Farewell to Old Trafford’s favourite baby-faced assassin and perfect pro Ole

THE first time I ever saw Ole in person was in the Players’ Bar at Old Trafford, after a match in which he had performed brilliantly and scored twice.

Nonetheless, when this man-child first entered the room, resplendent in club blazer and tie, my first instinct was to ask him if his mother knew where he was.

You cannot overestimate the strange, other-worldly childlike nature of Ole. It strikes everyone who meets him and thus leaves them even more in awe of this outstanding footballer whose deeds are as legendarily as any in Red history.

Most famously, of course, these deeds include winning the European Cup Final by keeping his head whilst all around him were losing theirs.

That millisecond of sangfroid in Catalonia was enough in itself to gain Ole at least four entries into the Old Trafford fans’ song-book.

Indeed, at my last count, there were about a dozen ditties devoted to the killer elf. That’s 11 more than Becks.

It was as a deadly penalty-box operator that he made his worldwide name but in United’s sometimes squad-straitened circumstances, he was often asked to weave his magic all over the field. Thus, for example, Ole The Winger was born later in his United career: and he was as good as Giggs at it, if one judges by chances created. Indeed, he did whatever he was asked to with an almost extraterrestrial calm and sense of awareness that inspired unbounded confidence in both team-mates and fans. So believe me when say: he was undoubtedly the most popular player in the squad.

You will not find a Solskjaer critic in the stands at Old Trafford — and this is a ground where even the likes of Keane, Ferguson and Van Nistelrooy had their detractors.

Typically, he was the only staffer at OT to show public support for the fans’ groups fighting the Glazers, which could have cost him his job.

Hard to believe, then, that Ole came to United as a self-confessed Liverpool supporter and refused to play the normal game of denying his roots: there was no “I’ve supported United since I could walk” rubbish. He has a sense of honesty and decency about him which is rare amongst the pampered millionaires and playboys who infest the money-stench swamps of the Premier League.

You can trawl through the tabloids of the last decade but you will find no black marks against his name. In fact, Ole was that Fergusonian dream — the archetypal stay-at-home quiet family man. His delightful blonde partner Silje is company enough of a night for Ole, especially once son Noah arrived. Whilst Giggs and the boys were out on the pull in Manchester’s night spots, Ole preferred “to spend time with my girl, my boy and my computer games.” And whereas most footballers’ favourite drinks are variations on a lager theme, Ole is happiest with a glass of Coca Cola.

Yet, lest you get the idea that Ole was Old Trafford’s Mr Dull, he does possess a slightly risqué hinterland. Unbelievably, he was once expected to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a wrestling champion, which hints at a sense of true aggression and love of combat. He is also a red-blooded rocker at heart, never happier than when he has Guns ‘n’ Roses on the stereo. Indeed, he is on record as having three all time heroes: but Zico and Kenny Dalglish are beaten into runners-up spots by Ole’s chosen King — Elvis. But he has one classic footballer vice, namely a love of flash cars.

But if there is one attribute that places him in a special reserve of the Red heart, it was his absolute refusal to complain, demand or otherwise throw his weight around. For he has infamously been messed around by United’s management for most of his Red career, being inexplicably omitted when on red-hot streaks or asked to play out of position whilst lesser mortals squat unsuccessfully in his favoured central striking berth. Never has he run to the press to whinge, nor has he gone banging on Alex Ferguson’s door for an explanation. It has made him football’s most celebrated and successful substitute but now even his bench-warming days are over.

He has stated that his greatest moment in football was scoring that winner in Barcelona. It shouldn’t be forgotten that he only just got the opportunity to create history that night because he came on as an exceedingly late substitute.

I am told that his dream was to repeat his Cup-winning feat but this time to do so from the position of strength that he deserved, namely that of United’s first-choice striker. Injury cruelly robbed him of that. But, of course, his place in history is assured nonetheless: as the songs go, “Who put the ball in the Scousers’/Germans’ net? Ole Gunnar Solskjaer….”

Thanks, kiddo.