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Halfway To Paradise

“It’s Christmas time, there’s no need to be afraid”, sang perma-leather trousered, 80’s pop heartthrob Paul Young in the opening line of Band Aid’s 1984 chart topper. A bold claim in a song that’ll forever evoke haunting images of starving, African children; and soothing words over a quarter of a century later for reds, bearing in mind Fergie’s predilection for festive squad rotation.

This year the fixture calendar looked to have been relatively kind to us. Swansea away, Newcastle and West Brom at home, followed by a short trip to Wigan on New Year’s Day. All pretty routine sounding, but then this season has been anything but routine thus far. Instead, marvellously, madness reigns supreme. Fergie seemed to signal as much pre-Swansea, despite holding a 6 point lead and with an (on paper) easy run of games, the goal was, we were told, to “make sure we are top of the league come New Year’s Day.” It sounded like he was almost anticipating dropped points.

The ‘4 games in 10 days’ barrage of football over Christmas presents a major hurdle in any title challenge, of course. The opportunity to get a shedful of points racked up before the league fixtures start to thin out a little and cup competitions come into play. Then tick the games off one by one, pray that rivals fuck up, try and keep everyone fit – before hopefully getting to the stage where you’ve got, say, an 8 point lead with 6 games to go. Ahem. Well, moving on swiftly…

Whereas the rest of Europe gets a few weeks off from the hassle and expense, football fans in this country are still required to schlepp up and down the country with transport links totally fucked, only to be greeted with a short-notice postponement if you’re really unlucky. At least we didn’t have snow and arctic winds to contend with this year, instead the weather threw up nothing more sinister than a 2 week-long monsoon.

Despite most of South Wales being under water, the pitch at the Liberty Stadium was still in decent nick and the game went ahead as scheduled. Swansea were played off the pitch in truth, with Cleverley and the outstanding Carrick running tings proper. Van Persie was unlucky not to score the winner and also, according to his manager, fortunate to escape with his life still intact. All in all, 2 points dropped but a decent enough performance…we’ll play much worse this season and win. Oh and congratulations must go to Swansea for winning the World Cup.

To nobody’s great surprise, the tombola was out on Boxing Day with Fergie aiming to ‘freshen things up’ for the visit of Newcastle. To everyone’s despair though, it meant Giggs and Scholes on the team sheet together. The fact the pair were to start in tandem was greeted by my group of mates with the now customary reaction this news brings – a chorus of sighs, tuts and ‘oh for fuck’s sake’s. All was forgiven a couple of hours later, naturally, as what we had witnessed was something of a minor classic.

Despite all the whinges and whines we share about watching football these days, there is still no greater place on earth than Old Trafford on a shitty, rain sodden day when we’re a goal down with 20 minutes to go. The crowd wakes up, everyone’s on their feet, the collective desire gets transmitted to the players and you know, you just know what’s gonna happen. It’s fucking awesome. Even having experienced it countless times, it never gets old. An afternoon like that, coupled with news of City’s defeat at Sunderland, made for a very good day indeed.

The buzz of the Geordies game had barely subsided a couple of days later, when news came in of a stellar turn by Fergie at his morning presser. First swatting aside the bleatings of the unctuous Pardew, he then went on to quite splendidly dismiss Newcastle as a “wee club in the North East”. A line delivered with none of the histrionics witnessed on the touchline two days previous, this was Fergie at his calm, considered, yet wilfully inflammatory best – absolutely marvellous stuff.

The following Saturday’s defeat of West Brom proved to be much more routine with a rare clean sheet achieved and yet another Van Persie goal. Everyone knew he was a top player prior to his arrival, but I don’t think many of us appreciated just how good. Yeah, it was obvious he was a goalscorer – but his all-round touch, strength and ability to spot a player are attributes we’ve only come to realise watching the guy week-in, week-out. He’s top class, seeing him stick his arse out and hold off 3 defenders reminds me of Mark Hughes in his prime; but he’s arguably got a better touch than Sparky had and is certainly more consistent in front of goal – just pray he doesn’t get injured for any length of time.

The holiday fixture program was concluded with the New Year’s Day Wigan visit. The pub we frequent was relatively subdued before the game, the excesses of the previous night being felt with pints being nursed as opposed to drained. Respect is due, however, to one Red News seller who confidently ordered himself a double Amaretto livener before getting stuck into the Guinness. Numerous others only made the game at all due to the miraculous, restorative powers of Imodium and/or MDMA.

A trip to the DW has always offered a nailed-on 3 points – at least it did until last season’s visit that depressingly resulted in the start of the end of the world. This year, thankfully, saw no such repeat as United won at a stroll, Van Persie and Hernandez each bagging another brace with the pie fanatics barely registering a shot on target.

Despite a repeat of their snidey ticket scam of flogging 1000 of our tickets (with a meal chucked in at £125 a pop) via their own website, I cant help but like Wigan. There’s none of that ABU nonsense you used to get from Jack Walker, in fact where Dave Whelan is concerned it’s just the opposite. Considering the size of the place, it’s a small miracle they manage to command the respectable crowds they do, never mind survive in the Premier League year-on-year. They play good football, operate on a budget without over-stretching themselves and their excellent scouting set up consistently manages to unearth players who they can sell on for a tidy profit – I hope they defy the odds again and manage to stay up.

So with 10 points out of 12 achieved and a lead of 7 points, we look remarkably well placed at present. The season so far has been bonkers, quite frankly…we’ve looked utterly abject on occasion yet some of the football and the numerous comebacks witnessed render gripes about the state of the midfield and individuals players’ form quite redundant. Whilst not always pretty, there’s a definite spirit about the team that points to a shared determination to banish the pain experienced last May. Yep, the last few months have been a blast – here’s hoping it continues…

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Changing Of The Guards

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“People normally die before they get a statue…I’m outliving death.”

Certain sections of tinfoil-hat wearing, mainly internet-based, rival supporters have long since bandied the opinion that once Sir Alex Ferguson vacates the manager’s seat at OT, they’ll finally be able to compete on some sort of level playing field. According to this species, as the elder statesman of the Premier League, Fergie has everyone in his pocket: Referees are terrified of him; the FA likewise and his hand-picked, old-boys network of fellow managers remain so in awe, out of sheer deference they don’t even bother to give us a game.

Well that’s a load of bollocks, surely? And yes, it’s easy to laugh it off and dismiss such notions as the embittered ramblings of deluded cranks, but then you stumble across a comment like this from Sam Allardyce: “It was good to catch up with Sir Alex on Wednesday… I popped in to have a quick glass of wine with him before I left. His enthusiasm and drive never dims and he was in good form, which is why he’s the best manager in the world.”

Oh pur-lease. That was actually the real Big Sam by the way, not the similarly smitten twitter parody, speaking after West Ham’s visit to OT a couple of weeks ago. Now let’s be brutally honest here, would you be happy to hear stuff like that coming from your team’s manager following a defeat? Me neither. It goes beyond mere flattery and instead enters the realm of blatant arse-kissing. Turn it in, for christ’s sake – it’s embarrassing.

After clocking 25 years at United last November, this year’s anniversary saw the unveiling of the promised statue (it’s no Ted Bates, at least) complete with the obligatory round of gushing tributes, tv spots and celebratory lunches. Call me a miserable bastard for pointing this out, but the whole thing just smacks of overkill now…how much more does Fergie’s (of course, immense) contribution need to be recognised? The testimonial, the North stand re-named, the statue…never mind “outliving death”, he’s not even retired yet.

It’s now over a decade since his aborted departure and Fergie cannot of course, go on forever. Unlike 10 years ago, it’s fair to assume that the gap between the announcement and timing of his farewell will be brutally swift this time out – and we’ll have a pre-ordered replacement waiting in the wings as opposed to embarking on a public game of kiss chase. One would hope that discussions are already underway, knowing as we do that the man himself has met with both Mourinho and Guardiola in recent weeks. It would surely come as a major surprise to learn that one or the other hasn’t already been sounded out re: future plans and their thoughts on taking over at United.

Of course this is all speculation and there remains the very the distinct possibility that he’ll stay on beyond next summer – but I’m not going to be surprised if this proves to be Fergie’s final season. Following his health scare in the summer, remember that another of his supposed cronies, Dave Whelan let slip (or was misquoted…whatever) to ESPN, “after next season, Sir Alex will call it a day.” The volte-face of the Van Persie signing (a premium price paid for an ‘over-age’ player) was a clear relaxation of the previously employed transfer policy, and smacked of a ‘shackles-off’ attempt to sign off on a high. Perhaps most tellingly of all, and at the risk of sounding unkind, at times he really hasn’t looked well in recent months.

As things stand now, there could well be managerial vacancies at each of the top four clubs at the end of the season. Roberto ‘one twitch away from a straightjacket’ Mancini’s position remains as perilous as ever – given City’s failure in Europe, even repeat Premier League success may not be enough to save him this time out. Wenger’s job has always been secure enough, but murmurs of discontent at Arsenal are growing louder by the week. Meanwhile at Chelsea, our old friend Rafa Benitez will be doing well to survive beyond Christmas given the catastrofuck of a start he’s enjoyed.

Once it occurs then, the announcement of Ferguson’s retirement may well kick start a seismic series of managerial manoeuvres. Given the modus operandi at Chelsea, its difficult to see what appeal lies there (beyond a bottomless pit of money) for Mou or Pep, namely due to the fact the club operates on the whims of a perma-dissatisfied, billionaire control freak. It’s become clear that Abramovich will never be truly content until he abandons the pretence of employing a stooge to carry out his wishes, and instead takes on the gig himself full-time.

City meanwhile, in true City fashion, are almost certain to sit tight whilst attempting to second-guess United’s next move… before no-doubt offering double the salary to our preferred candidate. Whatever noises they make about Mancini’s job security, they would surely be ecstatic to appoint Mourinho or Guardiola next summer, either would do – and even better if their man appeared to snub United prior to being appointed.

Despite not being able to offer the biggest wedge in transfer kitty terms, one senses that United would be the preferred next stop for both Iberian kings-in-waiting. There’s the prestige of the job, the history, the tradition…and despite what we feel about the Glazers, there’s little evidence to suggest major board-level interference in the day-to-day running of the place. Given the daily politicking behind the scenes at other big clubs at home and abroad, United must appear blissfully stable in comparison – as stable as you can be whilst owing £400M to various creditors, anyway.

As well as the two current front runners of Mourinho and Guardiola, David Moyes remains well placed. Despite not being quite sure why though, the thought of him at OT just makes me think ‘Dave Sexton’ – not that I’m craving a Big Ron-style showman who’ll deliver ‘antics’ on cue (nailed on if we went down the Maureen route), but he just strikes me as a man who’s already found his level. I know he’s done well at Everton but is it enough to take on the United job having merely ‘done well’? Surely we should be looking for someone who’s done ‘fucking brilliant’? Finally there’s Ole Solskjaer…or even Giggsy. Fergie could move upstairs and oversee things whilst they do a Wilf McGuiness – hopefully with better results and without suffering early onset alopecia, of course.

Merry Christmas all.

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Seven Days Too Long

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Due to the constant interruptions of international football, it’s taken 3 months for the season to get going fully this time out. Thankfully we’re now properly underway – a dozen league games in, the clocks have gone back and we’re immersed in that reassuringly familiar, metronomic two game a week cycle. Midweek games providing a reason to leave the house for any reason other than work, and the outcome of Saturday/Sunday games (still, pathetically) dictating whether we’ve enjoyed a good weekend or not. Bloody love football, me.

Even by our own exalted standards, the last 4 or 5 weeks take some beating in the entertainment stakes. It’s been kamikaze stuff, calamitous at times and it surely cannot last…but what a ride. One red summed it up perfectly on the forums, saying “It’s brilliant watching United at the moment, but not at the time…if you catch my drift.” I couldn’t agree more. We have defenders who can’t defend, midfielders who can no longer run or tackle, a tactical over-reliance on hopelessly out of form wingers…yet despite these shortcomings we look thrillingly, almost ridiculously potent during those brief periods of play when everything clicks and we start stringing a few passes together.

No matter who provide the opposition, it’s become impossible to decipher which United are going to turn up. There’s the tentative, slow-starting, cautious side who continually attempt to ping balls out to Valencia on the right – a tactic which has become tiresomely predictable of late. Whereas on the other hand, the team look capable of scoring at will when the mood strikes – we’re blessed currently with Van Persie and Hernandez both enjoying periods of form that forwards can only dream of. The pair of them are currently on fire to the extent last season’s successful pairing of Rooney and Welbeck can’t even get a look in.

Having bemoaned both performances and the increasingly stifling tactics employed over the last couple of seasons, the current ‘shackles off’ madness we’re witnessing surely has to be seen as something to cherish. Whether it’s come about by design or accident (and it’s probably the latter), there’s something very ‘Manchester United’ about how we’re currently set up. Take the comeback from 0-2 down at Villa – was there anyone in the country who didn’t expect us to turn things round?

Villa Park of course, remains the away ground of choice for many time-served reds. The scene of countless memorable days and nights out in the past, in this era of soulless, identikit stadia it remains an old-school throwback to the days of proper football grounds. Not too far away, numerous drinking spots and crucially, despite the best efforts of the WMP – the fixture has yet to befall the same fate as numerous others and get lumbered with an enforced, early afternoon kick-off. It’s just a shame they won’t triple our allocation so we can make our presence felt off the pitch too…and on it when the opportunity arises (thinking Ruud’s winner in the cup here, clearly).

Birmingham gets a bad rep from many folk, but I’ve always enjoyed the time I’ve spent there and have developed a bit of a soft-spot for the place. The non-Zulu affiliated locals are friendly enough and the city centre itself has never struck me as the out-and-out shithole it’s often dismissed as being. Of course that accent remains a concern, but it’s nothing on a par with the bizarre Welsh/Scouse hybrid that the inhabitants of Stoke are blessed with. Birmingham is alright. Shit in comparison to Manchester, obviously…but it’s alright.

As regards the match itself, despite barely registering a shot on target during the first hour, you just knew that once Villa had tired and defending a lead became their priority, we were going to see some reward as the game reached a conclusion. It was as obvious as that West Ham away game a couple of years ago, in that you just sensed the comeback was inevitable. Don’t get me wrong, its not exactly relaxed viewing – it’s full-on ‘watch through your fingers’, heart-attack inducing gear…but would you rather have it any other way?

The “United never lose, they run out of time” maxim is usually attributed to Steve McClaren, a motivation-speak soundbite that nicely encapsulates the never-say-die spirit of the ’99 treble side – perhaps even the entire Ferguson era. Evidence of its legacy has never been witnessed so regularly as in recent weeks. Amazingly, despite us only being in mid-November, already this season we’ve recovered to win after going behind on 7 occasions. Our ability to mount a comeback from a losing position has become so accepted in football, the occurrence is now met with an almost blasé reaction from some commentators.

Sooner or later, one fears, (and I’ve got one eye on the forthcoming derby here) we’re at risk of getting hammered if this continues, which will no doubt prompt a re-think on the current ‘fuck it, we’re Man United, let’s just outscore them’ mindset – we’ll instead start focusing on trivial stuff like defensive stability, keeping possession and perhaps not going 0-2 down every game. Until then, let’s just revel in scorelines and comebacks that are straight out of the 1950’s or FIFA 13. (Two reference points there, y’see? – one for the oldies, one for the youngsters. Smooooooth.)

I don’t wish to appear deliberately downbeat in bringing up the ‘spectre’ of meeting City, but given how things stand at the minute, it’s difficult not to draw parallels with where we were prior to last season’s 6-1 reverse. United looked similarly well set then – City arrived with us fresh off the back of an early season run that had seen us swat aside Chelsea and destroy a sorry-looking Arsenal, all whilst playing a brand of carefree, irreverent football not unlike what we’re witnessing at present.

So how to approach City? As far as I can see there are two distinct options. Either we go there with a reprise of the tactics that were employed at Eastlands back in April, attempting an ill-conceived, containment job with a packed midfield and one up-front in the vain hope of nicking a goal…or even creating a chance this time out. Alternatively, we block any lingering thoughts of anaemic, stilted creativity and go there looking to smash them. The way Manchester United always should do.

Attack! Attack!…Attack! Attack! Attack!

carlosartorial

Man United and other bits and pieces

Tag Archives: manchester

Halfway To Paradise

Changing Of The Guards

Seven Days Too Long

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