Enda McEvoy: Feeling very blue about the Champions League final
CLASH OF THE CASH: Chelsea defenders Kurt Zouma and Cesar Azpilicueta battle for a header with Man City midfielder Rodri in last month’s FA Cup semi-final at Wembley. The sides will now meet in the Champions League decider.
Give an infinite number of monkeys an infinite number of typewriters and eventually they’ll produce the works of Jeffrey Archer.
Give a limited number of clubs an unlimited quantity of dosh and eventually two of them will end up meeting in a Champions League final.
Chelsea versus Manchester City in Istanbul it is, then. It’ll be hard to know who to root for more in this battle of the plucky, impecunious underdogs.
That said, at least the pair of them got there by qualifying for the Champions League in the first place as opposed to via the structures of a self-invited, self-perpetuating European Super League, which is one small mercy. Nor was there the slightest doubt about their midweek superiority.
Where PSG were an expensively assembled collection of individuals, City were an expensively assembled team. Where Real Madrid had Ramos (37), Modric (35), and Benzema (33), Chelsea had Werner (25), Mount (22), and Havertz (21). So much for the Spanish newspaper pre-match assertion that Zinedine Zidane possesses “a unique immortality in football”.
There’s any number of obvious caveats to bring to the table when discussing City’s success, none of which require reheating, although the recent suggestion in some quarters that they deserve credit for being quick to jump off the ESL bus deserves to be laughed out of court.
This money-making racket was considerably less important to Man City than to any of the other clubs involved simply because they are, in the title of David Conn’s book, . It’s easy to say no to even hundreds of millions when you’ll never need them, a quandary both the reader and your correspondent are of course all too familiar with.
But here’s one reason to feel warm about City. Phil Foden. He’s really good and he’s one of their own.
Had they been asked 10 years ago, any of the club’s current superstars would readily have envisaged themselves playing in Manchester and making lots of money — but for the team in red, obviously. Had he been asked 10 years ago, Foden would equally readily have envisaged himself playing in Manchester — but for the team in light blue. What’s more, he might well have added that he’d do it for nothing.
He may not be quite as fun to watch as Jack Grealish — who is? — but Foden, who’s been used wisely and not too well by Pep Guardiola, has overtaken the Villa man in the England pecking order and is one of the potential breakout stars of Euro 2021. And lefties are always more elegant to watch anyway.
Manchester City are systematic and methodical and plan ahead; cogent stewardship at all levels is one of their great virtues. Chelsea lurch from new manager to newer manager; this, bizarrely, is one of their great virtues also.
Not unlike the Offaly hurlers of the 1990s the inhabitants of Stamford Bridge thrive on apparent chaos and creative tension and being different. Hell, they even sacked their manager in mid-season and, just like that, the new lad — not a lot of people know this but “Thomas Tuchel” translates into English as “Michael Bond” — has them into the All-Ireland final.
So simple and self-fulfilling did Chelsea and City make their respective tasks look that the Champions League semi-finals were overshadowed by events elsewhere. It was another one of those increasingly common weeks.
Death, new life, riots, postponements and a guy outside Old Trafford prancing around in full Kerry regimental gear.
Would that John Lennon’s cousin Vladimir had lived to see the day.
“There are decades when nothing happens and there are weeks when decades happen.”
Poor Alan McLoughlin. Born in Manchester but very much of Ireland by way of Limerick and Galway. There would have been no Windsor Park 1993 without him; without Windsor Park there could have been no Giants Stadium 1994. Not quite so poor Jose Mourinho. Exceedingly affluent Jose, indeed. If deemed Zidane to be a survivor, what about Jose?
Just when it looked as though the only gig left for him was an obscenely paid job with the national team of one of the petro-states, or perhaps China, up he pops in the Eternal City.
That’s two infallible individuals in the same town. Rome may not be big enough for both. Ciao, Francisco!
Not that Roma fans should be under any illusions about his gameplan. No coaching, low block, defend like hell, then hoof it down the field for Enrico Kaneo to do the rest.
As for the scenes at Old Trafford last Sunday, the only wonder was that they hadn’t occurred quite a few years ago.
Of all the eye-watering figures detailing the Glazers’ ownership of Manchester United, the one that tells the most revealing tale is the £817m (€940m) paid in interest in servicing debts.
If Joel or Avram are reading this in between visits to the family’s very own Banklink machine in Stretford, here’s an idea for a new club crest, lads. The little devil guy with the trident surrounded by the motto “What’s Yours Is Mine, What’s Mine Is Me Own”. Neat, eh? That’ll be £250,000 (€287,514) plus Vat and interest. Thanks.
As if to underscore the awe-inspiring dimensions of their tin ear, the United authorities attempted to move the narrative on from Sunday’s debacle and get the plebs back onside by feeding a story to the tabloids claiming that the Glazers were “sanctioning a £90m (€103.5m) move for Harry Kane”.
Hmmm, a cunning plan indeed. What could possibly go wrong?
Assuming they put a 1 in front of the 9, that is?
Finally, yer man in the Kerry jersey and facemask outside Old Trafford. Is he always so well coordinated sartorially in real life?
