Tag Archives: football

Heroes and Villains

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So here we are again. August rolls round and it’s time for another 9 months of money, gossip, lies, tantrums, tabloid exclusives and halfwitted millionaires…yes comrades, the football IS BACK!!

Once upon a time I’d spend the summer months counting down the days until the start of the season. The fixtures being published was a big deal, as was transfer market activity, a new kit being released, pre-season friendlies…this season it seems to have arrived too quickly. A couple of months off without the expense, the stress, feeling compelled to watch SSN, not having to engage in mindless bantoh with fans of other clubs…it’s been great and as things stand, I’m sorry it has to end. But it does. I know I can’t spend the entire winter watching beach volleyball on telly, despite such a prospect holding more appeal than seeing Michael Carrick start the season at centre back.

Given what happened on that final day in May, most people I know of a red persuasion have spent the last couple of months suffering with varying degrees of post-traumatic stress disorder. As the day arrived, only the most foolhardy seriously expected results to go in our favour…but the manner in which everything unfurled, Jesus Christ it was brutal. One thing I can confidently predict about this season, no matter what lies ahead, it won’t be as anything like as painful as the closing moments of the last. Just horrific.

With City winning the league and Chelsea fluking their way to a scouse-like, scabby European Cup win, the scene was surely set for England to win the European Championships. Mercifully we were spared such a sight and true to form, the national team saw fit to deliver exactly what anyone with a modicum of sense expected of them…absolutely fuck all. Completely out of their depth and as inept on the big stage as always, it was a relief when they went out. Watching the quarter final vs Italy was a tortuous experience, one felt relieved for the rest of Europe that defeat on penalties meant viewers were spared a repeat performance in the semis.

The tournament as a whole proved similarly underwhelming and there was an air of inevitability about proceedings throughout the entire fortnight. England struggled the reach the quarters, the Germans were better than the sum of their individual parts and Spain won by virtue of being able to pass the ball better than anyone else. Once upon a time these tournaments were something to look forward to, packed with action and incident that made for genuinely gripping viewing. Euro 2012 only confirmed suspicions that international football has been eclipsed as football’s biggest spectacle – it delivered none of the madness and drama the latter stages of the Premier and Champions Leagues’ had provided only a few weeks previously.

It was left to the Olympics to provide the sporting spectacle of the summer and fair play to the cockneys, even an embittered Northern curmudgeon like myself has to admit they did alright. I tuned into the opening ceremony in full-on, ready to take the piss mode but was surprised to witness something which was at times touching, heartfelt, funny and most extraordinarily, actually very entertaining. Even that sour faced old bag herself, the Queen made me smile for the first time I can ever remember.

For something that basically amounts to a overlong minority sports day, the Olympics did make for enthralling viewing at times. Aside from our achievements in the velodrome or on the running track, many of the other events continue to baffle. The BBC’s coverage was so focused on Team GB, they virtually suspended all other news coverage for the duration to report on our progress in the ‘twatting around in little boats’ and ‘making a horse dance’ disciplines.

Thankfully, the overlong closing ceremony (like watching a re-run of the 1993 Brit Awards on a cocktail of industrial strength acid and ketamine) saw us quickly regain a taste for healthy cynicism to replace the happy and glorious, victory vibes we’d been gorging on throughout the preceding fortnight.

The moment the tournament finished, sports hacks were tasked with dealing with the imminent transition back to Premier League concerns. A handful, namely Rob Beasley in The Sun, predictably opted to run with the ‘aren’t footballers absolute bastards in comparison to our brave Olympic heroes’ line. Such stories have appeared after any non-football, sporting success in recent times, namely the rugby world cup win or ashes victories – the general inference being that football is a game played and watched by utter shitheads.

Of course, football is fucked up – this isn’t a new revelation. It’s easy to take a snapshot of the game in 2012 (mercenary players, financial doping, the greedy opportunism of owners etc, etc) and reach the conclusion that the sport now exists at gutter level. The Olympics has the advantage of occurring once every 4 years, for the rest of the time the majority of its events are marginalised, with participants out of sight and out of mind.

If football happened once every 4 years, then I’d expect our players would be held in similar regards to ‘heroes’ such as Ben Ainslie and Chris Hoy. If that pair lived in the Premier League goldfish bowl, the public would soon be treated to a different spin on their backgrounds, personalities, families and the lives they choose to lead. Football is tainted by money and greed and the likes of Terry, Tevez, Rooney….whoever…are clearly a product of this environment. I fail to see how they are to blame for its existence though.

Still smarting from the Sneijderless summer of 2011, I was determined to give transfer speculation the swerve this time around, having now resigned myself to the fact that we are never going to sign a midfield player ever again. Going off the players brought in, I’ve come to the conclusion that Fergie has looked at Barca’s revolutionary, strikerless formation and is set to present our own version, ‘the doughnut’ – ie ‘nothing in the middle’. Presumably, any midfielder still under contract will be allocated a new position (centre back, right back, winger or striker) using the tombola that was successfully trialled during the league cup run of last season.

The Van Persie capture, despite not being the player most of us hoped United would splurge millions on this summer, has at least provided a pre-season fillip that’s been missing since the purchase of that other ‘final piece’, Berbatov back in 2008. Like Veron before him, Berbs is now ducking out of the exit door – putting an end to an at times dazzling but overall, hugely underwhelming United career. Let’s hope Van Persie avoids injury (and Fergie’s tombola) and instead enjoys a Sheringham-esque career upsurge on the OT stage. Anyway, before we judge too harshly the profligate purchase of a 29 year old crock, it’s perhaps worth remembering Liverpool spunked £11M more on Andy Carroll. Bargain.

Copyright Red News – August 2012

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Complete Control

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Despite the less then startling football served up over the last few months, yet again we’re nicely placed in the title race as the season ebbs towards its conclusion. Barring a couple of mid-noughties exceptions, it’s incredible to think this has been the case for the last two decades…and it doesn’t get old. Each title win carries a special significance: 1993 after a 26 year wait, the first double, the treble year, upsetting the odds to topple Abramovich/Mourinho in 2007, beating Liverpool in 2009, ‘19’ last season…the list goes on.

This year of course, it’s all about beating City. The very thought of going toe to toe with them still seems slightly surreal for this 1970’s child – 5-1 aside, I’ve spent pretty much my entire football watching life basking in the glory of our undisputed dominance over them. Throughout the nineties (in the years they’d remembered not to be relegated) derby games were fantastic. For the most part they couldn’t get near us – and even if they’d get close, we’d routinely pull something improbable out of the hat and break their stupid hearts in the process.

This marvellous state of affairs was best illustrated by the 3-2 win at Maine Road in November 1993 – easily one of the top three games I’ve ever attended. City were revelling in our Champions League exit at the hands of Galatasary a few days earlier, as evidenced by a plethora of Turkish Delights being flung over the Kippax divide. They raced into a 2-0 lead courtesy of a pair of Niall Quinn headers but United produced a Cantona inspired, 2nd half fightback and nicked it late on courtesy of Roy Keane’s winner. It was era defining stuff – each and every red in attendance floated out of the ground that night.

The dynamic shifted about 10 years ago. Possibly tired of doing the hapless loser thing indefinitely, City adopted a win-at-all-cost mentality and began to revel in the role of plucky underdog. Whereas previously we’d come to expect routine capitulation and surrender, from nowhere they appeared to sprout a pair of bollocks. Victories in the last derby at Maine Road and the first at Eastlands ended years of United superiority and the cue for mass Bertie celebrations.

In spite of their enduring shiteness, derbies had become evenly contested again – aided perhaps by a sense that some of our players’ efforts didn’t quite match the fervour of the blues’ revised approach to these fixtures. Put simply, our campaigns were 60+ game affairs focused on the ultimate goal of winning the league title and/or the European Cup. City meanwhile, were fixated purely on the parochial – their season was deemed a success purely on the basis of whether or not they’d managed to get a result against Man United.

It’s all changed now of course. Successive regimes (Forward with Franny, Bungling with Bernstein, Wobbling with Wardle, Shafted by Shinawatra) promised the earth but delivered nothing other than further entertainment for us amused bystanders. Whilst we still had Garry Cook as a rich source of old school Bertie buffoonery to enjoy, the Abu Dhabi takeover in 2008 proved to be the real deal finance-wise, and things would never be the same again – half a billion pounds later, they finally had a trophy in their newly procured cabinet and the 34 YEARS ticker was reset.

If watching them win an FA Cup and gain CL qualification proved unpalatable enough, the thought of them winning the title is surely the ultimate nightmare scenario for any of us unfortunate enough to come into contact with City fans on a daily basis. After witnessing the delirious reaction to their new found wealth and ensuing transfer policy (throw money at anyone who’ll come and instantly proclaim them ‘legends’) – for 2 or 3 years now we’ve been subjected to ‘tick tock’ and ‘blue moon rising’ soundbites pretty much every time one of them opens their mouths.

It didn’t take a genius to deduce they’d be serious challengers this season, indeed I reached that conclusion myself in these pages back in September. Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool and Spurs didn’t look anything like potential title winners, which only left City and us. As they smashed everyone in sight whilst we looked decidedly out of sorts and suffered injury after injury, prospects were looking pretty good for them prior to Christmas.

As a supporter, experience would have told me to keep quiet, acutely aware there was a long way to go and things can change very quickly. ‘Restraint’ isn’t a word in the Berties’ vocabulary of course. How did the City fans at my place of work greet the 6-1? Did they offer satisfied smiles and a few pisstaking comments? No chance. I walked into work on the Monday to be greeted by the sight of 4 grown men doing the Poznan. In true City fashion, the flags were up, replicas were on and one of them had brought in a cake. Yes, a cake.

Prior to winning the league in ’93, I don’t recall any United fan ever being daft enough to suggest ‘it’s in the bag’ – everything was kept as low key as possible. No one was bold enough to sing ‘We’re Gonna Win The League’ for fear of upsetting the footballing gods and cursing things. There was plenty of time for ballooning when the thing was actually won. We communicated in hushed tones and kept things on the down low – mainly for fear of looking and sounding like total twats should the unthinkable happen.

The transformation in Blues’ demeanour over the last few weeks has made for fantastic viewing. The late winner at Norwich seemed to plant the seeds of doubt and since then they’ve quickly descended into full-on wibble mode. Tears at Swansea, the Tevez SOS call, rowing on the pitch last week v’s Sunderland, Balotelli now an accepted liability as opposed to the trusted talisman…all tremendous stuff.  I’m hesitant to use the word ‘meltdown’ as there are still some 7 games left at the time of writing, but fuck it…the wheels are buckling and we’ve not even reached Easter yet.

Whilst Mancini hasn’t quite reached a Dalglish state of dishevelment yet, he’s appeared more and more erratic of late. The two late goals against Sunderland should surely have been greeted as a positive? Normally, whatever his private thoughts might be, you’d expect to see a manager praise the character of his team in coming back from 3-1 down and take the opportunity to offer some sort of public rallying-call. Instead he’s there at the post-game presser with his chin on the floor, looking for all the world like a broken man. Fergie on the other hand, appears to be in cruise control. Brushing aside Vieira’s little outburst with a smile and acknowledging the travelling reds at Ewood Park with a double fist-clenched salute. Been there, seen it, done it, hasn’t he?

Consequently, there’s been very little excruciating ‘footy banter’ in our office over the last 3 weeks, texts from blue mates have ceased completely and the old bloke across the road disappears into his house rather than letting on and rushing over to tell me all about Super Mario’s latest pretend exploits. Here’s hoping we can finish the job as quickly and ruthlessly as possible so this remains the case well into the coming months. Plus, that guard-of-honour at their place sounds good…

Copyright Red News – April 2012

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You Set The Scene

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The question of the declining atmosphere at OT is one that’s been done to death over the years. All seater stadia, prohibitive ticket prices, an aging fanbase, lack of unreserved seating – we all know the contributing factors. It’s got to the point now where even games like Liverpool and City can’t be relied upon to rouse the crowd either – there’s the usual expectation and hype beforehand, but all too often the games themselves have been relatively subdued affairs in comparison with past meetings. There’s more of a buzz about the place certainly, but the necessary level of frenzied (for want of a better word)…‘hatred’ doesn’t seem to be there anymore.

People often wheel out their experiences from decades previous to explain what’s missing from the modern day game. When I first started going in the early 80’s, my Dad and his cronies would regularly regale me with tales of the 60’s and 70’s to explain what a ‘real’ atmosphere was like. ‘You had be here at 1pm, otherwise you’d be locked out’ and all that kind of caper. The 80’s are held in regard as halcyon days now, but in reality they weren’t the all-singing, all-dancing, maelstrom of noise and excitement they’re remembered as – for the most part they were pretty crap.

Think back to the games you remember from that era and you’ll recall the handful (if that) of big European nights or the FA Cup QF’s v’s Everton and West Ham…or beating the scousers on occasion. No one cites the turgid 0-0’s vs West Brom or the defeats to Norwich – played out in front of perpetually frustrated, below capacity crowds. The football was mostly shite during that era and for the most part, the atmosphere at the games reflected that. It was still ace, though.

Like misty-eyed pensioners harping back to bombed out houses and rationing, what people really miss from that period is the sense of camaraderie and the collective hope that things might some day improve on the pitch. Although we once existed in relative squalor, we wouldn’t change those days for the world. Yet here we are now, stuck scratching our heads, thinking ‘what the fuck?’ in the theme park-esque utopia that is the post-promised land, modern day OT. Times have changed and there are some advantages, I don’t want to spend hours queuing up for a place on the terraces anymore. I’m quite content arriving 2 minutes before kick off and taking my usual seat, thanks very much.

Where I sit in K-Stand, there’s little evidence of this influx of middle class supporters that has supposedly invaded ‘our’ game. Sure, there are certainly more women and kids in attendance than there were once upon a time – but for the most part, I see the same faces that have been going for years. Yet K-Stand is rarely the raucous, bear-pit that it was once-upon-a-time – more often than not it’s flat and subdued. I just sense that after 20 years of watching the team clean up domestically, most just can’t really be arsed anymore. Collectively, we’ve become spoilt and lazy.

Try to recall the games at Old Trafford that were properly bouncing over the last 5 years. The last one was the League Cup SF v’s City a couple of years ago and before that you’ve got the CL Semi against Barca. Other than that, I’m genuinely struggling. A bit further back I can recall the 1-0 v’s Chelsea when Fletcher scored and better still, the 2-0 win vs Arsenal on the day we ended the ‘Invincibles’ run.

On the rare occasions the team needs a lift, the OT crowd haven’t responded in recent times. The Blackburn game on New Year’s Eve was appalling. After being 2-0 down and then pulling it back to 2-2 with 25 minutes to go, there was nothing – a brief celebration after the equaliser but then everyone settled back down and waited for the inevitable winner. The place could and should have been rocking, but we’re complacent these days – that’s what watching this team has done to us. We turn up, we expect, the team normally delivers.

The answer, according to a proposal recently sent to the club by the rodent-fronted, Stretford End Flags group is to introduce yet another singing section into the proceedings. Excuse me for not sharing much enthusiasm for this idea, but is there really any point to this other than gaining further publicity for the group itself? Designing and funding banners/mosaics is one thing, but I don’t see how shifting round a couple of thousand season tickets in the Scoreboard Paddock (East Lower) will bring about any marked improvement in the stadium noise levels.

One has to bear in mind that the last such initiative (the singing section located in ST2) achieved very little other than lead to an increase in 200mph, happy-clappy versions of ‘Take Me Home’ and ‘Build A Bonfire’. To my mind, there either is an atmosphere or there isn’t one. You can’t force these things and doing so is exactly the kind of contrived, Soccer AM style bullshit we should be attempting to steer clear of.

The most disheartening part of SEF’s blueprint for OT’s future however, is the genius proposal to shift visiting fans from their existing home in the SE corner (or L Stand as I’m going to insist on still calling it), up into the 3rd tier of the North Stand. Word is that the club are fully behind the plan and are set to trial it at the Villa game in a few weeks time. Whilst this is undoubtedly fantastic news for the poor sods with the misfortune to hold season tickets up there, the implications for those of us residing nearer sea-level are pretty grim.

It’s obvious (check Ajax and Bilbao recently) the presence of visiting fans leads to an improved atmosphere about the place, and that most of the noise generated at pitch level currently stems from the left hand side of K-Stand  – mainly due to their close-proximity to the away supporters. Surely moving the visitors from this area will only result in further life being sucked out of the ground?

Sticking visitors up in Tier 3 no doubt makes logistic sense to the club. Away fans will be easier to segregate and police, plus there’s the added bonus of being able to offload the worst seats in the house to them at a premium price. I suspect we’ll then see the existing visitors’ coach park re-located to behind the North Stand somewhere, which in turn will free up the recently pedestrianised forecourt. In place of the traditional sights of police escorts and piles of horseshit, instead we’ll see one of those godawful fanzone areas erected in which further £’s can be extracted from willing daytrippers. The club must be rubbing their hands together at the prospect.

I suppose it’s indicative of where we are now when you’ve got groups purporting to represent fans’ interests not only backing, but actually devising such nonsense. The atmosphere is shocking for the most part now, but as I’ve made clear, I’m not naïve enough to think there’s a solution readily available that will magically transport us back to a golden age that never really existed to begin with. You can’t force people to sing and generate noise, it has to happen organically for it to have any meaning. SEF would be better advised to focus on protecting the fans’ culture that still exists in the ground, not risk its further erosion by attempting to impose ill-conceived changes. Perhaps I should just be content they haven’t suggested drummers and trumpets yet?

Copyright Red News – March 2012

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