Fergie outburst a cover-up for Rooney absence

THAT’LL teach me to get all childishly excited about a cup tie, as I did in last week’s column: what a dreadful match, though credit must go to the travelling Reds who attempted to maintain the atmosphere despite the dire fare.

Thank goodness, once again, for the spud-faced nipper, whose 20 minutes of Scouse vim saved the day, amply rewarding the loyal fans who’d howled for him to come on.

Incidentally, atmosphere and fans’ behaviour prompted two outbursts from Fergie last week, one rather more regrettable than the other.

Slightly tasteless though it was to refer to Old Trafford matches feeling ‘like a funeral’ hours after the stadium death and funeral of Motherwell’s captain, at least he was speaking the truth; far worse was to come when he laid into both the Supporters’ Association and the breakaway FC United last Friday, declaring that they were “not the conscience” of the club’s fans.

That does, of course, beg the question as to where that nebulous entity may reside. Fergie had no doubt about that: with his hand-picked selection of fan-cronies, to whom he “listens with respect,” he told us. Mmm. How marvellous for him: and so much more convenient than representative organisations and elections and proper processes for encapsulating mass opinions into pithy policy prescriptions.

Let me guess: those fans’ views will tend to be along the lines of: “gosh, you’re just marvellous, Sir”; “ain’t life grand and dandy”; “no, you really can’t tell you dye your hair, and do you know you only look 50?” Well, each to his own, I guess.

But the timing was odd, as if he might have been trying to detract attention from something. Example: if Rooney was out injured, as Fergie claims, with that awful vomiting virus for the West Ham and Birmingham matches, how come he was pictured out, seemingly on the razzle, in Liverpool on New Year’s Eve in between those two fixtures?

Perhaps he was visiting his doctor in Croxteth. On NYE. At midnight.

And any piles of sick would have been due to the virus, rather than industrial quantities of ale.

However the story doing the newsroom rounds all week was that Ferg and Roo had a massive row in front of everyone about the Christmas party, when Fergie supposedly tried to fine Rooney, who in turn refused to accept the punishment. Still, all’s apparently well that ends well, and hopefully Spurs will await us in the fourth round to conjure up memories of past cup classics between us.

Meanwhile, the transfer window has finally opened, and the initial news was not promising. The Chelsea-target-Berbatov tale is true, unfortunately. And the unwitting source of most of the Berbatov stories this past week? Alex himself, who was telling anyone who would listen at Carrington on the Friday before West Ham away that Chelsea would be snatching Dmitri away from us.

It remains to be seen whether United will thus have cause to regret not pushing David Gill’s late August move for him further; certainly the affair sounds similar to what happened with Ballack, when United’s half-heartedness in August cost us later. Then again, if Berb ends up being as much of a ‘success’ at Chelsea as the useless German, we will be toasting a lucky escape.

Better news arrives, though, about our other perennial target Micah Richards. Despite months of on-the-record claims by Sven and Man City’s suits that his new contract will be sorted as a matter of urgency, I can reveal that Richards has been stunned over Christmas by the constant refusals of City even to start talks about a deal.

Fingers crossed. (Except at Gary Neville’s house.)

The Geordies arrive next, with an opportunity for us to help despatch Allardyce.

Big Fat Sam comically assured the world last week: “I’m a top man in my field.”

Presumably that’ll be a big empty field carpeted in cow pats, with a poo-stained red-faced farmer stuck in the middle.

Richard Kurt, whose ‘Red Army Years’ is only available via [e-mail]