When Paul Ince pointed a shotgun at Fergie and the different rules for Eric Cantona at Man Utd

The goalkeeper Les Sealey was only ever a loanee at Manchester United, but he played a fundamental part in the history of the club and the first trophies there for Sir Alex Ferguson, which secured his survival as manager. Sealey played in four cup finals for United, including the 1990 FA Cup final replay when Ferguson dropped first-choice goalkeeper Jim Leighton after the team narrowly avoided defeat by Crystal Palace in the first game.

When Sealey died of a heart attack aged 43 in 2001, his family were left bereft. A London east end boy born into poverty, he was an unique character and a very talented goalkeeper, who coached at West Ham after his playing career was over.

Years later his son Joe was handed a box of audio cassettes of memories his father had made with a family friend. From those, the author Tim Rich recreated Les’s voice and wrote one of the football books of this year or any other – On Days Like These: The Lost Memoir of a Goalkeeper.

It chronicles a life in football before the great transformation of the Premier League and offers an astonishing view of the chaos – and the genius – of Ferguson’s battle to restore United to greatness.

Ferguson tells Sealey he will be replacing Leighton for 1990 FA Cup final replay at post-match party after first game

We were awful at Wembley, played off the park by Crystal Palace. Defensively, we cannot be any worse. I glance at Jim Leighton. He looks like he has gone through torment. He didn’t play particularly well, but the waves of Palace attacks had stretched United’s defence to the limit.

We needed to win. United had finished 13th this year, as we had the year before. Ferguson’s had his four years. He knows it. So does the chairman, Martin Edwards. So do the players. Jim reckons Ferguson has lost the dressing room. I don’t know, I haven’t been here long enough. Perhaps there are some on the fringes wondering what it might be like with another manager.

Anyway, I am going to get another drink when Ferguson comes over to me.

“Do you know your loan period is up?”

“Yeah, I did know. I’m sorry I’ll miss the replay.”

“Do you want to be involved?”

“Definitely. If the club wants me to be involved, I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be f------ involved.” Then he walks away.

After losing 1991 League Cup final, Sealey has deep gash in knee, but is desperate to play in European Cup-winners’ Cup final in 24 days’ time

The doctor puts five stitches into the wound. There’s no anaesthetic. “Be careful, doc,” I say as the first stitch goes in. “Les,” he says, “you’ve done your job. Now just let me do mine.”

By the time the flight to Manchester is called, I can’t stand any more. I lie down on the floor while somebody phones for an ambulance. Nobody from Manchester United stays with me, they all board the flight. Elaine [Les’s wife] remains in the now-deserted departure lounge, holding my hand. The pain is by now indescribable. By the time the paramedics are giving me gas and air, I am in tears of agony.

By midnight, they are prepping me for the operation. When I come round, the surgeon is still there, standing over the side of my bed. He whispers: “Who’s a lucky boy then?” He says that I had been stitched up at Wembley with dirt and grass inside the wound. It had taken a litre and a half of saline solution to clean the knee. There had been pus in the joint, and I was getting blood poisoning.

“Let me tell you what would have happened if you had got on that plane,” he says. ‘It would have delayed the operation. What’s more likely is that the pressurised cabin would have intensified everything surrounding the wound and your leg would have had to be amputated. Worst case we would have been burying you.”

United beat Norwich 3-1 in April 1993, to go one point behind leaders Villa, but Paul Ince had missed chance to play in Eric Cantona

As the players clatter down the corridor and into the away dressing room, Ferguson is waiting by the door. As each red shirt comes in, he pats them on the shoulder. Then Paul comes in, and Ferguson turns to him: “I’m disappointed in you, Ince. When the f--- are you going to learn to look up when you’re on a run?”

Given that he’s been involved in one of the goals of Manchester United’s season, Paul looks like he’s just been slapped. He lunges for his manager, who stands his ground. The dressing room is divided by a treatment table. On one side of it, Paul is being held back by four of his team-mates screaming: “If that’s what you think, why don’t you sell me, you c---? Go on then, f------ sell me. You haven’t got the f------ bottle, have you?”

On the other side, Ferguson is standing bolt upright, gripping the table, refusing to take a step back. They glare at each other, two bulls fighting for control of the herd. Nobody moves. Second by imperceptible second, the crisis starts to deflate. Steve Bruce says: “Can I remind everyone in this room that we have just beaten Norwich 3–1?” Paul sits down. The manager leaves to give his press conference.

A few days later, Ferguson is sitting in his office at the Cliff [training ground] when he sees the barrel of a rifle poking through the gap in the door, which slowly swings open. There, pointing a double-barrelled shotgun straight at Ferguson’s chest, is Paul. They look straight into each other’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, gaffer,” Paul smiles. “It’s not loaded.”

Champions United can do Double for first time in 1994 and FA Cup final would be Bryan Robson’s last game

On the day before the final, the manager called Robbo into his hotel room and told him he could go out and have a drink because he wouldn’t be involved at all. It was a choice between him or Lee Sharpe on the bench, and Sharpe had a future at Manchester United, although as it turned out, not that much of one. Ferguson even tried to give him money to pay for some drinks. Robbo pushed the notes away. He didn’t need or want them.

We demolished Chelsea. We were three up with 20 minutes to play. Bryan could have come on for the last 15 minutes, taken his bow, lifted the FA Cup for the fourth time and headed back to the North East. We don’t often get the finish we deserve, but that should have been his.

Different rules for Cantona

He is the one person in the United dressing room who has never felt the wrath of Ferguson’s tongue. Even when he’s played badly, the manager never says anything to him, hardly ever gives him instructions. Usually, he’s just told to get on with his game. Ferguson seems to be genuinely wary of him, as if he knows Eric has turned his back on so many people in his career. He doesn’t want to be the next, so he is indulged.

When Ferguson’s eldest son, Mark, presented him with his first grandchild, the manager was visibly thrilled. He almost skipped into training, and when he opened the dressing-room door, Brian McClair turned to him and said: “How’s little Eric doing then?”

Eric is full of contradictions. The image he projects on the pitch, with his collar turned up, is of a man alone. He is nothing of the sort. If the team goes out, you’ll usually find Eric with us. He is up for a good time, and given the pressure he’s under, I’m not surprised. His car is small, unpretentious, dirty and scuffed. It looks like he has reversed into something. Yet he told me that back home in France, he has a blue Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible and a Harley-Davidson. Both, he says, are immaculate and kept in a garage.

Fergie’s tirades in Russian

The club employed an interpreter for Eric and Andrei Kanchelskis called George Scanlan, who was a professor at Liverpool University and spoke fluent French and Russian. He was the official interpreter for the Soviet Union team during the 1966 World Cup.

If the manager wanted to make a specific point to either of them or give Andrei a bit of a b---------, they would be taken into a side room with the Prof, and if the manager began shouting, George would raise his voice with him. You could just make out a stream of words you couldn’t understand, while someone behind you would say: “What’s Russian for ‘f--- off’?”

Back in European Cup – now Champions League – for first time since 1968, United go out on away goals against Galatasaray in 1993. But that is only half the story

Les Kershaw, who is United’s chief scout, told us Galatasaray wouldn’t give us any problems; they were the weakest team left in the tournament. Nobby Stiles, who was now United’s youth-team coach, wasn’t so sure. He told us they were not as bad as people were making out. The Turks would be difficult. Kershaw told Nobby he was talking nonsense. “We will coast it,” he said.

[For the second leg] The scenes at Istanbul Airport were beyond our imaginings. We were jeered, we were jostled, we were threatened. I felt a shove in the back and heard a heavily accented voice saying: “F--- off to Manchester.” I spun round to confront him, a rolled-up copy of Autotrader brandished above my head. For half a second, we stared at each other with a mutual recognition of how ridiculous this was, before our security guards swept me and my team-mates towards the exits.

In the tunnel [after the game], Eric gets a policeman’s truncheon on the back of his head. Bryan Robson spins round to intervene and is struck on the forearm by a riot shield. He needs four or five stitches. Once Eric has calmed down, there is a perfect silence. The manager has gone to the press conference. Then somebody – Steve Bruce, because he’s always rallying the troops – says: “Shall we get changed and get on the bus?”

There had been another row between Stiles and Kershaw, which ended with United sacking Nobby, who had been right about Galatasaray. They kept Les. Nobby said United would never win the European Cup playing the way they were. The fact that he had actually been part of the team that won the competition didn’t seem to count for much. In fact, when he mentioned it, it was held against him.

The Fergie philosophy

On one occasion we were having coffee in a hotel before an away game, and Ferguson told me that once he had made up his mind to get rid of a player, he never changed it. He never paced the corridors turning the decision over in his mind. “You can’t go home and worry about the player, what’s happening to them or their wives and families. You’ve made the decision,” he said. “You’ve made it for two reasons. Firstly, you’ve made it for yourself, because players who aren’t good enough or aren’t motivated enough will get you the sack. But, mainly, you’ve made it for the sake of the club. It’s a business, football, and if you’re ever a manager, Les, you remember that.”

Alex Ferguson is an extraordinary man. To his fingertips, he is a football man. But he is not a nice man. Ron Atkinson [Sealey’s manager at Villa] is not a nice man either, in case you’re wondering. He’s wonderful company, a great laugh, but if he needs to, he’ll cut you dead.

Ferguson and Schmeichel

Every club I’ve ever been to, I’ve looked at the first-choice keeper and thought: “You are catchable.” When I saw Peter Schmeichel, I knew immediately he wasn’t. He had no weakness that I could see. He was the best goalkeeper I had ever seen. Yet Ferguson would needle him, criticise him in a way he never would with Cantona.

Peter is a man apart at Manchester United. He is not particularly liked. I don’t think many at Old Trafford are close to him; he is just respected for what he does. Nobody, incidentally, is allowed to touch his gloves. When we go to Anfield [Jan 4, 1994], we lose a three-goal lead to draw 3–3. The dressing room is murderous, and the manager lays into Peter. He criticises his kicking, his placement and even his basic ability as a goalkeeper. Peter answers back and tells him to “f--- off” four times. I’m not surprised Peter cracks, because the manager is relentless with him. He tells him he is finished at United, and we all think that is it. There is silence in the dressing room, because none of us can recall Ferguson changing his mind once he has announced something.

Sidling up to Steve Bruce, I say: “Do you think he’ll go through with it? Do you think he’ll finish with Peter?” “Nah. He’s too important. Now if it was Denis …” And we both burst out laughing because the thought of Denis Irwin telling Ferguson to f--- off four times is too ridiculous for words.

For the first time any of us can remember, Ferguson backed down.

Sealey visits Ince to watch some horse racing on TV in his new house

Paul is studying the horses as they walk around the parade ring, making comments about how they look, what they have done and what they will do. I’m aware of a chugging sound coming from beyond the French windows. Harry is Paul’s gardener. He has got a big, petrol-driven lawnmower and is creating beautiful straight green lines. You could play tennis on that.

As the horses are put under starter’s orders, the growling becomes louder, and Paul keeps glancing over his shoulder. As the race nears its climax, Harry is right by the French windows, trimming the edges, the noise drowning the commentary. Paul leaps up, flings open the windows and shouts: “Harry! If you don’t turn that thing off now, I am going to make you eat it.” Then he runs into the middle of the garden, looks up at the sky and yells: “I never wanted a bloody lawn in the first place!”

The impossible task of dropping Schmeichel

At half-time, United are 4–0 up against Sheffield Wednesday [On March 16, 1994] and as we go down the tunnel, the manager says to me: “I’m going to put you on for the second half.” When he explains the decision to Peter, there’s another row. Peter stands up: “I’m not f------ happy with that.” Suddenly, this looks like another argument that is going to spiral completely out of control. Before it does, Ferguson backs down and mumbles an apology to me.

[After United lose 1-0 to Wimbledon on April 16, 1994] Ferguson came over to Peter and said: “I don’t know if I’m going to pick you next week. I’ve had enough of this. You’re making mistakes every f------ week.” The next week was the Manchester derby at Old Trafford. Of course, Peter was picked. United won 2–0.

The thing about Peter is that he always wants to play, whatever the state of the season, whatever the opposition. In October [1994], we were at home to Leicester in the League Cup. Before kick-off, I was having a p--- in one of the urinals when the manager came over to use the facilities. As he stood next to me, he said: “I was going to play you tonight, but you know what that f------ Schmeichel’s like when you ask him to stand down. I’m sorry.”

On Days Like These: The Lost Memoir of a Goalkeeper, by Tim Rich, published by Quercus, is out now in hardback, RRP £20.00.