If you don’t support Manchester United then you either hate Sir Alex Ferguson or you really hate him. This book is not an autobiography in the accepted sense as, apart from revealing the closeness of the Ferguson Clan, it deals only with Fergie’s years at Old Trafford.

It is a fascinating insight into what is required if you want the extraordinary level of success that he enjoyed after arriving at the club in 1986.

However don’t expect a structured piece of work. It is written as if Sir Alex is sitting in his most comfy armchair with a bottle of the finest red wine having a chinwag with a mate. I suspect that is how most of the collaboration with Paul Hayward of the Telegraph, his ghost-writer, was conducted.

Contrary to how it has been presented in the rest of the media, this is not a book full of vicious condemnation of players and managers.

Rather I read it as an honest assessment by Ferguson of footballers he has managed, and managers and referees he has rubbed shoulders with.

Yes, he criticises Roy Keane for believing he was better than he was in his last seasons with United, but he acknowledges the Irishman’s massive contribution to many of his teams.

Yes, he does have a pop at David Beckham for his celebrity lifestyle but only because he believed Beckham could have reached the very top as a footballer.

Yes, he regards Ruud van Nistelrooy as a goalhanger, but what a goalhanger he was!

He rightly describes Cristiano Ronaldo as the best player he has ever managed and salutes the mighty contribution of Eric Cantona.

He covers most of the players, sometimes critically, but so far as I can see fairly, so I am at a loss about all of this media hype in recent days.

Dealing with fellow managers, Ferguson spends a lot of time looking at Liverpool in recent years, both Rafa Benitez whom he clearly does not think much of and Kenny Dalglish whom he clearly respects. His take on these things is highly entertaining, as are descriptions of his recent love-ins with Arsene Wenger and Jose Mourinho.

I did find his laudatory comments about potty Graham Poll, the luvvy of Premier League refs, a bit hard to accept, but then Ferguson’s views on refs have never exactly been scientific.

Fergie on the touchline always reminded me of the classic Dr Feelgood song She’s a Wind-up with his tapping of the watch and manic stares and this book confirms that this was the strategy all along.

A small criticism is that stories are always recounted in the past tense so that it reads as if all the players are no longer with us. A slight quibble, but I did learn about this in my English Language O-Level.

Ferguson’s knowledge of football is encyclopaedic and his recall a wonder to behold. And if you want to understand how Ferguson came to enjoy success on this scale then this book demonstrates that total control of all things football is the only way to do it and the ability to delegate the mundane.

Even the stats at the back only record full details of the winning seasons. Finishing second or third is brushed aside here contemptuously.

Ultimately it is a fascinating story of how a single-minded authoritarian and determined man came to turn a romantic football club unable to win a lottery in a one-ticket draw into a formidable team with unrivalled success.

Be as ruthless as Fergie though and wait for the paperback. Hardbacks are only for hero worshippers like me.