Pep Guardiola’s renewal at Manchester City comes at an oddly introspective moment in his career. For a manager who has redefined the very concept of winning, the timing is ironic – fresh from his first-ever four-game losing streak, some might question whether this is the right moment to recommit. But Guardiola, like all the greats, thrives on challenging expectations. His longevity at City rekindles football’s eternal debate: who is the greatest manager of all time? And, more importantly, how do we define greatness in the dugout?

Success vs. survival: the trophy debate

Football is an arena obsessed with measurable success, and trophies are its ultimate currency. Of course, by that metric, managers like Pep Guardiola, Sir Alex Ferguson, and Carlo Ancelotti dominate the conversation. Guardiola, for instance, has amassed over 30 major trophies throughout his managerial career –  revolutionising football in three different leagues with his neat, aesthetically exhilarating style of play.

“Is avoiding relegation and financial ruin any less impressive than winning the Champions League?”

But does the lone act of lifting silverware make a manager “great”? Consider the tireless work of those who specialise in football’s grittier, less glamorous side – keeping struggling teams afloat, à la AFC Richmond. Names like Sean Dyche, Roy Hodgson, and David Moyes rarely feature in such debates, yet their ability to navigate precarious seasons with limited resources deserves significant credit. Is avoiding relegation and financial ruin any less impressive than winning the Champions League? It’s a question worth pondering, though survival admittedly doesn’t lend itself so smoothly to highlight reels.

Ferguson vs. Guardiola

The perennial battle between Pep Guardiola and Sir Alex Ferguson looms large in conversations about managerial greatness. Ferguson’s 26-year reign at Manchester United – adorned with 13 Premier League titles, two Champions League trophies, and countless domestic cups – represents the pinnacle of sustained excellence. His downright devilish ability to rebuild and evolve teams across decades, adapting to seismic shifts in the game, remains unmatched.

Guardiola, in contrast, has crafted his legacy with innovation rather than longevity. His stints at Barcelona, Bayern Munich, and Manchester City may lack Ferguson’s scarlet endurance, but they’ve redefined football’s tactical landscape. His positional play, relentless pressing, and obsession with the smallest details have undeniably influenced an entire generation of managers – and, in turn, a generation of skinny jeans wearers. If Ferguson was the master of adaptability and man-management, Guardiola is the philosopher-king, constantly evolving the very principles of the game.

“His positional play, relentless pressing, and obsession with the smallest details have undeniably influenced an entire generation of managers—and, in turn, a generation of skinny jean wearers.”

Yet Guardiola’s critics often question the context of his success. They argue he’s never managed a club without vast financial resources or elite squads. Would Pep’s tactical genius translate to a relegation scrap at Turf Moor? Could he weather the relentless pestle of football from inside a shoestring mortar? It’s a fascinating hypothetical, though one Guardiola himself would likely dismiss. Why dwell on imagined limitations when he’s setting standards at the sport’s apex?

Remembering the managers who save, not win

Greatness isn’t always about silverware. For every Guardiola, there’s a Marcelo Bielsa – a cult figure whose impact transcends the trophy cabinet. Bielsa, revered for his attacking philosophy, inspired a resurgence at Leeds United, taking them back to the Premier League after a 16-year absence. While his achievements lack the glitter of Guardiola’s, his influence on managers like Guardiola and Jürgen Klopp is undeniable.

Claudio Ranieri offers another lens through which to view greatness. His miraculous Premier League triumph with Leicester City in 2016 – guiding 5000-1 outsiders to the pinnacle of English football – remains one of the sport’s greatest fairy tales. Guardiola himself has admitted he couldn’t replicate such a feat, a testament to the different kinds of genius required in management.

Looking beyond the trophy cabinet, perhaps the flaw in this debate lies in its very premise. By framing greatness as a contest of material achievement, we risk reducing the art of management to a mere numbers game. Yet greatness in football is as varied as the colours of its kits. It can mean dominance, as with Guardiola or Ferguson. It can mean survival, as exemplified by Dyche or Hodgson. Or it can mean defying the odds, as Bielsa and Ranieri so memorably have. So, is Pep Guardiola “The Special One”? Ultimately, the Catalan’s renewal at City symbolises more than just an extended contract. It’s a bold (bald?) statement about the evolution of managerial brilliance. Guardiola isn’t simply chasing trophies – he’s chasing footballing perfection. Whether or not he’s the centrepiece, his place in football’s pantheon of legends is cemented beyond doubt.

“Greatness isn’t a competition; it’s a mosaic, and each manager contributes a unique piece”

And what of the others? Perhaps we’re asking the wrong question. Greatness isn’t a competition; it’s a mosaic, and each manager contributes a unique piece. From Pep’s artistry to Ferguson’s dominance, from Ranieri’s miracles to Dyche’s defiance, football thrives on the richness of its diverse brilliance. Maybe this, more than any trophy, is the “greatest” triumph of the beautiful game. (Then again, I’m speaking as a Spurs fan, so I suppose I would say that.)