I DID offer to help Alex with his new book.

I even suggested a new title but the publishers did not care much for my version of his autobiography 'Managing To Devalue My Life'.

Perhaps this particular extract was ignored because it did not heap enough shame on those closest to him: "It was clear my family were plotting against me. My son Darren was tackling like Tinkerbell and had to be exterminated. Martin Edwards persuaded me to sell him to Wolves instead.

"Then the second hand on my new watch packed in. I immediately suspected sabotage and my wife, who likes me to be home from the game before the ref has waited until we are in the lead, was the obvious suspect.

"I locked her in the safe at Old Trafford for three months until Martin Edwards said I should co-operate with the FA inquiry into her whereabouts.

"Then came the final straw. We were 3-0 up against Coventry at home and a steward caught my elderly auntie sneaking out before the final whistle so she could start the long walk back to Scotland before dark. She had to be taught a lesson, so I paid Becks to break her legs. Sadly, he was caught practising the attack during the England World Cup game against Argentina and got some frightful stick. So he ducked out of the contract. "I felt all alone in the world. I needed a friend. So I bought Mark Bosnich."

Unfortunately for Brian Kidd, Alan Shearer, Alan Hansen, Paul Gascoigne and anyone else who has dared to by-pass or leave his Old Trafford citadel, Ferguson's advisors allowed another ghost writer to chronicle his life of petty points-scoring without the benefit of my parody.

I love the book, and urge everyone to buy it. For, although this will have the unfortunate spin-off of making Ferguson even more wealthy, it will at least make my job easier in unravelling the wool that has been pulled over the eyes of so many for so long.

This man is a nasty piece of work and his book is a therapy to heal all the open sores that have been festering during Ferguson's sadly introspective existence.

But his treatment of Kidd is just pure and vile character assassination.

Here was a man who wanted to further his own career after years of devoted service.

In Ferguson's eyes, this was blasphemy and he pursued the heretic with the fervour of a Medieval religious zealot.

So what if Brian Kidd was 'insecure about his health'?

Of course there are doubts whether he will be a successful manager. There are doubts surrounding every new manager.

And the extent of Kidd's attempts to 'undermine' Ferguson appears to stop at recklessly questioning Ferguson's view.

But Ferguson could not resist kicking a man - and a man with whom he had worked so closely - when he was down. Ferguson justified his actions, at a press conference staged for Fleet Street's finest poodles to further massage his ego, by stating: "You have to tell the truth."

The truth, however, was in short supply when Ferguson insisted that he did not realise that United's draw at Ewood last season had relegated Kidd's side. Funny then, that in his book, Ferguson admits that he was astonished Blackburn played with just one forward in a game they needed to win to stay up.

In some ways I do pity Ferguson.

He clearly has difficulty in divorcing the sordid world of Russian bungs from the reality of basic human emotions, in distinguishing between leadership and friendship, and in sacrificing personal profit in order to retain respect.

Yet, this man has been made a knight of this country. And I am ashamed of that fact.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.