We all saw the match, we all saw Hodgson throw himself off a pre-arranged cliff and we all saw Alan Shearer versus Danny Baker in the I’m The Most Disappointed England Fan-off, but have you seen what some of the brightest football minds of our generation thought about plucky England’s capitulation? Please let us know when you have, but in the meantime here’s five things we learned:

1) England

2) Are

3) Fucking

4) Clown

5) Shoes

Except for El Rashissimo

Tom (@Tom_McGhee):

I haven’t done one because I don’t work on Jesus Birthday but I’m sick of these two putting words in my mouth something something Optimus Prime something Star Wars something Nasri for Rooney. I don’t know why this is in bold band massive.

Prediction: Font changes back to…smaller….Some goals are either scored or not scored but we definitely win. Although again, this will depend on the goals scored. Let’s say 3.

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Benno (@Benglorious):

Just found out today (that’s fourteen days ago if you’re reading this in a fortnight) that there’s no rest for the wicked (“wicked” as in 90’s sk8er (it’s a cool way of saying “skater” but you use the figure “8” instead of the “ate” sound in “skater”) slang for “good” and not the normal evil meaning) over the festive period, and so United have to play Boxing Day.  They’ll actually be playing football and not boxing each other despite the day’s misleading name.  Boxing Day actually has nothing to do with sport of any kind, but is named after the Chinese (see how easy that was to say, Mr Whelan?) legend Bo Xing who invented turkey curry and charades.

Newcastle are the visitors today.  You’ll know them by the black and white shirts they’ll be wearing and also because they’re the team that aren’t United.  Well, they technically ARE a United, but seeing as this is a Manchester United website (is that right?) all references to United should be taken as read in reference to United.  Manchester United and not Newcastle, who are also a United but aren’t Manchester United.  They’re Newcastle United.  They are NOT Manchester United.

Players to watch out for are Gabriel Obertan, Shaka Hislop and Tony Blair.

Prediction: After last week’s trouncing of Villa, Vangle will be looking to hit the thousand mark with his unbeaten streak.  Newcastle, after a recent poor run of games, will be very cagey to start with and United will find them difficult to break down.  A soft penalty decision, with the kick converted easily by Robin, will be the only difference between the two teams at halftime.  Pardew will change his tactics for the second half, and this will give Falcao the freedom he needs up front to bag his first brace in a United shirt: the first, a scorching left-footed half-volley into the top corner from thirty yards out; and the second, a deft back-heeled flick in off the post from fifty-five yards out.  Newcastle will then be distracted by a horse punching a fan, and Shaw will score his first ever United goal to complete the rout.  1-0 Newcastle.

United’s newest Hollandman, Daley Blind, lists his likes as falconry, Northumberland and collecting thimbles:

Brett (@bifurcated_mufc):

Aahhh, the trad Boxing Day game (‘trad’ is a cool way of saying ‘traditional’, it’s kind of shorthand; it just saves a bit of time when you’re writing opinion pieces like this one over the busy festive period). I’m not sure what’s so traditional about it, I’m guessing players from The Premier League swap turkey sandwiches and are allowed to play in their xmas (‘xmas’ is a cool way of saying ‘Christmas’, it’s shorthand; it just saves a bit of time when you’re writing opinion pieces like this one over the busy festive period) cracker party hats as long as they don’t clash with the referee’s xmas cracker party hats, or the other teams. In the stead (‘in the stead’ is a cool way of saying ‘instead of’ it’s kind of longhand; it’s just for those occasions where you’ve saved a bit of time, when you’re writing opinion pieces like this one, by using shorthand already, and you realise you’ve now got a bit more time over the busy festive period) of the trad handshake at the start of the game, players exchange unwanted gifts or credit notes for John Lewis and Marks and Sparks.

Newcastle United come into their own after Christmas, during the sales. That’s funny cos bar codes.

It’s panto season (‘trousoro series’ for our English readers), and with STABLE David the Savids in between the onion bagginets – HE’S BEHIND YOU! – King Louis delivering the GOLD, FRANKINSYSTEMS and MURDER (Mata for our Spanish readers) and ANGEL di Maria in a STARRING role and Robin Van Shepherdspie always GETTING ON TO A CROSS, we’re, undoubtably, indubitably, undoubtedly, going to put in a MERRY strong performance, without a doubt. OH YES WE ARE!

If we were HOME ALONE, this would be a 3-0 walkover. That’s funny cos Christmas films.

Prediction: OH NO WE’RE ISN’T. OH YES WE ARE. OH NO WE’RE ISN’T. OH YES WE Aetc

I didn’t used to like Michael Owen, not because footballing by-laws explicitly requested he was referred to by his full name in its entirety (although that probably didn’t help), and not necessarily because he played for Liverpool (although that definitely didn’t help), my dislike of him was mainly down to him keeping Andy Cole out of the England team. Andy Cole was more than capable of keeping himself out of the England team, thank you very much, Michael!

I remember, such was my antipathy, arguing that he’d taken the ball off Scholesy’s foot when he’d scored THAT goal against Argentina, and it was exactly that that had cost us the game, because obviously things would have turned out different if he hadn’t: his selfishness had changed the course of the match. I would sometimes begrudgingly admit he was a bit quicker than most and he could finish, granted, but all of his goals tended to look exactly the same, I mean couldn’t he have injected a bit of personality into his act? As for his left leg, why did he even bother with it? He should have been doing the honest thing and donating it to medical science, it was just taking up valuable space on an already overcrowded planet. What?! I’m a dick sometimes *Who said sometimes sarcastically?*

Scholesy's!!!

He left Liverpool and, unsurprisingly, my opinion of him thawed. At Real he was no longer the overly self-assertive middle-class kid, he was vulnerable. I admired the tenacity of the move and now he was team mates with our Becks, so was afforded some vicarious love by association (besides Becks could never handle all the love I had for him in one sitting).  That vulnerability, that to me was now palpably stamped across his face (having been rubber-stamped by him being on first name terms with the members of the medical profession) made him more human. This was the kind of player I could get behind. He didn’t shy away from responsibility, he took risks and all the while he was deeply concerned, doubting himself physically and mentally, but facing it head on, and not only that, he was still succeeding. As a footballer you don’t tend to have much choice but to plough on with such a relatively short career, but you can certainly choose easier paths.

When his step-dad, Alan “Alan Shearer” Shearer convinced him to join Newcastle, I was pleased to have him back in the Prem. I ached for him to do well. Unfortunately his body ached under the pressure and simply refused to cut him any slack. He’d been regarded as one of the best English front men of his generation and, such is their wont, the press were sharpening their winkle pickers. But he just wouldn’t have it.

Happenstance brought him here … and why not? With self-titled marketing brochure under one arm and a copy of the Racing Post under the other, sporting sports socks with sports sandals (sorry that’s complete conjecture I made that bit up, painting pictures with words. I bet he does wear sports socks with sports sandals though), Michael Owen quickly bedded in, quite literally, and I was made up.

"Is there a strict footwear policy here?"

It’s reasonable to assert that Michael Owen’s United career has been a non-starter. The goal against City being the only real contribution of note.  Although, I’d like to think his presence in the dressing room would have had a positive effect on our youthful squad. For the most part the naysayers can claim a cheap victory. Personally, just having him around, one of the golden generation, one of the players I’ve grown up with, a player I’ve grown to admire from afar, up close, was curiously exciting. Yes, there’s the  Twitter-LOLS and yes, there’s his medical and wage bills to pick up: I’m by no stretch insinuating I’d pull up a chopped log and sit around a camp fire with him exchanging stories. Neither am I suggesting we should retire the number 7 shirt in his honour.  My point is, it’s Michael Owen and against my better judgement, that it’s Michael Owen, The Michael Owen, was always enough for me.

His time at United can perhaps best be described as one man’s vaguely conceivable against-all-odds story with the fairy tale ending, that got left in its dust jacket. We were supposed to be his one last big job before he was being turned to glue. Maybe we’re the job before the one last big job? I hope so. For me it was a pleasure, albeit a guilty one. And I still wouldn’t mind checking his birth certificate against mine.