Roll With The Punches

kate upton

Last month I had a proper whinge about our abysmal home form, a moan about the relevance of the FA Cup and ended with a flippant call for Moyes to do something to sort things out. To be fair to the manager, my gripes have certainly been addressed over the last few weeks. We’re now losing away games as well (evidence that we’ve discovered some long overdue consistency of performance) and we’ve been knocked out of both domestic cups. This time out I’ll limit my requests to next week’s lottery numbers and a night with Kate Upton if you’re reading, Dave?

I’m writing this in the aftermath of the Stoke game: another mess of a performance and our 8th league defeat of the season – this one with the added bonus of losing two more centre backs to injury. Despite results getting steadily worse as the season progresses, this car crash of a campaign remains quite captivating… in the same way one feels compelled to gawp at someone with an unfortunate facial disfigurement. It’s far too early to start trumpeting ‘things can only get better’, because the very distinct possibility exists they could get a whole lot worse over the next few months.

The one upside of regular defeats is that they stop stinging after a while. For the last 20 years, a narrow defeat in a game we expected 3 points had the ability to wreck an entire weekend. Not anymore. The blows have become so frequent of late that I’m barely flinching now. City are scoring a million goals per game and look unstoppable whereas we’ve gone shit. To deal with it, I’ve focused on not dealing with it – and I’ve discovered that being utterly impassive is helping immensely. It’s a bit mard, I know and I’ll have to face up to things eventually but in the meantime, don’t judge me. This is just how things are… the new reality. We’re surveying the wreckage of the post-Fergie apocalypse.

Even during these dark times, however – there are days that come along which give you a spring in your step, a fresh sense of optimism and some renewed hope that things might be heading in the right direction. No, not the Juan Mata signing – we’ll get to that in a bit. What I mean is that whatever David Moyes does or doesn’t achieve in future, he’ll always have my eternal gratitude for finally ridding us of that appalling, fat waster Anderson.

fatpig

Quite how this clown managed to complete 6 and a half seasons at OT will be difficult to explain to future generations. He was constantly out-of-shape, his re-fuelling habits a source of mirth even amongst his own team mates and when he did manage to get himself on the pitch, his performances were frequently dreadful. He didn’t tackle, he lacked the energy and discipline to play box-to-box and his passing was woeful… I’m not even going to comment on his shooting technique. Actually, I will – it was completely shit.

The only time Anderson ever looked like he had a genuine (no pun intended) appetite for any on-pitch physical exertion was during end-of-season trophy presentations when he’d rouse himself from his perpetual stupor and head straight for the cameras, doing that samba dance routine that’s mandatory for all South American ex-pat footballers. That’s the sum total of what we’re going to miss from Anderson – his ability to dance and balloon about the gaff whilst sticking his tongue out. I just hope to Christ he manages to convince Fiorentina that his loan move should be made permanent in the summer so we’re rid of him for good, the fucking fraud.

The departures didn’t stop there. Fabio left for Cardiff, which seems a hell of a comedown for a still young, international footballer who featured in a Champions League final less than 3 years ago. Unfortunately he just never seemed to kick on and find a settled position at United – looking identical, playing in the same position and sharing the same impetuous streak as his brother all counted against him in the end. Wilfred Zaha also headed to South Wales and following his debut, has already racked up the same amount of assists that Antonio Valencia has managed all season. The way our season is unravelling, don’t be surprised if he continues this progress and ends up picking up the PFA Young Player award.

Amazingly, it turns out that Federico Macheda is still on United’s payroll and has now been loaned out for something like the 17th time in his career – this time to Birmingham City. Quite why he was ever given a long term deal remains a mystery – as it was clear within weeks of his career high debut that he was incredibly limited and unlikely to make the grade at the top level. Still, he started well at his new club too, scoring a last minute equaliser in a 3-3 draw – which Wikipedia informs me is his 10th goal in 6 seasons. Prolific or what? If he keeps this up, expect United to bring him back in the summer and reward him with a new 5 year contract.

mata

Moyes signalled the start of the transfer window by stating that although he didn’t expect any significant arrivals, “the number of big players who want to join Manchester United is incredible.” Really? Whether this meant ‘big’ as in ‘good’ or ‘big’ as in ‘tall, like Fellaini’ remained uncertain, but within days we’d actually managed to not completely mess up the signing of Juan Mata. This was something of a shock and surely evidence of a u-turn in United’s thinking. In the summer we didn’t pursue a reputed interest in Özil due to still having hope that Kagawa would prove his worth, but surely Shinji’s legion of internet fanboys/apologists would now concede that he simply hasn’t worked out?

Mata, like Kagawa, is undoubtedly a great talent. Unlike Kagawa, however – he’s demonstrated the ability to adapt his talents to the demands of English football. If Moyes has lost patience with Kagawa’s failings and come to the conclusion his future lies elsewhere, then I at least applaud his decisiveness. One of the obvious shortcomings of United’s squad at present is that there are too many habitual under performers – limited players on top wages and long term deals who are going to prove difficult and expensive to replace. Young, Cleverley and Valencia (the first 3 who come to mind… there are more) need to be moved on ruthlessly and efficiently. Signing a player of Mata’s calibre is all well and good, but it’s only going to start paying dividends when he’s joined by 3-4 more of a similar standard.

It was interesting to note the reactions of certain blue-tinged acquaintances of mine following the Mata signing. It’s fair to say they were a tad miffed by events, with them being so well-versed now in outspending United during each transfer window. One on my radar even attempted to outlandishly claw back some moral high ground by asserting that “City have never spent that much on a player.” This didn’t ring true at all, which prompted me to check and discover that Aguero cost them £38M and Tevez, reputedly as much as £45M. City fans taking umbrage with United’s spending – you have to admire their chutzpah, you really do.

Even more comical was the recent publication of City’s accounts for their financial year ending May 2013. Everything appears to be going swimmingly for ‘the project’: losses are down to a mere £52M and their income is now the 6th highest of any club in Europe, a total of £271M. It’s only when you scratch beneath the surface they reveal this figure includes £143M from sponsoring themselves and another £44M from selling intellectual property rights (again, to themselves.) Unsurprisingly, with this fantasy island income stream in place, they are more than confident of meeting UEFA’s FFP requirements. “Growing revenues and controlled expenses are bringing the club to break even in the immediate future, and profitability thereafter.”

I’m going to presume they edited out the “…LOL, not really!”

Copyright Red News – February 2014

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Stuck In The Middle With You

sad moyes

Did anyone else look out of the window on New Year’s Day and wish they didn’t have to bother? A 5.30pm kick off with a persistent hangover, shitty weather and the suspicion that yet another miserable result lay ahead held such minimal appeal that I gave serious consideration to giving it the swerve by calling in sick. It’s been hard work of late – the triumvirate of home games in a week during early December led to me questioning my sanity. It’s not the financial outlay (you can never dwell on that, because if you did you’d never go ever again), it’s just we’re really… and I mean REALLY boring to watch at the minute.

Perhaps it’s the inevitable comedown after 20 years of success, but there just seems to be a distinct lack of fun surrounding United at present. Eternal optimists will point out that the Spurs defeat came off the back of 6 consecutive wins, but how many of them provided anything remotely resembling excitement? (Alright, the stirring comeback at Hull I’ll give you but it’s Hull ffs… and the fact we found ourselves 0-2 down was crushingly predictable.)

I’m loathe to start criticising Moyes but since we’re past the half-way stage of the season, it’s time for his 6 month appraisal… and it’s been pretty miserable so far. The fiasco of the transfer dealings in the summer (not all down to him, admittedly), defenders in midfield, wingers at right back, the general over-reliance on crap wide men… these were hallmarks of Fergie’s last couple of seasons in charge that we hoped we’d finally seen the back of. However, the truth is we’re a dull and predictable side to watch – and crucially, that fear factor teams felt when coming to Old Trafford has all but evaporated.

Times like these aren’t unprecedented of course. Fergie’s tenure was punctuated by many low points but rarely were they greeted with the stoic acceptance which is becoming Moyes’ stock response to a setback. “We’ll try and win our next game, which is what Manchester United always do.” Great. That’s me assured – though hardly Churchillian, is it? I can only hope that such platitudes are served up for the benefit of the press and the players are privy to something a tad more inspirational.

The press reaction at present is an interesting point. Both Moyes and Woodward have gone to some lengths to try and repair the fractious relationship that Fergie helped create over the years. It was ‘open house’ during the summer tour, there have been subsequent off-record breakfast briefings and dinners on expenses; as well as the club re-opening dialogue with the likes of MUST, SEF and the fanzines (with the exception of Red News who still appear to be personae non gratae within OT).

If Fergie had still been in charge with United stuck in 7th place, can you imagine the reaction right now? I’ll wager there would be absolute uproar in the media with hacks falling over themselves to stick the boot in. Instead, it appears that the schmoozing and olive branches have paid dividends – there was plenty written about the deadline day shenanigans but it’s all quite sedate in the tabloids. After witnessing the mauling Fergie received at the slightest sign of a crisis, it’s slightly perturbing to witness United getting beaten without us getting a kicking in the papers.

This could be the crux of what’s missing at present. In the past we’ve been used to Fergie in full-on bullish mode following a poor run of form. He’d come out fighting, slap the nay-sayers around the chops and convince us all it was no biggie and we’d be back within weeks. This was how United operated for years – a default response to defeat which served us well on countless occasions. Instead, now we’ve got Moyes announcing that ‘bloody noses’ are inevitable and the team will ‘try to win the next game’. As I said, one only hopes he’s making a compelling case to the players – because he’s certainly not convincing me at present.

Anyway, leaving aside our current woes – it’s January so that means slo-mo montages of Charlie George, Ronnie Radford and Keith Houchen’s diving header… yes, it’s FA Cup time again. Back in those halcyon days of the 70’s and 80’s – when being out of the title picture in January was very much the norm – the 3rd round of the cup came along and provided welcome respite from the weekly grind of sub-par league performances. These days, however – it’s a very different beast whose appeal continues to diminish year after year.

Yes, I know it still manages to throw up the odd good draw with the bonus of an off-grid away trip – but the cold, hard truth is that the competition is now a lame duck that needs putting out of its misery. The prestige in winning it is negligible, the history and tradition elements over-sentimentalised and for every semi-final meeting with City you’ve got to suffer a multitude of wrist-slitting home draws against face painted, foam hand waving, lower league numpties all enjoying their ‘special day’. It’s a bag of shit and it has been for years.

This isn’t some toys-out-of-the-pram reactionary piece and I’m aware that many won’t agree – but the cup now isn’t what we grew up with. All the things we loved about it (they don’t require spelling out) are now consigned to history and it lost whatever ‘magic’ it had a long time ago. Just enjoy the memories and be thankful that we won it on numerous occasions during the time it was worth winning… because these days it should be viewed as nothing more than a constituent part of a double or a treble.

The question of the cup’s relevance recently came up on an internet forum I frequent – opinion turned out to be evenly split between those agreeing it was a spent force and others clinging to the notion it still means something. One lad claimed, “I’d rather finish 10th and win the cup than finish 4th and not win anything.” A highly principled stance that – but really? You’d rather have an FA Cup win (£3.5M total prize money and place in the Europa next season) than finish 4th and get into the Champions League proper (£40M+ for reaching the quarters) and the chance of signing someone half-decent in the summer? Admirable sentiments certainly, but it just smacks of cutting your nose off to spite your face.

We’re going to have to get used to this mindset pretty quickly because that’s the nailed on, new reality United are currently faced with. Were you cringing at the end of last season watching Arsenal balloon around the pitch at Newcastle whilst celebrating a 4th place finish? Think again, because that may well be us in a few months time. What have we become? If things weren’t depressing enough, City are odds-on favourites to win the league and Liverpool remain well placed.

Can you sort this out please, Dave?

Copyright Red News – January 2014

www.rednews.co.uk

A Christmas Carol

arnold

Celia Arnold dropped two Alka-Seltzer into her morning G&T and sighed heavily, it was the day before Christmas yet there was still so much to do. Edward and Annabel Woodward were expected for dinner the next day – but there was still no tree up in the Arnolds’ stylish £1.5M mid-Cheshire townhouse. Presents were still to be bought and despite repeated assurances that everything was in hand, her husband still hadn’t arrived home with the turkey he claimed to have ordered weeks previously.

Upstairs, Richard Arnold finished his morning shave and locked eyes with his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You’re a tiger”, he growled to himself… just as he did every morning without fail. This, ever since his university days, had been Richard’s personal slogan. He even had the words etched into his bathroom mirror as a constant reminder. 2013 had been a great year for Richard Arnold, a year of unprecedented professional and personal success. Today was Christmas Eve, but before he could switch off and spend time with his family (or ‘domestic colleagues’ as he’d often refer to them) – just like every other day, there were deals to be done and strategic alliances to form.

Richard bounded down the stairs as the family assembled in the kitchen for breakfast, although he preferred to think of this time as a ‘pre-9am meet-think’. “Morning team!”, he boomed. “What are we hoping to achieve today?” Celia busied herself preparing son Julian’s packed lunch as the small boy concentrated on finishing his Cornflakes. Richard was momentarily stunned. “Julian, what are you eating there?”

“Cornflakes, dad”, said the child.

“Hold it right there, son. Are you or are you not aware that we’ve recently agreed a deal with Nestle to be our official breakfast cereals partner? This amounts to a serious breach of contract.”

“But I don’t like Shreddies, dad”, replied Julian, glumly.

“We’ve been through this countless times…” began his father, “which breakfast cereal provider best demonstrated a commitment to our shared family objectives of health, growth and minimum nutritional value at affordable prices?”

“Errrr… Nestle, dad?”

“Exactly. So I do not expect to see Kelloggs’ products on display in this kitchen in future. Understood?”

nestle

Julian sighed and finished his breakfast in silence, as his father sat next to him drinking a quadruple espresso and talking to both his accountant and life coach on separate Bluetooth headsets – all whilst simultaneously watching Bloomberg for news of the day’s global financial markets. Surveying this familiar scene, Celia turned up the kitchen radio to mask the sound of her own sobbing.

Richard upped and left for work with just a few tasks to complete that day. After a short stint in his spacious office situated in Old Trafford’s North Stand, he intended to pick up a Christmas tree and collect the turkey he’d ordered from his local butchers on the way home. Firstly though, Richard strode into Edward Woodward’s plush workspace to collect Julian’s new PS4 – the consoles were in great demand but Edward had a contact based in Barcelona who he was certain would deliver on time. “Eddie baby!”, Richard roared.

“Dickie, my good man! Wasssuuuuup?!”

The two friends collapsed into fits of giggles before greeting each other warmly with their customary ‘high-five’. “So Eddie, this PS4 deal you were working on…”

Woodward’s face dropped and he suddenly looked very despondent – this was an expression Richard had come to know well in recent months. “Ah, slight problem there, Dickie… the Spanish trail has gone cold. I went in with an offer that I was certain would secure the deal, but unfortunately it looks like I’ve slightly misjudged things and they no longer want to sell.”

“Oh no!”, exclaimed Richard. “What am I going to do? Julian will be crushed.”

“Don’t worry”, Edward quickly re-assured him, his lips forming a thin smile. “I also have a contact in Liverpool, a man named Kenwright who was willing to do business – he couriered one over to me this morning!”

“Fantastic!”, grinned Richard. “I’ll write you a cheque – how much was it? £400?”

“Errr, unfortunately I had to pay a small premium, Dickie… you know the situation, supply and demand and all that.”

“Not a problem, buddy”, Richard chuckled. “What’s the damage?”

“Erm… it was 3 grand”, replied Edward.

PlayStation4-FeaturedImage

Richard handed over the cheque and departed Woodward’s office feeling on top of the world. His dear and trusted friend had come up trumps once again and Julian would receive his prized PS4 in the morning. Sure, Ed had paid a little more than he’d anticipated – but it was a sellers’ market and he could certainly afford it. Job done.

For the rest of the morning Richard busied himself concluding a deal he’d been working on intensively over the preceding month. Before he left the office, an official press release appeared on the club’s website detailing his latest coup. “Manchester United are delighted to announce a new strategic alliance with Festitat Enterprises – the club’s official bauble and tinsel partners in North-West Luxembourg.” Richard was cock-a-hoop with excitement. ‘Just wait until the club’s 350 billion-strong fanbase get a load of this news!’, he thought to himself.

Richard waved goodbye to his colleagues before wedging himself into his club-supplied 2013 63 plate Chevrolet Captiva LTZ 2.2 for the short drive back to Cheshire. It was time to find a tree and pick up a turkey for the next day’s festivities! After negotiating the busy M60 and A34, Richard was soon patrolling the streets of Wilmslow ready to conclude his two final deals of the year.

Four hours later, the normally upbeat Richard was feeling somewhat disheartened. He’d managed to get his hands on a tree, but negotiations hadn’t gone well at all. The salesman had looked completely bemused at his offer of ‘territorial exclusivity for plants and foliage’ and instead, the pathetic looking specimen he’d secured had cost him £80. Still, it would have to do. Quite furious with this temporary loss of business acumen, Richard left himself an angry, expletive-filled voice message on his carphone whilst he drove to his local butcher.

Richard arrived at the butchers just after 5pm and to his horror, found that the shop had already closed for business. He hammered repeatedly on the door for several minutes until a light was switched on and a man peered out of an upstairs window. “Yes, can I help you?”

“I’ve come to collect my turkey!”, barked the profusely-sweating Richard.

“I’m sorry, Mr Arnold… you were too late”, replied the figure at the window. “I received a special request from my best customer just prior to closing time – he’s paid a premium price for all my uncollected orders. I’m afraid I’ve got nothing left to sell you.”

Richard sank to his knees and his face turned a deep shade of pink. “NO!”, he screamed up at the man. “I AM RICHARD ARNOLD… AND RICHARD ARNOLD ALWAYS BRINGS HOME THE BACON!”

“Bacon you say? Hang on a minute”, replied the butcher. “I might have a solution – it’s not ideal but it’s the best I can do at short notice.”

bf_pig_sow

5 minutes later, Richard arrived back home bearing the fruits of his day’s labours. The tree stood in his hallway, the PS4 was placed underneath and the 16 stone, best-of-breed Tamworth pig he’d acquired took a massive shit in the kitchen. Celia fled the room in order to vomit, whilst an amazed Julian jumped up onto his father’s knee and hugged him tightly. “Oh dad, thank you!”, said the boy. “This is the best Christmas ever! Can we keep him? I’m going to call him Anderson!”

Richard leapt out of his chair as his mind suddenly went into overdrive. “That’s it! You’re a genius, son!”, he chimed. He reached for his mobile phone and dialled a number he’d not dialled for several months at Celia’s insistence.

“Anderson! It’s Richard Arnold here, I need a plump bird.”

“Sure man, I can sort that out. BUNGA BUNGA TIIIIIIIME!!!”

“No, not that type of bird”, whispered Richard – conscious that his young son was in the room. “I desperately need a turkey.”

“No problem, my man!!!”, wheezed the portly Brazilian. “I’ve just picked up a dozen from the butchers this afternoon. Come round to mine and help yourself, my friend.”

“A dozen?!”, gasped Richard. “Are you having a party?”

“No. Just a snack”, replied the nonplussed, former athlete.

“Awesome. See you in a while.”

Richard placed his mobile back in his pocket, let out a contented sigh and drank in the sights and sounds of Christmas that surrounded him. Today had turned from potential disaster into a tale of personal triumph he would recall fondly for years to come. The happy scene of domestic bliss was only disturbed by Celia’s screams of terror as the pig attempted to join her in the downstairs toilet. “No Ando! Leave mummy alone!”, Julian scolded the inquisitive porker.

“Utterly hilarious! Merry Christmas, everybody!”, Richard laughed heartily as he ruffled his son’s hair.

THE END

Copyright Red News – December 2013

www.rednews.co.uk