PREMIER LEAGUE: Mark Hughes' refusal to pander to his old boss may be rewarded in the end

IT IS the day they dread above all others: the one when Alex Ferguson turns to football’s great timekeeper in the sky, looks quizzically at his wrist-watch, sighs deeply and stomps out of Old Trafford’s home dug-out for the final time.

Not Manchester United, you understand. Great clubs always find a way of coping with such bereavements, even if it takes a little time.

No, the most grief-stricken mourners at Ferguson’s professional farewell will surely be that coterie of managers who are ready to sacrifice every last shred of self-respect in paying homage to the Great Scot, no matter how absurd his behaviour.

You can picture it now: Sam Allardyce, clad from head to foot in black, his body convulsing in great, snotty man-sobs as the cortege files past the Stretford End; Gary Megson, hunched and broken, gently scattering red and white carnations; and there’s Tony Pulis, throwing himself in front of the hearse and bellowing “It should have been me!” to the silently weeping heavens.

That’s one scenario.

The other is that, just as killing Dracula also destroys his vampire acolytes, so Ferguson’s retirement will cause several cases of spontaneous combustion in England’s northwest as Big Sam, Meggo and Tone burn up in a flash, leaving nothing but a charred baseball cap and an oversized Bluetooth ear-piece.

I exaggerate, of course, but only slightly.

The fact remains that, for all Ferguson’s achievements in turning Manchester United into a production line of playing talent during his 23-year tenure, nothing compares to his feat of transforming vast numbers of hard-bitten, gnarled football managers into simpering lap-dogs, all doe-eyed and lolling tongues.

Megson was the latest to snuggle up to Ferguson last week, claiming he had been “hung out to dry” following his non-apology to Alan Wiley for effectively calling him a bit of a porker with the lung capacity of an asthmatic toddler. This, Megson observed, was “because of who he (Ferguson) is. He’s apologised and still gets criticised. What is he supposed to do?”

Well, aside from taking his responsibilities to the game seriously by not slandering officials in the first place, he could always issue genuine apologies when he does, rather than the kind of mealy-mouthed mea culpa that better besuits a five-year-old caught with his hand in a biscuit tin.

Megson’s diatribe – hinting, as it did, at dark, media-based conspiracy theories – might have been lifted straight from Ferguson’s forked tongue.

Suurralex must have been proud of his protégé, although Megson has some way to go to match Allardyce’s remarkable display of fawning idiocy last season.

This, you may remember, saw Ferguson and Allardyce join forces to accuse Rafael Benitez of showing “contempt” towards the Blackburn manager with a barely noticeable hand gesture. A broken Allardyce even claimed that he had found the whole experience “humiliating” – as he would, given his reputation as the kind of New Age man whose soul is as delicate as rose petals and who surely bathes daily in the tears of new-born kittens.

Quite apart from being perhaps the most clumsily-orchestrated pincer movement since the Battle of the Boyne, this all simply served to show how far British managers are willing to go to ingratiate themselves to Ferguson, however ridiculous it makes them appear.

It is a bizarre mix of playground posturing – acting the fool in a vain attempt to impress the prettiest girl in school – and old-school politicking, currying favour with whoever happens to wield power in the hope of enjoying some reflected glory.

Either way, it does nobody any credit.

It hardly needs to be said that Ferguson would not think twice about trampling all over Blackburn or Bolton if they happened to stand in his way.

For all the saccharine talk of Fergie as some kind of managerial fairy godfather, forever sending congratulatory or commiserating text messages to his peers upon their hirings and firings, his biggest motivation is, and always has been, self-interest – in short, working out how best to keep Manchester United’s size nines firmly on their rivals’ throats.

One man who knows this only too well is Mark Hughes, who was cast aside by Ferguson as a player when he had outlived his usefulness. You would like to think this is one of the reasons he is determined not to cow-tow to him now, a point underlined by his decision to draw attention to the ridiculous time-keeping in the recent Manchester derby.

Hughes’ flinty self-belief has inevitably set the pair on a collision course as managers but, for all the barbs and jibes, the suspicion remains that Ferguson must have more respect for someone who is prepared to stand up to him rather than merely bow and scrape before him.

How ironic if this steadfast refusal to pander to his old boss actually left Hughes best placed to succeed him.