ALL nations have fates and it has fallen to Scotland to be the world leader in exporting genius.

It is a destiny that endures even as more tangible assets have thinned to the point where the one-time clamour of shipbuilding and steel-making has been reduced to a whisper.

Sir Alex Ferguson's retirement as manager of Manchester United serves as reminder that great Scots continue to be produced and still prosper in foreign fields. They do so by not only failing to lose the accent of their youth but by employing the best characteristics of their homeland and of the illustrious personalities it produces.

The attribution of genius to a manager of the wonderful wee game of football may seem absurd in some quarters, but only by those who fail to see that Ferguson triumphed in a business that demands an intelligence that ranges far and dives deeply.

His success, and that of Manchester United and Aberdeen, was built by an intellect that was prepared look ahead in terms of youth development, was ideally designed to understand the concerns and motivations of players and was instinctively programmed to stick to principle rather than adhere to the caprices of prevailing fashion.

Hugh McIlvanney, another export of a substantial lump of Scottish grey matter and the collaborator with Ferguson on the latter's biography, pointed out yesterday that "the sustained trajectory" of his friend's ascent spoke to the manager's "freakish energy, high intelligence and a dedication that is so profound that it is part of his very marrow".

These are traits that mark the best of the Scottish brain drain that has leaked from the nation over centuries rather than mere seasons. The departure of Ferguson from Manchester United, very probably to be replaced by a fellow Scot in David Moyes, is thus a cause for positive reflection rather than maudlin lamentation.

Fergie, the boy from Govan, grew to become a 71-year-old knight of the realm who was able to be master of his own fate in choosing the date of his departure. This rare occurrence in the world of football management was hard-earned through a life-time of adherence to his guiding principle of producing his very best, whatever the circumstance.

In an extraordinary interview at the Scottish Football Museum Hall of Fame dinner in Glasgow in 2011, Ferguson spoke of the fabulous players he had coached and the difficulties of the modern game. The most telling moment, though, was when he recalled how his father, a shipbuilder, would rouse the house early in preparation for work whether at school desk or Clyde yard. Ferguson smiled as he remembered his dad shaking his feet as a physical encouragement to face the trials and travails of the day.

This dedication to work and the expectation that it would always stretch his capabilities but never outgrow his appetite is a trademark stamped forcibly on the most successful of Scots – whether they built or ran the Empire, whether they plunged into the New World with a physical and intellectual energy or whether they shaped global culture through arts or philosophy.

This principle of the necessity of labour is complemented in Ferguson by his craving for knowledge. Superficially, this is exposed in his ability to name the Magnificent Seven or the 12 Angry Men or other staples of trivial pursuit.

But his purpose is engagingly serious. Ferguson needs to know how great achievers strived, how they felt, what they faced and how they suffered. He avoids fiction to drink deeply of biography and history.

This may be just one of the keys to explain his departure. The cry of "why now" was heard yesterday. It can be answered by a "why not?". A pressing invitation to undergo hip surgery, a realisation that his pacemaker was now into its ninth year and an acceptance that David Gill, the chief executive at United and a Fergie ally, was leaving in June may all have contributed to his decision. The acquisition, too, of an apartment near Central Park may also have given Ferguson the irresistible notion that New York is a good place to smell the flowers. His wife, Cathy, loves the city and it offers him the perfect headquarters for further reconnaissance into the matter of American history, particularly the Civil War, that so intrigues him.

If these transatlantic forays become more frequent and the stays more prolonged, it will not dilute Ferguson's Scottishness. He will remain a global emblem of the Scottish manager, following the trail of his mentor Jock Stein, Sir Matt Busby and Bill Shankly who all shared his devotion to that particular variety of Scottish socialism that promoted a genuine search for equality.

Ferguson remains, too, a Scotsman of a historically recognisable type. "He is warm in all his emotions, including his temper," an intimate said last night. There are certainly those who suffered from his outbursts, but the focus on one aspect of a personality has obscured what truly made him a peerless manager.

Ferguson has not been successful for decades because he is angry. Rather, he has been the embodiment of characteristics that have fuelled the best of Scots. He can be prickly, restless and is unforgiving of disloyalty. There are those who have felt the chill of that wrath and will be unable to join the tributes today.

Essentially, though, Ferguson in word and deed speaks to the value of hard work, the responsibilities of friendship and the necessity of generosity. It is surely not too chauvinistic to suggest that this mixture of outspoken belligerence and understated humanity is a Caledonian cocktail of the most intoxicating variety.

The genius of Ferguson is entirely personal but his life speaks to the wider nation about the importance of education, whether formal or informal, the necessity of giving one's best and the essential truth that success is at its most intoxicating when it is shared.

The business of being a Scot can be hard work, but Ferguson shows it can pay a spectacular dividend.