Tag Archives: united

A Stones Throw Away

What a glorious afternoon the Chelsea game turned out to be. I’d spent so much time during the preceding week imagining all the possibilities that I could only offer a shrug of the shoulders and a stupefied silence when faced with the ‘well, what do you reckon?’ question in the pub, pre-match.

It was always gonna be a nervy afternoon but well, Javier Hernandez (I still refuse to say ‘Chicharito’), what more can be said about the lad? That 1st minute defines his contribution during the last 9 months. The dramatic ‘point towards Pat’ at kick-off, hares around for a bit, measured run, composed finish, ecstatic celebration. Beautiful. The kid is most certainly the real deal and here’s hoping his big smile continues to light up Old Trafford for many years to come. What a signing.

In a season where we’ve only clicked on odd occasions and for the most part have stumbled onwards via character, habit and sheer bloody-mindedness – it’s fitting that we saved our best performance for the biggest game. Ji-Sung Park and Tony Valencia stood out but everyone played well – the cutting and incisive football played during that first half was pure United.

I have to mention Howard Webb though. I don’t subscribe to the modern day pre-occupation with referees and the decisions they do and don’t give – the old cliché of ‘things even themselves out’ will do for me. But what on earth was he on? The Ivanovic challenge on Rooney was as blatant a 2nd yellow card as you’ll ever see. Nothing given, not even a glance in his direction.

This incident came up during post-match discussions, but as a mate rightly pointed out to me – we should take comfort from that fact he wasn’t sent off because then there’re no excuses from anyone. We beat them 11 v 11 and as a bonus, didn’t have to endure another reminder of Gary Neville’s non-reds at Stoke and West Brom. Did you hear Martin Tyler (alluding to the missed handball the previous Sunday) suggest Vidic ‘was lucky to be playing’ after he scored? How bitter can you get?

So alright then, we may not have exactly played like champions for much of the season, but like the ‘You’ll win nothing with kids’ double winning year of 1995/96 – there’s a lot of enjoyment to be had from watching a team grind out results and over-achieve. I don’t really care whether the current side is considered ‘vintage’ or not, there’ve been some classic moments during this league campaign. Berbatov’s hat-trick v Liverpool, Rooney’s winner v City, the comebacks at Blackpool and West Ham, Bebe’s performance v Wolves…all will live long in the memory.

To cap it all, we’ve only gone and reached another European Cup Final too. Bizarrely, Shalke proving less of a match than either Crawley or Scunthorpe did this season. Not taking anything away from United’s performances, but both legs of the tie were an absolute stroll. 6-1 up on aggregate in a European semi-final? That was just…weird. Not how we usually do our business at all. Where was the gut-wrenching fear and headache-inducing last 10 minutes? Not very us, that.

No such shocks emanating from elsewhere within the club, however. If they weren’t so depressingly predictable in their thinking, you’d almost have to admire the chutzpah of the ticket office. The day after the Shalke 2nd leg they were right on the case – season ticket renewal letters announcing a price increase despatched to the rank and file, exec members contacted individually being offered an increased allocation of final tickets in return for early renewal. Nice work. Given the reported struggle they had in shifting corporate facilities last summer, a European final on home soil has arrived like manna from heaven for the ‘MU Hospitality’ sales team.

Anyway, let’s not spoil the mood! North London may not be the most exotic location for a Euro final, but what a day next Saturday promises to be. Those of us not lucky or old enough to have attended the final back in ‘68 grew up watching grainy black and white images of Benfica’s defeat and can only imagine what it must have been like. I’m not suggesting victory v Barca would eclipse that achievement or that nu-Wembley is anything other than a sterile monument to financial mis-management – but I can’t wait for next weekend.

I don’t think any of us is bold enough to be wholly confident of victory. For starters, I just hope there’s no repeat of the humiliation suffered in Rome 2009. I’ll be there with my usual European final head on – not exactly expecting victory but cautiously optimistic and ready to enjoy the occasion.

If we are to upset the formbook, then recent games have surely demonstrated the way forward. Our current strongest XL now picks itself. Hernandez needs to start and Valencia gets the nod ahead of Nani. Rooney is given the freedom to play in his true No.10 role and will provide additional midfield cover if required and please – if those Latin lessons are to be heeded, no Anderson this time out. Yes, there’s been a marked improvement from the portly Brazilian this season, but leave him on the bench…bring him on if it goes to penalties.

At first glance 25,000 tickets appears to be a decent allocation – though given our numbers, the ticket prices and the way these are allocated, thousands will have to make do with the telly rather than being there.

As we’re all aware, many long-standing reds have sacked their ST in recent years and given up on the 21st century OT matchday ‘experience’. Lots still continue to watch United on Euro-aways via a membership, however – the pills, thrills and bellyaches these foreign excursions provide, offering a complete contrast to the sanitised atmosphere found at routine home games. This group (thankfully) remain the antithesis of the ‘sandwiches and flasked-up’ punters travelling with Thomas Cook.

The clubs position regarding these old-skool, red army veterans is clear and each knows the score – they won’t be able to apply for a ticket should we reach the final. The message from the club is clear: give us your money each summer and buy a season ticket. Their priority lies with looking after execs and ST holders – and rightly so, many would argue.

It seems that the vast majority meeting the minimum, official criteria for applying (season ticket and ACS) appear to have been successful via the club ballot – plenty have got tickets despite not being pre-registered with the travel club and having no previous euro away applications to their name. It’s a shame therefore, a small percentage of our allocation can’t be put aside to sort out those who’ve attended multiple euro aways despite not holding a season ticket. 1000 or so tickets (only 4% of our total allocation) would have comfortably taken care of this group.

Bearing all this in mind, one could possibly suggest this’ll be the most middle-class cup final ever. It’s a sad indictment of modern football when the outrageous sum of £80 is being asked for the cheapest ‘Subbuteo view’ brief. Starting price via the tout option is reportedly an eyewatering £1200 – I seriously don’t know anyone who would even contemplate spending that on a single football ticket. Plenty of loons will happily pay out though, I’d imagine – expect a few touts to be paying their mortgages off over the coming weeks.

Whether you’ve got lucky or not, have a cracking day next Saturday and enjoy the summer.

www.rednews.co.uk

N-n-n-n-nineteen

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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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