Category Archives: Football

Barbarism Begins At Home

Taxi drivers’ opinions are always a good barometer of domestic and foreign affairs, and hailing a black cab in town pre-Olympiakos, the guy behind the wheel managed to sum up the current situation at United in just 3 words. After a group of us dived in and revealed Old Trafford as our destination, his deadpan reply was brilliantly succinct.

“Are you sure?”

Despite the horrors witnessed of late, of course we were. This, after all, was likely to be the last Champions League tie we’d be seeing for quite some time. Although we’re pretty bobbins at present, it’s still United in the European Cup KO stages. And if you can’t get excited about that – regardless of who the manager is – then you seriously need to have a word with yourself. United v Olympiakos, 2-0 down, full house at OT… what’s not to look forward to?

David Moyes spent his pre-match press conference swatting aside questions about his future, claiming key figures within the club were being “very supportive” and he was unperturbed about the prospect of imminent unemployment. 7 defeats in 14 games since January and the fact he was fielding such questions at all told a different story, however. If Moyes isn’t concerned about his position given what’s occurring at present, then I’d suggest he should be.

Although the diabolical Liverpool performance ended with a defiant show of unity from the OT crowd, the reality when talking to people is somewhat different. Speak to any United fan one-on-one and you’ll struggle to find anyone who’s not lost faith in the chosen one. There are still some people not advocating instant dismissal, mainly because they don’t see any benefit in sacking the manager prior to the summer. I personally don’t know anyone (barring a couple of internet-based lunatics) who remains confident of Moyes’ ability to turn things round. It’s not unfair to say most reds want him out of the job as soon as possible.

Moyes has been fortunate over the last couple of months that home fixtures have been something of a rarity, meaning that the OT crowd hasn’t been given much of an opportunity to vent. The miserable showing in Greece was a distant memory by the time the Liverpool home game came round, and I’d suggest it was only the fact it was Liverpool that prevented booing at the final whistle as opposed to the “20 times, 20 times” ballooning that transpired. Likewise, the next home game is City. Another bad result there and pride will again dictate that grievances aren’t made public… yet.

Whilst the majority of United’s support has been behind him all season, the fans’ patience won’t last indefinitely. The last 4 home games of the season, Bayern aside, are Villa-Norwich-Sunderland-Hull. No deadly rivals there, just home bankers against Premier League flotsam who we should be beat easily – exactly the kind of fixtures in which we’ve struggled all season. Any repeat of the Liverpool performance in these games and it’ll be a surprise if the result is not met with widespread, public dissent as opposed to disgruntled mutterings. Moyes should feel blessed that he’s not been on the receiving end already.

In the end, a 3-0 win over the Greeks and progress to the next round guarantees him another few weeks at least – but one senses that things have to change quickly if Moyes is to remain in charge beyond this season. Claims of unrest in the dressing room have been floating about for months – nothing new there. But now rumours are circulating about key personnel aligning themselves away from the manager and the sounding out of potential successors. Despite Moyes claiming his position remains secure, he’ll be the last to know if moves to remove him have already begun in earnest.

The Glazers, according to some, have become increasingly twitchy in recent weeks. Season ticket sales remain strong, but despite claims to the contrary, demand clearly isn’t what it was 5 or 10 years ago. Anyone unsure whether or not to renew in the past would end up doing so, fearful of losing their seat forever – a threat that simply no longer exists. Once upon a time season tickets were prized, family heirlooms passed down from generation to generation, whereas nowadays they’re basically on open sale each summer. Fancy a season ticket at United these days? Phone them up and surrender your card details. You need 2 or 3 together? Not a problem.

Whilst the commercial side of the club seemingly goes from strength to strength, with new sponsorship hook ups announced on a weekly basis, no Champions League next season means that particular revenue stream will take a huge hit. Factor in a potential drop in demand for season tickets (even more likely should the club include Europa League games in the ACS), and that might just prove the straw the breaks the camel’s back.

Although he’d (quite rightly) never admit to it in public, Moyes knows that he’s fighting for his future now and desperately needs a strong end to the season – and even that might not be enough to save him. Since last summer we’ve heard a lot about how United operate differently to other clubs, we show saintly levels of patience with managers and give them as much time as they want, apparently… but the reality isn’t like that at all.

Taking the Busby and Fergie dynasties out of the equation, our previous managerial departures have been just as brutally swift as those at any other football club. McGuinness and O’Farrell were both sacked within 18 months of starting the job; Sexton after winning his final 7 games on the bounce (including a win at Anfield); Ron Atkinson dismissed just 12 months after he had United 10 points clear at the top of the table; Docherty just weeks after wining the FA Cup… albeit for shagging the physio’s missus. (Obviously there’s no chance of those kind of shenanigans with a good Christian man like Moyes.)

At this point one can only presume that the club will proceed with their much-heralded, ‘long term’ perspective and outwardly at least, maintain that the manager retains their full support and backing. Only a sustained outpouring of pent-up frustration from the crowd will force a reversal in this stance. In simple terms: the fans turning on the manager will signal the point at which the club has justification to act. “We had to sack him, it’s what the baying mob demanded”, would be the shrugged explanation. Although the owners will ultimately dictate whether or not he gets another season, it’s the rank and file OT support who hold the power to decide Moyes’ fate.

www.rednews.co.uk

Do It Better

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Up until recently, a weekend without football was one of those awful anomalies of the fixture calendar – something you had to endure a handful of times per season in the knowledge things would soon be back to normal. Due to being knocked of of the cups we’ve had 2 or 3 in recent weeks and all things considered, they’ve actually proven fairly enjoyable. Mainly this is due to the fact that things can’t get any worse if we’re not actually playing, can they?

The Olympiakos away game could prove to be the tipping point as regards Moyes’ reign at United. Unless there’s an unforgettable night at Old Trafford on Wednesday we’ll soon be out of Europe too, meaning the last couple of months of the season look set to provide as much appeal and excitement as the last 6 months or so have. It’s pointless pretending otherwise… we’re a shambles at present. It’s all a bit of a mess.

The performance in Greece followed the Palace away game which led certain commentators to suggest we might have turned a corner of sorts. We hadn’t. Merely keeping a clean sheet and beating relegation fodder is cause for an outbreak of unconfined positivity these days, especially as it was done without the utterly execrable pairing of Young and Valencia – fast becoming the least threatening pair of wingers in United history.

Other than a brief 6 week spell after he signed, Young has proven to be a complete waste of space at Old Trafford. He doesn’t have a trick, or pace, can’t cross a ball and he’s physically weak. Compared to wingers of the past (and I’m including the likes of Arthur Graham and Ralph Milne, here), he just doesn’t move very well with a football. The only thing Ashley Young appears to be capable of is cutting inside and attempting something spectacular from 25 yards… which tends to result in a goal about once every 6 months.

Valencia meanwhile, is possibly even more of an enigma than Young. The frustrating thing here is that Valencia can play. He really can. We’ve seen him destroy Ashley Cole on a number of occasions and there was that golden spell he had pre-injury where every cross he put in seemed to land on Rooney’s head. I defended the guy for a long, long time but I’ve given up now. Things reached a nadir last season where his confidence had gone to the extent that when faced with a defender, he was performing 180-degree pirouettes and heading back to the half-way line.

On the occasions he does fancy taking on the full back and actually beats him, it usually results in one of his signature-move, ‘smashed across the box’ crosses that again, have about a 1 in 50 success rate. As everyone in the Premier League sussed months ago, it’s all too predictable and easy to defend against. It speaks volumes for Tony’s ongoing slump, that watching him toil with his waning powers, one finds oneself pining for the living embodiment of brainless inconsistency that is Nani. Nani for Christ’s sake! I swear, even Bebe seems a preferable alternative to Valencia at present.

Most fans accept that players go through dips in form at one time or another, it just starts to become a major annoyance when a few weeks becomes months (or indeed years in the recently-departed Anderson’s case). Perhaps the wisest thing the player himself can do is keep their head down and play through it until things improve – a point that seems to have been missed entirely by Tom Cleverley.

Cleverley, just in case you’d missed it, is not happy right now. Apparently he’s been ‘stung’ by the criticism he’s received from United fans this season and feels he’s been made a bit of an escape goat. I have to admit, my first thought after hearing this was one of confusion because I haven’t heard any criticism of him whatsoever at a game, so presumably he’s talking about getting a bit of stick off bellends on twitter. Simple solution to that one, Tom: don’t take any notice of bellends on twitter.

For me, Tom Cleverley isn’t really a player that invokes any strong feelings because he doesn’t really do much other than simply existing. Indeed, I can’t say I’ve noticed any drop off in his performances because it’s difficult to recall any of his performances. People call him The Brand, but it’d be more accurate to describe him as The Bland. My biggest problem with Tom Cleverley is the way people often compare him to Ray Wilkins due of his penchant for passing sideways. To me that is just an insult to Wilkins who I thought was a lovely player, a true artisan – Cleverley is just a maladroit droid in comparison.

It probably never occurred to Tom or his advisors that in conceiving his TC23 website and media presence, they’ve only succeeded in making him more unpopular with the world in general. This isn’t just limited to these rabid hoards of United fans who are hounding him either, given that England fans have already selected Tom as their official World Cup pariah before the tournament has even started. We all know that no England tournament exit is complete without an MUFC-affiliated scapegoat, fair play to England fans for deciding on this year’s at such an early stage – I expect the quality of effigy likenesses to be off the chart given the additional lead time that’s now available.

If Tom wants to improve his standing in the hearts and minds of United and England fans, I’d suggest it might be wise to explore traditional methods such as playing well in football matches. Y’know, winning the odd tackle, take a few more risks, maybe even consider scoring a few goals or something? Puff piece, ‘nobody understands me’ interviews with a sympathetic Oliver Holt aren’t going to placate anyone or do you any favours – especially when they’re packed with condescending drivel about how your game might be better appreciated by Spanish football hipsters.

Unfortunately, you don’t play in Spain, Tom. You might feel you’d avoid the white hankies and be universally lauded in the land of tiki-taka but you’re at Man United – at a time where competition for midfield places is at an all-time low and you’ve had ample opportunity to make your mark on the team. Almost 3 years into a United career you’re better known for a website and going out with a girl from TOWIE than you are for being good at football, and that’s not down to any misunderstanding or lack of awareness on anyone’s part other than you and the people you’ve got setting up these media opportunities.

Too harsh? Possibly – but he’s 24 now so we’re not talking about some kid who’s just broken into the team, he’s an experienced international who’s got an opportunity 99% of his fellow professionals would kill for. The longer this shocking season goes on, the spotlight will rightly intensify on David Moyes – but it’s time some of his charges began to take more responsibility themselves. No passengers.

www.rednews.co.uk

A Child’s Claim To Fame

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When the editor asked me to note down any recollections I had of United vs Barcelona in March 1984, I was shocked with the realisation that we were approaching the 30th anniversary of the game. THIRTY YEARS. Wow, where the fuck has that gone?

On reflection, 1984 was pretty miserable. My Dad’s work was sporadic at the time which meant there was very little spare cash floating about. Consequently, I was on free school dinners, rocking 4 stripe trainers off the market and riding round a purple Raleigh Chopper instead of the much-coveted Adidas Grand Slam and Mongoose BMX’s that my friends were enjoying. The news had stopped talking about imminent nuclear war and riots and was instead concerned with Torvill & Dean and the plight of the miners. Lionel Ritchie was Number 1 in the charts. None of this really registered with me to be honest, it was only background noise because I still had United to look forward to.

The Old Trafford of my childhood was nothing like the gigantic shrine to commercialism that stands in its place today. Back then, it was just a football ground that had barely changed in decades. If I had to sum up 1980’s OT in two words, they would probably be ‘faded glamour’. Paint peeling off rusty girders, cracked panes of glass, the stenches of chip fat, rancid burgers, bleach and perpetual under achievement – it was as grim as it was intoxicating.

United were doing pretty well by March, however. Unbeaten in 16 league games, we went top of the table 4 days prior to the Barca game after smashing Arsenal 4-0 at Old Trafford – a game notable for scores of people brandishing clipboards around the turnstiles, collecting signatures imploring the club not to sell Bryan Robson. It seems a quaint idea now, somewhat naive… but that’s how important Robbo was at the time. A figurehead, a leader, a genuine colossus – the sort of midfielder who comes along once in a generation. It was perhaps fitting then, that those United fans doing their best to persuade player and club to resist suitors from abroad, were rewarded days later with a performance that was probably the finest of his career.

Despite United possessing a genuine world class talent in Robson, Barcelona boasted an even greater star themselves in the shape of Diego Maradona – and just having the chance to see him in the flesh was a major event in itself. Back then there was no Champions League or televised football on the scale there is today – indeed I’d listened to the 1st leg, 2-0 reverse on the radio. The only time Maradona had ever really been seen was during the ’82 World Cup where he’d been largely anonymous and marked out of the tournament. Despite being this enigmatic, almost mythical figure, he was still generally considered to be the greatest player in the world – although he wouldn’t go on to prove that until the tournament in Mexico, 2 years later.

I’d been going to United for a couple of years by 1984 and had attended both previous European games that season, vs Dukla Prague (soon to be immortalised after being namechecked by legendary 80’s scouse pop-ironists Half Man Half Biscuit) and the never-again-to-be-heard-of Spartak Varna of Bulgaria. This was all very exciting in itself due to European football being all exotic and unknown and that, but drawing Barcelona in the QF was proper next level shit. It seemed about as big as it was ever gonna get.

After sweating on whether or not I’d actually get a ticket – my Dad was often lax in buying the requisite two programmes per game for the tokens – there was much relief when he confirmed it was all sorted. I had a ticket in my hand: Stretford Groundside Junior, for the scarcely credible by today’s standards sum of £1.20.

Although we always paid into the Stretford End (a season ticket or LMTB wasn’t a necessity back then), we never watched the game there because being sub-5ft and weighing about 5 stone at the time, I’d probably have been trampled to death. Instead we had a regular arrangement going with the old boy on the gate, who was paid £1 per game to let us through to the seats upstairs in E-Stand. Not that we ever sat down, our spec was right behind the goal at the top – stood up against the handrail.

That handrail was the bane of my life for a couple of years, since its height was exactly level with my line of sight. This meant I had two options: either I could watch the game on tiptoes with my chin resting on top or more comfortably, with my brow resting on the bar whilst peering underneath. As a result, I’d usually leave the match sporting a horizontal indent on my forehead that would remain visible for the next couple of hours.

The game, as has been recounted many times since that night, was absolutely incredible. I’ve been at pretty much every big match in the intervening 30 years and nothing, perhaps only the white noise madness of that five minutes in the Nou Camp in ’99, comes close to the atmosphere generated. As a kid, I just recall being absolutely ecstatic to have experienced it first-hand and almost overwhelmed with happiness and relief following the final whistle. Before writing this I watched the 10 minute highlights clip on YouTube again and it genuinely makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

It’s the 3rd goal that does it. Wilkins picking the ball up in his own half and wheeling his arm, signalling for everyone to bomb forward. Robson clips a glorious ball out wide that’s met by Arthur Albiston and by the time his cross enters the box, the Stretford End are already celebrating the goal. Just listen to it, it’s mad. The cross comes in and the strangulated “YESSSSSSSS…” starts whilst the ball is still in the air. Whiteside heads it back across the penalty area and then Stapleton buries it. Bedlam. The cheering starts about 3 seconds before the ball hits the net.

It was Robson’s night. Footage shows him absolutely exhausted at the end as he’s chaired off the pitch by hoards of cavorting wedge haircuts in stonewashed denim and Pringle jumpers. He staggers up the tunnel and is first gripped by Ron Atkinson, then looks in dire need of oxygen as he’s interviewed by Elton Welsby. Sadly, and typically for the era, our campaign fell to pieces after that. Arnold Muhren never kicked another ball that season, Robson was crucially injured for the 2nd leg of the Juventus semi and United limped home in the league, scoring only 8 goals and winning twice in our final 10 games. At least Robbo stayed though, with the board deciding to cash in on Ray Wilkins instead.

Despite being present as a 10 year old kid, I was fully aware of the night’s significance as it just felt absolutely huge in comparison to any game I’d attended previously. To this day, my Dad still describes it as “the best ever” and he’s been going to the match since the early 60’s – so that will do for me too. “Barcelona, Real Madrid, they will make a gallant bid, but United are the greatest team of all.” Damn right.

It was, quite simply, the greatest of the great Old Trafford nights.

Copyright Red News – March 2014