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N-n-n-n-nineteen

One of the main signs that you’ve finally reached that fully grown, adult stage of your life comes when you’re absent-mindedly listening to Radio 1 or Key 103 or whatever radio station pumps out generic chart fodder these days, and realise you haven’t got the foggiest what you’re listening to.

When I was younger, this situation seemed impossible. Despite hating the vast majority of music in the charts, I’d await the weekly run-down and study them with the same intensity that I’d pore over league tables and football results with. The charts seemed important and served as a barometer as to what was going on. I’d regularly hear adults claim to be unaware as to who or what comprised the top 40 singles, I couldn’t believe their ignorance and never envisaged that would be me, years later.

As a kid in the mid-eighties I considered myself pretty tuned-in musically and quickly developed an ear for what I considered cool and what clearly wasn’t. Half an hour of TOTP on a Thursday presented all the evidence required. Culture Club, Thompson Twins, Wham!, Spandau Ballet – painful stuff. The Jam, Dexy’s, UB40, Madness on the other hand…now you’re talking.

Every now and again, an act would come along which I’d really take issue with – Frankie Goes To Hollywood being a prime example. As well as considering their music ‘shite’ and knowing they were (as the vernacular of the times had it) ‘benders’ – following one revelatory edition of Saturday Superstore, I discovered they were scousers as well. From that moment forward, I loathed Holly Johnson with a passion I’d normally reserve for Rush, Dalglish and Souness.

May 1985 saw Paul Hardcastle’s ‘19’ top the charts for 5 weeks…and it did my head in. Hardcastle’s case wasn’t helped by the fact he looked like Leo Sayer Jnr and tended to wear his jackets with the sleeves rolled up. I mean, c’mon Paul – it’s Elstree Studios, not Miami Vice.

Nowadays I can appreciate ‘19’ for what it is – catchy, sample-laden, Kraftwerk inspired British electro with a powerful anti-war message – it’s aged surprisingly well. Yet to my musically receptive yet somewhat underdeveloped, Simple Minds-loving brain – I just wanted him to fuck off.

26 years on, and I can’t get that Hardcastle tune out of my head. It’s been there for months now, an annoying mental soundtrack I’m carrying in anticipation of the moment we finally overtake Liverpool in terms of league titles won.

‘N-n-n-n-nineteen, nineteen, n-n-n-n-nineteen’ – that refrain is always there, every time 19 is mentioned in conversation (ie constantly) or I read any reference to what we stand on the brink of.

Like many of us mid-thirties types, the FA cup successes of the mid-eighties were the crowning moments of my formative years watching United – the league title proving maddeningly elusive until we finally bagged one in 1993. Just to witness one championship was enough for me back then, though those expectations were quickly raised as it became apparent that Fergie hadn’t just built us a title winning team – he’d constructed the foundations of a dynasty that was going to challenge for years.

All of the titles we’ve amassed since 1993 have been rightly celebrated, but the next one will carry a special resonance for those of us who experienced the drought years – a golden period to watch the reds which contains many cherished memories – but one which brought about numerous false dawns title-wise, culminating in a devastating trio of defeats vs Forest, West Ham and Liverpool that comprised our spectacular implosion in April 1992.

Though that afternoon at Anfield still stings now, it was our visit in January 1994 for the 3-3 that saw them display their infamous ‘Au Revoir Cantona and Man United…Come Back When You’ve Won 18!’ banner. It was a defining moment where the possibility of one day usurping them came into focus. The scousers started this modern day obsession with numbers and statistics, as that was all they had left to cling to – and it was concrete evidence that we’d finally become the dominant force.

Fast-forward to 2011 and with just a handful of games to go this term, a 19th league title is now tantalisingly within reach. N-n-n-n-nineteen. The desire to reach this milestone is so great that even typing out these words feels wrong somehow – I’m writing with the awareness that committing this to print at this stage, might curse us yet. So if it goes tits-up, I can only apologise in advance.

This title run in feels naggingly reminiscent of 1993. I’m finding myself counting the days in-between games and struggling to fully focus on real-life, pressing engagements. As the games get ticked off and we edge closer to the finish line, it’s become all-consuming.

Despite us hovering titles up with gleeful abandon over the last 18 years, it remains a difficult thing to win. Ask Liverpool, or Newcastle, or even City now. Say if we were to repeat the heroics of 99 or 08 and collect another European cup next month – who’s to say that Ferguson wouldn’t then decide to call an abrupt end to his time in charge? Yes, given what’s been hinted at (another 2-3 years yet) it remains unlikely – though not beyond the realms of possibility. 3 European cups in the bag and Liverpool properly de-perched, what a way to bow out.

Where would that leave us? With a new man in charge, new backroom staff and facing the perennial question as to how we’re going to replace Giggs and Scholes when they ultimately call it a day. I know we’ve got this £100M+ cash reserves sat in the bank waiting for a rainy day – but I’m not expecting to see that splashed on replacements any time soon. No, the ‘value’ line is sure to be reeled out again – and any silverware won this season used as justification for United’s relative parsimony.

Given we’re top of the table and have reached the semis of the European cup again, it could be seen as churlish to be questioning the make-up of the squad at this point – but lets not kid ourselves. We all know our shortcomings, the lack of creative midfield options has been terrifyingly obvious for much of the season – yet we’ve somehow survived and managed to kick on. By the way, Michael Carrick – it’s good to have you back, where the fuck have you been?

So in spite of the period of upheaval that could be looming, the financial black-hole we inhabit and us looking anything but convincing all season, we find ourselves on the verge of footballing immortality…again. It’s testament to Sir Alex that the ability to confound, surprise and over-achieve is now firmly a part of this club’s DNA, it’s now almost expected of us. Have no doubt, these are great days – we’re watching history in the making.

So my wish for the coming weeks is to see Paul Hardcastle’s ‘19’ make a surprise return to the charts, just as ‘Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life’ re-emerged into popular consciousness post-Rotterdam. Expect the tune to get hammered in the montages and video clips produced to hail this seasons champions. No.19. N-n-n-n-nineteen.

This time around, it won’t make my teeth itch in the slightest.

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Sweet FA

The Top Ten Goals I Have Missed

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Like many of us, I was schooled in this football-watching malarkey by my Dad. As a youngster, you learn a lot on these eye-opening, formative trips to the match. As well as introducing me to the intoxicating atmosphere that only the holy triumvirate of drinking, swearing and potential violence can generate, my Dad brought me up to leave early…and arrive late more often than not.

My Dad was (and still is) a Zen Master in the art of leaving early, sort-of a founding father for the ‘We Do What We Want’ brigade. My 8 or 9 year old self wasn’t cool with this in the slightest, however. We’d still be sat in the pub at twenty-five to three, waiting for his mate to arrive and pick us up for the drive to M16. I’d be getting increasingly vexed and his only response would be to get another pint in and utter the retort “What d’ya wanna see the kick off for? One passes it to the other and then he passes it back….then someone kicks it forwards. Pointless”. Amusing at first, but after a couple of dozen airings it wore very thin.

I think the watershed moment was at some point in the mid-80s when we went 2-0 up vs (from memory) Sheffield Wednesday…and we were still in the car. I just gave up sweating it then. We always got there eventually, we always saw most of the match…we always left with 5 minutes to go. “Beating the traffic” it was called, that was how we rolled.

Moving into adulthood presented the opportunity to scrap the bad habits enforced on me during in childhood and set my own matchday agenda, but I carried on. I despise waiting around for trains and trams, so when presented with the opportunity to ‘get a flier’, more often than not I take it. No standing around listening to interminable bores in the cold and rain, get back to the pub/home/warm instead. Sorted. A superstitious element to all this kicked in too, if we need a goal with a couple of minutes left, I’ll routinely leave my seat and watch it on the telly under the stands. If you’re shaking your head reading this, I don’t care. It’s for the greater good. It works, as I’ll go on to illustrate.

Firstly though, it’s probably worth mentioning that I don’t miss all late goals. I witnessed Rooney’s last season against City, Olly’s winner vs Liverpool in ‘99 and most critically of all, his goal that sunk Bayern in the Nou Camp. Being outside the ground at crucial moments does seem to be recurring theme with me though.

So here, in chronological order, I present the 10 greatest goals I have missed. (No) apologies to any easily offended top-reds that might be reading…

Steve Bruce v Sheffield Wednesday (H) – (2-1) April 1993

First entry and it’s a corker. Pivotal goal in United history and one that is now acknowledged as the defining moment in the season that finally delivered that 1st league title after a wait of 26 years. This one my Dad’s fault as he was driving that day, and in our defence (well there is no defence really) we’d actually stayed beyond 90 minutes. We were reaching the top of the steps on the footbridge behind the Stretford End when we heard the roar. Full on grab a stranger, car horns beeping, dancing in the streets madness ensues. Marvellous.

Paul Ince v West Ham United (A) – (2-2) February 1994

Proper nasty atmosphere that day as Ince made his first appearance back at Upton Park since his protracted transfer. I was on my own and keen not to hang about, so I got out quick with a view to meeting up with a mate back at Kings Cross. I was only few feet away from the ground when I heard the cheer. Did my best ‘walking away looking dejected’ impression in an attempt to blend in with the locals.

Mark Hughes v Oldham Athletic (Wembley) – (1-1) April 1994

Another ‘turning point in the season’ goal as it looked like we were on the verge of blowing the 2nd leg of a potential domestic treble, just a fortnight after losing to Villa in the League Cup Final. Once again, I was just outside the ground as it went in which meant we were back at Maine Road 3 days later.

Peter Schmiechel v Rotor Volgograd (H) – (2-2) September 1995

Witnessing a goalkeeper score is perhaps a once in a lifetime opportunity and I missed mine. We needed 2 goals to qualify and our proud, unbeaten European home record was disappearing fast. I was passing where the old souvenir shop used to be when this went in. “Who scored?”. “Schmeichel”. “What?!”

David Beckham v Wimbledon (A) – (0-3) August 1996

Beckham’s audacious ‘from his own half’ effort is another goal that’s been replayed a million times, missed this one as a mate and I were en-route back to the station in an attempt to get the first train back to Manchester. This goal was particularly sweet as I recall having a few quid on the Cantona first goal/3-0 final score double. 16/1 I think it was. Get in.

Dwight Yorke v Charlton Athlectic (A) – (0-1) January 1999

This one secured a crucial three points during the treble season. Full on session out in London the night before, hung-over, freezing cold, crap performance, never looking like scoring, “C’mon, lets do one”. It was a no-brainer, we were already on the rattler back to Euston when this went in.

Ryan Giggs v Juventus (H) – (1-1) April 1999

Another big goal at the death, coming after we’d been given the runaround for most of the evening by a one-legged Zidane & Co. Giggs scored in injury time, which still didn’t alleviate my sense of foreboding as to what lay ahead for us in Turin 2 weeks later. The rest is history of course.

Rio Ferdinand v Liverpool (H) – (1-0) January 2006

This one lay slap bang in the middle of the grimmest season I can remember. Glazer takeover still recent, anti-FC United shit, Lille (a), Keane’s departure, Burton in the cup, Miller, Richardson, Alan Smith. Coming just a week after Evra’s nightmare debut at Wastelands, I was on my way home with enthusiasm for football at an all-time low as Ferdinand scored.

Federico Macheda v Aston Villa (H) – (3-2) April 2009

This was tactical. ‘If I go now, we’ll probably score’, being the thinking as the title race hung in the balance. Half-way to Exchange Quay tram-stop….Boom. No need to thank me.

Michael Owen v Manchester City (H) – (4-3) September 2010

Final entry in the list and I’ll admit some major arse-seeing was involved in this one, the goal which made it acceptable to love Michael Owen for all of 10 minutes. Strode out of the ground in a strop with a few mates, all cursing Ferdinand for his inexplicably shit attempts in dealing with Bellamy for their equalizer. Moments later we hear an unearthly roar, cue pandemonium and major gooning all over Trafford Wharf Road before piling into a taxi and heading back into town.