It was mid-morning on a Tuesday.
Alex Ferguson had just finished his usual routine — an hour in the gym, followed by a quick nine holes at his local golf club. He felt good. The weather was decent for Manchester, the swing had behaved, and his mind was already drifting back to training in the afternoon.
He reached into his pocket for his phone, then remembered — he'd left it on the kitchen counter. Typical. Not that he cared much; he wasn't one for gadgets. If something was truly urgent, the club would find him.
After finishing his round of golf, Ferguson immediately headed for his car.
"At home, please," he said to his driver as he climbed inside.
The driver nodded, pulling smoothly out of the club gates. The familiar hum of the engine filled the quiet. Ferguson leaned back, eyes half-closed. For all the chaos that came with managing Manchester United, at this point, these quiet rides home were his favorite part of the day.
