It’s one of those places in time I can return to with absolute clarity. I was sitting on an airplane flying back from Europe in the summer of 1998. My best friend and I had spent almost a month roaming through England, Spain, Germany, and France, with the World Cup as our backdrop. We went to five matches. Traveled hundreds of miles by train and metro. Had my friend’s passport stolen. Filed a police report in Spanish. Befriended two Australian backpackers. Got nudged by one riot cop. And, for the first time in my life, popped a soccer ball. We were exhausted, sunburned, and broke—but happy to be heading home. Mostly.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, with my CD Walkman resting on my knee, I listened to “How’s It Going to Be?” by Third Eye Blind. The song framed what I already knew was coming: the beginning of the end of a years-long, on-again-off-again relationship. During that month in Europe we’d managed to speak only once, and our pattern was familiar—every six months, a breakup, followed by the realization that life felt better together than apart. But on that plane ride, something in me knew this time was different. And when I got home, I was right. No reunion. Just an ending. And the long quiet question of how things would be moving forward.
At that point in my life, I had no idea who Peterborough United were. In one pub, a fellow patron ranted to my friend and me for twenty minutes about the villainy of Millwall, but beyond that my knowledge of lower-league football was almost nonexistent.
Fast forward nearly three decades and a lot has changed, but I find myself processing another separation from an on-again-off-again figure in my life. Darren Ferguson is gone again, and this time—strictly in the managerial sense—I believe it’s the last time. As much as I wanted him to stay, it feels like, for one reason or another, it had to happen. Just as it did with that old relationship, something in the way things worked together simply stopped working.
As I’ve written before, Ferguson was more than the manager. His brand of football set the tone for who Peterborough United have become in the modern era: forward-thinking, fearless, often outscoring everyone in sight. Darragh in the owner’s box and Darren on the touchline became the intermittent winning formula. A rhythm. A cycle. Something dependable even when it wasn’t permanent.
Now that it’s over, I’m left with reverence—and sadness—because of how it ended. My gut tells me Darren will manage again and lift another club to promotion. If that happens, I’ll find myself wondering whether things could have gone differently here. It’s possible that the only road to success—for both the POSH and for Ferguson—was a diverging one.
For now, all I can do is hope that Luke Williams can pull off what no one at Manchester United has managed yet: replacing a club legend.
Up the POSH!
Pete
Huryk Unlimited 