Martin O’Neil stood on the touchline, his face disbelieving, his hands as empty as the Lazio youth academy. Never on the field of human conflict had so much owed by millions of Man U fans to so few (namely Giggs, Carrick and digging deep…oh and a single piece of magic from a teenager) – or been so little deserved.
“Wot maaaan?” A Man U fan about 10 yards away from me in the pub was disagreeing in a high-pitched voice with a Villa fan in front of him…”Wot? Undeserved? We woz all over you maaaan innit…Man U totally deserved that innit…we smacked it innit….innit?” He imploringly looked over to the bar where two more United fans were clinking two fresh new pints of Carling shandy.
“Errr…” one AIG boy winced unconvincingly at the other and replied: “Well….we had the better of the last 15 minutes mate”
What’s that? I was choking on the dregs of my pint…quick, have them killed, stuffed and sold to the Science Museum so that they can be mounted inside a glass box on a plinth marked: “Manchester United fans with dignity, integrity and honesty – very rare”.
For the first ten minutes United had hustled and bustled in the sunshine while their fans chanted that one song they know…”Un-i-ted, Un-i-ted”. Then after a brilliant display of incisive, artistic, direct football, they carved an opening innit…no wait…hang on…indirect free kick from a back pass…who’s gonna take it? Damn it…if only that boy Ronaldo was playing…what’s that? He is playing? Sorry…didn’t realize…it’s only Villa after all…even Thierry Henry couldn’t disappear in this game.
Boom! The right foot of the Brylcreemed slapper cracks an unstoppable shot into the top corner. Well…you know what I mean by unstoppable…unstoppable as in can’t be stopped if you put a toddler on the post and your keeper in the wall.
The prawn sarnies were singing that other song they know…the one about not being moved when Villa clawed themselves back into the game, a well placed header into the bottom corner by Carew while Neville watched and applauded. Some United players (Giggs, Tevez, Carrick) were digging in and working when it mattered, others were not.
CR7 had disappeared faster than a slowing-down bullet. The World Player of the Year was again an anonymous but well polished side-show, a bit like the little guy from Hong Kong that amuses you at half time with his kick-ups. His only contribution between his gifted first and his deflected second was his assist in Agbonlahor’s goal on the hour. If you really think Ronaldo is the best player in the world innit, then watch him standing hands on hips after giving the ball away needlessly, watching while his team-mates chase back and Villa take the lead and ask yourself if you wouldn’t swap him like a rocket for Messi, Kaka, Iniesta, Xavi et al (hell we all know that Sir Alex would swap him for Stevie G tomorrow…and he’s rubbish innit). In fact personally I’d swap him like a rocket for a rocket…either a real rocket or one of them ice lolly ones with the 3 flavours….mmmmm.
Whether or not this Hollyoaks extra leaves the Premier League in the summer will depend not on his ambition or skill…but on whether Alex Ferguson realizes that the Emperor really does not have any clothes. He may not have to watch his defenders fumble around after Kaka this season…but nothing makes you feel more naked than Lionel Messi running at you, and you can tell him I told you so. If anyone offers Mr Ferguson sixty million quid for him, he should rip off their arm, hand and everything else. With that kind of money you can buy clothes that you can’t see through.
After the equalizer, Villa started to sit back and invite Man U on. Not sensible. Perhaps O’Neill was hoping that with play stretched his nippy forwards and wingers could somehow smuggle a winner. Admirably on a couple of occasions Carew and Young went towards goal instead of the corner flags but ultimately gave up possession and handed the ball back to Man U when they should have/could have been running the clock down.
5 minutes of injury time. Not one glance at Sir Alex’s special watch. Not yet anyway. To be fair when Macheda’s moment of brilliance came it was in the third minute of added time. 5 minutes you could argue with…3 minutes you couldn’t - and that’s a fact Rafa. The turn was sublime, the shot was perfect, the noise of the ball rippling down the inside netting and the resulting euphoria like R&B to the ears of the United fans drowning out the collective squeaking of bums. The remaining two minutes were wasted by Man U goal celebrations and apart from this sentence you’re reading – probably won’t get a mention. Arsenal fans high-fiving. Liverpool fans drinking up and leaving.
I was convinced after Liverpool’s victory over Villa that it would come down to this: If Liverpool are very, very lucky, then come May 16 and with two games remaining each, the gap will still be 4 points (the way it virtually is now). Liverpool can only win the title if Man U slip up not just at Old Trafford against Arsenal – but also against a Hull side on the last day of the season who may have nothing to play for by then except pride - through the celebratory hangovers of a Premier League survival season.
The final thing is this, it’s hard to see Chelsea not picking up 21 points from their last 7 and finishing on 85 points. On those crowded city streets, Paula Radcliffe often gets so far ahead that she doesn’t notice the one with the accent and the sprint finish lurking in the background.
And that’s a fact camarero. Innit.
(Please note, names have been changed to protect the guilty and some events in this blog are fabrication…Man Utd fans with “dignity, integrity and honesty”…of course they’re not real kids)
