Derby date leaves plenty to the imagination
The sooner this most tedious and tension-free European Cup group is over the better, although the travelling Red Army is admittedly quite grateful that we’ve had the opportunity to escape snowbound Blighty for a few days.
Still, one point of interest – how did Rossi do? You might have guffawed reading the weekend press reports that Fergie hasn’t ruled out exercising the buy-back clause to bring the Italian to Old Trafford next season, presumably to help fill the hole Tevez is expected to leave. (An expectation repeatedly punted here, long before the presspack woke up to it.) Rossi’s sale was one of the most fan-regretted departures of recent years and although the reason given was that the kid wanted more first team action, no-one was convinced.
After all, he could have continued to be loaned elsewhere for such experience. No, that deal was clearly all about the fat upfront cheque the grasping Glazers received.
One now appreciates the irony that if Fergie wants him back, he will almost certainly be asking The Gimps for rather more, in now-devalued sterling terms, than they received, in order to get him. How very topical: it’s the same operation that Gordon Brown has just inflicted on UK taxpayers — a bung in our bins now, to be paid for twice over sometime down the road. At least we can vote Gordon out; we’re stuck with Uncle Malc’s grotesque offspring.
The man under threat, Tevez, didn’t do himself any favours at Villa, looking both unhappy and ineffective, although doubtless he would argue he’s not had much match practise recently. (Incidentally, one wagers that Carlos will not have been delighted to read Fergie cheerfully claiming that he’s got “a big bet” on Berbatov getting more than 20 goals this season, given that the Bulgarian will be keeping Tev out of the team if the winnings-hungry boss seeks to maximise his payday opportunities!) Not that I am necessarily going to complain, being a fully paid-up Berbatite. And if Villa Park did one thing, it was to inhibit the incipient emergence of The Rodney Marsh Parallel. Yes, that old grave-rave from 1972 is back — last seen resurrected vis-à-vis Veron a few years ago – whereby grumblers have started muttering that Dimitar, wonderful to watch and incredibly talented though he may be, has nonetheless spoiled the shape and pattern established by Tevez, Rooney and Ronaldo last season. They may well be eventually proved right, of course: only time will tell. But Marsh’s name crossed few lips at Villa Park as our attacking creativity floundered in Berb’s absence.
Disappointing though it was to draw a blank, it was hardly the title-threatening disaster some pundits claimed, especially in light of our rivals’ blunders. You can’t begrudge Martin O’Neill a pat on the back, though: that’s England’s two most potent forward lines that his defence have shut out in one week, and Fergie’s mischievous claim that Martin might replace Wenger in the permanent top four is clearly not inconceivable any longer.
(Not least thanks to the lunatic Gallas’s self-immolation. Well, I say ‘self’-immolation, but he virtually set light to the whole figurative stadium, didn’t he? As a young man at Clairefontaine, he was nicknamed ‘Pierre Richard’, after a 1970s French filmstar who specialised in playing catastrophic imbeciles. Now we see why.) Speaking of catastrophic imbeciles … heh, you saw that coming didn’t you? City on Sunday: no hype needed. After last season’s ‘double’, and August’s Arab coup d’etat, I have rarely felt such anticipation for a Manchester derby. With all due respect to the rest of the top four’s efforts against us, this is the game of the season thus far.
May we stuff those City fans’ teatowels into their rubberized suction-holders that look like … well, hopefully you get the picture. Now wash your hands.
* Richard Kurt, whose Red Army Years is available via redissuebooks@hotmail.co.uk
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