Battle-lines drawn as the Germans are coming

ONE of my preferred Old Trafford pressmen is a Lancastrian working at the Daily Wail, who does a good line in world-weary ennui — which makes a nice counterpoint to that paper’s usual tone of quasi-fascist hysteria.

After our grinding defeat of Wolves last week, in front of 25,000 empty seats that conjured up memories of Wastelands before tea towel cover arrived, he wrote: “the early stages of the League Cup are becoming an imposition… like the unwanted relative who keeps turning at Christmas.” Arf! And suddenly a general consensus has emerged, as I anticipated here a couple of weeks ago, that the same now goes for the Champions League group stages, which come to OT tonight. So there we have it: voila the European Cup — basically the League Cup, but with flags.

Well, up to a point, Lord Copper. We have not quite descended to the level of fielding half our youth team in matches such as tonight’s, for example. Nor would we expect to see the lads running out to an ocean of red plastic as they did last Wednesday. But the time may yet come when we witness such phenomena even in this once-glorious competition if greedy clubs and administrators do not keep a firm grip.

Doubtless some would say this is an alarmist whinge: after all, isn’t this world’s premier club competition, watched by billions? Perhaps: but had you told anyone circa 1978, when the Forest-Liverpool confrontation was on, that the League Cup would one day be a despised youth tournament, they would have laughed at you. The same applies, infamously, to the FA Cup, which as recently as just 20 years ago was as valued by its then-winners as at any time in its wonderful history. Now look at it: a sad shadow of its former self, limping along like a forgotten pensioner at a care home, keen to show you its campaign medals from ‘53 or ‘48 and muttering about the way life’s gone to the dogs.

So come on, buck up: the Jerries are in town, after all. Yes, like any Englishman in need of an easy lift, I invoke the war. Though to be honest, the familiarity of having German players in the Premier League, and the grudging respect for the way the Bundesliga organises itself — season tickets for less than 200 euros! — have dulled the impact of such cheap Bochephobia. (However, I remain shamefully pleased that we have still, to date, never signed any Germans at United. “They bombed our chippy” — and our Main Stand — after all.)

Still, there’s the novelty aspect too: we are always moaning about facing the same old oppos every year, even to the extent that you might hear someone, 1788-aristocrat style, whine with a wave of a ‘kerchief: ‘oh, Juventus AGAIN? How tiresome. And enough with the caviar, garcon.’ I, like you, knew nothing of Wolfsburg until the middle of last season, and even now all I have is this: it’s a town whose entire working age population could be seated inside OT; they have a useful pair of strikers, one of whom used to sell bin liners door-to-door; Volkswagen virtually runs both the town and the club. A-ha! Hitler’s pet Nazi-Mobile makers! See, I knew I’d find a gratuitous new war angle if I tried hard enough.

Almost incidentally, I note we are now top of the League — slightly unexpectedly, admittedly. Two ‘Big Five’ wins, contrasting with last season’s dismal performances in such six-pointers, have led some to predict imminent new heights of glory. But I fear Wenger may have a point when he, seemingly perversely, found so much to admire in his two Manchester defeats. And contriving to concede three goals to a City without their top striking trio should be keeping Ferguson, and Ferdinand, awake for weeks. City will only get stronger with every window, too. So let’s hope this town IS “big enough for both of us,” hey Rio?

* Richard Kurt is editor of Red Issue