For the past one hundred summers (or thereabouts), the transfer window for United fans has played out like a clever analogy for unparalleled frustration; with nothing remotely central-midfieldy to celebrate. But for a club who supposedly don’t have, haven’t had, or even seemingly got all that close to buying, any one of the best central midfielders around for a hell of a long time (or perhaps more specifically since Roy Keane was shoved onto his own sword mid-fall), United have, have had, and have bought their fair share of the best central midfielders around.

Michael Carrick, Owen Hargreaves, Darren Fletcher and Anderson (and Tom Cleverley (though still a work in progress), Paul Pogba (though let’s not go there) and an ageing Paul Scholes (though no need to go there)), could all  – under test conditions, with all things being considered and equal – be seriously considered some of the best midfielders around over the past few years. They are all also, as good as, if not better footballers, than Roy Keane was. Now, no doubt the subjective opinions of United fans (and other fans) on all of those players varies dramatically; just because we’re from the same star stuff doesn’t mean we’re on the same planet, but for the purposes of this post, purse those cuss-laden lips, step away from the ‘Leave a Reply’ button (you don’t have to attend every argument you’re invited to) and just go with it for a minute…

I make the pointed comment about those players being better footballers than Roy Keane with no agenda, it’s what I think and so I wrote it down. That’s not to say I think any of those players make for better central midfielders. Roy Keane is rightly afforded his status within United’s recent successful history. He was, without a doubt, a more effective force than any of the players listed and possibly – it could be argued – than any other player you may choose to list amongst his peers. I’d also like to add that I’m in no way suggesting that Roy Keane wasn’t a very good footballer, it’s more that, that alone wasn’t what made him Roy Keane; it was the something Other. The indefinable Other – an intensity created by an individual’s attitude and their application of it – that can separate the very best players, from those that are just a little bit better.

Since Roy Keane was hustled off the mic, things – at United, but also things in a broader football sense – have changed. The accepted aesthetic of the midfield has evolved, and the rise to prominence of the likes of Michael Carrick emphasises a part of this. We’re just about wholesale on-board with Michael Carrick at United: a player who had previously fallen short of fans expectations on account of being predisposed to avoid irrational (or intentional) violent acts, for the greater good. That, and not having the genetic coding necessary for a low centre of gravity, therefore being slightly easier to shove off the ball than those less sharply inclined. He instead prefers to concentrate his efforts on other matters, like ball retention, passing, and that – the stuff that wins wars, but not necessarily every battle. But you don’t need me to tell you about Michael Carrick. He’s now generally regarded as a successful and integral part of United’s central midfield, and rightly so, because he is. But, as good as he his, I personally don’t think he has enough of that Otherness. You could (and should) be happy with having a central midfield formed from two players of Michael Carrick’s standing, it would without doubt succeed, but it wouldn’t have that edge and I think it’s that what us greedy United fans are after.

I think you’d be hard pushed to form a sensible sentence that argued that Owen Hargreaves wasn’t the best central midfielder United could have signed when they did. He was an answer; probably THE answer. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be, and alongside Anderson – in his own perpetual state of ill-health – and latterly Fletcher, spent more than enough time staring longingly from the window of the medical centre. Three of our best midfield options out of commission. Hargreaves was upset with the level of treatment provided by the club’s medical staff, suggesting they don’t have the players’ best interests at heart, but this is from a man who collected the Premier League trophy with Manchester City wearing sports sandals over football socks, and so can’t be trusted. There are other, more sane, theories as to why we haven’t shaken free of our midfield malaise: lack of money (or lack of real intent to invest in the team) probably being the theory of choice, but personally I choose to believe it’s been something else.

I genuinely believe, both Darren Fletcher and Anderson not only have bucket loads of the ability necessary, but also of their own brand of that Otherness to be up there with the best – and I think Fergie believed that too. His affection for the pair of them was never more apparent than on his final day at Old Trafford and I think it was his faith in them, his loyalty and regard, that fed a reluctance to seriously pursue and invest in a proper central midfielder. It was a gamble of sorts that never paid off while he was manager. It’s now up to David Moyes.

Before I finish up, think of all the central midfielders United have allegedly lusted after during these summers of malcontent, how have their careers turned out since? Off the top of my Google search: Nasri, Schneider, Rodwell, Modric, Wanyama, Mikel, Dembele, Tiote, Strootman, Hazard and Moura (you can add your own and play along at home) have hardly blazed a trail since having the temerity to resist OUR supposed overtures. Two of those listed I hadn’t even heard of before we bid on them and I still haven’t haven’t heard of them to this day. That’s not to say they wouldn’t have been the appropriate square peg to shove into our inappropriately empty, round hole, but I think it’s important to remember the things you didn’t get that you didn’t really want – it’s more positive; more healthy.

I’m not sure what we want, or whether it even exists and if it does whether it’s available, or if we can afford it if it were, or even if it would want to come to us and if it did come to us that it would be okay with the move – you know would it settle in and that – or if it would be more interested in the money, and if so, as long as it did, well would I be happy with that? Or whether we’d be able to keep it fit and healthy (that one’s for you Hargo) and nurture it’s talent, or if we’ve already got it and it just needs to stay fit … but I do know I want it really bad and it’s not okay that’s it’s just A. N. Other very good midfielder, it has to have that something Other.

This post was originally featured on By Far The Greatest Team

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.

Have it!

In ‘failing’ to replace Scholesy with one of the eleventy squillion midfielders we were in talks with over the summer and in conducting those inhumane maniacal experiments on Hargreaves in the name of franken-science, forcing him to flee our evil clutches, United unsurprisingly created a little plateau of doubt; somewhere for the disgruntled faithful to rest our half-empty flagons of pessimism. With no apparent disposition of the problem, we have no option but to drink down our midfield malaise* with a hot cup of steaming reality.

* For the perfect midfield malaise cocktail:

1. A heavy addition of inconsistent Brazilian Cachaça.

2. A 1/2 measure of weak Scotch.

3. A ‘dash’ of traditional flat English Sloe-lemonade.

4. Occasional infusions of South Korean mild Soju or vintage Welsh fine wine. 

5. And a huge slice of Tom Cleverley (whichever part falls off him during preperation).

But, silly joke aside (sorry if you missed it), laying the blame at the feet of the midfield players in the squad isn’t entirely fair and not something I’m personally partaking in quite yet (besides they probably wouldn’t know what to do with it).

We can admit amongst ourselves, whilst no other fans are listening in, that we no longer employ any of the best midfield players in the Premiership and without doubt this goes for European competition too. Of course we should never utter a word of this to other fans of other clubs, what goes on our blogs stays on our blogs etc. We must maintain our dignity at all times. Game face and all that. It’s not to say that we don’t have midfield players capable of winning matches on their day or midfield players who wouldn’t walk in to 80% of other Premiership starting XIs. It’s just there are others out there who are better (albeit impossible to present as a true argument with the lack of objective evidence there of).

“I can do better than that”, “So can I…”

City have Toure and Nasri. Liverpool have Gerrard  (and at a stretch Adam or Adams as he’s known in football circles). Chelsea have Michael Essien, remember him? (and possibly Lampard) Arsenal have Jack Wilshere and Arteta. And Spurs have Scott Parker  and Modric. You, as free thinking members of our wonderful democracy, are welcome to vehemently disagree with any, or all of the above.

Okay, so once you’ve finished putting your fist through your laptop and sent me the bill, here’s where this is going…

Having admitted we no longer have the best midfield players, doesn’t mean we need reach for a bottle of thick bleach, find a quiet spot down a secluded country lane and glug it down sobbing and vomiting, slurring, “it’s not fair!”. For me it’s just means we can put the midfield issues into some sort of real context, starting with ‘The best players don’t equal the best team’ and then followed up with, ‘The best team doesn’t equal the team that wins the Premiership’. Having one of the best managers, with the most experience, equals one of the better teams has a good chance.

SAF having allegedly missed out on midfield summer targets (although never officially substantiated) expressed his excitement at the squad going forward and was also quoted as suggesting our midfield was well equipped to deal with the season ahead. Of course, whether he genuinely believes that we will never really know. I’m not going to bombard you with vacuous cliches, but here’s one: As ever, we can only judge him on this statement at the end of the entire season.

Wesley who? Never heard of him.

Our whole squad has been stretched by injury, in what was always going to be a difficult season with the departure of Van Der Sar and the loss of the likes of Gary Neville and Scholesy from the dressing room. Our defence hasn’t adapted yet to their new Number 1’s ‘style’. Rio hasn’t any form or fitness, Vidic has barely played and we still don’t have a fit recognised Right-Back. Moving up the pitch Tony V’s still not match fit, Fletcher’s long standing problem with a virus has taken its toll and Cleverley‘s had to remove Kevin Davies studs from his calf. Rooney has had on and off-field issues to deal with, Chicha’s already been out injured twice, and having finally been given the chance at United Welbeck has been left isolated due to the circumstances and many more excuses besides. As a whole the squad hasn’t really been allowed to settle, not just the midfielders.

The cliche that the ‘game is won in the middle of the park’ is one I subscribe to and after a couple of poor results: Anderson has reverted to type, tiring after 60 minutes, after losing all discipline. Carrick hasn’t really provided us with any firm evidence that he’s about to enter the world of the living again any time soon. Fletcher has remembered that he was once just a very average midfielder who never got any press attention apart from the odd bit of abuse, and has remembered how safe he finds that place, it’s comfortable like his mothers womb, warm. He likes it there. Cleverley has looked impressive but he seems injury prone. Park can’t run in any direction for more than 15 yards without introducing his face to the grass. Giggsy is 38 years old.

Mummy?

The cliche that the ‘game is won in the middle of the park’ is one I subscribe to and after a couple of good results: Anderson having had a good pre-season is already showing signs of improvement. He needs a bit more work on his fitness and he’s still indisciplined but that’s down to his natural instincts to try and do everything, like a kid in the playground. At just 23 still plenty of time to develop into a player, not least this season. Carrick hasn’t played much this season, but his composure and control of the game can be vital in some games, a solid player to have in the squad. Fletcher has had his injury issues over the course of the last year or so, but as his goal against City showed he’s still got the quality. He just needs the team around him to stabilise to grant him a bit of freedom to maraude around the pitch such is his wont. With Cleverley in the team there seems to be more fluidity between midfield and attack, he’s a real prospect. In Park we trust, one of the most tenacious players United have had and on his day a match winner. Giggsy can go on till he’s 48 years old

48? 58!

We don’t need to panic after every bad result. We have to remember that everything has a context. We should try and be fairer to our middle men. It’s a shame that all goes out the window when I try to do it myself.

Well I’ve seen a lot of things while I’ve been blogging for Bifurcated…But I didn’t really expect to see that.

The result does suggest City will be more of a problem than I personally gave them credit for at the start of the season. There is a marked improvement from last season. They actually feel more like a team rather than a team of stars.

I can’t (because I’m biased) ever talk about the result without reference to the sending off of Evans. The game would have definitely been different without being down to 10 men, however as I have said many times on this site, you could say ‘Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda’ about every single game ever played in history. The one thing I would like to say is that I don’t blame Jonny Evans, Vidic takes professional fouling to the nth degree and might possibly have been sent off more than once had he played,if you know what I mean.

The real disappointment for me is the form of Ando. A promising-ish start to the season has seen him well and truly now revert to type…so much potential, so little end product. I still have hope for him and I don’t think he’s a bad player.

Thought Evra had one of the games where he forgets he’s a left back and Young didn’t really do much to help him out.

Also still baffled by the Berba situation.

It would have been more shocking if after the Evans sending off City hadn’t been able to kill us off…which until the fourth they hadn’t quite managed to do.

Fletchers goal was goal of the game, so ner ner nee ner ner.

Mancini still insists on keeping his hand well and truly in his pocket…What that is all about I’m not entirely sure.

Very glad they didn’t bring Hargreaves on.

Here’s a thing about Balotelli I wrote for Bifurcated which is kind of current in light of his t-shirt yesterday: Balotelli the Clown

Anyway…next game…

Man of the Match: N/A

Armed with two (TWO!) sheets of graph paper, a permanent marker (Yes I said permanent. This study will be a PERMANENT record. You can not erase it.) and our wits we embarked on a 2 minute study of the main Man City lot.

The results are bewilderingly astounding and prove conclusively, beyond a shadow of a doubt, with absolutely no need for recourse, that Owen Hargreaves just doesn’t and will not fit in.

See for yourself. We have included the results of the study below for your perusal…

Part 1: As you can see the main body of the squad are 'Baddies'.

Part 2: As City continue to be 'Baddies', Hargreaves quite clearly is shown to be a goody.

The conclusion from the results we drew was that despite the fact that the move is really, really unfair *best said fighting back tears and stamping both feet on the ground, whilst adding “I’m not crying, you’re crying”*, in being a goody Hargreaves is mathematically predisposed to fail if he moves there. Throughout football history we have examples of ‘goodies’ moving to ‘baddies’ teams and it not working out. Look it up if you like.

We have no need to concern ourselves with this whatsoever. We can quite happily return to putting our fingers in our ears and humming while City harp on about this and other nonsense.

I believe I can fly…

Is it a Bird?… No, he’s just got braided hair you bigot! Is it a plane? … Well, he’s carrying a bit of extra cargo. and in some areas he’s first class (?!) … NO! It’s Anderson Luís de Abreu Oliveira. Anderson. Ando. Player of the season 2012. My hero *swoon*.

I tried calling Paddy Power (If ever anyone was destined to become the proprietor of a bookmakers based solely on their birth certificate alone then Paddy’s your man. Possibly only eclipsed by Bet Fred) to place a wager on Ando becoming Player of the Season for 2012 but they refused to take it. Not because it was a forgone conclusion, I just owe them a lot of money (Lies! I was actually addicted to gambling as a teenager, but now cigarettes and alcohol have filled the void). Anyway, where am I going with this waste of a paragraph? Anderson may not be the first name that springs to mind when people propose their suggestions for heirs to the POTY mantle but I’ve been banging on about Ando now since half-way through last season so I’m sticking with him.

Did you know that since his arrival in 2007 he has never completed a full pre-season programme due to injury. That’s his whole United career to date, going into the season not fully prepared. Longer term injuries aside, including the potential career threatening cruciate ligament he ruptured, it’s no wonder he’s been susceptible to niggles and struggled with fitness. Let’s be honest about it he has never really had an athletic frame. Or to put it in a more sympathetic way he doesn’t appear to be a player who is ‘naturally fit’ like say a Becks or a Giggsy. He struggles with fitness.

It was that last Scotch egg…

There is a ground swelling of growing admiration and hope for Ando. A lot of it genuine. But also a lot of it coming from a position of  “Well this is all we’ve got without Scholesy and with no ‘big signings’, so let’s get on with it”. But I think that that absolutely undermines Ando’s potential to be our new ‘big’ player. I think he’s the midfield player we’re missing. But great news, we’re not missing him, cos we’ve already got him. That fella who wears the number eight.

He’s a bundle of tenacity, all action, hungry, wants the ball, gives the ball, master of little triangles, big triangles, competent finisher, creative spark, fearless, hard and soft in equal measure, has a passing range of note,  exponent of the spectacular, capable of the subtle and he also has proven form in one of the requirements from my personal worthy of worship tick list – he likes to ham up his goal celebrations, check.

Look at his face…just look at his face.

(One weakness: He has an apparent problem with heading, can anyone provide evidence of him heading the ball?)

This picture should be in brackets. PROOF!

The problem he has had has been with his relationship with this ugly word that in football circles is a thing of beauty as it harnesses success … consistency. He’s young and still learning his trade in one of the toughest divisions in the world. The team can’t wait for him for ten games to find his range of passing. When you’ve had the likes of Paul Scholes who need ten minutes to find theirs it’s even harder. But now in the best condition he’s been in, his time I think is now. He will still try and do too much, because he’s hungry and still learning. He will run to each end of the pitch forgetting which position he’s been earmarked to hold and when the ball finally comes to him he will kick it like his legs are made of concrete with balls of blu-tack for feet. As he matures he will develop this aspect of his game. For now we should enjoy his willingness to do it all and not berate him, because with a little bit of patience, like SAF is showing him, we will have some player.

Ando…I can’t breath!

I confess I don’t actually think that this will be the season that Ando gets POTY, but that’s not because I think he can’t. I think this season has come to soon in his development. 2014 is a more realistic target. I’m still sticking with my prediction for him for POTY, because at heart I’m still a gambling man and sometimes the outsider comes up on the rails. (Feel free to substitute that last line for any racing cliche of your choosing) I predict the plaudits to come thick and fast for him as the season barrels along towards the business end. He’s just completed his first full pre-season. Premier League beware.

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.

Yah!

With a knowing smile and a lackadaisical shrug Dimitar handed him the Champions League trophy and as he triumphantly hoisted it skywards the stadium erupted. He caught a glimpse of himself against the silver plate and pulled the trophy in tight to his chest as a solitary tear ran down his weary face. The camera from its position tightly focused on the tear panned away capturing the United players as they drenched each other in victory champagne. Pulling away further the camera revealed the United faithful as they continued their celebrations unabashed. Pulling away now even sharper the camera climbed to a height, skimming past the blimp, continuing its trajectory to face the unfathomable darkness of the night sky…

“And … CUT!!”

“Great job guys!!”

Robert Pattinson who had been playing Owen Hargreaves and Andy Garcia (Dimitar Berbatov) high-fived, Yeah-ed and Whoop-ed before shuffling away discussing where to go grab a bite to eat.

Just off set a lone figure seemingly oblivious to the fork-lift trucks removing the set all about him began to weep. Ron Howard played by Richie Cunningham from Happy Days, who had been directing the film, approached.

“Hey Owen, Owen? You okay maan?”

“Yeah, Ich bin sorted ta … just denken about zie awesome journey I’ve been on dude.”

After reading a fictional web blog post about how his life had been turned in to a movie in the future based on the true events that occurred as a result of reading said web blog post (this one, keep up) Owen Hargreaves whole existence had been turned on its head in the most unlikely of ways…

The phone hadn’t rung for weeks. Owen had been released by the club he owed so much to and his heart was heavy. The days became nights and nights became days. He muddled through somehow. Lost. Adrift. Alone.

Towards the end of July 2010 he received a text message from his old team mate and good friend Dimitar Berbatov;

Hi I Gt new deal lol waz sez u shd c dis http://176.32.230.16/bifurcated.co.uk xoxox

Although pleased for his good friend Dimitar, Owen wasn’t interested in seeing a picture of Wazza’s bald patch or more photos of Kai. He replied, ‘Gr8!! lol xox’ and rolled back into the duvet while throwing his mobile out the window. He soon drifted away, the only respite from the torture, sleep.

Die am I, dude?

Three weeks later after almost two months without venturing from his bedroom, Owen dragged himself to the garden for some fresh air and a quick cigarette (his new aid to pass the time). Once outside he took a minute to survey his kingdom. The numerous diamond encrusted cars in the platinum paved drive, the gold leaf fascade of his country getaway and the bronzed ‘friends’ who had been living in the Jacuzzi throughout the summer. He didn’t even know who they were. He didn’t even know himself anymore. He felt the bile in his stomach begin to rise.

“Get out! Get out!! Get OUT!!! SCHNELL, SCHNELL! GET OUT NOWWWW!”

With a look of horror and disgust on their faces the revellers hurriedly gathered their belongings, jumped in their cars and sped off down the driveway.

Owen calmly finished his cigarette and made his way back to the house.

Laying on the path as he made his way inside was a discarded tennis ball. With an almighty thwack, he blasted it into the wall. An old familiar feeling coursed through his veins. He repeated it again and again and again. He played until the daylight faded. With grass stained knees and sweat pouring from his tousled locks he suddenly felt alive again.

Ich love footy.

As he headed indoors again, this time to switch on the floodlights he spied the phone he had discarded all those weeks ago. He knelt down to retrieve it from its muddy grave. The message from Dimitar was still on the screen. His curiosity peeked, he ran inside and logged on to the mysterious site…

“Scheiße … I nicht know these dudes loved me so much, that’s top das ist” Owen said to himself as he scrolled down through the thousands of tributes…

For the rest of the story… of how Owen returned to United, insisting on playing for free and turning his back on the ‘system’. How he burned his belongings during a controversial talk at the following year’s ‘Marxism 2012′ in London and became a working class icon. How he endlessly and successfully campaigned to have Rupert Murdoch imprisoned for his fraudulent dealings and how in a landmark case he refused to allow Sky to profit from his image rights and forced them to paste an avatar of Richard Keys in stockings and suspenders over him during their coverage of United games during the 2011/12 season … I’m afraid you will have to wait for the movie.

So, this is the bit where you come in:

For the above scenario to play out in its entirety culminating in us winning the Champions League, you need to post your personal tributes to Owen Hargreaves below as a comment.

If Owen Hargreaves doesn’t return to United then it’s your fault. Do you want that on your conscience? No? I didn’t think so.

You may begin…