Just a gentle reminder . . .

The original and the best. 

Five trophies played for . . . five trophies won. 

Man Who? Liverwhat?

Sir Alex Ferguson: Never Give In (2021)

 

#OldMan

Shit, I can name every player but I can't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday.

Did I mention that I hate PSG?

Scenes in Paris. 

A dodgy penalty, a dumbfounded Neymar and Mourinho wondering if there will be a vacancy in Paris soon.

The Rocky Road by Eamon Dunphy (Penguin Books 2013)

John F. Kennedy’s bid to become the first Catholic president of the United States was the big international story of 1960. His family links to Ireland ensured the passionate support of the Irish. He had won the Democratic nomination in July, just before I arrived in Manchester. Being firmly in the camp, I was surprised at English scepticism about Kennedy.

British reservations about Kennedy were not rooted in his religion: rather, they had to do with his father, Joe, who’d been US ambassador to the United Kingdom from 1938 to 1940. Kennedy Sr was associated with appeasement, had sought meetings with Hitler, and forcefully resisted United States involvement in the war. He had been, like many Irish, on the wrong side of history, and that caused many in England to regard his son with suspicion, in some cases contempt.

For me and tens of millions of others around the world, Kennedy represented youth, vigour and hope for a better future, in which peace and justice would prevail over the darker forces his shifty opponent, Nixon, seemed to represent. Immersed in all of this, I was struck not only by the scepticism of the English chattering class but by the indifference of the people I was mixing with. They were watching a different movie.

Barry Fry was the person I spent most time with as I settled into my new life. Together we found new digs with Mrs Scott, a widow who shared a house with her sister in Sale, one of Manchester’s more salubrious suburbs. Mrs Scott’s spacious semi-detached house, on a tree-lined road, was a world away from the narrow, terraced streets in the shadow of Old Trafford where most digs were located. Nice though she was, Mrs Cropper had spent more money on bingo than on food. I’d felt my digs money was subsidizing her bingo habit. At Mrs Scott’s, the money stayed in the project: the food was first class, the television was state-of-the-art, and Barry and I had our own rooms.

Our accommodation sorted, we could concentrate on our football and our social lives. The latter mattered more to Barry than to me. Although no movie star, Barry was a ladies’ man. With his extrovert personality, his sharp sense of humour and his Cockney accent, he cut quite a swagger on the Manchester scene. He was actually a country bumpkin from Bedford, but when quizzed about his accent he would claim to be ‘from London, dahlin”. The fact that we were Manchester United players, regardless of how low-ranked, did no harm to our chances with the girls. On this issue Barry believed in full and early disclosure.

Our initial forays onto the city’s social scene took us to the Plaza ballroom on Oxford Road. Jimmy Savile was the manager. He had yet to become a national figure but, with his colourful gear and black Rolls-Royce, Jimmy was the Main Man in Manchester’s emerging scene. He had a club, the Three Coins, on Fountain Street around the corner from the Plaza. Rumours were already swirling around him, decades before his predilections became common knowledge. One day my girlfriend was lured back to his penthouse flat, which appeared to have only a bed as furniture, but she was canny enough to escape.

Class of '92 (2013)

Lulzchester #2

Via Urban 75:

"Just heard that the Manchester clubs are jointly releasing a fragrance for Christmas: Channel No.5."

Lulzchester

Shouldn't laugh.

Red: My Autobiography By Gary Neville (Bantam Press 2011)

Jaap Stam was sold, which was a bombshell as big as Sparky leaving, even for the players – especially for the players. We were as mystified as anyone. All kinds of conspiracies swirled around because Jaap’s exit came on the back of his ‘controversial’ autobiography; but I’ve always believed that the book was a minor factor, perhaps irrelevant. I know the manager wasn’t thrilled about the book, and nor was I at being called a ‘busy cunt’. Jaap had called me that to my face many times, and I know it was meant affectionately, but it didn’t look quite so clever spread across the front of the Daily Mirror.
He was very apologetic, because he was a big softie at heart, a big playful bear. Phil, Butty and I used to wind him up by flicking his ears or tapping him on the back of the head so he’d run after us, like a father chasing after a naughty kid. He didn’t mean any harm with the book, he’d just not thought through the consequences of serialisation, when little passages get blown up into big stories. As I explained to him, you can say Ruud van Nistelrooy was selfish when he was near goal but the headline won’t explain how that selfishness was part of his brilliance.
People came up with their conspiracy theories for Jaap’s exit, but all that counted was that the manager had lost confidence in him – a mistake, as he’d later admit. He thought Jaap had lost a bit of pace, and was dropping off. But even if that was partly true, he remained an immense presence for us in defence. He was missed.

One of those strange 'I should have known that' football facts . . .

. . . from today's excellent Joy of Six:

"Given Manchester United have just won a record 19th English league championship, the fact that they've had only three title-winning managers comes as quite a surprise."

And of course Ron Saunders should have got an honorable mention.

Tenderness

With reference to this photo:

I love the exasperated cry from 'WackAttack' in the comments box of today's Five things we learned from the Premier League this weekend column:

Thanks for putting that photo up on two different stories. One of my colleagues just walked past and commented
"Are you still looking at that picture?"

The picture captures in all its glory the love that dares not speak its name: all of us non Man Utd supporters who want United to win their fourth Premier League title in a row at the expense of Chelski.

News Just In

Neville's agent has issued a press release and stated that the photograph is nothing more than a misunderstanding. The kiss is not what you think it is. Apparently it's an old library photo of Neville and Scholes, when they were playing a game of charades in between training sessions, and they were acting out 'the whole thing'

'Did the boy with the comb over do a step over as part of the walk over?'

Nice result for Everton today. And on the back of beating Chelsea the other week.

If only they got the memo that the season starts in August rather than late November, they'd be a shoe in for the fourth place. They might still make it but it'll be close and, as they don't have much depth to their squad, they're only a couple of injuries away from the wheels coming off their recent resurgence.

I've got to ask, though: what's the deal with Dan Gosling's hair in the picture below?

Isn't 20 a bit young for a comb over? The last time I saw a haircut like that it was leading the 1984/85 Miners Strike. We all know that ended in tears and this will too. Maybe Stephen Ireland can have a word before the matter gets out of hand.

Touched by the foot of Hod

Stumbled across this wonderful old Joy of Six article from the Guardian's Rob Smyth in the draft section of the blog and I realised it would be a dereliction of footie duty if I didn't bring it to the attention of my readership.

Check out Krankl's volley against West Germany at the '78 World Cup in Argentina. Is that not a nugget of bastard genius? When you have a left foot as sweet as that you can be forgiven for abominations like this . . . maybe.

Sit down with a glass of mulled wine and the bottom layer of a Terry Old Gold box and check out the YouTube clip of the best goals of the Serie A season from 1990-91. It's like a re-enactment of my best volleyed goals from Greenfield Recreation Park circa 1980/81, and Man City's board may be a collective shower of shithouses for their treatment of Mark Hughes but Roberto Mancini's goal at 1:52 in the clip is a thing of splendour.

With regards to Rob's selected six, it has to be said that one goal is missing from the collection that has to be there front and centre in any discussion of the best volleys of all time.

Maybe the YouTube clip wasn't up at the time of writing? Maybe Rob's on the steering committee of the British Humanist Association? Or maybe 'It's Goodbye' was one song too many? Whatever the reason there's no discernible footballing explanation for why this piece of genius from Glenn Hoddle was omitted from the article:

The quick free kick, the one-two between Ardiles and Hoddle and the latter's balletic grace in striking that volley past Bailey. People bang on about his goal against Watford a few years later but it doesn't hold a candle to this goal (and that other lauded goal was against Steve Sherwood, for christ sake.)

The first leg of a second round League Cup game from August 1979, and I can remember that goal as if it was yesterday. That's a sure fire indication of magic when it's imprinted in your memory like that thirty years after the fact.

I hadn't remembered that they lost the return leg at Old Trafford 3-1 and went out 4-3 on aggregate. Typical Spurs. Happy ending all round.

Too surprised to blog

Michael Owen signs for Man Utd?

We're looking at the most inspired signing of the pre-season or 'Garry Birtles: The Remake'.

Another gem . . .

. . . via the good folk at Urban 75.

March 14th seems so long ago.

Ruffled Benitez

Inspired . . . and I don't even have that much of a problem with either Benitez or Liverpool.

Once again, Fergie wins the minds games and Man Utd wins the title.

Sammy Lee as Uncle Albert is just brilliant. Made my day seeing that. Those Surrey Reds can be creative when they put their minds to it.

Hat tip to the good people at Urban 75.

Depending on Berbatov . . . . and Midtablebrough

Oops, been slacking off with the Guardian's preview of the upcoming English Premier League. That calls for some last minute substitutions:

Man Utd

Middlesbrough

In Place Of A Post-It Note On The Fridge Door

Bear with me. Currently listening to 'Super Popoid Groove' on the tinny earphones that cost me $2:17 from the local 99 cents store. (That can't be right.)

A daft and joyous slab of bubblegum pop off of Win's 1987 album, 'Uh! Tears Baby (A Trash Icon)', that in a just world should have sold 247,317 copies. Sold diddly squat but if New Labour was at all interested in preventative healthcare in the 21st century, it would be piping the tune over tannoys in town centres across the country. Cheaper than putting prozac in the water supply.

Where was I? Wait up . . . 'Shampoo Tears' has kicked in. Godlike. The Sound of Aging Scotland can take a running jump. Win were better than the Fire Engines. Somebody slip a mixtape in Quentin Tarantino's breast pocket so that Spam Valley can catch onto Win twenty years too late.

Half-watched the footie on the telly today. Had to. The other eye was on the Celtic match on the BBC website. Of course, they had to try and balls it up against Aberdeen.

Poor old Reidski: Millwall getting turned over by Leeds Utd on the same day that Celtic forget to read his script. They eventually nicked it with a Samaras goal but it doesn't bode well for next Sunday's game against the unmentionables. But I'm contractually obliged to type that.

In fact, Celtic will win 4-1 with Barry Ferguson scoring a brace of own goals. The shame will be so great that he will be banished to his home town club of Hamilton for next season's SPL, and they will be relegated quicker than it takes me to come up with a witty line that includes the words Barry Ferguson and Academical in the same sentence.

Of course it was the Man Utd versus Blackburn Rovers game that caught my eye - though Antoine Sibierski nearly had my eye out with that miscued shot of his after he came on as a sub in the earlier Wigan/Tottenham game.

Couple of observations about the Man Utd/Blackburn game:

The ref, Rob Styles, bottled it. Not that unusual a thing to type when pontificating about Man Utd and referees. The novelty this time was that he bottled the big decisions against United. They should have got a couple of penalties and, if Chelski go onto win the title, Ferguson will be pointing the finger at Mr Styles.

Scholes is past it. He was a passenger for most of the game. Too many mishit passes to go unnoticed and he contributed to Man Utd playing below par on a day when they had to be on their best to overcome one of their hoodoos. His frustration at being bypassed got the better of him, and some of niggly tackles he was guilty of betrayed a truth that he was out of sorts. It turns out that he is red hot Oldham Athletic fan. He should do the schoolboy dream stuff and play out a couple of years with them.

Tempted to say the same about Giggs but it was less about him and more about the excellent performance from his half time replacement, Nani. He was the class act on display for United. A tricky beguiling winger who threw the Blackburn Rovers defence into a state of panic. Nani stepped up when Ronaldo had one of his off days and when Rooney and Tevez were taking it turns to fail to hit the cow's arse with the studio banjo.

Friedel had a brilliant game in the Blackburn goal, but all the naysayers who rattle on about Rooney's lack of clinical finishing in front of goal were taking a lap of honour after yesterday's game. Up until now, I've been looking too close at the stats and not looking too much at the actual games. Rooney might be getting a goal every other game but it doesn't tell the whole story. There hasn't been such a profligate striker since Jimmy Hoffa filed his expenses claim after the 1963 Teamsters Strike. Okay, I made that last bit up. I meant to write . . . ' when Andy Cole was playing for Man Utd'.

Despite Simon Hattenstone's daft piece in the Guardian a few days back, where he sought to draw favourable comparisons between Ronaldo, Tevez and Rooney and Law, Best and Charlton, I wouldn't be surprised if Fergie breaks up the current triumvirate come the summer. Yep, even if they do retain the title and win the Champions League. I'm not convinced that he will continue to accept the current scenario of 'When they're good they're brilliant, when they're bad put John O'Shea on as an emergency striker . . . '. He's nothing if not unsentimental. The alice band on display at Old Trafford next season will be Berbatov's. Tevez will be sucking his dummy on the bench.

I still have Utd down to retain their title, but they won't clinch it at Stamford Bridge next Saturday. Chelski will lose at St James on the 5th May after the deflated comedown of losing to Liverpool in the Champions League. (And when that happens I will promise to stop referring to Will by his full name of Will Makem for ever more.)

Cup Thai'd #2

Are Roma going to score or what?

Has Fergie's head exploded yet?

If that penalty had gone in, Roma would have gone on to win the game and the tie.

Fergie will be pissed that Rooney and Ronaldo will have to go on for the second half now.

Gary Neville will be pissed that he's not on for the second half.

Barnsley's beating Warford 1-0 at half time. Yep, of course he scored the goal. I'm guessing he wasn't giving it large during the goal celebration.

Cracking first half just finished. Can't wait for the second half. I guess I'll be getting my haircut tomorrow now.

What's with the plethora of English accents doing voiceovers on commercials on American TV? Not just talking about the geico gecko selling insurance. There's 'Lahndun' accents everywhere. Which focus group came to the conclusion that cockney accents denote trustworthiness? Terry Vanables is on the line. He would like to sell you a timeshare.

Second half's started. Squeaky bum time for the United faithful.

What was I thinking?

Never knew this quip was going to come back and bite me in the arse. Couldn't bring myself to drag my carcass out of bed to make it through to Manhattan early morning 'cos I knew what was going to happen.

When you think of the stick that Strachan gets from sections of the Celtic support when he's winning, you can only imagine what'll be like if and when Smith & McCoist's roadshow win a clean sweep come the end of the season.

Whatever I think about his mistreatment of Riordan's Celtic career, I don't take any pleasure in offering the opinion that the clock is now ticking on Strachan's time at Celtic. I'm sure he'll be there next season, but if he doesn't deliver the title then both parties will want him to move on.

And of course the inevitable happened with ". . . McGregor, Barry Ferguson, Christian Dailly and Lee McCulloch all . . . . [returning] from injury after missing Scotland's friendly against Croatia in midweek." Wankers.

Looks like the Brooklyn Knights for me, after all. Though after watching Man Utd sublime display against Aston Villa this afternoon, I do sometimes wish I was a Man Utd supporter. If only I'd been born in Cornwall.