The Devil In Me

This comes from Soccernet’s Insider column:

RUMOUR HAS IT: Michael Essien was dropped by Guus Hiddink for this game after turning up for training 13 stone overweight yesterday. On closer inspection, it was found that he still had Steven Gerrard in his pocket from Wednesday evening. (A poor joke from a loyal Chelsea fan. Sorry)

Fingernails are overrated anyway. This was terrifying stuff for most of the afternoon. Both of our nearest rivals had managed to score four and even as we reorganised ourselves into a 1-1-8 formation we seemed unlikely to get a winner. Again. There are times when I allow myself to slip  into a “it’s one of those days” mindset. I should not play these tricks on myself when it comes to United.

Make no mistake, this was an extremely jittery 90 minutes, at times it was like watching the Shining, so tense was it. Our opponents can smell blood at the moment and Sunderland, who have been playing like a cabbage patch of late, tried their hand and went for us. If they continue to play like that then they will not go down. 

It would be easy to focus on the players who aren’t delivering at the moment (I know none of you have enrolled at the local college for Bulgarian classes for example) but I have decided to get behind the team so I shall focus on the positives. (What? Head in sand? Me? No?). We have Wayne Rooney.

He is still only 23 Wayne, and although he hasn’t yet developed a way to control his inner serial killer he is turning into the man of the team. In terms of effort, skill, fortitude and sheer passion for the cause he is the season’s outstanding performer. Whilst those in Fleet Street are waiting desperately for their “United have shot their bolt”, “United have confidence issues through the team” predictions to come true, Rooney is the man holding back the tide. He started uncomplainingly on the left here in Sunderland and was by far our most effective player for most of the match. If the team is wobbling collectively, Rooney at least is standing up to be counted.

Another important count we have to do involves Mr. Macheda. Two goals in two games, 46 seconds and counting tick tick tock, first touch. I don’t care who you are, those are good numbers. How could he possibly ever live up to last week? I thought. The best answer, of course, was to do exactly the same thing again. I don’t think he had been on the pitch for 60 seconds before he scored and that means something very important now surrounds this guy. Hope. In the past if things weren’t going our way and we saw Solskjaer warming up we all knew we had a chance of winning. The sight of his number flashing on the substitution board had the effect of galvanising the team late in games. This, I believe, is largely why we won so many matches at the death whilst he was playing. A week ain’t much in terms of human history but when I see Federico step onto the field, from here on in, I will believe we can do it.

Reports of Manchester United’s demise have been exaggerated. The Los Angeles Earthquake was a disaster. The eruption of Mount St. Helen’s was a disaster. Every single one of Glenn Hoddle’s haircuts in the eighties was a disaster. Drawing 2-2 with Porto is an understandable result and a retrievable situation. On the other hand, Hoddle’s barbour will never work again.

Firstly, Porto were magnificent. They attacked the game from the start, moved the ball around slickly and chased our players into the dust. Fernando and Gonzalez linked up superbly and would have given Brazil circa 1970 a hard time on last night’s form. Not to mention that in Hulk they boast the best named player since Congolese striker Bongo Christ. Yep, United were up against it.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2007/apr/11/theknowledge.sport

By my calculations the last time United put in a truly worthy performance, one that makes the blood boil with excitement and your voice hoarse, was against Chelsea several months ago. We are still top of the league, remain in every competition and have even won a trpohy since then. So does this mean that we have been the luckiest side in history and are currently being found out? The simple answer is no. The players we have are quality and have shown their worth, I should imagine that it is not easy to give an Oscar winning performance every match. Especially not when you are playing so much. No other team even has the pressure of entertaining so impatiently placed upon them, only United.

Ferguson, as was widely reported after the Fulham loss, took a gamble on the Villa fixture. It could have been moved but he kept it on Sunday to give our players an extra day to recover, therefore jeopardising premium fitness against Porto. We were, admittedly, 9 parts outrageously lucky and 1 part inspired against Martin O’Neill’s men, but we got the result.

As soon as I settled into my seat for the European game I knew the players would tire towards the end. Two high pressure matches inside 52 hours is a helluva lot to ask of anybody. To concede a late goal was not entirely unexpected considering these circumstances. It just seems such a shame now because we were so close.

On th-glass-is-half-full side of things, we have played those two matches now and a vital victory in the league was obtained along with a workable result against a team who have played their best game in Europe this season. We lost neither.

Granted, at times last night we seemed to be 11 individuals, rather than a team, and there were points when I wondered if Porto’s midfield were the only ones to get off the bus. We have largely been carried this season by the unspeakably good form of the defence. That bubble has now popped (step forward Johnny Evans) and it is time for the attackers to stand up and be counted. Rooney is scoring goals, Tevez proved once again his remarkable penchant for scoring at important times and this lad Macheda should have Berbatov thinking very hard about his work rate too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioBtJpAAxac&feature=related

Next up we have a four day rest (crikey me!) followed by a freefalling Sunderland side. Then, a four day rest (Dear Lord!) followed by a winner takes all tussle in Porto. There are no guarantees in this life but I am hoping (I always do) that there is life the Red Devils yet. Let’s get behind the team.

When Shilton reached 109 England caps he was presented with a special shirt bearing the number and his name on the back. As Saturday approached, and David Beckham inevitably collected his latest record-breaking cap, England unveiled their new shirts too. Not especially for Goldenballs himself, but for the whole team. I am not entirely sure why, when playing at home, the three lions wore all white (don’t we usually have blue shorts, or did I miss something?). But I am certain that Beckham’s forty-five minutes proved that we still need him as a player.

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His assist for Rooney’s first goal showed enduring class and for all the whooping and cheering that accompanies Gerrard and Rooney nowadays it is still Beckham’s metronomic presence that keeps the team ticking over.

Some people don’t like Beckham, a lot of them even hate him. It is unlikely that any of those people are esteemed members of their local Mensa councils but he has certainly been our most important player for a while now, like it or not.

Cruyff had a totemic presence for Holland during the seventies and in the 1974 World Cup he was even granted special permission to wear his own jersey featuring an extra stripe. Beckham is famously branded right up the coca-colas but he has not been indulged in any such grand fashion. He merely shows up, takes the shirt number he is given and is happy to play.

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England have built our hopes up and then dashed them so many times in the past that right now I am willing to take any omen I can get. Holland lost the final in 1974 as their team fractured towards the end of the tournament. Looking ahead to 2010 one wonders if this new kit could prove lucky for us. Every time England have been knocked out of a major tournament in the last decade we have been wearing white shirts and blue shorts. Perhaps this new all white kit is the way to go.

Or, there is always the chance we will make it to the quarter-finals, lose on penalties, have a couple of players sent off and then watch in horror as the fans trash whichever poor city is unfortunate enough to have hosted the game. On second thoughts, that does seem more likely. At least, for a change, we can do all that in a snazzy new kit. Either that, or lets give Beckham an extra stripe.

It is not possible to go into this game without acknowledging the fact that this is, well, kind of a big deal. Interestingly, our rivalry with Liverpool only started to get really ugly in the late 70s and early 80s. Prior to that, the mutual respect that should exist between the two clubs held sway. Now of course, it’s war. Pure and simple.

The Scousers will be giddy with excitement after their midweek win over the shadow of Real Madrid. Like smakcheads with dole cheques they will be jittering their way to Old Trafford in the hope of one last hot shot at glory. It is our job to kill off these hopes at the pass.

To write one paragraph in cliches is a very simple affair. So, at the end of the day when saturday comes form goes out the window and it’s eleven players against eleven. Not forgetting of course, that fortune favours the brave etc.

Another way of saying that is. Their best players are fit, our best players are fit and both teams will take the field on the back of strong victories. Liverpool may well feel that they have removed their Indian sign by beating us at Anfield earlier in the season but I don’t think that is going to be enough for them.

They have blown it in the league and they know it. Chants of ‘Rafa’s cracking up’ will start in minute one and should United score an early goal an avalanche could take place. That is what I am hoping for, because in reality, in terms of the league, this match doesn’t mean anything like as much as it should do.

It is a dangerous game Ferguson is playing with this cup final. Whilst I utterly respect the policy of blooding the youngsters in this competition, and continuing with those selections for the final, there is one small problem with it. It greatly increases the chances of us losing.

The ides are slightly against us on this one. Redknapp, as one of my esteemed friends once eloquently pointed out, is “a wily old sod” who has put one over us on several occasions. Plus, Tottenham’s entire season pretty much rests on this game and they have players good enough to hurt anybody when they want to.

The ramifications of losing this could be acute, we have spent months building up momentum and it has been coming together for us nicely of late. But if we stumble here that will be two games with no victory and the initial chiming of alarm bells may start up. The Inter tie is a million miles away from being safe and we need to meet them at Old Trafford in the form of our lives if we are to progress. Losing a cup final is the kind of thing that can really put a crimp on your day.

Ferguson is an inherent gambler and at the moment he has the biggest pile of chips in front of him. He can throw his weight around and bluff if he needs to but there is the outside chance he could blow it here by putting too many young guys on the team-sheet. I have said it before and I will say it again, we are a different team without Wayne Rooney and today he needs to start. On another note, please buy every Middlesborough fan you meet a pint from here on in. Cheers.

Having come through an incredibly challenging run with flying colours, we now face an even more daunting series of fixtures that will shape how our season will finish. United’s defence, as is widely reported, has reached record-breaking levels of accomplishment in the period between November and February. But, if we are to keep in the running for major prizes then matchwinners need to start appearing further up the pitch.

In the next month United will play twice a week, every week, including a cup final, two games against Inter, the next round of the FA Cup and culminating in the showdown at Old Trafford with Liverpool. When you put it like that, the bookmakers who have paid out on the domestic treble already start to look a touch on the zealous side. This is a major task.

To put it mildly, having six defenders injured this week is about as timely as a fart in a yoga class. Mourinho will know all about our problems at the back and he will do his damnedest to target this weakness. Traditionally his teams will pick on an oppenents frailty and try to tear it into an open wound. In the San Siro on Tuesday they will push as far up the pitch as they can and lob ball after ball over the top to try and hit some part of Adriano or Ibrahimavic’s bodies. Frankly it could get ugly.

Fergie knows this and has already mentioned being ‘very, very short in defence’. Mourinho’s record over us is not one United fans tend to shout about and we may not be improve it much this week. However, we all know what the best form of defence is don;’t we? That’s right, attack.

We have managed to bulldoze ourselves through a treacle of fixtures so far but to keep it going, and we can keep it going, we have to do what we do best. Play the Manchester United way. If Inter spend the game trying to score against us then we will reply in kind. I expect Fletcher to start without question, whether or not he is in defence or midfield is irrelevant, we need his blood and guts. Fletcher and O’Shea never let us down and I will be happy if either start. The big performances are going to have to be all over the park though, especially from the guys up front.

Rooney and Ronaldo both scored at the weekend and that is very encouraging. Sure, this won’t be easy but this team should have plenty in it to survive a slugging contest with anybody. This is a time for heroes to rise, I am confident that we have them.

Clint Eastwood is grumbling across our cinema screens at the moment drawling “get off my lawn” in the slightly overrated Gran Torino. Here at Old Trafford this slightly overrated Manchester United team served up a helping of the Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

The good came in the fairly ugly shape of Wayne Rooney, who’s second goal in his second game back is fantastic news all around. Ronaldo’s impudent free-kick to win the match was the equal of any I have seen, Robinson did not even have the chance to move.

But it is the bad news of reality that hangs around after this result. We should not be up in arms about finally conceding a goal, whilst Ferdinand was a little lax in defending at the time, one should take their hat off to the assured manner of Santa Cruz’s finish, he is a helluva player when he wants to be. The defence was not shielded as it should have been in the build up play and I think we can expect Fletcher to start against Inter midweek to guard against this sort of thing happening again.

It was the difference in the defence after Vidic was brought on in the second half that really stood out. This was a well-organised and aggressive Blackburn team, and in that sense, almost perfect preparation for the Serie A leaders. We were forced to defend right into the last minute of injury time and it was Vidic’s two vital clearing headers in the dying seconds that really highlighted how much we are going to miss this guy in the next game.

United played a slightly scrappy game today, for all of Ronaldo’s wonderfulness he does give the ball away an awful lot, I thought to myself in the first half. He, of course, shut me up very effectively by scoring that free kick but an inordinate number of our passes went astray in this game and our delivery into the box left a lot to be desired too. We will need to be considerably better on Tuesday to get a result against Mourinho’s men, or we too could face the kind of noble, yet needless and contrived end Eastwood’s character meets in this season’s European Cup.

I was recently asked by a City fan to shed some light on Beckham’s departure from United. Here is my reply, let me know if I have got anything wrong.

I can make assumptions about why Beckham left United in the first place, and whilst I think that my opinion is informed, I should state clearly that it will largely be based around heresy and asides that have been made to the press by Fergie, Becks and the all-powerful Mrs. Beckham.

Firstly, we were gutted when he left. Every United fan loved him and we could not understand why we had just sold a player who had set up so very many goals for us. It mildly rocked the club too, and we were without a league championship until Ronaldo came of age four years later. Beckham was on the receiving end of a deafening standing ovation when he returned last year for an all-star game; and a campaign to resign him when things were grim at Madrid gained some hearty support. But we knew we never had a chance. Why? Sir Alex Ferguson.

It is widely assumed that Alex is not a big fan of Victoria and vice versa. Ferguson has spoken at great length about the need for players to be focused on the game and not to succumb to the distractions many modern footballers can do. It seems to be a great source of consternation to him and he absolutely will not be meddled with on this one. Victoria, some have argued, has a rather different opinion of the limelight. With a personal fortune of nearly £100 million she probably also has a point.

Central to this need for discipline in the United camp was David, a hard training, diligent and gifted footballer desperate to please the manager and mentor he had known since he was twelve. And, of course, trying to keep the missus happy too. An ‘agree to disagree’ scenario had developed and we got on with the footy and won the league in 2003, but, during the course of that year two significant things happened.

Firstly, Beckham’s post World Cup star had risen to an unbelievable height. He was easily the most recognisable athlete on the planet and, despite putting United through a victorious league campaign and getting them to within touching distance of another European Cup final, Fergie kept being asked about his No.7. It obviously rankled with him. Ferguson is a club man and the United faithful are well drilled with the mantle “no one player is bigger than the club.” This is also why plenty were happy to say ‘ciao’ to Ronaldo last summer.

Then, the Camel’s back broke. United were outclassed by Arsenal in the FA cup and Sir Alex destroyed enough crockery in the dressing room to cater for an Ambassadorial reception. During the ‘discussion’ the manager became a pinpoint specialist himself by kicking out at a boot, which found its way across the room before brutally scarring David’s beautiful face. Our friends in the fourth estate wet themselves. More coverage was given to the two-stitch scar above Bekham’s right eye than the ensuing war in Iraq. Fergie had had enough.

No sooner had we placed our empty, celebratory pint glasses back on the bar than United had accepted a bid from Barcelona. Becks eventually balked at it but was sufficiently hurt that when Madrid put in an offer he decided if he wasn’t wanted he may as well go. United followed the “no one player is bigger than the club” line (which is utterly correct) and Beckham managed to get another set of fans to fall in love with him. And the Madrid fans I know really do love him.

Beckham has made significant amounts of money through his image rights for all of the clubs he has played for, there is utterly no point in denying it. But this week’s rich list has Real Madrid and Manchester United in its top two positions and Beckham plays for neither of them now. He is a determined character Mr. Beckham and his ability to pull himself back off the ropes and prove others wrong is reminiscent of his former manager. I should imagine Alex even permits himself a wry smile every time Becks proves someone wrong, at least I hope so. Recently, Ferguson has begun speaking relatively warmly about (although probably not to) Beckham with regards to his arrangement with Milan. Significantly, he didn’t seem annoyed at having the questions posed to him. Perhaps there is enough water under the bridge now.

Beckham has gone on to be adored wherever he has played and could well be in line for another great hurrah at club and international level. Ferguson is still rewriting the history books as if they were worthless in the first place. One thing is for sure, you would be mad to write either them off.

The article below is from Daniel Harris and is essential reading for any United fan:

In England, more than in any other country, there is a tradition of supporters travelling en masse to away games.

Those football fans who regularly follow their team away from home will be familiar with the concept of a “face”; a person you regularly see but rarely know, someone you nod at without saying hello to who reminds you that you’re in the right place.

Occasionally you may even give them a name, so in my group of Manchester United matchgoers, we silently greet Dowie, The Ghost, Napalm Death and Mr Milky Milky. There’ll be those within United’s support who recognise the people I mean, others who won’t and some who’ll know them by another name entirely – maybe even the one their parents gave them. But one person who everyone could identify – usually by his surname only – was Mike Dobbin.

Dobbin died on January 29 at the age of 61, but in those years he crammed in more United games than seems humanly possible. Born in Prestwich, Manchester in 1947, he began going to Old Trafford as a child and over the course of his life his remarkable devotion to the red cause has cemented him into United folklore.

There are numerous anecdotes and statistics that illustrate Dobbin’s loyalty, so here are a few. Despite moving to London to pursue a career in accountancy, he attended every single first-team game – competitive and friendly – from October 1991 until Boxing Day 2008. In all, he watched United on close to 2000 occasions and in 44 different countries, not missing a Euro away from 1965 onwards. On last summer’s tour, to get to Nigeria from South Africa he flew via London, claiming it was cheaper that way, but few who knew him were surprised when he showed up at a reserve game at Oxford in between.

Most impressive of all, though, and certainly my favourite piece of Dobbin-related trivia, is that in the Fergie era he has attended more United games than the man himself, Sir Alex having missed a few occasions for family reasons, part-timer that he is.

Dobbin’s loyalty wasn’t just to the boys on the pitch. As travel secretary of United’s London Fan Club, he spent a ridiculous number of hours arranging transport and tickets for those based in the area. He was particularly active during the “Red Army” years of the 70s and 80s when United would take thousands from the capital to every game, even though he didn’t agree with the slightly mischievous philosophy of many of its members.

Some may think that this is of no relevance to anyone who isnt a match-going United fan, but they’d be wrong. Every club has its Dobbin, people who encapsulate everything that football was once about, and still is for those with eyes to see.

When Manchester United began life in 1878 as Newton Heath, it wasn’t as a business or a brand, but a group of mates kicking a ball around for fun, just the same as nearly every other institution in both the professional and amateur game. That’s why the league comprises football clubs and not football teams; the point was that they should be groups of like-minded individuals gathered together for a unified purpose, of which the men selected to take the field were but a constituent part.

Those on the pitch are merely transient, just passing through; incidental to the whole shebang when compared to those who were there before they arrived and will be there long after they’ve left. United supporters refer affectionately to the team as “the shirts” because ultimately it doesn’t matter a stuff who’s wearing them as long as they do so with honour and pride; what’s important is the people and place it represents. Which is why Mike Dobbin is a mark one, bona fide red legend, woven into the fabric of the club every bit as much, if not more, than Edwards, Best, Law and Cantona.

The shame is that those playing and running the game continually fail to realise this. Players become ever more remote, content to milk the adulation of the crowd for the duration of the 90 minutes, before insulating themselves from its members the rest of the time behind minders, gates and VIP areas.
Meanwhile clubs have effectively taken on the mantle of the local drug dealer, treating pathetically-addicted supporters like the worst kind of crackhead, while hopelessly in hock to wholesaling television companies whom the FA are entirely unable or unwilling to police.

All this means that any notion of accountability is exactly that – a notion – with the blame for exhorbitant pricing and inconvenient kick-off times passed around the little circle like a Chinese whisper. Nonetheless its members would do well to remember that ultimately there will be a price; not all supporters have the limitless loyalty of Mike Dobbin.