Crerand

you were suspended for ill-discipline then you didn’t get paid. That meant you had to answer to your wife because you weren’t bringing a wage home. Matt never swore, but if he raised his voice you were almost disappointed in yourself because you had let him down. Matt could back up his words with a formidable physical presence. He was a former miner and soldier and had it come to a fight, he would have probably got the better of all his players, not that he ever fought with them.

      Matt gave Manchester United dignity. Matt Busby and Alex Ferguson are great losers. It kills them to lose, but they maintain their respect for other people. Other managers will show contempt or disregard. Matt had that respect for others and graciousness in defeat in abundance.

      Matt probably brought the comments upon himself because he readily socialized with players and he said in many interviews that he allowed his players to ‘play it off the cuff’. People took that to mean that we went out to play on a Saturday without any real plan, but that wasn’t true. When Matt talked about playing it off the cuff he meant that he laid down no rigid set of rules for the forwards. You couldn’t tell players like Denis Law or Bobby Charlton what to do with the ball at their feet … instinct did that.

      We played the first fifteen minutes of every game with a calculated defensive plan until we assessed the strength of the opposition. I won’t forget my first Manchester derby in May 1963 when we played our final four league games in just eleven days because of the backlog of fixtures caused by the inclement weather. Both United and City were in serious danger of going down and we drew 1–1 at Maine Road. We didn’t deserve a point. The City player David Wagstaff had a go at me just before half-time. I didn’t like players who had a go on the pitch and said, ‘If you’ve got something to say then do it off the pitch.’ Well, he did. He came up to me in the tunnel and shouted, ‘You, you c**t …’ I turned round and belted him and he went down like a ton of bricks. Then City’s trainer came for me and I said, ‘You f**k off too or you’ll get it.’ He took me seriously and retreated.

      Matt came in the changing room and he was livid, absolutely furious. I’d never seen him like that before. He walked straight up to me and said, ‘Did you hit David Wagstaff?’ I said, ‘No.’ I was afraid of Matt; he was going off his head. The fight made the papers and I didn’t come out of it too well, but I got off lightly in comparison to my punishment if it had happened today. Matt knew it was me, but he never mentioned the incident again. I was young, daft and had acted in the heat of the moment. There was nothing personal against Wagstaff – he was a very talented player whom Matt considered signing for United. I got in a few scrapes in the future, but I never went down. You don’t go down when you are from the Gorbals.

      We finally left Manchester for London on the Wednesday afternoon. We passed the twin towers of Wembley and the floodlights were on for a rather special occasion – Milan were playing Benfica in the European Cup Final.

      Leicester City, our opponents, were favourites to win the cup. They had finished the season fourth behind champions Everton, Tottenham, and Burnley, whereas United only just avoided relegation by finishing in nineteenth place. It was a bleak time in Manchester – City were relegated, not that we were too concerned as we prepared to play Leicester.

      The bookmakers were not confident about United, but we were and thought we’d play them at their own game, even though I’m not a gambler. Denis Law knew a bookie in Aberdeen and four players bet £100 each on United to win the Cup – a fortune and over twice my weekly wage. I wasn’t usually a gambler, but we stood to win £150 on top of our stake if we won.

      Noel Cantwell, our captain, went to Wembley the day before the game to do a television piece with the Leicester captain for the BBC. They wanted Noel to walk up the Wembley steps to lift the cup, but he refused, saying that he didn’t want to tempt fate. The team was named on the day of the game and it surprised me. Nobby Stiles was left out – he never did play in an FA Cup Final. Harry Gregg was dropped for David Gaskell and Shay Brennan was omitted. They weren’t happy, but what could we say to them? It happens in football. I’d never seen an English Cup Final live in my life and I wanted to savour the moment. The first time I had heard of United was when I listened to the 1948 FA Cup Final on a radio in the Gorbals and here I was fifteen years later about to play in one for the Reds, with United again underdogs.

      The Wembley dressing room was roasting, which was no surprise as the game was played on 25 May. Before the match I went for a walk in my kit. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Having watched the English Cup Final so many times on television, I wanted to see the band on the pitch and that man in the daft white outfit who waved a stick around when they sang ‘Abide with Me’. I stood there marvelling and thinking, ‘This is magnificent.’ I wasn’t nervous, just curious.

      Apparently Matt was frantic with worry and wondered where I had got to. He wasn’t happy when he saw me, but he didn’t have time to tell me off as the game was due to start. And he didn’t tell me off after the game because the 1963 Cup Final was my best individual game for Manchester United. The whole team played superbly and while Denis and I got the credit, Johnny Giles and Bobby Charlton were outstanding as we beat Leicester 3–1 with two goals from David Herd and one from Denis Law. I sent Denis in for a goal on the half hour and after that Leicester just couldn’t shut us down.

      Gordon Banks, the Leicester and England goalkeeper, spilled a shot by Bobby Charlton and David Herd nipped in to make it two. Leicester’s Ken Keyworth headed a goal back for them, but then Banks made another error and Herd got his second. If we had won the game by six or seven people would have said it was a fair result. More importantly, it was United’s finest hour since the tragedy at Munich and the start of a great six years.

      The Daily Telegraph, not a paper I’ve ever been in the habit of buying, paid me a glowing tribute. Referring to the European Cup Final between Milan and Benfica at Wembley, played a few days before we beat Leicester, it said: ‘Even Rivera and Eusebio, the bright young stars of European soccer, did nothing on Wednesday that Law did not equal on Saturday. No Italian or Portuguese half-back showed greater intelligence or craftsmanship than did Crerand. All the teamwork which won Milan the European championship was no sounder than that which earned United the Cup.’

      The Queen was waiting to present the trophy. I’m many things, but a royalist is not one of them so I just kept my head down and picked up my medal.

      We had a banquet at the Savoy Hotel afterwards. We were allowed to take two guests and I took my wife and my mother. None of us were used to going into flash hotels and I was a bit in awe, more so when I saw a man on our table beckon a waiter over. He handed him a five pound note, a lot of money, and said, ‘When I want a drink I shall point my finger and I expect you to be here.’ The waiter was round him like a fly round shit all night. The man was Paddy McGrath, a great friend of Sir Matt Busby and a big United fan. Paddy was a successful entrepreneur and bought the first executive box at Old Trafford, right on the halfway line.