Winter Break - 2: Dinner with the Legend
“Do you lot think you’re something special?!”
Ferguson’s infamous hairdryer was in full blast in the Manchester United locker room, fueled by fury over the players’ dismal performance.
…If they witness this dressing-down live, they’ll never set foot in United.
The club official had abruptly canceled the scheduled player meet-and-greet for that very reason.
“Berbatov, you’re just as guilty, you lazy bastard! Think the game’s over after a couple of goals?!”
Ferguson was the type to lavish trust and encouragement on his players—while dishing out merciless scoldings when warranted.
Hmm. He’s extra pissed today.
As the official silently prayed for the players’ safety, Ferguson’s gaze zeroed in on Pogba, pale and shrinking in the corner of the locker room.
“You want to play on that pitch? Then prove it with your feet! You couldn’t even shine the boots of a retired Scholes!”
Alex Ferguson methodically tore into each player with his tough-love tirade.
“Ji!”
Then he approached Park Ji-sung.
…What did I do wrong?
Park’s face stiffened with tension as Ferguson drew near. Even as one of United’s seasoned pros, facing an enraged Sir Alex was no small feat.
Maybe it hit harder because Park was one of the few who rarely caught flak.
The air grew thick, suffocating.
But fortunately, Ferguson wasn’t there to chew him out.
“You free tonight, lad?”
Relief washed over Park at the casual tone—only for it to vanish in an instant.
“Ah, I’ve got plans already…”
“With who?”
“Uh? Son Jinho from Dortmund… my national team junior…”
“Perfect. I’ll join you.”
Park’s expression froze at Ferguson’s declaration.
Hmm. Was just gonna suggest setting something up, but this works even better.
Ferguson, meanwhile, nodded in satisfaction.
It had been nearly a year since Son Jinho started turning heads at Borussia Dortmund. His name had reached Ferguson’s ears—and those of United’s scouts.
The kid was shaking up the soccer world: young, promising, tireless in attack and defense. What manager wouldn’t love that?
But what really impressed was his loyalty to his club and genuine care for the fans.
The story was already legendary: Jinho, spotting a Korean student fan, spent two full hours chatting—fan service, career advice, the works—only for the kid to oversleep, show up late to school, and bomb his exam.
He’d be perfect as the centerpiece of our rebuild.
Ferguson wasn’t about to let this chance slip.
Tampering? No one enforced it anyway; the FA didn’t even try. It was just a rule on paper—you deny talking transfers, and it blows over.
“Ah… yes. See you tonight, then.”
“And keep it a surprise. Don’t tell him I’m coming.”
He might bail or postpone if he knew.
“Yes, sir.”
Park couldn’t refuse Ferguson in full benevolent mode.
And the result?
“Pleasure to meet you.”
This moment right here.
“Uh… likewise.” I shook his hand in a daze, sizing up the living legend before me.
Alex Ferguson. The man who elevated Manchester United to Europe’s pinnacle, revived English soccer from post-Heysel disaster, earned a knighthood—and Han Gyeowol’s ultimate idol among managers.
“Um, could you sign this too, please?!”
Just look at Gyeowol—she’d been glued to my side, arms crossed, but bolted out for an autograph in a flash.
I watched as Ferguson signed for her, his eyes never leaving me, treating her with grandfatherly warmth.
His piercing gaze felt like it was peeling back my layers.
I met those eyes squarely, refusing to wilt. A satisfied smile tugged at Ferguson’s lips.
“Um, a photo too…”
As Gyeowol pressed her luck, my mother-in-law called out.
“Gyeowol, don’t interrupt the grown-ups—come here!”
“Mom, just one photo! And I’m older than Jinho…”
“Tsk—get over here!”
“…Fine, coming.”
With a pitiful glance back—like a lamb to slaughter—she trudged off.
“Ho ho… what a lovely mother-daughter duo.”
“…This? Ow!”
“Absolutely, like sisters.”
Hwang Miyeon, Gyeowol, Park’s mom, and Lady Cathy—Ferguson’s wife—settled on the sofa for chit-chat. Ferguson glanced at me with a smile.
“Shall we talk, then?”
Maybe it was the loss, but Sir Alex’s face was a bit flushed.
“Relax, lad.”
Noticing my fidgety puppy-dog discomfort, he urged me with a gentle smile.
—Easier said than done! You’re the one who put me in this chokehold.
Lyrics from some song popped into my head at his words.
“Saw your Champions League clash with Arsenal. Impressive stuff.”
He shifted to small talk, easing the tension.
“Ah, thank you.”
Like chatting with a grandson, Ferguson opened up warmly. Before long, we were deep in conversation.
“In football, winning matters—but in life, football’s the smallest thing.”
“What’s most important, then?”
“Life itself. Football’s just a tiny sliver by comparison.”
I nodded along.
Ferguson and I had a lot in common.
Come to think of it, didn’t Lady Cathy say he retired because he couldn’t bear leaving her alone?
Sir Alex was a romantic at heart.
“Why’d you start playing, son?”
I recalled how it all began.
“My girlfriend’s a huge soccer fan.”
“Noble reason. How’s your manager?”
Images of Jurgen Klopp clutching his hamstring flashed by; I couldn’t help smiling.
“Jurgen? Great guy.”
“Great man… great manager.”
Hmm. Jurgen Klopp and Ferguson shared traits.
Managers who maxed out their players’ potential—not tactical wizards like Guardiola or Tuchel, but something more visceral.
With the ice broken, Ferguson’s face turned serious. He cut to the chase.
“Transfer to United.”
He continued carefully.
“Dortmund’s a fine club, but not the best. You know that.”
I knew United’s post-Ferguson history all too well.
Thump—
Still, hearing the offer straight from him set my heart racing.
Is this why Joo-yong hyung went to Arsenal? But I wasn’t Jesus—no way I’d charge down a thorn-lined path wearing a crown of thorns and hauling a cross.
So.
I needed safeguards.
“If you announce retirement during my contract, could we add a release clause?”
I proposed it to Ferguson. Lady Cathy and Gyeowol were hitting it off already.
With this clause too, he’d think twice before retiring.
As Ferguson pondered his response, Park Ji-sung—who’d been quietly listening—chimed in.
“…But Jinho can’t transfer yet, right?”
“Oh. Right.”
Ferguson and Lady Cathy rose first.
“Grandma, I’ll call you!”
“Do that, dear. Stay in touch.”
Gyeowol bowed politely, seeing them off.
Left alone with Park hyung, an awkward silence settled.
Suddenly, he made for the door.
“Hyung, where you going?”
“Uh, something urgent came up.”
“No urgent stuff before what you wanna say?”
“Um… sorry. The gaffer said he wanted to meet you.”
Park approached sheepishly, apologizing. I accepted it.
“It’s fine, hyung. Learned a ton thanks to you.”
Hell, I’d half-expected a Ferguson encounter visiting United—just not like this.
Still, invaluable time.
And we even hashed out transfer conditions.
I wanted hefty fees for cash-strapped Dortmund.
He agreed, as long as it wasn’t excessive.
Best of all: the clause triggering a release if he retired mid-contract.
That’d give him pause come retirement.
As I replayed our chat, Park spoke cautiously.
“But Jinho, you really retiring from the national team?”
“Already did.”
“Debut first, then retire? Fans seem to want that.”
I answered with silence. He didn’t push. Someone put him up to it, huh.