But how can you ever look at something objectively when you care so much about it? Sure, you can present an argument by placing yourself consciously in the position of the objective viewer; you can present yourself as the equanimous being that, in general, you are, but the bias, subjective opinions that shape your character – for better and worse – will eat at you, always there reminding you that we’re not all the same and that you can’t truthfully sympathise or empathise with every Other. The saying, ‘people not like us, are people just like us’ is a kick in the teeth for you – you, who wants things to be a considerable amount better. Of course when I say ‘you’, I don’t mean the you reading this, I don’t mean ‘you’ plural either: I mean me.

If you’d have asked me before this winter, I’d have estimated that I probably wouldn’t ‘get on with’ about fifty percent of football fans – ask me now and it’s more than double that. If you’d have asked me in November how I thought United were doing, I would no doubt have spoken with optimism, maybe even excitement; I do love football, although sometimes  through gritted teeth. During the past three months though things have changed.

Players can’t be all things at once, but I do expect them, by the time they reach their mid-twenties, to have got to grips with the concept of gravity – something Park and Young for very different reasons haven’t yet done.  Players have to be given time, but I don’t expect Phil Jones, The Twins and Anderson to play the role of water, to consistency’s oil. Players aren’t machines, but I don’t expect Giggsy and  Rooney to take their winter-break mid-match. Michael Carrick is okay with me (now), but I don’t expect to be saying he’s been one of our stand-out players by default.  There’s something missing.  Without the added incentive of trying to claim the nineteenth title, or the anticipation of  a summer of  rebuilding that never happened (or having Berbatov to eye romantically), this season, more than the last, has been punctuated with uncertainty and not in a good way. I don’t think it’s ‘enjoyable’ winning a title because of the inherent failings of other teams. *cue montage of me this time last year saying a similar … oh, wait it’s been recorded over by me addressing myself and reminding myself I’ve done this joke now three times in previous posts,  so should perhaps get a life*

I’ve heard it said that we ‘use our squad well’ and that ‘SAF’s man-management is second to none’. I understand that we have some ‘noisy neighbours’ and that ‘we have the experience at this vital stage’. It’s apparent that ‘new fans are spoilt’ and that ‘we’re not arrogant, just better’. On it goes, arbitrary statements heaped upon platitudes. It’s exactly these cliches that are at the root of my more general malaise, not necessarily the individual issues with the players themselves in the paragraph above, but the way we are ‘expected’ to rationalise and articulate our own personal opinions. It’s always the same. How many times can the same people say the same things about the same things. If we’re supposed to reset at the beginning of every season and re-enter the same discussions again and again, then I apologise as I was obviously not copied in on that memo, and p.s. – I quit.

"Thank god for that ... Oh, it's another 'joke'"

At some point during this winter I became aware of how, from my own perspective, the way fans talk about football has entered a maddening era of ennui, with the same repeating sequels. I’m not just referring to the fans with their insipid mantras of f*ckwittery, it’s also the self-anointed leaders of the meritocracy who spend an inappropriate amount of time ridiculing others whose interactions with the game they perceive as worthless. It’s also the pseudo-moralists, the knuckle-draggers and the affected, all jostling for position in a vacuous game of ‘vapid comment jenga’ ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

It’s not just this. I’m also disheartened and offended by the United bloggers who regularly use abhorrent sexist language, the United bloggers whose public face occasionally slips, showing them up as the bigots they are. The members of the ‘#MUFC Twitter family’ who are the vehicles for the above and more (that’s not to say this is specific to United fans, they just happen to be my main frame of reference). I’ve never felt so Other within a group to which I thought, to varying degrees, I belonged (as if it weren’t enough taking the regular slaps in the face that football delivers unapologetically).  But then, as Jiddu Krishnamurti reminds me, “It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society”.

A couple of weeks of moping about with a face like a smacked arse ensues until a fella on the radio reminds me that the human condition is to rationalise later. My girlfriend reminds me that there is no era of ennui, just permanent ennui. A.C Grayling reminds me that taking a strong disliking to things, especially Others, is externalised anxiety and worse still, inflamed antipathy. Peter Crouch scores THAT goal. I go to see a talk with Tony Benn and am buoyed by tales of the agitators of history, not that I’m suggesting my little issue with football can be measured against the political struggles of the socialist movement, or the historical plight of the proletariat …  who am I kidding, yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, which in itself is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. And I find myself reconnecting piecemeal.

... And who's been eating my goals?

Finally, I go to a book talk with Alain de Botton and he tells us how we should approach things like we’re diners at a buffet cart. I like the buffet cart analogy. I don’t have to fill my plate with the whole spread, I can surreptitiously wrap some in a tissue and dispose of it later, or even spit it back out, rejecting it completely. It’s my choice.

Winter becomes spring.

.

Implicit in trust is a close relationship between the truster and the to be trusted and unless you’re one of SAF’s friends or family members reading this (Hi Cathy!), we can assume that none of us here are on SAF’s Christmas card list this year and therefore not closely related to him in the more conventional way. However, arguably the same can be said of religious faith. I think it’s safe to assume that Muslims don’t pop round Allah’s house for tea every Tuesday (which is a shame cos he/she does a mean Halal chicken and chips). The ‘relationship’  formed is born through worship. Through the fans worship of Fergie, the trust in his judgement abounds and for the most part he is often afforded by some supporters a blind faith similar to that bestowed on religious deities.

Questions were raised when SAF began accessorising with some cherubs…

We know because we are told in almost every article ever written about him that he knows this club inside out. This reinforces our trust in him, because although not football managers ourselves we understand that that is an intrinsically important and good thing (plus we’ve all played ‘Football Manager’ and we all know that after the initial thrill of the hyper-realistic functionality that the backroom stuff is really boring).

We also know that he has a very high success rate compared with other managers. This without doubt strengthens our trust in him, because we all like to win lots and lots.

He puts faith in youth. He publicly protects his players. He’s respected by his peers. (He turns (down) water in (favour of) t(w)o (bottles of )wine). All things that provide evidence, that in respect of Manchester United, he is worthy of our trust. He is trustworthy.

Trust?!…I thought you said ‘thrust’.

How deep though does the trust go? Do we trust every team selection he makes? Every player he’s bought? Every word? Every decision? Every promise?  Although admittedly slightly loaded, I think most people would probably subscribe to the idea that how much you trust to invest in someone or something is personal to you; it’s a reflection of  the ethos you live your life by. I guess one of the points I want to make is that you don’t have to endlessly repeat cliched rhetoric to prove yourself to be the bestestest supporter ever. Also, I’m presuming that your support of your club, United or other, is unconditional and so to that end although Fergie is an integral part of our successful history, we aren’t endlessly beholden to him specifically. That’s not to say the success of the club isn’t dependent on the manager’s influence and because we can only rely on what has actually happened during his tenure, we can safely say he has been the main influence on our’s. I personally feel that trusting in him unconditionally – and in effect suggesting Fergie equals Manchester United – is a little unhealthy.

Still got it!

Over the past couple of years a section of fans have distanced themselves from the club and Fergie over his relationship with the Glazer family – they have lost their faith. He is no longer trusted by some and others have forsaken their support of United in light of his very apparent duplicitous actions; with no trust, their can be no relationship. The decision to publicly back the Glazers may possibly be one of Fergie’s biggest mistakes and possibly one of his biggest regrets(?), but, having said that, I trust his intention wasn’t to harm the reputation of the club. Unfortunately it has, and his own.

“We’re right behind you boss”

For me, Fergie’s ultimate aim has always been success, which, without encompassing every facet of being a fan, is the same of the supporters (of course success is all relative). His motivations though don’t come from the same place as a fans. He may well have ‘fallen in love’ with the club and undoubtedly will always regard United as a ‘part of him’, but without labouring the point, he could have had that at another club – had someone else come knocking. Fans tend not to choose a club, the club chooses you; for Fergie, United was a career choice. It was a choice made to provide a home for his family, something he has shown us on numerous occasions that he puts before the club. This for me is no more apparent than in his support of the Glazers: in protecting his own status within the club – by ‘dancing with The Devil’ -, Fergie is ensuring he can still provide for his own (although perhaps sounding like it, this is not a criticism).

Despite the fact he isn’t a fan (in the true sense) and his very real connection with the club initially comes from a very different place, this doesn’t mean he loves the club any less than fans, it’s just ‘different’. Still born of necessity, still impassioned, still love.

“Isn’t it past your bed time?”

He is a person (not a God) who puts his loved ones first – this is where I trust him. He is a proud person with unwavering determination – this is where I trust him. He manages to instill a self-belief in his players that is frightening – this is where I trust him. He is a real human being, who makes mistakes and learns from them (and sometimes doesn’t learn from them), who admits defeat and who takes responsibility – this is where I trust him. I can see the enthusiasm in his face, the emotion and although his motivations may come from an alternate place, I trust that he is absolutely, where he feels it is possible, and where he feels he can, trying to do the best for this club. Can’t you see it in his face?

Who are they?

Preface: I feel I must preface this post with a note to say that, of course, I would very much welcome an influx of youth to the first team, who wouldn’t, right?!  To utter anything to the contrary flies in the face of our club’s unique history … I really do like kids, I just couldn’t eat a whole one (sorry, that was sponsored by the Institute of Dad Jokes).

Since the Class of ’92 so impudently gate crashed the grown up’s party to their obvious incredulity, the sport has evolved into a very different elephant. Needless to say, this is, in part, due to the world that exists outside of our football sphere going through some almighty dramatic changes itself.

If you were born post 1980 you are now widely acknowledged as a Digital Native. You are immersed within, and at one with the technology that shapes our social and cultural environment. It’s likely, some say, that you have no soul. You are no longer a face in the crowd, but an avatar on A. N. Other’s Twitter timeline. You express yourself through a series of emoticons and abbreviations, LOL #justsaying. (However, I didn’t intend to be drawn in to a tongue-in-cheek defamation of our yoof and return to my point.) The distractions presented to the current crop would only have been glimpsed in the dystopian nightmares of a young Becks or Scholesy.

Neville Neville would no doubt have spent quite a bit of time shouting his rambunctious sons in for their tea, as they played footy, jumpers for goalposts, in the streets. Whereas today the equivalent scene may find him shouting upstairs to stop his offspring cracking a carjacked junkie over the head in the streets of L.A.

The immediacy of our culture ensures the young and impressionable habits and hobbies have evolved beyond kicking a ball about in the park, after downing a bottle of blue pop and being sick in the hedge bottom. The values instilled from a more ‘old fashioned’ upbringing are no longer that easy to impart.   How can we expect that football is going to be coursing through the veins of today’s ‘kids’ like it did for the previous aforementioned ‘Class of 92’? I personally don’t think we can.

I will tip-toe around the increasingly clichéd territory of the ‘trappings of fame’. I’d also like to acknowledge with a passing nod that the ‘Class of ’92’ did not take on the world by themselves, they had leaders of the like the game can simply never replicate: Eric and Keano.

If it were to have a chance, it would have to happen sooner rather than later. I feel when SAF retires the traditions our club has clasped close to its chest and held dear with regards to the nurturing of the prospective talent will become more difficult to sustain, as the lust for instant gratification becomes king. Someone’s job will no doubt depend on it.

Far from being a naysayer I would like to conclude as I opened, I can’t think of anything more satisfying than seeing a product of our youth system (preferably, a local lad – Hi Danny) progress and break through into the first XI. I just believe that for a throng of them to do so, in the manner of the ‘Class of ’92′, would be less likely than it ever has. The number of ‘what if’s’ that such an occurrence usually struggles against, now has to compete with societal change.

Hello…

I would love nothing more than to be proved absolutely wrong as the waffling idiot that I am.

F*ckin Jumper

My United wrist-band (worn as a pseudo-tribute to Hargo), my United footy socks, my retro 80’s United cap and my awkwardly ill-fitting red jumper cut a clumsy path to my bed. I imagined I must have petulantly shrugged them off about 11 hours earlier. The scene complete with shoes on my cat’s bed suggested my legs had clearly been well and truly plaited by the post Champions League final attempt to drown my sorrows. Sorrows as we all know are pretty good at floating, they are practically fitted with their own life-jackets. Ontological anxiety was eating away at what was left of the pickled brain cells. ‘F*ckin jumper’, I thought, before I buried my head in the pillow and hoped for sleep to rescue me before I sent in the para(cetemol)troopers.

I’m an equanimous sort as a general rule, so was slightly perturbed to be so troubled by my choice of clothing for the previous evening. I don’t wear caps, wrist bands or that ‘f*ckin jumper’. They live in my wardrobe, rarely seen, let alone adorning me on one of the biggest social events of the year. But the week leading up to the Champions League final, fully aware my local would be waist deep in Barca fans and ABU’s, I felt the compulsion to “nail my colours to the mast”.

Thanks, Brett!

I now know that my choice of wardrobe on that fateful day meant that United lost the final to Barcelona 3-1. Yep you heard right. I am to blame for the result in the Champions league final. Feel free to send me your tirades of vitriolic abuse, claims for reimbursement of match day tickets and/or packages of poo. Of course with that kind of talk you might expect I have a good chance of getting thrown in the loony bin … but wait…

A large number of us have behavioural patterns that could be described as superstitious. Some in a more overt sense – wearing a pair of ‘lucky’ underpants, others more subconsciously.  Philosophers try to teach us that a huge amount of societal behaviours have been built on superstitions and many of these have been passed on through religious teachings. At United we currently bear witness to one of the more gratuitous showings of a superstition when Chicharito plays out his ritual on the centre circle prior to kick off, praying to his god. We also see players kiss the ground as they take to the pitch. We have seen players come out the changing room last. Peter Beardsley apparently used to put chocolate buttons in his socks. But if they don’t score or their team doesn’t win or if they get injured do they still do it? Yes, they do. Why? Because, like all of us, footballers are ritualistic. We find inherent comfort in things we’re familiar with. Challenges to our individual and collective routines are not all together welcome.

Plase don’t let Wazza pull his pants down…

What if the players weren’t to do any of these things? What if I hadn’t worn red? It’s easy to presume if you aren’t ‘overtly superstitious’ that absolutely nothing would change.  But I challenge this assumption by suggesting this: If these acts, albeit potentially one in an infinite number of acts occurring in any one second that are embedded on our universal time line don’t alter the said time line in at least the most minute of ways then you are purporting that our existence is controlled by fate. We are all on the same time line travelling along it, powerless to make any decision that hasn’t been pre-destined for us individually and as a result, collectively. Scientists argue entropy is the single most powerful ‘invisible’ force governing our planet. Put simply all particles naturally shift towards chaos. Suggesting, and I agree, the theory of fate is nothing more than another fallacy similar to the superstitions people subscribe to.

Scientists now say that there are more particles within us than in the whole universe. I personally can’t get my head round that without needing a bit of a sit down with a nice cup of tea. But that belief alone is enough to suggest to me that we have power to influence more than we assume through the energy force given off by our physical entity and this is the point where I finally bring this hippy nonsense to its conclusion.

We are energy forces. That’s all we are. Family members, cats, cars, Xbox’s, fish tanks, cheese sandwiches, everything, all just bundles of particles with their own energy force. Our interactions with things on a microscopic level are particles with their own energy banging up against each other. Our collective energies along with everything else form the earth we live in. Every slight alteration in your own individual energy force has an impact, although minutely, on the collective energy of the planet.

Entropy…apparently.

If I choose to wear that f*ckin red jumper again that decision will alter the outcome of everything that follows. The problem I have is I’ll never know which way it changes the outcome or by how much or how little or if it’s for the better or worse.

Start as you mean to go on…

Despite the avalanche of tributes that have been compiled towards the end of his career, it feels like the rest of Europe and The World, for the most part, were keeping their unadulterated admiration for Scholesy a bit of a secret. Possibly enjoying a jolly good chuckle amongst themselves as our national team insisted on shuffling him to the periphery, on the left. At the AGM for the ‘Beautiful Exponents Club’ there would always be an extra place set: As Zizou exchanged loving glances with Thierry over a bottle of Vin de Bourgogne they would perhaps raise a toast to an absent friend. Hundreds of miles away in his beloved Manchester, our Paul would perhaps be having his tea, oblivious – more, not interested.

A modern day footballing legend, at least in part, is constructed from his own very distinct personal, but very public facing ego. Whether that takes the form of a certain kind of exuberance as with a George Best, or the ‘F*ck you’ attitude of a Roy Keane; we now more often than not create our icons from a catalogue of largely loud characters. We want to be like Eric – puffing our chests out, while bamboozling the press with philosophy. We want to be like Zidane – smoking on balconies in exotic locations and head-butting the baddies. We have tended not to celebrate the ‘everyman’, instead preferring to worship false idols, the one’s that have the potential to, and will inevitably one day, let us down. Paul Scholes straddles the two. He is extraordinarily ordinary, whilst maintaining his particular air of menace. He has created his own definition of what it is to be a legend … and how.

Pick that out!

When most footballers approach the summit of the game, they like to keep reminding us, subtly or not, lest we forget, how many medals they have, how many goals they’ve scored this year and that year and what they can now afford to do (because of course we are so very interested). I’m not saying that this is the rule and I’d also like to say that – to an extent – they are entitled to enjoy the ‘fruits of their labour’. However, somewhere between these displays, the photo-shoots and the red-top-rag-tales, we are rendered effectively powerless to ignore their place on this earth – above us.   This is not the case with our Paul.  Scholesy has achieved his status, as one of the best, in a way very few can and/or have … the holy grail of footballing folklore: he has let his talent speak for itself (of course the fact he can play a bit helps too).

Thought you said Chicha would get 25?

I’m not sure whether Scholesy was driven by a desire to be the best, I think he ultimately just wanted to play football for the club he loves (as a football fan growing up he could have only dreamed that one day he would be mentioned in the same breath alongside the names synonymous with the history of that club), but I’m sure he can retire knowing this:

Paul Scholes will always be remembered as one of the greats of Manchester United Football Club and one of the best players the game has ever, or will ever, see again.

.

Scholesy!

I’m gonna really miss him.

I was shocked no to see Berba on the bench, if anything I thought the gamble would be whether Owen would be joining him,  not replacing him, as a lot of United fans probably did. I thought that the way the game panned out we could have done with Berba to try and get some posession higher up the field and collect one of the many long balls we were pinging forward as only he can.

I was happy with Chicha’s contribution early on, playing the last man and trying to spring the offside trap. I was harping on about how with their makeshift defence this would soon provide a breakthrough. After a while this inevitably became a little frustrating to watch.

I thought they played Tony V well.  Hustling and bustling him, knocking him out of his stride. This forced him to become frustrated and then he couldn’t get a foothold in the game that would have inevitably galvenised the team. But he never gave it up, he never does.

Carrick was obviously asked to try and force the game a bit more and was making genuine attempts to play us in behind, something he’s been criticised by some for not doing often enough. But unfortunately it just wasn’t working. When a team like Barcelona unsettle you and have you chasing them around for 10 mins, it’s hard to suddenly gain your composure on the ball and find your rhythm.

You can always over analyse these big games, all games. VDS doesn’t usually get beat by the kind of shot Messi scored from (and I think from Messi’s celebration he was aware of that). Carrick and Giggs haven’t been left chasing shadows in the manner they were for the first goal that often. We don’t normally expect to squander possesion so easily. But I think most United fans will admit we were simply beaten by a better team (Wow, what a pundit I am).

Next year, with a couple of new faces and Fletch and Ando in full working order we’ll be a slightly different proposition, that can hopefully go one step further.

WE ARE MANCHESTER UNITED. BEL19VE!

The Spirit of Manchester United

In an interview with the Guardian Tony V was asked if United could pip Barca to the trophy. “Of course we can win. We are Manchester United” was his reply. While words and sentiment alone won’t bring home the bacon, his response is laced with meaning. Let’s take a look at the United team, from back to front, and take comfort in the fact ours is a team not easily beaten, nor easily stopped. I’m thinking 4-3-3…this may be wrong, and perhaps Fergie will want to stifle Barca’s midfield, but both Valencia and Park can certainly be counted on to track back.

Goalkeeper. Van Der Sar. One of the finest goalies around (and possible the best retiring goalkeeper ever?), and the cornerstone of United’s recent success. Our usual strong defending means he’s not called upon as much as, say, a Robert Green, but his authority and intelligence is partly the reason why our defence works so well. His reflexes, positioning, and reach are all outstanding, making him one link in a chain we don’t have to worry about.

Defence. Vidic + Rio = Stout. Evra is Probably the best Left Back in the World™, and either Raphael or Fabio make it an almost perfect pack four. Which is absolutely essential, given we’ll be up against the silver bullet in Lionel Messi. Not to mention the rest of Barca’s attacking arsenal…in fact, let’s move on shall we?

Midfield. I’m assuming it looks something like this: Giggs, Carrick & Fletcher. Carrick has his opponents, and then he has his parents. They believe in him, and so do I. I’ve always been a fan, and his form has certainly picked up. Giggs, assuming he’s had that annoying blindfold taken off, has been very consistent and very good this season. Darren Fletcher will be a machine, because he is a machine and because he missed out on the opportunity to be a machine two years ago. Not as creative a midfield as Barcelona’s, but MORE than capable of providing service to our front three while providing that extra protection (and whitening) for our (sensitive) back teeth (four).

Attack. Rooney must play well. He has the capability of lifting the team from good to great. And, all hyperbole and cliche aside (actually, I’m just going to embrace it), he will be the threat Barcelona are most worried about facing. Valencia has been one of my players of the season, despite being out for most of it. Without his early return from injury, I’d be willing to bet we may not have clinched our 19th title. Just a thought. Park has been a big game player, and I have no doubt that the team will benefit from an out of the Park performance due to his absence two years ago.

Where I am most likely wrong: Carrick and Fletcher. Could be Scholes and/or Anderson in for one or both of them, and there’s a genuine question mark over Fletcher’s sharpness. Poossssssibly Nani for Valencia, but Nani doesn’t provide enough defensive cover. I reckon, barring unforeseen circumstances, the other places are sewn-up.

So how do we win? In two ways. The first is so entirely obvious you’ll regret even bothering to read this post. We need to play very well indeed. All of our players will need to play the game of their lives. I can’t even begin to imagine the concentration necessary to keep Barcelona at bay. Rio and Vidic’s brains will be challenged in the extreme, however well the rest of the team play. Evra has to face Pedro, who is Barca’s ace in the hole (although arguably, Barca’s deck has more than its regulation ration of aces), while scampering forward at every available opportunity. No easy task. Wazza needs to find a way to play his own game, to unfetter himself from the pressure of the occasion, and play at his magical best. In some ways, I think this is the perfect stage for him: his season has been so up and down that the spotlight is considering taking a holiday. If we play like we did in the league against Chelsea at OT, we’ll hold Barca. We will have to play better.

Secondly, and more intangible than the first (which is saying something), we have to Believe. And not in the way that Mars Believed before the 2006 World Cup. No, we need to Believe in what Tony V was obliquely referencing. The legendary United spirit, that we are never beaten, and never bettered. Every game is ours to lose. Barcelona are perhaps the only side  (of late) that have found a piece of what United have had for decades: the hunger to be better, to win more, to always be the best. To never give in. My gut feeling is that if both teams play to their best, we will largely cancel each other out. Our team must find something else, something beyond top gear. Which, of course, we can.

We are Manchester United.

Michael Carrick picked his moment to let one go...

It’s a shame we had to be the team to consign Blackpool through the Prem trap door, but I still celebrated every goal we scored with no sympathy (Apart from maybe the O.G, ouch).

Finally Owen got his goal! I can’t take credit for a great prediction on that one, I’ve been predicting an Owen goal since March. Sadly Berba couldn’t manage to get one himself to win the Golden Boot outright but, hey, we know he’s the real winner on account of not doing it with pens

Ando is now showing signs of  ‘finding his shooting boots’. If he can finally have a pre-season without injury we may see what he’s truly capable of. With the news of Hargo being released at the end of the season Ando could be the one to step up and make himself a United legend.

The last word goes to VDS. What a shift he’s put in at the club. Unfortunately couldn’t go out on a clean sheet, but those two finishes were top quality (in off the post jobs).

Irreplaceable? Undoubtedly.

20 minutes in I couldn’t see anything but a comfortable win. Everyone was on their game and I didn’t feel there were many signs of real nerves. Wazza and Chicha were starting to link up in a style reminiscent of Yorkie and Andrew Cole. This is hyper-critical on my part but I do think Little Pea needs to work on his final ball. He works the space so well and then sometimes wastes it with a poor to average cross. Eeeeek, how can I really say anything negative after the season he’s had (Don’t worry I’ll rap my own knuckles for it straight after I’ve finished writing this).

PIG was the instigator of the wobbles when he started playing like a zombie stumbling around in porridge. I’m quite happy he’s going.

In the end we were well worth the point. Thought Geoff Shreeves could have been a bit less Sky Sports while interviewing Giggsy. Just let them get on with it, Geoff. “Are you enjoying it”, “Does it feel great to be celebrating the 19th title” etc etc…Well maybe if you’d have left him to celebrate instead of trapping him with the inane questioning he may have enjoyed it even more. As for the attack on Berba citing his lack of games recently as possible disappointment – cringeworthy.

That such an incredible achievement as 19 league titles was completed in such an undramatic and nervous way was perhaps redolent of our season. But who cares? I mean really, I’m already fed up with reading “Though not a classic Ferguson side, this team..” and “Lacking the glitz and glamour of bygone…” blah blah blah. We won, we were better than the rest of the teams in the league. End of, and thank you. As Ryan Giggs said: “We’re champions and we’re in the Champions League final, it’s a rubbish team.”