Monday, April 13, 2009

Iceberg ahead?

Over the last twelve months United's style and success on the pitch has served to provide a shimmering smokescreen concealing the ever more parlous state of the club's business affairs. Well, the smoke drifted last week and through the murk it was possible to see the catastrophic mess that the Glazer coup has left behind. The United money making machine was going full tilt last year with revenue flying in from all directions - the TV bonanza, European glory, increased ticket prices having no noticeable imact on demand - yet still the debt contines to swell with no signs of abating. As has been widely noted, if they can't trim any of the debt in a good year, what on earth will happen in a lean one?

Indeed anyone hoping that the prevailing economic climate would deter the club from hiking prices again this summer might want to rethink. Our loyalty hasn't snapped yet, so clearly they can yank the rope a little bit more, no doubt goes the reasoning from the boardroom. Naturally this bothers me somewhat. The knowledge that I'm little more than a customer whose blind loyatly can be relied upon to service a debt that should never have been allowed to arise in the first place should make me throbe with rage. But, note the should.

The threat of a price increase does scare me - there is a point when I will have to say enough is enough and walk away - but the rest of this financial talk is starting to leave my more numb than angry. Why? Perhaps it's credit-cruch fatigue. When every day delivers more talk of trillion pound injections to the economy you start to become a little inured to financial panic. Such figures spiral away from reality and into the realm of abstraction.

Then there's the PLC issue. Say that all this profit wasn't getting swallowed in the crater of debt, where would it go? Would season ticket prices suddenly tumble? Not likely when they're the source of the profit in the first place. Would Messi suddenly be wearing red? Again, not likely, and do we really want to be trading in a galacticos anyway? The profits would seep straight out of the door into the pockets of the investment funds that hold the shares. The idea that pre-Glazer United was a socialist Utopia is a spot of revisionism too far.

Arguably, give or take the recent stumble in form that is perfectly understandable given the expectations the team have to haul around with them, the squad is its finest shape in years. Can we really maintain the idea that this is in no way connected to the Glazer's? I think not. I said as much in a recent UWS piece and was soundly dressed down by a fellow writer for my trouble. I get where he's coming from. He thinks I'm being naive and I think the same of him. If one of us has to be right, I would very much prefer it not to be me. Off the peg historical analogies are easy to find. They said the Titanic was unsinkable. That huge iceberg of debt looming in the path of the club we both love could well destroy us. But I just can't see it. And you can read that line in as many ways as you want.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Just like a team...


For days the papers had been full of talk of miracles and messiahs, of saviours and divine interventions. Only, to confuse religious seasons, they'd all been following the wrong star. While the world expected the Messiah to stage his comeback at St James Park on Saturday, he actually slipped into the worlds gaze at about 5:45 pm on Sunday afternoon. For truly was a saviour born on Sunday.
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I'm no United anorak. My knowledge of what's going on in the reserve ranks stretches no further than knowing that Ollie's cutting his managerial teeth down there, and will no doubt by infusing his charges with an abiding understanding of the United way. Clearly, judging by Sunday, he's having some impact. So my first acquaintance with the name Federico Macheda came on Sunday morning when the Observer tipped him for a place on the bench on the strength of a reserve hat-trick at the Messiah and miracle free zone that is St James'. My second came when I read a favourable reference to his efforts in UWS who were tipping his star to rise at the expense of Carlos Tevez's.
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My third came courtesy of Alan Keegan as he announced the substitution. Within ten minutes, after a couple of rocky first touches, he'd minted one of those immortal, imperishable moments that you'll carry to the grave and that make supporting United the luckiest card fate can deal. The way the entire ground bounced for those closing minutes was a joy to behold.
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Was it the start of a beautiful career or a glorious one-off that he'll never reproduce? Who knows or, for now at least, cares. Momentum is all that matters. And in that instant, it swung back to us. Take your eyes off that fucking perch Rafa.