José Mourinho had arrived in 2004 with his coat and his charisma and his talk of being a Special One. And, to be fair, he was living up to his own billing. I’d never had a problem with Abramovich splashing out millions. At a club as big as United we weren’t going to be intimidated by a new kid on the block. Money could buy Chelsea success. Mourinho had organised them superbly, and they had a strong, physical team with top-class internationals like Didier Drogba, Frank Lampard and John Terry. That early Mourinho team, 4–3–3 with Damien Duff and Arjen Robben, was formidable. I don’t think they’ve been as good since. They had bought a top manager and some top players, and we had to accept that Abramovich’s wealth had created a major new rival. But I wasn’t going to lose sleep over it, or worry about United’s place in the game. All the money in the world could never buy our history, our tradition, our fan power or prestige. It never will, not in a hundred years. Peter Kenyon seemed to think otherwise.
