THE football world was shocked when Sir Alex Ferguson announced his intentions to stay on as the boss of Manchester United.

After pledging to retire at the end of the season, Sir Alex was preparing to turn his back on the cut and thrust of the Premier League, the magic of the FA Cup, and the lure of the Champions League. And the Worthington Cup.

Although his U-turn surprised many, I for one didn't bat an eyelid. I too have done an Alex.

Like the gruff Scotsman, family pressure had me planning to exit from the footballing stage.

Sick of all the hours I was putting in (or "wasting" according to her) the Long Suffering Marjorie demanded I put the PlayStation 2 controls down and turn off the Alex Ferguson Manager 2001 game.

After a series of stand-offs; her: "Turn it off." Me: "No" (repeat three times) we came to a compromise.

As soon as I had guided my virtual Rochdale to the very peak of the Premiership I would quit.

Such an achievement is not the impossible task that would face my real-life equivalent. The first two seasons saw Rochdale glide through the lower leagues as champions. Our debut in the First Division was not so easy and almost resulted in me returning from whence I came. A series of shrewd deals swelled the coffers and allowed me to bring in players accustomed to life at the top.

Like Michael Owen, Andy Cole and Thierry Henry. And I persuaded Zinedine Zidane to leave the heady heights of Real Madrid for Sunny Rochdale. Apparently he settled himself into one of the many penthouse flats the town centre has to offer.

Naturally the Division One title was mine for the taking. After amassing a record amount of points and bagging a record number of goals, I took my place among the big boys. I had arrived.

As Graeme Souness will testify, the gulf between the First Division and the Premiership is huge. Even my galaxy of stars failed to make any initial impact and quickly became despondent.

Even in the virtual world, Sunny Rochdale could not hold the attention of a group of millionaire footballers. A night at the Bridge Inn and a potato-pie supper did not prove the allure they at first thought, especially to the foreign ones.

Struggling season followed struggling season. Some years I was lucky not to be sucked back into the abyss of the lower divisions, while the best seasons saw me consolidate a mid-table position. Players came and went until I settled on a champion-winning line up, with straight-down-the-middle Michael Owen as the linchpin. He never moaned, never threatened to leave and always scored goals. You know where you are with Michael Owen.

Finally in the 2009/10 season I saw my dream realised. Spotland was busting to its 9,000 capacity to see Rochdale beat Manchester United 3-0 to be crowned champs in one of the most tightly-fought contests for years.

By this time I had taken to employing underhand tactics. If I lost a game, I did what all managers wish they could do. I changed time. I wielded God-like power by simply turning the game off when things didn't go my way. On one instance I played Newcastle FIVE times until I beat them.

The relief of it all was great, the euphoria greater. The anti-climax was greater still.

Hovering in the background was the LSM. Like a ghost from a classic tale, she had returned to fulfil my prophecy. "Lay the game to rest. Your work here is done."

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't turn my back on something I had toiled so hard to build up. And now, much to the distress of the LSM, who for some reason has labelled me a geek, I soldier on.

The year is now 2014. The era's equivalent of the David Beckhams own the latest hover-cars and Rochdale boasts a 27,000 stadium.

Like Sir Alex, I'm not ready to give all that up just yet.