As Man Utd sack Sir Alex Ferguson's successor.... From Tesco to Mrs T, why great leaders are so often followed by feeble losers

Though it will come as little consolation to David Moyes, his enforced departure from Manchester United was almost inevitable from the moment he walked into Old Trafford.
Probably no successor, no matter how talented, could have banished the spectre of the fire-breathing, gum-chewing, trophy-winning Sir Alex Ferguson.
Indeed, I rather suspect David Moyes's biggest mistake was to take the job in the first place.

Great leader: Former Manchester United manager Sir Alex Ferguson got his send off last April

Feeble: Ferguson's successor as Manchester United manager David Moyes

But you don't have to know or care anything about football to appreciate the tragic resonance of his fate. What business experts call ‘succession planning' is vital not just to the fates of clubs and corporations, but to the future of entire countries.
This is tricky enough when a leader has been running the show for, say, the best part of a decade. But Sir Alex Ferguson managed Manchester United for more than 26 years, having taken over shortly before Margaret Thatcher won her third General Election.
Though the Scot is a keen Labour donor, the parallels with the Iron Lady are irresistible.

Like Mrs Thatcher, the former Manchester United manager was a driven, obsessive character and a serial winner who has proved impossible to replace.
When Sir Alex joined Manchester United, Mrs Thatcher had been in power for seven years.
Already her colleagues were speculating about her successor, but as one aspiring prince after another lost favour, the crown eventually fell to the unheralded figure of John Major.

The Iron Lady Margaret Thatcher and her successor John Major portrayed in 90s TV comedy Spitting Image

Like David Moyes, Mr Major never really succeeded in winning over hard-core supporters and was widely seen as a grey, insubstantial figure after the charismatic fireworks of the Thatcher years. And like the sacked Manchester United manager, Mr Major never banished the shadow of his predecessor, who famously told the Press that she intended to be a ‘very good backseat driver' — although Sir Alex has always maintained he would not meddle since stepping down.

Eclipsed

Later, Mr Major described Mrs Thatcher's behaviour as ‘intolerable'. But the truth is that had he been a more popular, compelling and impressive leader, then no one would have cared what Mrs Thatcher thought.
The paradox, though, is that great men and women rarely pick figures of the same stature to succeed them, perhaps because their sheer competitiveness means they cannot countenance the thought of being eclipsed by a rival.
Even the Romans never found an answer. Their first emperor, Augustus, ruled for 41 years and died peacefully in his bed. But the final years of his life were blighted by his unsuccessful efforts to find a plausible heir.
Eventually Augustus picked his rough-hewn stepson Tiberius, who had none of his charm and proved a very dodgy successor indeed, spending much of his time interfering with small boys in his private villa on the island of Capri.

Sir Terry Leahy enjoyed a stunning career as the chief executive of Tesco, presiding over an unprecedented expansion between 1997 and 2011

He was succeeded in turn by the deranged Caligula, the stammering Claudius and the narcissistic Nero. For decades, therefore, Augustus's shadow hung over Roman politics — both an inspiration and a curse, like some ancient version of Mrs Thatcher.
Our own history is full of similar stories. So it was that while the grim Edward I reformed the law, conquered the Welsh and hammered the Scots, his feckless son Edward  II lost the battle of Bannockburn, was ousted by his wife and ended up on the wrong end of a red-hot poker.
And while dashing Henry V smashed the French at Agincourt, his dreamy son Henry VI lost England's possessions in France, was stripped of the crown during the Wars of the Roses and was murdered in the Tower.
Even Oliver Cromwell, probably the outstanding leader in our history, made a mess of the succession.
When he died in 1658, his son Richard, a mild-mannered country farmer, proved hopelessly inadequate at filling his father's shoes, and back came the Stuarts to regain the throne.

Wretched

Colourful as these stories may seem, they offer some intriguing lessons for modern politicians and businessmen. All too often, great leaders have failed to plan for the future.
It is often said that great leaders step down voluntarily only when they know, deep down, that the wheels are about to come off, thereby leaving their successor a wretched legacy.
But I think the reality is subtly different. I suspect that in politics, as in sport, great leaders use their sheer charisma to disguise the cracks that would otherwise be apparent. As soon as they step down, deep institutional flaws are exposed for all to see.
Britain's boardrooms offer some compelling examples. Sir Terry Leahy, for instance, enjoyed a stunning career as the chief executive of Tesco, presiding over an unprecedented expansion between 1997 and 2011.
Yet for the past two years, Tesco's profits have fallen. Certainly there are deeper factors at play, from rising food prices to competition from Aldi and Lidl, but Sir Terry's retirement surely played its part.
It is a similar story at the drinks giant Diageo, which has lost momentum after announcing the departure of chief executive Paul Walsh.
Rolls-Royce's titanic chief executive Sir John Rose retired in 2011 after a 15-year reign.  Only two months ago, Rolls-Royce issued a profit warning that wiped more than £3 billion off its share price.
Would things have been radically different had Sir John still been on the scene?
Perhaps not. But the City might well have had more confidence in the engine manufacturer's prospects. And in business, as in sport, confidence is often half  the battle.
At Sainsbury's, for instance, the jitters have already set in, even though the long-serving chief executive Justin King is not stepping down until July.
When his retirement was announced earlier this year, the firm's stock price dropped by almost 5 per cent. Who would fancy playing John Major to his Thatcher?
The truth is that like medieval barons and Manchester United footballers, most of us still pay homage to the cult of the strong leader.
Once the familiar, steady hand is gone, we start to lose  confidence — and the blame inevitably falls on the hapless successor.
Even the great American technology giants are not immune. Apple is not merely the largest publicly traded corporation on the planet, it has one of the most sophisticated and well-regarded brands in history.

Obscure

Yet many observers believe that the Californian giant has lost its way since the death of its founder, Steve Jobs, in 2011.
His successor, the comparatively obscure Tim Cook, has one of the most enviable jobs in the business world.
Yet Mr Cook had scarcely been in the job before the muttering started. Would you really want to be in his shoes, knowing that you would always be judged against your predecessor — and that nothing you did would ever be enough?
In one area of our national life, however, succession planning is unlikely to be too difficult. For my money, the leaders of Britain's three main parties are the least impressive trio in living memory.
Will we miss David Cameron, Ed Miliband and Nick Clegg when they are gone?
Will their shadows hang heavy over their unfortunate successors, as Sir Alex Ferguson's silhouette looms over Old Trafford?
I don't think so.