Okay, now, I was doing this introduction to this post that went something like this: 

It’s now been given the backing of my imagination and roughly 100% of one persons asked, that if you were to pit our crocked XI against our available accidents waiting to happen, they’d give ‘em a right good stuffin’. I didn’t actually imagine the match, the details of the game I mean, but we’ve come this far … so, as a matter of interest De Gea was in goal for the crocks, on account of his plumbeousity of the feet, which renders him incapable of jumping for crosses at any given time, and the captain was Fletch.  ‘Whhhhaaaattt!  Where’s Vida?’  I hear my imagination ask on your behalf.  Well, contrary to popular belief, he hasn’t chewed his own arm off to fashion a splint for his knee, no, he’s househunting in Spain. Truth bullets my friends.

Should I go fixed rate, or variable…?

Okay, nothing spectacular there, just the usual crap that drives the invisible wedge between myself and roughly three thirds of the online United community.  Anyway, so, it continued as you might expect, with the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh paragraphs, with slightly less of the above and an attempt to steer the post towards some kind of point…

I think it’s a popular misnomer that Fergie ‘sorts players out’. One of the strengths of his management, I bel19ve, is that what he actually attempts to do for the most part – with wildly varying degrees of success – is to channel a player’s natural instincts towards a positive outcome for the club (and in a round about way, himself). I’m not suggesting any Derren Brown sorcery here, that’s Phelan’s department,  just good ol’ individual player management.  Of course the upshot of nurturing aggression, externalising self-destruction, encouraging those natural instincts is: it brings risk.  Living by the sword, reaps rewards – it can also leave you without a very good team to pick from.

I promise this is the last time I’ll mention Hargreaves on this site, not ‘cus he no longer clocks in and out with us, it’s ‘cus it still hurts and I can’t keep opening up old wounds.  Why? WHY?! WHY, GODAMMIT?!  Anyhow, when he left amidst the mis-quoted claims of Franken-science, one thing he factually alluded to was how he, along with SAF (and the medical team), had taken calculated risks with regards to his treatment.  We all know how the story ends.  If the risk had paid off, at the very least, we would have a midfielder as good as Owen Hargreaves still playing for us.  When the club announced that Fletch was going for an extended sit down, it became clear that Fergie (along with Fletcher), had again been riding for a fall.  No doubt, as was the case with Hargreaves, the short term solution, such is the demand placed on most employees of clubs, was considered to be the only one.

In the examples of both Hargreaves and Fletcher it doesn’t take Robert Downey Jr or Humperdick Bumbecrunch (?) … Bedbatch Cumberdick (?) … Benedict Cumberbatch (!) to deduce that the losers in this game of *insert gambling cliche of your choosing* are the two players.  Fergs and United continue stacking up silverwares unabashed.  Both players’ desire to succeed, their competitive instincts and combative nature were in part exploited by Fergs, the means to his ends.  They may have both paid for it with their careers.  More of this later.

“Had we worked that out, Holmes?”, “Sssshh, just go with it, Watson.”

Of the current incapacitated amongst the squad, there are more specific examples of players who more directly arrow this post towards the sort of conclusions that suit my own opinion.  The aforementioned Vidic probably being one of the better examples (I will visit the others momentarily).

Nemanja Vidic cheats a hell of a lot more than the average Premier League defender.  That isn’t my opinion. Truth bullets. Nemanja Vidic is also a bit of a nutjob. That is my opinon, but probably not a popular one. Nemanja Vidic is also one hell of a defensive force.  That is also my opinion, but one I think most people would find difficult to argue with.  If you stop Vida cheating and/or being a nutjob then he’s not the defensive force.  Fergie knows this. The trick, of course, is harnessing all of the component parts of his personality to form the required whole; an effective team player. Sometimes Vida gets caught cheating and gets sent off, or we concede a goal as a result of him giving away a needless foul.  Much more often than this though, Vida makes vital tackles, keeps very good strikers quiet for long periods of time and saves the day. Fergie accepts the terms of the risk involved in having Nemanja Vidic in his team.  You temper Vida and you stand to lose all that he offers you.  When Vida, in a spectacular display of indiscipline, needlessly gets involved in a tangle with an opposition player in their half so voraciously that he does his own knee in, is out for the season and we lose the game anyway – that’s where the risk backfires.

(As an aside – don’t worry, in using these brackets I’m effectively whispering to you out of earshot of fans of other clubs – players such as Vidic serve to highlight one of the dichotomies of succesfully managing a football club: actively turning a ‘blind eye’ and furthermore encouraging the ‘necessary’ evils in order to gain the upper hand, whilst maintaining a holier-than-thou self righteous facade, finger pointing and generally suggesting the rest of your rivals are profoundly well adjusted to some form of sick society that is completely alien to your own.  Or something like that)

“Brackets or no brackets, I can read it. Tut tut”

On to the others … Unfortunately, although we love them down to their ickle socks, The Twins didn’t come with a warranty. As with most BOGOF offers, refunds are also invalid.  Their rambunctious wont, would no doubt see them throw themselves into the mouth of a lion with landmines for teeth if they thought for one second that said lion was potentially getting the upper hand on them.  An admirable trait, but one that has seen them keep our medical staff in gainful employment all by themselves.  SAF again understands that making a concerted effort to reign them in could bring with it dire consequences with regards to their output.  He hasn’t managed to channel their temperament as of yet and at the moment the risk of allowing them to continue somewhat indisciplined isn’t producing that many positives.

Whilst formulating a similar paragraph about Anderson, he’d only gone and been ruddy named as a sub on the ruddy same day, therefore practically negating my point about him being injured.  However, that was small fry compared to the news that Rooney had been dropped in a ‘misdemeanor that only Rooney could get dropped for shock’!  My post was fast becoming dated.  I soldiered on … blogging, hardest game in the world.

Ando similarly spends a disproportionate amount of his time at the pie shop staring at the ceiling in the Carrington nurse’s room.  Again, to his credit, if he were offered the luxury of being able to detach his limbs at will and disperse himself across the Old Trafford pitch, so as to be everywhere at once, then he would shake on that deal in exchange for his mortal soul.  In the absence of this ill-gotten gain, he does it his way for 55 minutes and then the wheels fall off.  Fergie could curtail it, implore he holds his position, but then you just have Darron Gibson with braids.

“If just one person metions me and braids I’m off…Oh, right that’s IT!”

Yes, I know Ando no longer has braids.

(I could use other current examples such as Cleverley, Young and the perpetually injured Owen, who have been risked, rushed back when not 100% fit and now we are without. )

Players of course need to be disciplined in a tactical sense, and in a behavioural one, and others besides.  But without the encouragement of what some might describe as their innate ability, they just become ordinary.  We can keep The Twins and Ando fit with discipline at the expense of an intrisic part of their nature. Fergie could have insisted both Hargreaves and Fletcher got the neccesary treatment as soon as they were advised of the dangers.  United may not have won the Champions League in 2008, or the league last year.

Revisiting the examples of Hargreaves and Fletcher, as I said I would, I wanted to redress the balance of this post a bit, as I don’t want to simply imply that Fergie recklessly uses players for the furtherance of his own career (and ultimately the success of the club) and cares little when they end up at the back door of the glue factory.  Although when you put it like that…   No, of course the players are implicit in the risk taking.  At least you hope so.  If they’re not, then more fool them.  Anyway, time is ticking on.  It’s clear to me that the self-efficacy of the individual player plays an integral part with regards to the risk to their long term health.  Self-efficacy derives from an individual’s self-perception and is heavily influenced by external factors.  People with a strong belief in their own ability (high self-efficacy), which is the category you can imagine that most professional footballers would fall into, are much more likely to view obstacles (such as playing when carrying injuries, not 100%), as something they can overcome, as opposed to something they should yield to. Hargreaves and Fletcher (The Twins and Anderson) are professional footballers and their lives revolve around the strict regime placed on them as a result of that.  They are all defined primarily by what they do on the pitch.  It provides them with their identity.  They need to gamble as much as Fergie and the club needs them to.  Without it, what are they?  Did I make a point there?  Let’s hope so.

“Did you get the point?” “No…you?” “No.” “Good.”

For the concluding paragraph I was going to attempt to summate that SAF, in terms of the success of the club with regards to the individual casualties we spit out along the way, was weathering this particular season’s storm as only he can, incredibly well.  But then we lost to Blackburn (at O.T., where we look less and less convincing!) and I was sulking, so left it for a bit.  Then Newcastle happened and I thought that perhaps the risks that Fergie was taking weren’t working out after all.  I mean, we might still have Fletch and Hargreaves, right?!  I left it for a while to see what the F.A. Cup game would bring.  It was during this time, while sorting out some CDs, I decided to title this post as I have.  The ‘Get ur freak on’ part referring to what I felt United needed to do.  Weak, I know.

Things then just kept on happening.  We had suddenly flipped Scholesy upside down one day over Christmas and realised we’d been looking at the sell-by-date, not the use by.  Despite our best efforts to drag a loss from the jaws of victory against City, we only went and beat them didn’t we.  And now with the news that Sparky is back, I can envisage a beautiful climax to this gloriously demented excuse for a Premier League season, when QPR go to City on the last day.

One of the enduring aspects of football is how things literally change in an instant.  There’s always light at the end of the tunnel, it just might be a train.

Some players need a club that matches their playing ethos to reach the pinnacle of their footballing powers, but more, they need a club that matches their ambition and ego before they really flourish. A recent example of this being Eric, who although was very good at Leeds, took his individual performance level to somewhere seldom superseded by any United player before or since. Not just in some cases singlehandedly winning games, but managing to lift the level of the players around him. The same can of course be said of Roy Keane. Other players can move to clubs on the back of a burgeoning reputation and despite showing glimpses of what they are capable of somehow the fit isn’t quite right. Diego Forlan and Jordi Cruyff, probably being good examples of this. Of course there are lots of other outcomes in between and beyond these. Some players just flop (Taibi). Some players don’t tactically fit the preferred formations of their new employers (Veron) etc etc. The reason though I used the first two examples is because I see this as the two potential outcomes likely to befall our most surprising summer acquisition Ashley Young (I’m not suggesting he’s going to be the next Eric or Roy, just that he may finally achieve the heights he’s been reportedly threatening to since he signed for Villa).

I prefaced Ashley Young with ‘surprising summer acquisition’ because I’m fairly certain that most United fans would have prized a tenacious midfielder (replacing the perpetually bed-ridden Hargreaves) or a creative attacking midfielder (replacing the irreplaceable Scholesy), a box-to-box midfielder (replacing Keane 6 years late), or maybe even a trequartista to allow more flexibility in attack as the priorities, after a goalkeeper, when SAF promised at least 3 new faces would be gracing the team photo come August. I’m not suggesting Ashley Young isn’t a very good footballer, no, but at first glance he’s not ‘the signing’ some of us were anticipating.

I bet Nani can’t control the ball with his mind…

We are all aware that Ashley Young has the ability to play in a variety of positions and we assume that that is one of the attractions in obtaining his services. But the ability to play in a variety of positions in itself hardly sets him apart from his peers. In fact it’s fast becoming a given that a player at the highest level should be able to adapt tactically to a certain degree. Players who specialise (and specialise well) are now becoming the rarer commodity. Remember the twins played wide midfield against Arsenal in arguably one of our best performances of last season. All of our attacking players, bar possibly Chicha and Berba, are capable of and have intermittently alternated positions for United. Yes, SAF likes this changeability from players, so the more the better, right? But, can’t you have too many? I’d argue that the more interchangeable players you have doesn’t actually equate to a stronger team. We won the Premiership last season on the back of a strong squad, but we lost the Champions league because we didn’t have the quality in our first eleven. Yes, there’s more ‘healthy competition’ for places which is important, but without the player coming in being of superior quality the hierarchy amongst the players remains the same. No feathers ruffled. No ‘upping of games’. So the questions I initially posed myself are these…

Is Ashley Young better than any of the players in direct competition for his position(s) Rooney, Park, Valencia, Nani? The simple answer, without arguing individual plusses and minuses, in to the small hours, is no.

Has he been cited as a direct replacement for Giggsy? One of the most talented players in premiership history?  Categorically, no.

Is he a long term replacement for any of the other aforementioned players? Well he’s older than them all, aside from Park and they’re probably the least likely to be considered vying for the same position.

I’d also argue that he doesn’t automatically stick out as ‘something a bit different’ to what we already have at the club. As a matter of fact, Ashley Young and Nani I think some football fans, myself included, will agree are on a similar level. I’m not saying they are similar players, however they do have a remarkably similar output as ‘wide midfielders’. Both are capable of scoring spectacular goals, in amongst a few woeful scuffs and hoofs into row Z. Both are capable of man-of-the-match performances from time to time. Both spend at least 1% of most games ‘fishing’ (Dangling out appendages in the hope a flailing limb will brush against them, awarding them a free kick or pen) Both fancy themselves at free kicks, with varying levels of success. Both have a very healthy confidence in their own ability. Both are hugely likeable whilst maintaining an irritating petulance. Both have an issue with consistency. Both are capable of creating a piece of individual match winning ‘magic’ (I like them both). Most tellingly as I list these is the thing that sticks out most… both still have a lot to prove. So the competition, for the left midfield berth, between these two, could bring out the best in both of them. That could be in part the thinking behind his arrival.

Left-wing is mine…No it’s mine!

Anyway, you’ve probably gleaned from the preamble to this point a feeling of negativity towards his signing. Well, I’m going to surprise you and say that what I believe is that SAF has seen something particularly special in Ashley Young, that he strongly feels will blossom at United. Something we’ve seen in select Match of the Day highlights but not consistantly enough, that SAF feels can be succesfully mined from within the player.  He’s obviously not going to become an Eric or a Roy, but if his performance level went from 1 in 4 (strong games) to nearer 1 in 2 then we could soon have a very, very good player on our hands, one who can surpass Nani and Park. He is without doubt endowed with the tools, he just has to mature in to a player who understands better how to use them. I have the gut feeling he’s going to turn out to be a good signing. I weighted the question about him being a ‘replacement for Giggsy’ with the word ‘direct’ to intentionally suggest that you can’t ‘just replace’ players like Giggsy. I actually think he has been bought, with the hope through his much needed development to, at least in part, soften the blow of Giggsy’s retirement. Here’s hoping.

Martin O’Neill may be one consultation away from the looney bin but he once described Ashley Young as ‘world class’. History teaches us that it’s often the ‘mad’ ones that get it right.

Aaahh…Beautiful, World Class Ashley…

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.

BUT *intake of deep breath* Ihaven’treallyalwaysthoughtRyanGiggswasallthat. There. Said it. What you didn’t catch that? Too bad. Pint please barman.

Anyone suddenly got a craving for twiglets?

“Ryan Giggs, Ryan Giggs, running down the wing, Ryan Giggs, Ryan Giggs, running down the wing…” Stuart Atkinson, my best friend at school, used to sing that song at almost every opportunity for a whole term. He’d been to a game (again) at O.T and Giggs had been twisting some poor defenceless right full-backs blood (again). I never used to join in despite his remonstrations. You see I never really had the boy with hairy twiglets for legs down as one of my faves. Sparky was my man – now he could carry a perm; not a floppy cutesy Giggsy perm … a man’s perm! Young Ryan wasn’t even in MY starting 11.

I was also a big Lee Sharpe fan. His back- heel-flick against Barcelona is still one of my favourite United goals of all (my) time. I, against everyone else on the planets opinion, thought he was much more consistent than Dani Behr’s bloke. I thought Giggsy’s final ball was often found wanting at key moments in games. Lee Sharpe would be all Elvis in the corner, where as Giggsy just seemed to mope off all nonchalant, to cool for school. Not for me.

I don't want to play anymore...

I always thought the hyperbole surrounding THAT goal against Arsenal was a tad over-cooked. I’m definitely in the camp that says ‘old Arsenal defence, Seaman dreadful’. I do think that he is a little careless when finishing and crossing, with his final ball, if you will. I do think he had a couple of particularly poor seasons in the early noughties that might have seen other players in danger of being moved on. And I do think the Sports Personality and PFA awards may have been more than a bit based on sentimentality. BUT *intake of second deep breath* I absolutely love Ryan Giggs!

Is it just me, or is it a bit warm today..?

His penalty against Chelsea, in the Champions League final, was the moment that he finally had me. Quite superficial in a lot of ways, I hear you whisper, well, that was it … The Moment I realised just how much I loved Ryan Giggs. Maybe if it had come sooner, I wouldn’t now appreciate him quite so much? I look back on old footage before colour t’internet and I now realise that he is actually one of my absolute favourite United players of all time. Quite a transformation I hear you say again (you should stop that whispering, it’s rude). I love him so much now to the extent that if he’s not on the team sheet I get a little bit nervous.

I wonder if Brett likes me now?

In hindsight as a 32 year old pretending to be an adult sometimes, I realise that my main problem with Giggsy had nothing to do with football in the slightest, it was purely based on the fact that he was ‘well fit’ and all the girls at school, mainly the ones I thought were ‘well fit’ thought so too. So, there you go you were right I’m just superficial … but lighter for sharing.

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.

The new home of football.

It’s 3:00am Sunday May 29^th and Wembley stadium is cloaked in near silence. The floodlights illuminate the night sky as the surrounding streets echo with the glorious hum of exultant crowds. Football’s home is momentarily stirred by the zephyr of nature as a seagull glides down from the morning haze to pitch side. It settles purposefully aside a small pigeon who’s feasting on the remnants of a pie discarded in the throes of unparalleled joy.

“Where have you been Steven?” says the pigeon.

“Sorry mate. I was following this trawler, expecting something to happen…erm, anyway you had to be there, what have I missed?” replied the seagull.

Bird's eye view...

“The whole ruddy thing! It was beautiful Vida and VDS lifted the trophy together, that’ll live with me forever!” *sniff*

“What does it mean though?” asked Steven.

“It means we’ve won the Champions League you twonk”

“No, I mean what does it mean, you know, what does it represent for us?”

“Err…oh” *

Suspend your belief system as far away from reality as you can and imagine for one second that that lot from Spain win the Champions League this weekend. The eulogies having already been spell checked and proof read and are waiting in the draft email boxes of the world’s media, where they have probably been sat since the tournament began. For most people a win for Barcelona represents a victory for ‘Champagne football’. When the planets stand in unblemished alignment this is the outcome as nature intended it. The puritanical amongst fans reiterate their unflinching presubscribed belief in the inevitable triumph of a ‘total football’ philosophy. Gaurdiola and his gang of merry men already swathed in sanctimony pat each other on their divine backs and retire to their thrones where they feed each other golden grapes and such like, ensconced as kings of the castle while all the dirty rascals enviously drown in the moat of sycophancy, choking on superlatives below.

No, you are. No you are. No, you are. Okay, we all are!

Barcelona epitomise more than most the true values of our favouritist of sports. They put the ‘B’ in the Beautiful game. They are theeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.  Whoops, sorry I nodded off there for a second. Probably because it’s just so, so BORING! If Barcelona were to win the Champions League final it would be the equivalent of us all having a 90 minute cup of tea.

When Manchester United win the Champions League, it’s a lot more difficult to quantify what that means for the club this season. I hesitate, nay outright refuse to repeat the endless diatribe vented upon our Premier League Champions because we’ve all stopped, looked and listened to all that’s been heaped upon us on the road to the season’s finale. I think we can all be adult about it and say that there have been numerous occasions this season where we have not been fully equipped to deal with our opponents in a way that we have come to, possibly unreasonably, expect. The 6^th gear we associate with our usual flurry towards the business end of the season has only been glimpsed in fleeting moments (Whether this phenomenon, this strong-second-half-of-the-season mentality actually ever existed consistently throughout the last 15 years is also up for debate). My appetite hasn’t been whetted by the potential of a team with all its powers blossoming for a harmonious climactic show stopping performance. Instead it’s wondering which team will turn up.

Winning the Premier League had its obvious distinctly perceptible connotation. We are now domestically the most successful English club. We have ‘knocked Liverpool off their perch’. This has given the triumph its gravitas.

Rooney spells it out

In winning the Champions League we will be labelled from most corners, as we were in winning the Premier League as fortunate. In some respects, although hardly with its foundation in any reality you could start believing, that if we were to win, it would be a hollow victory. We have been consistent and solid, where European Champions should perhaps swagger. We will be Champions of Europe. But without reaching a milestone as we did in winning the Premier League some of us feel the need to identify what the victory might actually represent.

Eric isn't the only 'God' we've had.

For me what this season has emphasised more than before, and I know I’m not breaking any new ground with this theory, is how vital Sir Alex’s brand of omnipotence is to our success.

When SAF completed his touchline ban for voicing his opinions on Martin Atkinson and friends and instantly decided to reoffend, he was sending a message to the Manchester United squad. “I don’t care what they say or do to me. I only want what’s best for us!” The squad know what SAF expects because he sets the standard (When the technology is in place SAF may well replace the contract with a ritual similar to that in ‘The Temple of Doom’ whereby he collects the beating hearts of the squad to see who’s up for the fight).

Burning desire...

The insistence in the ‘Us against the World’ philosophy is one SAF is not alone in. But where SAF succeeds and his adversaries fail is that he never allows his own ego (or that of any squad player) to overshadow that of the collective. You never see SAF gesturing to the crowd as if he’s the one who scored the winner, as you increasingly do now with other managers. SAF celebrates like a fan, like a part of the family. SAF is a staunch socialist and no doubt this directly shapes his football ideology. He may have come under criticism for his support of the Glazers, but for me this is just another example of how he intelligently navigates the modern game, and all its many fundamental failings as an institution, to ensure the club remain focussed on success (I fully expect SAF to condemn the Glazers and the numerous other similar takeovers blighting the game, once he has finally called it a day).

That's close enough...

I like what Sparky once said, that, “United don’t ever lose they just sometimes run out of time”. Okay it’s hardly a bulletproof statement. But it’s a more than apt romantic nod to the ‘winning mentality’, we hear so much about, that SAF instills within his players.

I feel this season more than any other Sir Alex has perfected the art of creating a ‘team-ego’.  Manchester United is the sum of its parts, carefully crafted by the boss, and stronger for it. This is what this double-winning season represents for me. (Of course if we do decide to all turn up on the night and just blow Barcelona away then that works for me too)

For he's a jolly good fellow!

* Okay we all know birds can’t talk in our language, I had to use Google translate. They could barely speak pigeon English.

I often wonder what other teams think of United; what threats they will face, what they feel they can exploit. When I read this interview with Xavi, one of my favourite players to watch, and undoubtedly one of the most important players of the last five years, I got a pretty good idea of the regard footballers can hold for other footballers. But then, the global footballing regard (see here, here and here) for Paul Scholes is pretty well-known (oh ok, while we’re talking Scholesy). What is less well-known (at least by me) is what the Barcelona fans will make of a final against Manchester United.

I would like to think that we represent the team most likely to spoil their party. Despite a season dotted with sub-par performances, I still think we’re the most complete and threatening team Barcelona could face. But what do they think? This is a rough approximation of the Barca voice, as they dream of glory.

We are Barcelona

We’re going to walk it. We’re the best club team on the planet (ever?). And to sweeten the odds in our favour,  United aren’t even as good as they were the last time we met in a champion’s league final. We have just got better. United have become workmanlike, we have become gods.

Our camp is confident, and not quietly. We are polishing our brass on the eve of a battle we know we will win. We overcame a potentially tricky tie with Real, causing Jose to soil his underwear and spill his marbles in the process. We were an irresistable force against a petulant, inferior and thrashing object.

Aren't they just angels?

We believe we stand on moral and philosophical football high ground. We will wear UNICEF on our shirts, be a team, attacking and defending with all 11 players. We will pass and move, create triangles, delight the eye. We will be serene and represent the one, true football. The history of the game has been fashioned to this point, and this tie will solidify the triumph of the one best footballing way. Not even Manchester united, the great marauding English team can touch this Barcelona. This Barcelona with a hundred Jack Wilshires.

On the pitch we will expect the lions share of the ball. We will hog it hungrily and artfully. Manchester united will panic in the face of such fluency. They will be choked of possession. We will easily find cracks to pass our way through, we will make those cracks into canyons. United, although quick, will be made to look sluggish. We will be two up by half time. Puyol and Pique will push up around the centre circle, not afraid of exposure. Our team flexes its sinews from back to front. Passion in defence, supreme creativity in midfield, ruthlessness in attack.

Barcelona ready their blades

What have we to fear? Nothing. We will be wary of the part of Manchester United that has made them the less romantic of the two teams. Their tightness amd organisation in European games. Their psychological strength, determination. We will admire their work ethic, but we will match it. There are threats to our intricacy: Park and Valencia will want the ball. Wayne Rooney will chase it, Vidic will suck it from the sky. Manchester United will try to defy barca; and they are quick and capable in any one moment. They are underdogs, and the English love their underdogs. But this is a game for maestros.

For Barcelona, the outcome is decided. Manchester United have had an easy ride through the competition. The semi finals were a joke. We have proved ourselves to be worthy champions already by the way we embarassed Real. United have reached the end of their run: their prowess has peaked and they will be soundly beaten.

We are Barcelona, the finest football team on the planet.

As we all have come to realise finals are often played out as games the teams are afraid to lose, rather than go out to win. I hope this breaks the mould, but I can’t see it. Nervy, twitchy, last-gasp clearances, controversy, pushing and shoving, heroes and villains and all the joyous things that make a  modern final.

I think 1-1 all the way and then a quick one-two counter punch in extra time! Berba to get the clincher.

pah! PAH! PAAAAHHHHH!!

I was going for 2-1, then thought, eff it, we’ll stuff ‘em and pompously made it 3-1, noticing that Brett was backing the same scoreline. Then I went to lunch where I was served by a Spanish Barcelona fan who made the “pah” sound when I told him my prediction. He’s going for 2-1 Barcelona, which is the score I fear most, as it seems very very plausible.

However, the “pah” sound made me indignant, so 3-1 it is. Barca to score first, after 10 minutes. Plenty of early pressure culimating in Messi’s, and Barca’s, only goal of the match. We’ll hold out against the Barca Barrage until 40 minutes when Rooney crashes one in, against the run of play.

Valencia celebrates his winning goal

The second half will start cagily, but on 60 minutes Valencia will power through the Barca defence and calmly slot one beyond Valdes. He will celebrate by choosing not to smile. Barca hit the post, have a good shout for a penalty turned down, before Hernandez finishes the job on 85 minutes to break Barcelona hearts.