Red faces all around after a dire display

WHOEVER said United don’t occasionally do something for the common good? Before kick-off on Sunday, the ‘magic’ of the FA Cup third round had consisted solely of making thousands of fans disappear from their usual stadium places.

(Manchester City, according to the ‘Blackburn hill’-style legend they will doubtless soon be developing, apparently lost tens of thousands on the snowbound Pennine hills who had to go back to town rather than press on to Boro). Obituaries were being penned, the death rites of the old trophy readied. Then Beckford scores, United flap about shamefully ineptly for 75 minutes, and joy spreads nationwide.

Once again, Fergie utterly embarrassed himself with a time-keeping rant – as if an extra two minutes would’ve made any difference to a makeshift side who could barely hit the target for the 75 previous.

Graham Poll re-timed the whole match for the Daily Mail and, unsurprisingly, found that Foy was bang on the mark, as we all recognised at the time. (Indeed, those I was watching with felt five minutes was OTT, even for OT).

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rooney spoon so many chances, nor witnessed as humiliating a cameo as Owen’s, who managed to combine a hilariously awful miscue for his one good shot with a blatant dive minutes later.

As for Leeds’ best player – Gary Neville – I will repeat for the umpteenth time here: he has got to retire before he stains a fine record.

Anyway I’m not going to dwell further, except to say that at least management got their adjectives right later: ‘shocking’ and ‘unacceptable’.

They meant the performance, although I daresay the same terms could apply to the mystifying ‘mixed selection,’ as Phelan described it, which was neither fish nor fowl.

I barely remember the last time Leeds won at OT, in February 1981, although I was there. Then again, in those dog days of the Dave Sexton Terror, such dismal showings were unremarkable and par for the course.

Ten weeks later, he was sacked, to much jubilation. I do, however, recall vividly the intensity and excitement of the other historical events we were being prompted to remember tonight, namely the previous league cup meetings with City. Frankly, given our febrile state at the moment, I am glad the game is off, for I had no wish to take such a great risk of adding to the traumas of 1969 and 1975 – and, of course, of clearing the path for City to break their trophy hoodoo.

Instead it’ll be Birmingham who’ll be offering us the bounceback challenge, and their annoyingly-monikered manager, Big ‘Eck. I’m not denying he appears to have done a good job at St Andrews but, boy, he doesn’t half go on about his big mate Fergie in every single interview he has ever done, to an utterly nauseating extent.

I suppose this constitutes a good omen, given how feeble most of Fergie’s pals’ teams are when they bring out their teams to face the master.

May that tradition continue.

As is also traditional at this time of year, we have the usual whispering in the camp about itchy-footed players looking to make a break for it in the window. This year’s candidate suddenly appears to be Vidic, subject of thinly-veiled intimations that he unjustly pulled out on Sunday, and that he wants to force the issue.

The issue being his desire to head to warmer climes to satisfy his wife – and surveying the Mancunian snowdrifts today, you might almost say you couldn’t blame him.

Fergie, rather unwisely I thought, fed the fires here with his snotty post match comments in which he said he had no idea what was wrong with the player. You, like me, might suggest this was an unfortunate statement of ignorance, given that he is the manager.

Furthermore, an unwittingly undermining Phelan was at that very moment telling some other media outlet that Vidic had, indeed, come to them and told them what was wrong before kick-off. So all Fergie has managed to do there is alert the world that he is seriously miffed with the lad: marvellous, at least for those looking to buy him and who can now knock €5 million off his price.

You may recall we had a lot of this kind of sniping argybargy when Van Nistelrooy was on the exit route, with the net result that we received what felt like next to nothing for a player that the world grew to knew was no longer wanted, and who would therefore be cut-price. As I revealed last week, Fergie appears to have mentally signed Vidic’s death warrant six months ago. But, Boss, shouldn’t you keep up the pretence of reluctance for now?

Finally, you’ll note I haven’t even mentioned the desperate and frightening €660m Glazer Bond plan, whose existence was revealed on Sunday. You know, even I think there’s a limit to the amount of bad news we should have to process at any one time. And Leeds, assuredly, was quite enough for one day, thank you....