It could be last orders for Rangers’ single-minded captain

Barry Ferguson has picked up his ball and gone home.

The former Rangers captain appears set to end his career to spend more time with his investments.

He will quit because he can.

At 31, Ferguson has no need to work again. His appetite for playing the game seems severely diminished by the events of the past few days. Ferguson has no need to suck it up and persevere. He can go off in a huff and a very expensive car.
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Ferguson leaves behind him an unfulfilled career, three disgruntled managers, a divided public and a press who never warmed to him. Bazza, bustling and busy on the park, could be hard work off it.

It is difficult for the modern footballer to be open and engaging. There are many demands on their time and they must learn to say no. They cannot be everything to everyone. Ferguson was always Ferguson. This may have been his triumph. It was also his tragedy.

Ferguson's renowned focus, his single-mindedness made him resilient to the blows sustained by his life as a top-class footballer. These traits also left him unable to empathise with those outside his circle.

There is more than a suspicion that Ferguson does not understand fully why there is such a furore over what happened at Cameron House and then in the dug-out at Hampden on Wednesday.

There is a certainty that he exhausted the patience of Paul Le Guen, George Burley and Walter Smith.

Modern footballers are nurtured on the illusion that they are above and beyond the laws that apply to other human beings. They have been lauded at primary school, they are celebrated at high school where they miss lessons with impunity, and they always get the girl. Crucially, they then slide into a world where there is no credit crunch, where bills are what birds have and where cares are for others.

This utopia comes at a price. The player is divorced from the real world. This is not a criticism exclusive to Ferguson. However, footballers are increasingly distant from both the fans and their beginnings.

Ferguson was brought up by a decent, working-class family who lived in Barlanark before moving to Lanarkshire. His dad was a roofer and his big brother was Derek, a football prodigy who went on to play for Rangers first team at the age of 15 years and 239 days.

Barry was similarly talented but more focused. He has won four Scottish titles, four Scottish Cups and five League Cups. His career at Blackburn Rovers was compromised by a dreadful knee injury.

The glory days, though, have faded. The surging midfielder who scored 18 goals in the Rangers treble-winning side of 2003 has slowly been replaced by a less mobile Ferguson.

But he still has much to offer on the park. The criticism of him has been shrill and exaggerated.

All footballers meet loud opposition in their careers and it came to Ferguson. He was castigated for being slow, for passing sideways for never getting forward, for trying to do everything, for achieving nothing . . .

Yet most sober observers, including this one, will insist that Ferguson is still a player of strength, technique and ability. He could fulfill an important role in the front of the back four for both Rangers and the national team. It is not difficult to see Ferguson closing down attackers with his tigerish intensity or picking up balls from the defence to funnel forward quickly and astutely.

But he would not adapt to this role. Ferguson was a captain who rarely seemed to follow orders. Bazza went his own way. He charged the opposition lines with a passion. He even, in what may be his last game for Rangers, scored a goal against Hearts but he followed that with a gesture that told fans, or press, or both, to keep quiet.

The fingers to the lips invited later criticism as Rangers surrendered a two-goal lead.

Two fingers have brought him double trouble but the gesture in the dug-out on Wednesday was only the spark that ignited the bonfire of the vanities. There will be those who insist that one bevvy session and two fingers raised should not have brought the opprobrium heaped on both Ferguson and his mate, Allan McGregor.

As ever with football, it was about more than the game, about more than a pint, about more than a V-sign. Ferguson was seen to be showing disrespect. Walter Smith had warned him to take his punishment but, instead, Ferguson showed a defiance that added so much to his game but reduced his career prospects. Smith simply had enough.

Many supporters, too, felt that the millionaire had given them the ultimate insult. They expected repentance, they witnessed petulance. It was not the greatest of sins but it proved fatal to an erstwhile hero.

Ferguson could not find support in the press but, crucially, the player did not believe he needed it. He underestimated the power of outrage and overestimated his power to render it irrelevant.

The abiding memory of Ferguson will be of a beautiful passer who showed great passion. There was rarely anything wrong with his feet or his heart. His head, though, has one careless owner.

Taken from the Herald