Berbatov the blessed our saviour once again

SO Saturday really was a kind of autumnal Groundhog Day after all.

Just as was the case with Bolton the other week, a Fergie-friendly boss turned up with a largely compliant team to help ease our misfiring stars to another victory. And had Rovers’ late strike been rightly allowed, both the result and last-three-minutes bedlam would have been identical too.

Three points, yes – but 70,000 furrowed brows too. Still, at least we had the blessed Berbatov to give us something utterly unforgettable to take home. Not for the first time this season. Incredibly, both the ground and press box remain riddled with doubting Thomases on the subject of the supposedly indolent Bulgar, despite half a dozen dazzling displays this term and his stats for last season (68 chances created: not bad for a ‘failure’, as he was only three behind Rooney).

But one can only go on banging home the point for so long before one gives up. Like the poor, the blind are always with us. At least we can all agree on one thing: the quondam Ronnie-replacement Ninny (as he is now officially dubbed by Red Issue) is almost beyond hope. One was not surprised to see a new rash of press stories linking him with an imminent exit once again last week.

Rather more instantly alarming – bearing in mind we initially all hailed Ninny when he debuted in Red – was the spectacularly unaccomplished display by poor Obertan, whose seven-yard miss was one of the worst seen in recent years at Old Trafford. Mind you, at least he managed to get on the pitch, which was a triumph of sorts after it was revealed in August that he was carrying a Hargreavesian catalogue of injuries. As the lad is French, and therefore one of God’s Chosen, this column will be cutting him an extravagant amount of slack.

However, we will not be placing any bets on him being top scorer, let’s put it that way. As one old-hand colleague muttered to me after 10 minutes watching him: “Jeez – it’s the French Luke Chadwick.”

Ouch. Naturally, speaking of injury-ridden players and the amount of slack they may or may not be due, you will surely forgive me if I fail to resist the temptation to introduce Our Rio at this point (Stop rolling your eyeballs at the back there). He’s an easy target but, frankly, who can resist, given the immense mass-spraying of bullock-droppings we have endured from him, Fergie et al over the player’s issues? Space precludes going into every nook and cranny of the various excuses, reasons and polemics offered by all the parties but I have rarely witnessed so many contradictions, inventions, omissions and downright specious rubbish. Just seeing Fergie going from a denial that there was a problem, to decrying the ‘humiliation’ of the player, finally to an admission of a blip, all in just 48 hours, was indication enough of the sensitivity involved.

I particularly enjoyed the ‘humiliation’ rant, with its usual attendant world-weary musing about ‘this being the way of modern Britain and media culture’. Perhaps the media should throw that back at him next time he’s hanging Alan Wiley out to dry: if that wasn’t a gross ‘humiliation’, what was it? It’s all going to run and run, of course, probably right up to the World Cup selection week: start yawning now. Last night, I trust, was Groundhog Day continued – opponents even weaker than Bolton and Blackburn, and without a boss.

Just what the doctor ordered as we prepare for Sunday’s showdown, which I am unashamed to admit has all brow furrows set to perma-frown. We are catching them at an unfortunate juncture and I think we’d be happy to escape with a point. Then again, who can legislate for what a buzzing new dad like the Spud Faced Nipper might do? As ever, Wayne remains this team’s true daddy...