Andrew Fifield On The Premiership: My optician claims to have the inside track on events in Manchester. He comes from Bolton and apparently used to holiday with Mike Summerbee. During a sojourn in Portugal, they even persuaded Eusebio to give them an autograph: it now hangs on his practice wall.
His theory on Manchester United is that Alex Ferguson, still glowing from the effects of his unexpected Indian summer, will sweep out of Old Trafford in his gilded chariot on May 20th - the Premiership trophy and FA Cup under one arm and a gold carriage clock under the other - and usher in the era of Allardyce. "You mark my words," he declared, prophetically. "Big Sam's the man."
As a general rule, it isn't advisable to contradict someone shining bright lights into your eyes. Besides, the idea is not just being peddled by optometrists with too much time on their hands: several more qualified pundits have joined in, and perhaps with good reason.
Allardyce is a free man - although given Glenn Roeder's departure from Newcastle last night, that might change soon - and certainly counts as one of the few managers in English football gutsy enough to follow in Ferguson's Yeti-sized footsteps. There is also something to be said for managers bowing out with dignity rather than suffering the "Bobby Robson treatment" and being unceremoniously shoved out of the back-door when nobody is looking.
But retirement was not conceived with men like Ferguson in mind. He has already tried it once, in 2002 and the prospect of spending his twilight days assembling model train sets and tending to his petunias was too much to bear. He changed his mind and, the following season, celebrated by winning the Premiership title.
The notion of retreating gracefully was put to him again last November, on the occasion of his 20th anniversary at United, and the response was a trademark diatribe about the "scandalous" way in which society viewed the passage of time as a professional handicap and a lengthy analysis of the new age discrimination laws.
Then, Ferguson's discomfort stemmed - in part, at least - from the weakness of his own position. United had not won a trophy of note since that 2003 title, the club were smarting from an embarrassing Champions League group defeat to FC Copenhagen days earlier and were about to suffer an even more humiliating evening at Southend in the League Cup. Questions about Ferguson's future, sparked by reminiscences over his past, appeared justified.
No longer. Ferguson is king again, his side's domestic dominance and European credibility restored by a season which must have surpassed even his lofty expectations. And, what is more, the 65-year-old looks younger now than he did when he celebrated at Goodison Park four years ago.
It has been suggested that the virile things in Ferguson's side are somehow keeping their manager young, as if the Scot has become Govan's answer to Dorian Gray, magically retaining his vitality while, in a disused Old Trafford store-room, the players in this season's squad photo turn white and wither. In one aspect, this is true enough. The effervescent performances of Cristiano Ronaldo and Wayne Rooney are indeed responsible for Ferguson's renewed lust for life, but only because they have transformed Manchester United into contenders again. Winning is enough to keep any pensioner feeling perky and, hoary old bloodhound that he is, the scent of silverware is thick in his nostrils.
If Ferguson's eternal youth has been sparked by a whippersnapper, it is more likely to be Jose Mourinho. With Arsene Wenger's Arsenal stuck in transition and Rafael Benitez unable to translate Liverpool's continental fluency into the Premiership's rugged Anglo-Saxon, Ferguson's competitive juices were threatening to run dry until Mourinho showed up, brimming over with the arrogance of youth.
The pair undoubtedly share a bond: Mourinho has always been openly respectful of Ferguson's achievements and his standing within English football, while the United manager takes a sort of paternal pride in the Portuguese kid-of-war. Even in their recent spat over Cristiano Ronaldo's integrity, or lack of it, mutual appreciation has always underpinned their apparent acrimony.
But affection for Mourinho has not dulled Ferguson's competitive instinct.
He likes his Chelsea counterpart but is also desperate to best him, to prove that age is no barrier to success. For the last two seasons, he has been thwarted, forced to bottle up his frustrations while the Londoners ground their competitors into the dust: this year has provided cathartic release, with United proving that titles can still be won with some swagger.
That, alone, should be enough to reinvigorate Ferguson and banish any lingering debate over the succession question at Old Trafford. Big Sam, Mark Hughes, Martin O'Neill and the rest will have to wait.
