Saturday, November 25, 2006

When the KGB come knocking...

Phone set to vibrate?

With the news awash with dark rumours of KGB misbehaviour could there be a more appropriate time to face Abramovich's band of mercenaries? Have they got any of that radioactive stuff spare knocking about that they can pipe into the Chelsea boardoom/dressingroom? Apparently it's so material so toxic that they can't even do an autopsy for fear it will be fatal for the doctors. Fittingly the last thing i read about that was so ferociously toxic people were warned to stay well away was Ashley 'They are taking the piss Jonathon' Cole's self-serving whine of an autobiography.

Tomorrow will be Ashley's first visit to Old Trafford since he was freed from the yoke of slavery and the indignity of having to ply his trade for the insulting sum of £55K per week. Perhaps as part of their pre-match build up Sky will show a compilation of his finest moments set to the sound of Rufus Wainwright's 'Vibrate'. Or maybe not. If they did it's a safe bet that his first visit to OT, the infamous, Dwight Yorke inspired 6-1 mauling would not feature. Cole was substituted at half-time that day and i like to picture him in the dressing room,a quivering shell of a man. Let's hope for similar tomorrow.

In a game that has room for such outstanding examples of vile unpleasantness as Craig Bellamy and Joey Barton amongst others, it's actually quite an achievement to be the absolute vilest. Cole is the embodiment of all the ugly greed and twisted narcissism that pollutes the game, and his arrival at Chelsea was absolutely fitting. Not that i fool myself into thinking that United players are models of altruism and humility, especially not when we count the self-styled 'Most talked about footballer of his generation' among the personnel, but the sight of Cole mouthing off at refs for some perceived injustice is enough to induce boiling rage and almost makes me hate him more than i hate Kenyon and Mourinho combined. Some feat.

Kenyon has this week aired the opinion that Chelsea will be bigger than United by 2014. This, of course, is palpable bollocks. Chelsea will always exist in our slipstream, no matter how many trophies they shop, whine and dive themselves to. Whatever the outcome tomorrow, that will remain a fact.

Friday, November 24, 2006

George...Simply the Best

Possibly the finest Oasis video never actually made.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Football, bloody hell

This particular red didn't follow, follow, follow all the way to Glasgow, nor did I try to compensate by at least being in the required state of being pissed out of my head, so insetad I had to put up with Clive Tyldsley's laughably biased commentary. We were promised a cauldron of noise, a sonic inferno that would reduce the entire United team to quivering lumps of jelly before they'd so much as kicked a ball. Well apparently, Tyldsley was the only one who heard any such thing, judging at least by the way he eulogised the Celtic support even while the only audible crowd noise was the mocking cry of, 'Where's your famous atmosphere ?' from the assembled reds.

As for the game, injustice barely does it merit. Of course we've only got ourselves to blame and those of a recriminatory bent will already be frothing about Copenhagen and the stupidity of resting key players. But, penalty aside, Saha did some wonderful stuff tonight, twisting away from defenders with a range of flicks and shimmies that was frankly brilliant. Wayne was relatively quiet but Ronnie was scorching. Assuming business is done against Benfica the only lingering regret is that the opportunity to put Celtic in their place and underline the gulf in class between us and them was fluffed, and that's what rankles more than anything.

Anyway, 39 quid was automatically deducted from my bank account for what threatened to be an exercise in futility in a fortnight, so at least we're getting a game worth seeing now. And if nothing else we'll go into the Chelsea game simmering with intent and shimmering with brilliance.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Argentina! (Slightly duff return)



I need to choose my words pretty carefully here. What I’m about to say verges on the mutinous and, in some circles is tantamount to heresy. I could well be guaranteeing myself immediate expulsion from the confederacy of right-thinking reds for merely thinking this, never mind publicising it. In fact it would probably be more socially acceptable to mutter something along the lines of, ‘Actually I think the Glazer’s have been really good for United,’ or, ‘Don’t you think it’s about time we gave all this Scousers stuff a rest?’. But here goes nothing.

It was a notion that started to hatch during the World Cup. During the Sevilla friendly it developed from a small doubt to a nagging concern, and by the end of last Wednesday’s debacle in Denmark is was a throbbing worry. I don’t really know how to put this, but, is it just me or is Gabriel Heinze, well, a bit crap?

Two seasons ago, such a sentiment would have been unthinkable. Heinze burst into the United side, a blur of kamikaze tackles and gung-ho sprints down the wing. There were no such things as 50-50 balls as Heinze launched himself into the challenge; opposition players would visibly flinch as he hurled himself at their feet, and from the ensuing tangle of limbs he would invariably emerge with the ball, oblivious to the tattered remnants of the opposition that lay in his wake.

As he charged down field, the cry would ring out, ‘Argentina! Argentina!’ At once a celebration of Gabi’s gifts, and a bit of caustic provocation for the little Eng-er-lander’s in the oppositions support. He was a marvel to behold, from the way he sprinted to the left corner before kick-off to run through his repertoire of weird psyching-up rituals to the way he barged around the pitch for the entire game, no reputation a match for his outrageous self-belief; through to his passionate conviction that he was the wronged party in any set-to, even when he blatantly wasn't.

And then he went and got injured, forcing him to sit out virtually the entire of last season. Though his participation in the World Cup was thought to be in jeopardy, he took his place in that magnificent Argentina line-up, the team that, in their decimation of Serbia and Montenegro played scored one of the most sumptuous goals ever seen, and who will always be haunted by the knowledge that they should have won the World Cup.

But they didn’t, and during that ignominious exit, poor old Messi still on the bench, the victim of a tactical blunder to trump all tactical blunders, it was no surprise to see Heinze one of the main protagonists in the fisticuffs that followed, seemingly believing that throttling a couple of Germany players might convince people to reconsider the outcome of the game. But this time, his aggression looked petty and pointless, and did nothing to erase the fact that he had been found hopelessly out of position several times in the tournament.

And that’s been the story of his stuttering return to the United line-up. Where once he radiated absolute conviction that every ball would be pounced on and be made his own, now he just sends out jittery vibes; will he misjudge it? Will he simply tumble the opponent to the ground? Will he actually be in position or will he still be lumbering back from a fruitless expedition upfield?
Perhaps, given the serious nature of his injury, indeed rumours to the effect that he would never play again swirled in its wake, I’m being unduly harsh on a player who gives his full-blooded all to the red cause. I will of course be happy to have these words served back to me on a bed of humble pie if, in the fullness of time, the majesty of his early form in a red shirt returns. But something nags away at me, almost as if that season, when he was named Fans’ Player of The Year don’t forget, was some kind of mass delusion, and that he was never that great to begin with.

Now has anyone else noticed that Rooney’s been a bit off-colour recently..?