Into The Valley

tyler

Football commentators should be heard but not seen, I’ve decided. Think of the ones that really piss you off, Alan Green or Jonathan Pearce for example – you’d be able to recognise them in the street, right? Of course you would. Now consider the ones that you generally have no feelings towards, names like Mike Ingham, John Murray and Ian Dennis – these blokes are just voices, doing the job they’re paid to do without resorting to hyperbole or moralising. You wouldn’t be able to recognise them because they’ve never had a camera pointed at them – even their own families might struggle to pick them out in a crowd.

Like referees, being a commentator is a very weird occupation when you consider it. Some try to proclaim it as a ‘dream job’, getting paid to watch football – but it just strikes me as an utterly soul-destroying career choice. All those hours driving up and down motorways, waiting around at airports, nights in shitty hotels, listening to Niall Quinn drone on as he evaluates Knutsford Services’ range of Ginsters’ pasties for the 47th time – it must be horrendous.

Anyway, as soon as these blokes cross that line where the camera is turned on them, they seem to undergo a change where they cease being mere broadcasters and instead feel the need to develop a personality. They hire agents, start earning bigger money and suddenly they’re described as ‘legendary’, ‘outspoken’ and ‘respected’. At this point, the fundamental purpose of their job – to describe the action at football matches – gets lost completely. Instead, you’re left with unhinged, Maude Flanders-type figures, serving up indignation and outrage at the expense of reason and perspective.

The reason for this little rant – as you might have guessed – was the performance of Martin Tyler during United’s game at Cardiff the other week. Tyler was just a normal, faceless-type commentator once upon a time, back in the days when he was ITV’s No.2 behind Brian Moore. He had the foresight to jump on the Sky bandwagon back when satellite telly was in its infancy, a decision that proved to be a very astute one. Alongside Keys and Gray, he became one of the faces of Sky’s all-conquering coverage during the 90’s – and he’s still going strong now aged 68, having survived the culling of his former colleagues.

Tyler is horrendous to listen to these days. Pious and condescending, a self-appointed ‘guardian of the game’ who constantly uses his exalted position to try and provoke witch-hunts and stir up controversy. My terminal distaste for the bloke started last season when he was still hell-bent on pursuing his ‘De Gea is shit’ agenda, even when the rest of the population had woken up to the fact he was the best young goalkeeper in the country. Tyler still wasn’t convinced though, “Hmmm, United’s young keeper under pressure there…we know how much he struggles with the physical side of the game – don’t we, Gary?”

So Rooney gets into a tangle with Daffyd Williams or whoever and boots him. It’s probably a red card but since it’s really early in the game, he gets away with a yellow. It’s the kind of thing you see 50+ times a season, not in the slightest bit controversial in truth. Tyler however, is left utterly bereft at the great injustice that has befallen the plucky underdogs and proceeds to whinge about the decision throughout the entire game. Rooney scores: “well, Cardiff can feel aggrieved at the fact Wayne Rooney is still on the pitch!” Rooney sets a goal up: “Well this is just pouring salt on the wound!” Cardiff player gets booked: “It almost seems unfair that a yellow card is the same punishment Rooney received for what appeared a much more serious offence.” On and on and on and on, he whined – it was absolutely pathetic.

I’m not really sure where I’m going with this other than to state: Martin Tyler, what a complete dick.

Fellaini sad

I read the other day that an anagram of Marouane Fellaini is ‘a lone, failure man’. This pleased me immensely so I duly checked and sadly, it turns out that it isn’t strictly true and instead it’s ‘a lone, failure main’ – but for the purposes of this we’ll go with ‘a lone failure man’. Yes, I’m sorry to confirm that our new, midfield lynchpin looks a complete dud at present. Slow, no physical presence, immobile, shit passer – the guy looks lost – just as many doom-laden sages predicted he would.

In every decent game I saw him play for Everton (invariably against United), he played much further forward but Moyes has so far tried to integrate him into the side as a deep-lying defensive midfielder. The problem is that Michael Carrick has made that position his own in recent seasons – it’s the one area of the midfield where there hasn’t been an issue. With Carrick injured at present, the hope was that Fellaini would be able to thrive in his absence. However, when presented with a starting role at Sociedad and Cardiff he looked lethargic and out-of-sorts as United regularly surrendered possession. Playing Phil ‘Wreck-It Ralph’ Jones has proven a much more successful alternative – as witnessed in the games vs Arsenal at home and Leverkuson away.

Despite a less-than-impressive start, it’s too early to write him off just yet, especially considering he’s playing with a busted arm – although yes, I know that never stopped Eric. Worryingly, Moyes has suggested that part of the underlying problem is that he’s been played so deep – hinting that in future he might be utilised further forward. Evertonians would no doubt smirk at this suggestion, as it became common knowledge at Goodison that Fellaini moving up front signalled ‘last-throw-of-the dice’ tactics that usually failed. He’s not an attacking midfielder, he just he played there a few times with limited success – more often than not against United.

Overall, the team look to be building up a nice bit of momentum as we approach the (cliché incoming) ‘busy, festive period’. After a ropey start we’ve clocked 11 games unbeaten – although please bear in mind, I’m writing this before the Spurs away game where things will inevitably come crashing down. We’re reasonably well-placed then, and although I don’t expect we’ll win the title this season – remaining in contention and a comfortable top four finish will be enough to prove most doubters wrong. For now.

Just as David Moyes is starting to get his head around the job, I’m starting to get my head around him too – it’s all been a bit like being introduced to an eager-to-please, new stepdad so far. He still has a fair bit to learn about us, however. Just as that element of trust is being established he comes out with a statement like “I would have taken the result before the game”, following the disappointing draw in South Wales.

Listen David, with all due respect, this isn’t Everton. We’re Man United – we don’t take draws at places like Cardiff, we suffer them.

Copyright Red News – December 2013

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Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots of Money)

fergie book

After a start to the season that proved every bit as testing as the fixture list suggested it would be, United have lurched into what might tentatively be described as ‘a run of form’. The Stoke game demonstrated the extent to which peoples’ expectations have been tempered over the last couple of months – you only had to witness Hernandez’s winner being celebrated like we’d won the European Cup.

The general consensus appears to suggest that Moyes has had a terrible start to his United career, but in reality the team isn’t playing any worse than we did for much of last season. The difference is that last year – through a combination of strength of will and extreme good fortune – we were getting away with it week after week. This season however, we’re being picked off and punished. It’s a simplistic appraisal, I know – but that’s the reality.

United haven’t suddenly become a worse side and only an idiot would claim that our present predicament is down to the change of management. In brutal terms, the limitations of the squad are now common knowledge and teams have sussed we are beatable. It’s not the end of the world, it’s just going to take a while to sort out.

Fortunately for Moyes, most people at OT seem reasonably sanguine about the prospect of a fallow period whilst he gets himself acquainted with the job. Rightly so, too. If a certain amount of goodwill still exists for a pair of clowns like Nani and Anderson after 6 seasons of consistent underperformance, then surely the manager deserves at least a couple of years grace before people start to get on his back?

Nani of course, was the recipient of some grief from the OT crowd following his stinker of a performance and substitution in the aforementioned Stoke game. A few have suggested the reaction in the stands was indicative of the changing make-up of United’s support – the inference being that wigged up muppets have no patience and such wilful insubordination would never have happened in the good old days… which is total bollocks, of course.

Although incidents of individuals being booed aren’t common, they’re not exactly without precedent either. Forlan, Richardson, O’Shea, Fletcher and Carrick (off the top of my head) have all been singled out in recent years – the treatment of Nani has just proven more newsworthy as it’s occurred in a period where the spotlight has intensified due to Moyes coming in and the team looking decidedly out-of-sorts. If Nani wants to guard against similar abuse in future, he simply has to stop playing like he’s missing a brain (tricky, I know) and if substituted, understand that sauntering off pitch in a Neil Webb-style strop is completely unacceptable.

Moyes’ ongoing travails have been a mere sideshow this month, as the real story has been the anything but low key release of his predecessor’s book, the timing of which caused Barney Ronay in The Guardian to amusingly describe Fergie as “the managerial equivalent of the father-in-law from hell”, undermining Moyes with “his continued and undiluted power to fascinate and control.” Moyes of course, would no doubt dismiss such a notion out of hand and launch into an impassioned defence of his mentor. What else could he say? He’s hardly going to admit, “yeah, could do without all this at present.”

It didn’t occur to me to join the scramble for Fergie’s first solo gig at The Lowry but I ended up going down as a good mate of mine was quick on the draw for tickets and managed to grab a pair. I’m fully aware that paying £40 to listen to a bloke being interviewed is fairly unhinged – but once I was offered the chance to go, I didn’t feel I could turn it down. In my defence, it appeared some lunatics were paying £300 a pair on eBay – so despite being a bit of a crank, at least I wasn’t as big a crank as them.

lowry

Any thoughts the event would attract a crowd of thesps and pseuds were immediately banished upon entering the bar – it was packed with so many faces from the match, it was more reminiscent of a United away than a night at the theatre. Denis Law and Albert Kitman were mooching about in the foyer and getting mithered for photos, whilst plenty of CES Security goons were on hand – the fact (gasp!) football fans were in attendance presented an increased security risk, one has to assume.

As well as Albert and Denis, numerous other United luminaries turned out. Moyes himself, Sir Bobby, Capable Hands, Martin Buchan, Mike Phelan… no Woodward strangely – rumours he got confused and spent the night wandering round the Lowry Hotel knocking on random doors are as yet unconfirmed.

In my head I tried to convince myself this might be a proper Q&A, taking the Question Time format where everyone gets to submit a question and a few are selected with a view to stimulating debate and perhaps tease out some new material from the Ferguson archives. Dan Walker even hinted that we might expect rich pickings during his introductory spiel, this was to be Sir Alex ‘up close and personal’ – no cameras, no mics, no press in attendance. Not a chance, sadly.

Instead, to no one’s great surprise, we got an hour of Fergie giving the kind of on-rails interview we’ve seen him do a 100 times before. It was okay and there were a few little bits and pieces to be gleaned, it’s just a shame there was no way he was ever going to deviate from the well-worn script. He wasn’t facing a baying mob of anti-Glazer protestors ready to trip him up or drive him out of his comfort zone, he was sat with a crowd of respectful MUFC loyalists – the very people who’ve hung on his every word for the last quarter century.

As it was, we got a quick run through his career in football with only a few little nuggets that could be considered anything like ‘new’. His favourite non-United player was always Zola; in 27 years he only fell out with 6 players (pardon?!); Liverpool’s record is the yardstick United will always be measured against; and he came up with a great little line that neatly encapsulates the magic of King Eric, “Cantona always made a simple pass look great.” He certainly did.

After an hour, to the strains of The Stone Roses’ ‘Waterfall’ and an inevitable standing ovation, Fergie nearly provided a spectacular end to proceedings by almost walking into a wall attempting a stage left exit. We all received a signed copy of the book to go with the sense of anticlimax whilst the star of the show, presumably, was straight onto a tour bus heading north for the next night’s hometown gig up in Glasgow.

The book itself is anticlimactic too. Anyone hoping it complements the excellent Hugh McIlvanney-penned volume published in the aftermath of the treble season is in for a disappointment. In comparison, Paul Hayward’s effort appears rush-released and thrown together. Whilst it’s all very readable and of interest to any United fan, I found myself flicking back on numerous occasions to check I hadn’t missed a page out due to chapters suddenly veering off-topic or the appearance of an entirely unconnected anecdote. It’s almost stream of consciousness at times – as if Hayward has transcribed the interviews they’ve done and then copy and pasted the most interesting passages. The number of factual errors is also quite unbelievable for such a high-profile work.

Nevertheless, if you haven’t read it yourself yet, it’s almost certain you’ll be getting a copy off Father Christmas in a few weeks’ time. It’s sold thousands upon thousands already and will no doubt continue to do so. Ker-ching! Truth is, it wasn’t even the best autobiography by a legendary, cantankerous dictator released last month. That award, if you weren’t already aware, went to Morrissey.

Copyright Red News – November 2013

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Demon Days

The recent derby was a textbook example of how completely and utterly miserable football can make us feel on occasion. A vintage case of go home, go to bed early, media blackout for 5 days and everything can just fuck the fucking fuck off. So due to having nothing positive to say about anything at present, this month’s column has been abandoned and we’ll instead acknowledge our current woes by wallowing in the 10 most depressing results of the last 30 years. I’ve thought long and hard about this selection – I considered putting in games from yesteryear but decided to keep it personal by only selecting games/results experienced myself. So tough shit, Bobby Stokes – you missed the cut.

Note: Some may baulk at the non-inclusion of, say, for instance, the Champions League final defeats to Barca. I’ve tried to keep it real and opted for games that triggered genuine doom. Of course I was gutted losing to Barca but it was no great surprise and there was no great mental hangover afterwards… these are the results that proved difficult to shake for weeks and months, not just a couple of days as was the case post Rome/Wembley.

Liverpool (Wembley) League Cup Final – (1-2) March 1983

norman

I wasn’t at this game, instead I listened to it on Radio 2 live radio commentary in my Gran’s front room – it was played at 3pm on a Saturday so wasn’t even on telly. All started very well with Norman’s opener before the Scousers equalised near the end and then won it via Ronnie Whelan’s curler in extra-time. I call still recall the sense of rage and injustice at the description of Grobbelaar’s outrageous assault on McQueen… unsurprisingly not punished due to the referee being George Courtney – not the last time we’d suffer at his hands. I cried after this. Tears. Proper tears.

Nottingham Forest (H) FA Cup QF – (0-1) March 1989

forest programme

This one gets the nod just ahead of McClair’s penalty miss at Arsenal that saw us dumped out of the FA Cup in the 5th round a year previously – heartbreaking at the time because it happened in the one season when McClair never missed. Again I wasn’t present and instead listened to this on the BBC world service as I was stuck in Northern Germany somewhere on a school exchange. It was horrendous. The family I stayed with had a massive Alsatian that crapped in my room and for tea we had cabbage and sausages every night. Another refereeing injustice here as well. Brian Hill he was called. Shithead.

Manchester City (A) – (1-5) September 1989

5-1

Early-season giddiness stemming from the acquisitions of Webb, Pallister and Ince, the proposed Knighton takeover and the opening day thrashing of Arsenal had been well and truly obliterated following 3 successive defeats which left United down in 16th place by mid-September. Nevertheless, we’d spanked Millwall 5-1 the week before so there was some grounds for optimism as we headed to Maine Road – City were below us having only won one game all season. What followed was as baffling as it was depressing. United missed numerous chances and despite being on the defensive for much of the game, the 5 chances City had all went in. Mercifully, it was the last thing they had to celebrate for the next 2 decades.

Liverpool (A) – (0-2) April 1992

anfield 92

I recall queuing for 7 hours one Sunday morning to get a ticket for this. What had all season long promised to be a title winning party instead turned out to be a truly harrowing afternoon. In reality, all Liverpool did was confirm the inevitable with Leeds having stumbled past Sheffield United earlier in the day. A sequence of 3 miserable results in just 5 days had already killed off United’s hopes – a draw at Luton, the bank holiday Monday defeat at home to Forest and then Kenny Brown’s goal at West Ham. It was official, we really would never win the league.

West Ham United (A) – (1-1) May 1995

west ham

This was another killer. It began as a case of ‘more hope than expectation’ but as the afternoon developed there was the gradual realisation that Blackburn were indeed in the process of bottling it and a winner at Upton Park would give a United a 3rd successive title. Following McClair’s timely equaliser and despite over half an hour of bombardment of the West Ham penalty area, it just wouldn’t fucking go in. A timid showing in the FA Cup final a week later merely heightened the gloom

Fenerbahce (H) Champs League Group Stage – (0-1) October 1996

Ole Gunnar Solskjaer

This one hurt. Really hurt. The end of a the 50 year unbeaten home record in Europe and we lost it to Fenerbahce… who were absolutely shite and could barely believe their luck. United were on a shocking run at the time (we’d just lost 5-0 at Newcastle and 6-3 at Southampton) but there’s no way we should have lost this game – it just seemed so careless. A 50 year unbeaten home record surrendered to Fenerbahce of all people. Barcelona, Real Madrid, Juve, Milan, Ajax… that would be understandable – not like losing to this rabble. Big sulk after this one.

Borussia Dortmund (H) Champs League SF – (0-1) April 1997

dortmund

Having scraped through the group stages following Eric and Schmeichels’ masterclass in Vienna and then battered Porto… arguably the best team left in the tournament other than Juventus – only Dortmund stood between United and a place in the final. It really looked like it was on too, especially after coming away from the 1st leg in Germany unlucky to have suffered a single goal defeat. The overriding (admittedly naive) feeling was they were very beatable and would crumble under pressure at OT. Sadly, as we were to experience numerous times in subsequent years, it’s rarely that simple. Despite battering Dortmund and creating countless chances, they scored early and somehow kept United at bay. What’s worse, the then imperious Juventus suffered a rare off-day in the final and the unfancied Germans beat them easily.

Manchester City (H) – (1-2) February 2008

6-1

The 50th anniversary of Munich game, an occasion everyone connected with the club had been looking forward to for months. An opportunity to provide a fitting tribute to those who lost their lives in the crash, given even more of an emotional charge due to the fact City would be providing the opposition. It was sure to be a day to remember and as anticipated, there was one team that seemed overcome with the sense of occasion that day. Unfortunately it was United.

Manchester City (H) – (1-6) October 2011

divs

I saw what was happening here and fled the scene with 10 minutes to go, just after Fletcher had made it 3-1. Unfortunately it soon got worse. Much worse. After getting out of a cab on Deansgate, a mate and I took refuge in the Cornerhouse bar as it seemed the safest bet not to contain anything or anybody football-related. We then drank in abject silence whilst I mentally debated the best way of getting home without seeing any blues – a tricky prospect when you live in Stockport. An absolutely sickening day, but still doesn’t compare with what we’d experience at the end of the season.

Sunderland (A) – (1-0) May 2012

sunderland

Or more to the point, Manchester City vs Queens Park Rangers (3-2) May 2012. The most recent and still the most painful. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever get over the gut-wrenching feeling of that last 5 minutes. Ever. Not being dramatic, either – I genuinely mean it. As much as anything it’s the knowledge we were *that* close to inflicting on them something that would have eclipsed all the previous cock-ups that have littered their history – them losing the league from that position would have topped the lot. They had scarves printed already, out on sale in the open on Market Street the week previously. How wonderful would it have been to have got hold of one of them? The fuckers would have never lived it down. There’s all that, plus the certain knowledge that no matter how long we carry on ‘doing’ football, we’ll never be able to inflict the same amount of pain on them. Sorry, but it’s true.

Bastards.

Copyright Red News – October 2013

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