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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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Aftermath

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‘Football…bloody hell!’ Indeed, Sir Alex. After what just a couple of weeks ago promised to be the mother of all celebrations, the aftermath of the 162nd Manchester derby now sees us surveying a very different kind of carnage than what was hoped for. Eight points clear on Easter Sunday, then by the start of May we’re spreadeagled on the track watching our nearest and bitterest stride towards the finish line. This wasn’t part of the script at all.

The four derby games we’ve played have defined this season. Back in August we had the 2nd half Charity Shield comeback, providing grounds for optimism as the team gave a demonstration of what they were capable of on their day, and masking numerous deficiencies in the process. The 6-1 then exposed those deficiencies in the most brutal manner possible, leading to a re-think in both tactics and expectations. The FA Cup game arrived off the back of two defeats either side of New Year, saw the return of Scholes and kickstarted a tremendous run that took us to the brink of the title…which set us up nicely for the 4th clash of the season – a big party at their place, right?

Last night certainly stung but had something of an air of inevitability about it – once the team sheet was in. Having stated pre-match that we were going there for the win (“there’s no question about that”), Park’s selection and the resultant performance clearly indicated that wasn’t the case at all. We went for a draw and ended up with nothing – entirely predictable and an all too familiar scenario.

To be fair to Fergie though, I could see where he was coming from. We don’t have the midfield personnel to play the favoured 4-4-2 against top sides, so a containment job had to be considered. Many would argue that’s it’s almost unforgivable for United to register zero shots on target in a ‘winner takes all’ fixture and in hindsight it probably was the wrong decision to sacrifice the in-form Welbeck…but then we only need look at the last 10 minutes against Everton to see how hopelessly exposed we are against a team capable of incisive and intricate passing. 

That’s where we really lost this league of course. 4-2 up and cruising with 7 minutes to go and then everything fell to pieces within minutes. Fingers were pointed at defensive lapses during the post-mortem, with 2 or 3 players culpable perhaps – but from where I was sat there just looked to be a huge void in the midfield area that invited Everton onto us. This is nothing new, and we’ve been overrun in this manner numerous times this season. If we’re going to continue playing with 2 wingers we desperately need a top class central midfield – a fact that has been blindingly obvious for 2-3 years now.

Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs have been magnificent servants for this club, and will rightly go down in history as two of the greatest ever to appear in shirt. But let’s have this right (and it feels almost sacrilegious pointing this out…but it’s true) – despite rightly earning many plaudits for his encore stint, Scholes is blowing out of his arse after 70 minutes and his time is surely done now. Giggs meanwhile, for the most part of this season, has been bloody awful. 

Yet as Monday demonstrated, options remain so limited we are forced to call on this pair time and time again because alternatives don’t exist. Cleverley does still exist it appears, though he spent more of the season introducing Brand Clevz™ to the world than he did furthering his United career. Anderson persists in stinking up the place with his infrequent appearances, the days of him shitting on Fabregas now a dim and distant memory to the extent he now emits only a bad smell – one hopes the management reach the same conclusion and ship him off to some Spanish or Portuguese backwater where his career can continue its decline on someone else’s payroll.

Champion gurner Phil Jones was signed as a centre half and excelled to the point he was prematurely hailed as Duncan reincarnate. Sadly, the coaching staff got a little carried away by his early progress and the kid was subsequently tasked with playing in 15 different positions – often during the same game. He now ends the season that began so promisingly as the new John O’Shea, a jack of all trades and master of none. Great work, United. 

Latest rumours suggest the announcement of Darren Fletcher’s retirement could be imminent, so what of the two that were expected to make the breakthrough this season? Ravel Morrison and Paul Pogba, a pair a youth team graduates hailed by regular observers as the best prospects in years. Morrison now finds himself holed up in the East End under the tutelage of Sam Allardyce, and all indications are that Pogba is poised to leave for Juventus.

I wasn’t alone in never quite fully subscribing to the Morrison hype, suspecting his off-field baggage might ultimately hinder his undoubted talent – hopefully the move will prove to be his making both as a player and a man. Pogba’s move, if he indeed does, will be a disappointment though. 12 months ago, having seen a fair bit of him both for both the reserves and the youth team, I thought he looked nailed on to become a 1st team regular at United – the kid looked like he had everything. 

The player I’ve not mentioned is the much-maligned Michael Carrick, who began the season on the crest of an ongoing career slump since bearing the brunt of Fergie’s ire in the fallout of Rome 2009. An extended run of games has seen him recover both form and confidence and he now seems something like the player he was 3 years ago – never the most spectacular and always destined to split opinion, but offers fluidity and consistency in our biggest problem area.  A solid 8/10 season, all in all.

Indications are that we’ll see a fair amount of activity during the summer, with a few being shipped out and a few incoming – though don’t hold your breath on any major wedge being spent, obviously. It’ll be farewell Berbs (sob) and Owen (see ya!), Fabio out on loan we already know, hopefully Park and Anderson will be dumped but probably not. As for who to come in, I’ve no idea – though I suspect we’ll spend plenty of time looking at players and thinking about making bids before deciding they don’t represent good value…or fit our ‘ongoing brand exploitation strategy in the light of imminent floatation’ or some such Glazer infused gibberish. 

Already this season is being compared to May 1992 or 2005 as one of our modern day low points, though as reality sinks as to what’s occurred – I can’t say the way I’m feeling is comparable to the emotions experienced during either of those two months. Losing the league to Leeds having come so close will never be topped in a football despair sense for me. We had no idea of the success that was just around the corner and it felt like we’d never a single league title, never mind the dozen that were bagged over the next couple of decades.

The financial restrictions that have been in place since the 2005 takeover are the true source of the predicament we find ourselves in today. With 75,000 crowds every other week, millions from TV revenue and merchandising – we should by rights be in a position to take our pick from the greatest football players in the world, not looking on feigning indifference whilst they move to our neighbours as we scour the market for the next Obertan, Diouf or Bebe.

All things considered, I can’t feel too down right now. As stated earlier, events over the last couple of weeks have played out with an air of inevitability about them. We’ve papered over the cracks for a long time and now, finally, reality has caught up and bitten us on the arse. It was always going to happen sooner or later. It stings, but we’ll get over it.

One last thing before I sign off  – if you’ve ever used the twitter hashtag #champ20ns, or mugged for the cameras waving a shitty, cardboard sign stating ‘WHY ALWAYS US?’ or given an interview to the press questioning City’s teamspirit when there were still 6 games of the season remaining (HELLO RENE MEULENSTEEN!)…can you give yourself several slaps across the face, please? And now several more?

Enjoy the summer. Or don’t (as the case may be).

Copyright Red News – May 2012

www.rednews.co.uk

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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