Football: Blades blowing to final on blast of Fred Eyre

IN normal circumstances, Fred Eyre would no sooner miss the Professional Footballers' Association's annual bash than forego the lifelong ritual of savouring every second of Wembley on a certain Saturday in May.

But, as Eyre explained in his apology to the players' union supremo, Gordon Taylor, he must pass up one due to the fact that he hopes to play an active part in the other. "Dear Gordon," he wrote, "I'm returning the ticket because (and I never thought I'd say this) I'm involved in an FA Cup semi-final that day. Please authorise someone to pick up my merit award.''

There is no award, the last line being typical of Eyre's self-mocking wit, although maybe there should be. Now 54 and chief scout to Sheffield United, who contest a final place with Newcastle at Old Trafford on Sunday, his life has been a triumph of perseverance and humour in the face of adversity.

It would take a book to do full justice to the story that has led Eyre to his first semi-final since his days in Radcliffe Borough reserves' midfield. He has written five, with the tragi-comic autobiography Kicked Into Touch still in print after 17 years. "It helps," he grinned, "when you print in batches of 10.''

The son of a Manchester butcher - no mean pedigree for one now serving the Blades - he was the first-ever apprentice at his beloved City. After the crushing blow of a free transfer and failed attempts to make it at Lincoln, Huddersfield and Crewe, he hawked his indomitable spirit around the likes of New Brighton, Buxton, Chadderton, Ellesmere Port, Rossendale and Oswestry for two decades.

When it was over he had 82 coaches and 30 managers to his name. Oh, and one League appearance, for the doomed Bradford Park Avenue, a club so unstable "the gaffer's office had a turnstile instead of a door".

Yet along the way, Eyre built and sold a chain of stationery shops; ran a Rolls- Royce with the number plate SFE 1 ("The S stands for Sir... you've got to think ahead"); hosted the breakfast show on one local radio station then worked as sports editor on another; and became a legend on the after- dinner speaking circuit.

Football remained his passion, however, undiluted by bad coaches ("Keep your high balls low tonight," one urged him) or a frustrating stint as assistant manager to Larry Lloyd at Wigan. The sheer number of his former team-mates ensured he was forever being asked to assess transfer targets or future opponents.

Last year, Eyre was scouting for Sheffield Wednesday when United offered him their senior post. He started the same day as Nigel Spackman, who was to vacate the hot seat dramatically last month, and Steve Thompson, the ex-Bramall Lane Kopite who asked him to share the manager's office with him on taking over.

"The whole thing with Nigel happened over our heads," Eyre explained. "The first I heard - genuinely - was when I was in bed, very early. Tommo rang, saying: 'He's resigned.' I said: 'Who?'. I thought he meant a sensation, like Alex Ferguson.

"We had no time to dwell on it. There was a match that night and the quarter-final at Coventry looming on the Saturday.''

Any divided loyalties? "At my age I only want to work for people I like. If the next man had been appointed at 9am and I didn't like him, I'd have been gone by quarter past. I'm not getting up at half-six to work 14 hours - Partick Thistle one night, Birmingham the next and so on - for someone I don't like. I like Nigel but Tommo and myself also get on great.''

By disposing of Coventry and keeping United's play-off prospects alive, the new regime avoided the self-destructive agonies Newcastle have endured over the loose tongues and morals of of two directors.

Eyre and a fellow jester, the striker Dean Saunders, broke the tension before the game at Highfield Road. "We went in and told the lads we'd be doing all Tommo's cliches for him. We went through all the corniest lines managers say, like: 'Give 'im a dig early doors, let 'im know yer there' or: 'It's all about who wants it most'.

"Afterwards, when we'd drawn, we both said spontaneously: 'Remember, it's only half-time.' Everyone was in fits of laughter. The dressing-room has been declared a cliche-free zone. Anyone uttering one has to pay a fiver into a kitty.''

Match of the Day's cameras caught Eyre and Thompson giggling in a fraught moment, and they were delighted that Gordon Strachan belied his grumpy image to join in. After the replay, the losing manager watched the penalty shoot-out on television with the victors.

"I said: 'I fancy us here," and Gordon saw the joke. When you meet a hero, you don't want to be saying 'I was disappointed with him' when he's gone, but he showed dignity and humour in defeat.''

And so to Sunday. As a City loyalist, Eyre would have preferred Maine Road but is not complaining despite having never won at Old Trafford. "When I was captain of City's youth team, United beat us and I got booked, in the days when the nastiest defender could go 500 games without having his name taken.

"I also played for the county boys there and we got slaughtered. More recently I was sponge man for Bury reserves and because United's trainer was already treating someone, I had the sad duty to attend to the late Jim Holton with the broken leg that finished his career."

Eyre, who watched Kenny Dalglish's side at Wimbledon on Tuesday, is also seeking revenge for the way Newcastle broke his 11-year-old heart in the 1955 final. "I'm still friendly with most of that City side and go for meals with them. That's been my mission in life, to right that wrong!

"Seriously, though, there's 50 years of my dreams going into this. I wrote off the idea of FA Cup semi-finals when I was released by City. It was all I ever wanted, so I can hardly sleep for thinking about it."

He is also happy to admit, with no Stevenage-style disrespect to Newcastle, that he has pictured himself beneath the twin towers. The only red thing about this truest of Blues is his hair, "and even that's nearly all gone". Now he could be on the bench at Wembley with a team named United, in the colours City fans normally avoid like the plague.

"I wouldn't be human if I hadn't envisaged it. The final's always been special to me. We used to go out on Boggart Hole Clough [his local park] to act it out as soon as it finished on TV. I was there after the 1959 final when my dad came to tell me a City scout was at our house to sign me.

"It's a tradition in our house that I get the chocolate caramels and shandies in, draw the curtains and watch from 11 in the morning until the last reveller leaves the stadium.

"So if I'm there with Sheffield United, I'll sit on the front of the bus and wave to everyone on Wembley Way. And I'll sing 'Abide With Me' louder than anyone. I'm going to do everything." Outside Tyneside, only the meanest of spirits would begrudge him.