Wary of the consequences of enjoying too much success

SO HOW DID we do last night? I can only hope that this time we managed to come home with more goals than stabbings on our account.

We’d already picked up our first camp injury long before kick-off, incidentally.

When we flew out on Monday, it was noticed at the airport that Rio Ferdinand was sporting a huge black eye. John O’Pie was overheard asking him what had happened, to which Rio nervously replied “sshhh!” Mmm. We trust he got that walking into a door-frame or some such, rather than via some more nefarious activity, as would once have been the case — especially given his new (and scarcely credible) status as club and national captain.

Of course the injury news that really mattered was that Totti was out, along with two of his better team-mates, which really should have set this whole tie up as one for the taking. After all, imagine United without the equivalent — minus Rooney, Ronaldo and Vidic. Even Derby would fancy their chances against the remnants. One of United’s leading press hacks opined to me today that we will never have a better chance of winning the European Cup, given the way the draw has worked out and the underwhelming form of the continental survivors — though I do recall us jumping to similar conclusions back in 2002. Ahem.

What is undeniable is that our obsession with emulating 1999 is greater than ever, something that applies to our rivals too. Witness Arsene Wenger’s admission of such over the weekend, and of course the perennial longing of Roman Abramovich for this ultimate prize. What irony that of the Big Four, only three of us have a chance of the Premier League, and all three would gladly give it up — plus some of our children — in order to get our hands on the European Cup. Whereas Liverpool have absurdly come to treat the Big One wearily, like something akin to a League Cup, with eyes greedy only for a Premier League they threaten never actually to win in our lifetimes. Mind you, as I have mentioned before, one might perversely wonder whether United would be better off without the trophy just yet, such are the potential consequences of a post-win shake-out.

Would a now-fulfilled Fergie immediately quit, plunging us into the disruptive horrors of a succession battle and restructuring? Would Ronaldo, having thus gone as far as he could with us, take the opportunity to pursue his lifelong Primera Liga ambitions? And, most importantly, what of Carlos The Jackass? No, really: I know we have fun at his expense — his self-basting preening and his two years’ 4-5-1 terror campaign providing all the excuses one needs — but one has to concede that he has become centrally important to United. The critical Iberian colony depends on him, for starters; the team is entirely trained and shaped by him; he appears to be becoming the key decider of transfer activity; he’s even doing some of the media duties.

Indeed, some would argue he is already de facto manager, with Fergie in effect acting as a Director of Football or ambassador/figurehead.

Benfica want Carlos as their next boss this summer, though Fergie stated this week for the record that “there’s no doubt” Carlos will stay at Old Trafford. Which is only mildly re-assuring, as the last thing Fergie had “no doubt about” was that Beckham would get his 100th cap against Switzerland in January. Fergie’s ‘certainties’ are never the kind of horse you put your house on, to be frank.

Then again, I suppose you can sketch out all sorts of credible scenario-permutations for all three personalities I have mentioned, based on either winning or losing the Cup this year. All that matters for any Red is that any aftermath of a win should resemble that of post-’99 rather than post-’68. But if I were putting money on it, I would say the least likely outcome is Ronaldo still being here by the summer of 2009, and the most likely being that Fergie will still be some kind of authoritarian presence, if not actually manager in name, well into the next decade.

The wise man bets inversely to his heart’s desire, you might suggest…

* Richard Kurt, whose classic ‘Red Army Years’ is now re-issued, only via [e-mail]