United Road Take Me Home

So where do you start? With the nauseating sound of United fans clapping the city fans when they belatedly – by about, oh, 50 years – serenading Frank Swift? With the abject performance of virtually the entire United crowd – offering pretty conclusive proof that we’ll never experience a decent atmosphere at Old Trafford ever again; because if we can’t be arsed getting up for it today, then it’s probable we never will. With the even more abject performance of Rio Ferdinand – who played like his mind was wandering around the cosmetics department at Selfridges in town; though it almost feels unfair to single out one dismal performance from ten of them (Tevez being the only who can emerge from that with anything like credit).

Not since the debacle at the Riverside that precipitated Keano’s demise can I remember such a lacklustre United, one so utterly devoid of invention and ideas. It’s easy to silence all those doubts you have about how truly great United are when we’re knocking six past Newcastle. It’s easy to fall for the hype that tells you Ronaldo is the best player in Europe. Days like today tell you that the true measure of greatness comes when you perform in the biggest games – and don’t interpret that as a compliment to city; it wasn’t the opposition that was big today, it was the occasion – and too many big names failed to rise to it.

I’m pretty sure that at least one pundit tomorrow will make the point that city fans observed the minute’s silence immaculately, while the United fans observed the next 90 minutes silence even better. Sadly, they’ll be right on both counts.

Still, at least the scarves didn’t have AIG printed on them. I suppose in the current climate we should be thankful for that at least.