The missing preface in Fergie's new book

Dear reader,

Thank you for buying my autobiography called My Autobiography.

The title doesn't sound very imaginative, but my first choice was worse: My Foot In My Mouth.

That's because I don't expect the best betting odds to be on how long it is before David Moyes' Manchester United turn into a team who put you to sleep like Everton.

Instead they will be on who will hate me more after I'd dissed them in my book.

David Beckham, Rafael Benitez, Wayne Rooney, Steven Gerrard, Frank Lampard, fat Mark Bosnich or mad Roy Keane?

If you don't like my book and want a refund, I hope your bookseller won't be a psycho like Keane.

Mate, when he was angry with everybody, it was so frightening I kept wishing my hair dryer was a bazooka.

Keano's eyes started to narrow, almost to wee black beads, until I thought I was facing a monster rooster at Halloween.

To this day, I still wake up in a cold sweat until my wife calms me down with a photo of Cristiano Ronaldo, the perfect son I'd gladly trade 10 Dimitar Berbatovs and 100 Owen Hargreaves for.

Hargreaves? More like hard grief.

Yes, dear reader, I thought of suing him but which hospital would I send the lawyer to?

In hindsight, I should've sold him to Benitez because his Liverpool side were so painful to watch with low-class players like Gerrard.

I regret not dumping Hargreaves on that sorry lot to make Liverpool the official toilet of the Premier League.

But I don't regret selling Beckham to Real Madrid.

When he fell for Posh Spice, I knew that boy had made a big mistake.

Honestly, Becks should've gone for Sporty Spice instead and still kept his head grounded in sportswear instead of underwear. Even Eric Cantona made more sense with his "seagulls-sardines" routine than Beckham's choice.

I tried to help them, yer know.

All of them lads.

I found Paul Scholes a great retirement home called Very Old Trafford, recommended Bosnich to a fat farm and Rooney to a hair farm, and I even promise to buy, in the future, any Jaap Stam stamp.

But I can't control destiny, can I?

I mean, I was only in charge of Manchester United.

Not Mankind United.

If anybody is angry with what I've done with this book, I apologise.

It's a huge responsibility to inflict misery upon other people.

Ask David Moyes.

Thank you,
Alex

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