When plain old Alex Ferguson walked into Old Trafford back in 1986 his main ambition was expressed with typical Glasgow grit.

"To knock Liverpool off their perch," growled Ferguson, with expletives deleted.

More than 1000 matches and 23 years later the 11th Premier League trophy won by the man now known as Sir Alex has brought Manchester United level with Liverpool on 18 league titles.

So much so that the Liver Birds of Merseyside are more like Monty Python's famous Norwegian Blue.

They are ex-champions. They have ceased to be the prime history-makers of English football.

They have been usurped by a man whose best years have been dedicated to the making of a great footballing dynasty. A dynasty which has been committed to entertaining football as much as winning trophies.

It is no coincidence that United had five of the six players in the PFA nominations for Footballer of the Year this season, even if the winner, Ryan Giggs, excelled in a cameo role.

No coincidence either that United had six players in the PFA team of the season.

When it comes to swashbuckling players who play the game as it was meant to be, then the Ferguson way is the professionals' way.

Not that we should forget Ferguson's flaws.

Even though he has mellowed from the days when the famed hairdryer was in daily use, he can still be the scourge of referees.

Remember his four-letter tirade at fourth official Jeff Winter during a 2-1 victory at Newcastle in 2003 which saw him sent from the touchline?

Remember the two-game touchline ban and £5000 fine two seasons ago after verbally abusing referee Mark Clattenburg during a 1-0 defeat at Bolton?

And cast your mind back to last November when he was handed another two-match touchline ban and fined £10,000 after admitting a charge of improper conduct, this time for remonstrating with referee Mike Dean.

Yet if the fire remains at 67, then so does the cold, clear, tactical mind which has seen Ferguson turn potential defeats into victories, most notably United's 3-2 win against Aston Villa.

There is no doubt about it. Ferguson is now clear and away the best manager ever to grace the British game.

Better than Jock Stein, Britain's first conqueror of Europe with Celtic. Better than Brian Clough, who with Kenny Dalglish and Herbert Chapman shared the honour of being the only men to have won league championships with two different clubs.

Better than Bill Shankly, who laid the foundations for a footballing dynasty at Anfield but never truly enjoyed the fruits of his vision.

Better than Liverpool's Bob Paisley, with his 13 major trophies, which included three European Cups.

Better than Sir Matt Busby, British football's European pioneer and the man whose legacy Ferguson has done so much to preserve.

And, the record shows, considerably better than foreign fly-by-nights such as Jose Mourinho and more enduring professorial leaders such as Arsene Wenger.

In fact, 2009 might just be the greatest of his league triumphs.

Why? Because Liverpool stirred at last from the torpor which had engulfed them since their last title win under Dalglish in 1990.

They proved worthy rivals once more, with a squad deep in strength and two players in Steven Gerrard and Fernando Torres who gave them star quality.

Ferguson might have been tempted to go down the power route of Chelsea. He might have panicked and ditched thirty-somethings such as Giggs and Paul Scholes in favour of fresh energy.

Instead, Ferguson stayed true to the United ideal. And such is the blend of youth and experience in the current United side that it is possible to see them being a force for the best part of the next decade.

Obviously, Ferguson, who has already postponed his retirement once and toyed with going at the end of next season, will not stay that long but he will be reluctant to give up a team he has assembled with such aplomb.

Why should he hand such history-making rewards to a successor when he could enjoy them himself?

Why should he go when, with a little fine-tuning which might well be supplied this summer, he could take United out on their own in the quest for trophies?

After all, what else can a man whose passport should list occupation as Trophy winner' do after pocketing 11 titles, except go out and win number 12?