Battle swinging our way as the enemy fading fast
SO, two down, three to go — and with the exposure of both Liverpool and Inter Milan’s apparent feet of clay, I feel we’re like Guderian’s tanks breaking through the French lines at Sedan in 1940. So many promising routes lay gaping open for us.
But which to take as a priority, and how to husband our resources accordingly? A pleasing problem, nonetheless — but no Dunkirks, please!
Not that I am taking anything for granted. Clearly, just as in 1940, each of the twin forces opposing us has one great counter-attacking opportunity left open to them: for de Gaulle’s 4th Armoured Division thrusts, and the British Expeditionary Force’s assault at Arras, read Inter and Liverpool at Old Trafford in the next fortnight.
But the reason I reach for the 1940 analogy is not just because I am a typical boy but because the amazement we feel is the same as struck the almost bemused German Wehrmacht — “is this all these legendary foes have got to show us?” Naturally, if Inter score an early away goal next week, the mood will change to mild panic pronto, but still — few in the noisy United end at the San Siro could believe the utter paucity of the challenge offered by the moth-eaten Italians. Last time we faced them, they were a club on the edge of a nervous breakdown, injury-wracked and about to lose a manager, yet still they still gave us one hell of a 75 minutes and came one pulled shot from putting us out in 1999.
As for Liverpool, what can one say? Just three weeks ago I was masochistically licking my lips at the prospect of a fight to the death with them and yet here we are, splitting our sides at their incompetence in the face of the slightest pressure. It would even appear that we have to get used to the idea of our primary spring challengers once again being — yawn — Chelsea, who at least have a team that would appear capable of withstanding a draught from under the door without collapsing from pneumonia.
All that said, I almost feel we collectively owe an apology for Sunday’s snoozeathon at Wembley. So much for The Kids: not a trace of youthful exuberance or imagination to be seen, although Gibson did pretty well, given his inexperience.
A cup’s a cup, of course, especially when it’s part of a potential Quintuple, but for once Rio Ferdinand got the tone just right — none of his usual phoney baloney or jumping on team-mates’ backs, but just a shy tongue-less kiss for the cup and then off to the dressing room.
Ronaldo, meanwhile, was pictured in one of those awful novelty hats, the sure sign of the Nouveau Cretin and subject of a rightly excoriating song at FC United matches (“No jester hats/No Sky TV”)
It was fitting headgear in some ways, though, after the contretemps over his yellow card following Ledley King’s challenge. You reap what you sow: when you dive as often as he does, you can hardly complain when a ref is disobliged to give you any benefit of the doubt, and thus I found his and Fergie’s protests eminently ignorable.
Incidentally, that morning’s main British tabloid told us that the boy is to be offered £200,000 a week in June to favour us with his presence for another year, which ought to have an interesting effect on some team-mates: Ferdinand for one has not been historically shy about demanding what he feels to be his true worth. He’s on about £110,000 a week; Rooney’s on £80,000. You can bet their agents will have pricked their ears up on hearing the new figure bandied about.
Still, that’s all for next summer, which in any event will be primarily dominated by the conclusion of the Tevez saga and whatever Real Madrid get up to vis-à-vis Cristiano. Tevez worked his socks off to great effect on Sunday, I note: we will sorely miss him when he goes.
Meanwhile, up to Newcastle tonight: three points. Yes, I approach St James’ with the confidence of Rommel as he headed for the Channel. Erm...
Richard Kurt, whose classic ‘Red Army Years’ is now reissued, only via redissuebooks@hotmail.co.uk
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