My Manchester United Years: The Autobiography

fourth great player and for me it is one of the happiest facts of my career that he and I enjoyed so much success together and, as it happened, shared the achievement of being the only Englishmen to win both the European and World Cups. In many ways he was the forerunner of Roy Keane in that he was always at the heart of danger, sniffing out points of trouble like some relentless tracker dog. He was a dog of war, if you like, snapping and snarling at both his opponents and his team-mates. When we entered the most vital phase of our campaign to win the European Cup, for Busby and for our fallen team-mates, Nobby was a giant in both his will and his understanding of what had to be done. It was a vital point of the story that was beginning to unfold, and when we came to the detail and the execution of it the little man became a giant, unscrupulous at times no doubt, fiercely committed always, but also someone who loved the challenge of the game, and the feeling he got from being in a winning team. No one I would ever know in football was prepared to do so much for his team-mates and when sometimes, so long after the battles have been fought, I call him and he says, ‘What’s up, Bobby?’ in a voice which still comes straight from the streets of Collyhurst, I experience an old and precious tide of feeling.

Where he differed somewhat from Roy Keane was that he didn’t so much see himself as someone at the centre of the battle, with a duty to go forward and spread his influence all over the field and into every corner of the team, but more as the troubleshooter, someone whose job was to clean up the difficulties, make it easier for people like George and Denis and me to operate at the top of our games.

Sometimes your heart would leap into your mouth as the opposition seized on a mistake and then, in a flash, there would be Nobby mopping up danger, passing the ball on with a few choice remarks for the team-mate who had surrendered it. If he didn’t shout at you, the expression on his face would be eloquent enough. It would say, ‘OK you stupid bastards, I’ve done my job, now you get on with yours.’ On occasions, when he made one of his more dramatic interventions, when he came from nowhere to shut down danger, I would shake my head and think, ‘How on earth did you figure that out?’ It was a form of envy really. I knew that as long as I played, I wouldn’t have that ability to seize on something so quickly and act so sharply – and ruthlessly, if necessary. When Jimmy Murphy hammered out the need to win the tackle, to always be first, he might have had Nobby in mind. Nobby did the hardest thing in the game, he got you the ball, and, as Jimmy used to say, ‘All the rest is bloody easy.’

As the team progressed in all areas, Matt Busby again recognised the need to strengthen the goalkeeping position. Pat Dunne, a £10,500 signing from Shamrock Rovers, an enormous fee for a goalkeeper in those days, had ability, but when the Old Man finally measured the level of it he felt that he needed a bigger, stronger presence, and also someone less erratic, as a contender for the old place of Harry Gregg, who in his best days had always been both ferocious and strong. Alex Stepney, the big Londoner, was quite different from Harry, but he brought the assurance of a natural shot-stopper. He never dominated his area, wouldn’t come out ten yards to catch a ball, but we recognised early that he would do well for us. Not only did he get his hands to the ball at crucial moments, he also held on to it – which is a basic but vital reassurance for any team.

We could not have been stronger at left back. You could have scoured Europe and South America and still not found a full back as quick and as sound as Tony Dunne. When I played, reluctantly, on the left wing, we would always have a chat about ‘taking the runner’, often an overlapping full back. My job was to take the full back if he indeed looked as if he was going to be the runner, and it was something I could also do when playing midfield. Tony’s speed and understanding meant that we were rarely inconvenienced by a sudden break; it was an important part of our increasing strength and it was something I was proud of; something to ease the paranoia I sometimes felt about the level of my contribution off the ball.

It was the speed of Tony Dunne that lingers most strongly in the memory, however. You could lose count of the number of times he overtook a man on the ball. It was something he rarely brought to attack, but then we were not exactly short of options in that area. Like Nobby and Bill Foulkes, Tony was a key underpinning of the ‘team of stars’.

David Sadler would emerge as another important element as the team built towards its ultimate European triumph in 1968. He came to Old Trafford as an outstanding young prospect, a boy from Kent who had been pursued by all the major teams, and it was clear that he was a thoroughbred the moment he arrived at the club. However, David wasn’t the first naturally gifted player to suffer from his own virtuosity. Because of his elegant touch, he came to us as a centre forward, which in my opinion was not his natural position. To me, he was a classic central defender, an intelligent reader of the ball. However, there was no opening in the middle of our defence when he arrived with considerable fanfare. It had