By Dave Bowler

Not all of the most intriguing football films have come from the silver screen. Indeed the majority of the most provocative have tended to be television documentaries, either as part of an extended series such as “Kicking & Screaming”, or from one-off programming strands. The BBC series “Reputations” was one of the latter, a look at various legendary figures from a different perspective.

Sir Matt Busby was the subject of one of those programmes, a fascinating insight into the way football clubs were run back in the “golden age”, when footballers were little more than servants, when directors were there to do no more than find the money and sign the cheques and when the big managers, greats such as Busby, Stein, Shankly, Clough, Revie, ruled the clubs, dictators, benign or otherwise.

Busby was always seen as avuncular, a gentleman, close to his players, Uncle Matt. Yet if “Reputations” is anything to go by, the truth was altogether more complex than that. He took charge of his footballers courtesy of a rare cocktail whereby he inspired fear, trust and love in equal measure, getting the best out of a bunch of disparate characters for whom collecting the gold of medals rather than the gold in pay packets was the sole motivation. In the days of the maximum wage, what else was there?

Much of the Busby story is of course familiar – rebuilding Manchester United from the ashes of World War Two when Old Trafford was little more than a bomb site, the construction of the Busby babes, the tragedy of the Munich disaster, the final vindication of European Cup victory ten years later. But these are little more than bullet points and the “Reputations” documentary skilfully joins the dots to create a much more rounded picture of man, club and professional football.

Football’s innermost truth which it’s always keen to hide from the public is that deep down, it’s a pretty unpleasant business, ruthless, unforgiving, dog eat dog. Could it ever be anything else given that instant judgements on success or failure are handed out each Saturday afternoon, confirmed anew in the league tables the following day? Busby was genial, got people to play for him, but made it very, very clear that you did not step out of line, as Johnny Giles recalled. “There was iron in his eyes”. One discussion as to whether Giles should be in the team or not was one too many for the “old man” and though Giles played that week, the end of the road and a transfer to Leeds United was not so far away.

It does not reduce the man’s reputation any to recognise that streak of ruthlessness in him for, had he been softer, United would not have enjoyed the success they did. They would not have survived Munich and nor for that matter might he. Read the last rites, he got out of his sick bed and delivered a new team, a team with Law and Best, a team of real swagger but also a team that reflected his struggle, a team with a tougher core, a team not to be messed with, a team that used Stiles and Crerand, terriers who could play, but terriers first and foremost.

Munich will forever be at the heart of the United story. That tragedy and the way in which youth was cut down in its prime captivated the world and the club has exploited that to become the biggest in the world. Survivor Bill Foulkes speaks with real anger of the way in which he and his colleagues were given no help, financial or emotional, in coping with it, bitterly telling the camera that he was ultimately forced to sell his medals the club simply to have some kind of pension. Yet in the next breath, speaking of that European Cup win in ’68, he says “We won it for Matt”.

A different man after Munich, perhaps carrying the guilt of taking United into Europe against the FA’s wishes and of asking the plane to make another attempt at take-off, he was driven to win the European Cup for the fallen. Yet the treatment of those who survived was callous in the extreme. Jackie Blanchflower, alive but never again fit enough to play was on the dole in January 1959 according to goalkeeper Harry Gregg who adds, “No sentiment. Once you were no longer useful it was ‘God bless, there’s the door.’ ”

The irony is that Busby himself suffered the same fate. Given the souvenir shop as a retirement present, once the big money came into football it was Louis Edwards, the man who had been charged with finding the money to buy Law and pay Charlton, who became the boss. United took the souvenir shop back seeing the potential of the superstores to come, and put him out to pasture, a figurehead with no power and little money. After all that hard work, it was Louis Edwards, then his son Martin who emerged as the winners, Busby nothing more than a statue and a name. And a reputation.