Gertsamtkunstwerk

Mickey Mouse smiled, the Coca Cola went flat...

Sort of, anyway...

Man Utd 0-0 Tottenham (aet) Man Utd win 4-1 on penalties

What a dismal match, that never really came to light. Yes, United should have had a penalty, and Ronaldo came so close with the last kick of the match. But, as in the match against Internazionale, United completely failed to capitalise on their early dominance, and the rest of the match was littered with intolerable lapses and poor passing. Much as I am grateful for Ben Foster's sterling performance, it does say it all when the goalie is man of the match.

At one point I remarked "It's like watching the Coca Cola League"

About 15 minutes from the end my niece phoned, returning the call I had made while she was at Bolton-Newcastle. My sister called down to her not to phone Auntie Gert during the Coca Cola Cup Final. I had had to look up the name of the competition, having gone through Littlewoods and Coca Cola.

It was nice to see Ryan Giggs playing in extra time and the shoot out, remembering when this inexperienced 18-year old made such an impression the first time United won it in 1992. I think what is so remarkable about Giggsy is that having burst onto the scene as an extraordinarily promising 17 year old (on this day in 1991, when Danny Wellbeck was just a babe in arms), he not only lived up to his promise, but is still going strong 18 years later, a model of consistency professionalism and achievement that would be the envy of anybody.

Like George Best and George Weah he has suffered by being of a minnow nation so never stood a chance of winning anything for his country. Can you imagine what a combined England and Wales team could have achieved when he was at his peak, and England lacked a decent left-sided midfielder.

Despite a flirtation with the headlines in the early 90s, he has generally styaed away from the Footballer Lifestyle and I know nothing about his wife, who obviously doesn't fit in with the WAG lifestyle - their wedding was reported in the Salford Advertiser. According to Lee Sharpe, Giggsy used to hang out in the Hacienda back in the days, and then, presumably, grew up and settled down. It was always said that he hung out with his old school mates, rather than hangers on and users.

Mourinho: Ryan Giggs The Best Ever EPL Player

Just when you thought he was becoming as predictable as his football teams, Jose Mourinho declares his undying love for all things Ryan Giggs.

He didn't quite call him The Special One but might as well have done

Ferguson cools talk of quintuple

Giggs ready for quintuple quest

Cough cough, certain people who ought to know better seem to have forgotten the (admittedly meaningless) Charity Community Shield...

Mickey Mouse

I am currently watching the Carling Cup Final.I won't be Live Blogging it (like, how sad is that to blog on something that interested parties can get either from the TV or from professional websites that pay people to provide details for those without access to the televising). And, anyway, when Jimmy comes home from work, I shall move the laptop off the coffee table and shut it down.

It will feel very nice if we win it. But if  Tottenham prevent us from getting Part 3 of the possible Sextuple, I won't cry, it won't be the end to our season. We are now safe from relegation, but only just. And as someone very wise said to me, one can never really enjoy the football season until we can be sure that Manchester United will not be relegated.

Transfer window +1

Well, United get Berbatov, for a lot more than he's worth (IMHO). Berbatov gets to play in Europe...like he was ever going to sign for Manchester City, considering his stated reason for leaving Spurs was the absence of Champions League football.

Instead, Manchester City get Robinho. What's all that about?

Real Madrid president Ramon Calderon said Robinho, who called a news conference on Sunday stating again his desire to leave the Bernabeu club, had broken down in tears as he pleaded for a move.

"We have sold Robinho for reasons of a human nature and for sporting reasons," Calderon told Spanish television station Veo."The fact that he has accepted an offer from Manchester City says that he is not going for sporting reasons.It's an important sum of money. It's not the objective of Real Madrid to sell players, neither do we need the money, but for reasons of human and sporting nature, it has been decided this is for the best.It's a decision agreed by all the coaching staff, who understand it is best for the player and for the club.

(Coach Bernd) Schuster thought until yesterday that he could recover the player, but that has not been the case. Every time I have spoken with him he was very sad, crying and asking to leave Spain. Real Madrid are more important than any one player"

I love that bit 'not going for sporting reasons'. I have a lot of affection and respect for Mark Hughes, but, pur-lease, this guy could have joined any team in Europe. Chelsea were supposed to be signing him, then went quiet,  'not prepared to pay the asking price' - MoneyBags Chelsea? Would it be that Brazilian Big Phil Scolari knows something that Welshman Sparky doesn't? Tangentially,  I doubt Sparky will be in the job for long - surely the Abu Dhabians will want to put their own man in place?

In my uninformed and barely evidenced opinion, Manchester City have paid a small fortune for someone really quite flaky. We shall see...

We want Ronaldo to stay...

Link: BBC SPORT | Football | Pele orders Ronaldo to stay put.

Hmm, much as I would like to agree with Pele and Fergie, much as I want Ronnie to stay put, my understanding of employment law, tested in the European Court, is that footballer's contracts are non-binding in respect of duration - like every other employee they have a right to terminate their employment at any time with reasonable notice. I think the employer may also have a right to compensation...it's called the transfer fee. And, technically Sepp Blatter is correct. Ethically wrong, of course!

Euro 2008

It's difficult, being English.

We have this mispalced feeling that we ought to be there. Crap,of course, we weren't good enough to qualify. End of.

If Ireland were there, Gert Cottage™ would, naturally, transfer their affections.

But in their also absence we have to make judgements.

I'm backing Poland, cos they're the only Home Nation actually involved ;-) (did you know that the single biggest wave of immigration to Britain over 2000+ years is the Polish wave since I started blogging?). Him Indoors is supporting Spain. Apparently Geoff Hurst is supporting Germany.

We were out on Brixton Hill, enjoying out Inter-course cigarette. A car stopped at the traffic lights, flying Portuguese flags. We waved, they waved and honked back. Hey, we thought, we could have fun. We could actually support every team and have a three week party.

But I still reckon the most supported team in England will be Poland

So, it's Chelsea

Manchester United now know it's Chelsea in the All-England final in Moscow.

Manchester United vs Chelsea? Blimey, they'll be dancing on the streets of Guildford...

To be honest, Liverpool were the better team. Denied an obvious penalty, after Chelsea had been allowed a dodgy goal. Liverpool were robbed. Still, they're used to that...

I am bit worried about Abramovitch's team being our opponents in Moscow. If he can use his contacts to bribe his way to the title, he will.

My nerves are in shatters...

...but we're off to Moscow!!!!

Well, not me, personally, of course. But Bring on the Scousers, make it an all-Lancashire Final! Although it would have seemed more European if it was Barcelona.

It was a surprisingly entertaining match, until the final fifteen twenty one minutes when my pulse was racing and I was trembling. Was trembling...? Still am!

And who came good when it mattered, Scholesy. He's got "Manchester" on his birth certificate running through him like "Blackpool" in Blackpool Rock. And what a goal! Charltonesque!

I vowed that if United won this match,I would buy a shirt. I think I will have "68" on the back (copying my nephew who has a shirt with a shortened form of his surname and "95" on the back, which is well cool).

I am second in my family. I was born in 68; Manchester United won the European Cup in 68. My niece is second in her family. She was born in 99. United won the European Cup in 99. My new niece- or nephew-to-be will be second in her/his family. S/he will be born in 08. Manchester United will be in the European Cup Final in 08.

My view on the Chelsea vs Manchester United match

So, you know, we were sort of there, briefly.

And how did I manage to take such a photo?

I bought this trip months ago, for Jimmy's birthday back in August. With him working in the pub, there was never the opportunity to take it. Conscious that the voucher had a nine month life, I rang up just after we got back from Madrid, saying, can we go this weekend. The reply was, no, but you have a choice of 26 April, 3 May etc. I plumped randomly for 26 April, it was several days before I realised that it would clash with the Chelsea v Manchester United match, title decider, live on the TV blah de blah..

Then, earlier this week, we started to watch the weather forecast. And we were absolutely delighted that sheer chance had allocated us a day like yesterday, warm and sunny with an excellent view.

We booked with EBG helicopters, who are at Redhill aerodrome,  fifteen minutes by taxi from Redhill station which is 37 minutes from Streatham Hill. There was us two, and another chap, along with the pilot. We took off at about one o'clock and arrived back about three quarters of an hour later. We flew North, reaching the Thames at Barnes, having seen landmarks such as Tolworth Tower and the windmill on Wimbledon Common. From Barnes we flew above the Thames, seeing Stamford Bridge, Chelsea Harbour, Battersea Power Station, the Houses of Parliament and so on (Jimmy saw more North of the River, I saw South of the River, although for some reason, I don't remember seeing the London Eye, I think I was too busy trying to get a photo of my office, like how sad is that?). We headed over to Docklands, seeing very clearly the runway at London City, before turning right at the Isle of Dogs and returning to Redhill.

Take off was very smooth as was  progressing through the sky, until we hit some unexpected turbulence. For a moment I felt a touch of motion nausea, coupled with a sense of panic that we were in serious trouble. Irrational, and anyway it only lasted a few moments; after that it never even crossed my mind even  to worry.

Premiership run-in

We're getting to that time of year when I get very tense and really start hating football.

Actually, I am fed up with the Sky Sports commentators. Really are quite close to scum. I don't like that ghastly Andy Gray, full stop. I especially don't like the fact that he is so very anti-Manchester United. I would have thought that in a domestic match, a commentator should be neutral. He isn't. And when it comes to European match he so obviously wants Johnny Foreigner to win, it's disgusting, certainly not what I pay my licence fee for.

I detest the way that they really hype everything up. I don't really care about the mazing fact that such a player is breaking all records for appearances in European competition, or that such a player will soon have made more appearances than any Premiership appearances than any other. These facts are bound to happen. There are more matches en route to the final than back in the Old Days, and it's a lot easier to qualify for Europe than it was back in the days. The Premiership is only sixteen years old, so we are only just reaching the point where a player will have played out their entire career in it. Giggsy's longevity, and relative lack of injuries and lack of form is not unusual. It is relatively unusual that he played so regularly at such a tender age, to just be establishing himself as an automatic first-teamer the season the Premiership started, and to continue until - at least - 34½ - and all with one club. Okay, so I salute Giggsy, he is exceptional. Yet in a way it annoys me that he has carried on being a genius all these years, yet these morons at Sky don't ever go orgasmic about him in the same way they do about headline-grabbing lesser talented flashes-in-the-pan.

I was annoyed this afternoon. Reportedly Fabio Capello 'controversially left' Anfield before the game ended 'he has been criticised for that'. He left on 90 minutes, presumably to escape the crush leaving the stadium and the traffic chaos that would ensue after the game, to head down the East Lancs. If he had waited until the final whistle he wouldn't have got to Old Trafford before half time. It's a no-brainer. But those jerks at sky want to whip up the hype and hysteria in order to create controversy, to get the adrenaline and testosterone flowing in pubs, in order to relentlessly sell their product with no concern for balance, moderation, objectivity or perspective.

And with the final whistle, one could have been fooled into thinking that United had won the title. No, they haven't. Yes, they happen at this moment to be 6 points ahead if Chelsea, but Chelsea play Wigan tomorrow night, and, sorry Pie-Eaters, are so likely to win, that the real state is three points with twelve to play for. I might not be an expert in numbers*, but that doesn't look done-and-dusted to me.

And then there's Europe...

I missed the first leg of the Roma match because I was at Tamerlano. I did see the second leg on the TV, but only because I got totally confused and didn't realise that that was the night I had booked to go to Carmen, which was extremely annoying. That I missed Carmen, that is, not that United beat Roma. Next up is Barcelona, and I'm a bag of nerves. I keep reading that Barcelona is not the team that they were, but, still, they are Barcelona.

As for the Liverpool - Chelsea fixture, their second leg is the day after United's, so I will have twenty four hours to decide which I want in the final. If united beat Barcelona, I will definitely want it to be Liverpool, because, 1974 Local Government reorganisation notwithstanding, I am a Lancashire Lass, and my heart will swell up with proud at my native county's utter domination. But if Barca beat United, if I can get over my grief I think I will be supporting Chelsea, because much as I hate** Chelsea, I regard them as here-today, gone-tomorrow fly-by-nights, whereas I grew up with a primordial hatred** of Liverpool.

* I lie. I am
**naturally, I use the word 'hate' in its strictly limited football tribe way

6 February in history

I feel like fifteen again.

It's very difficult to be fifteen on the 25th anniversary of the Munich air crash. Especially if you're living in South Manchester. Would you believe that a few months earlier I had written to Jimmy Hill suggesting that it might be a good idea if Football Focus had a little feature on it. And Jimmy Hill wrote me back a very nice letter thanking me for my suggestion, and while, of course, it never actually said 'we hadn't thought of that' it left a feeling that they were taking my suggestion very seriously. Which is why I won't hear anything against Jimmy Hill.

It was a different age, media wise. Today it's all over the media. When so many words are written, it is difficult to add any more. The survivors - those that are still alive - are getting old. Bobby Charlton's losing his hair. The public who remember it are getting old. If such a crash happened now, there would be far fewer casualties. Even in the Eighties, they said, if medical science was further advanced in 1958, Duncan Edwards would have survived. It used to bother me that people said that Duncan Edwards was the greatest footballer ever. How did they know, where was the evidence, had they tested this with counter-evidence. With age comes wisdom, and I realise that such a statement doesn't need evidential support. It's not provable, it;s not disprovable. People say it perhaps because they unthinkingly parrot what they've read in the newspaper, or maybe because wishing makes it so. It's like 'They shall grow not old as we are that left grow old'. As human beings we accept the deaths of those in old age of natural causes, people who have had the chance to make their mark and live their life. When it's young people who die, it is much harder to understand. Ironically, the footballers who died at Munich (and the journalists and Pressmen, who would have been older) would only have been a tiny fraction of the young men who died that year, a miniscule fraction of those that would have died fifteen years previously. Many of them would have gone on to become unremarkable footballers, forgotten by all but the most obsessive loyalists of the minor clubs they would have ended up at. By dying young, without reaching their potential, they are remembered forever.

And the lasting legacy of Munich is a the phenomenon of Manchester United. Obscured now because of a decade and a half of success, confused by the big business capitalism that is now global football, but the unique position of Manchester United, that makes the club different from even the Italian and Spanish giants, is that human legacy of affection created in the aftermath of Munich, and probably little understood by the majority of people who call themselves fans.

A while back, my mother said "I don't remember them making much fuss on the tenth anniversary..."

Manchester United

You know, I don't think I have ever had a blogpost before with that title. Which is bizarre. So is the fact that I actually don't mention them very much on this 'ere blog. That is partly to do with the fact that, being a total Jonah, it is very difficult for me to watch them. I haven't seen them live in years - the last time I saw them live Eric Cantona was suspended after his heroic karate chop at the same ground, a match I had missed because it clashed with a Central Services Committee followed by Full Council in an attempt to set a budget when we were a hung council. 1995, I think.

I don't watch them on TV as often as I might, because of things getting in the way. And me being a Jonah, even through the cathode rays. I had a massive sulk at the start of the season. The season started too early. And in some ways, not early enough. We had a disastrous start to the season. I was contemplating a blog post after our two draws and two losses, when we finally won, saying "look like the football season's just begun..." Then we lost to Coventry in the Mickey Mouse Cup, and I knew it was going to be one of those seasons. Yeah, it was like we remembered how to win, but it was always boring 1-0.

Then suddently, 4-0, 4-, 4-2, 4-1 (2-2 at Arsenal was a bloody good result even though I was gutted when they equalised so late) and 4-0. What's this lads? A bit of FOUR play...cringe

Blimey, we've qualified for the knock-out stage of the Champions League already. Not only that, we've got maximum twelve points, which is more even than Barcelona and Arsenal. Oh bugger, Arsenal. Our eminence gris. We'd be looking bloody rampant if it wasn't for them. Oh my god, Manchester City are only two points behind us in the Premiership. That's scary ('thirty one years and they've won f*** all, City is our name').

I enjoyed the match this evening!. My expectations and hopes are rising...by my age I should know better. Too often they've been dashed...Oh wait, we've been here before. Am I in fact the most miserable pessimistic football fan ever? Or am I, in fact, Kipling-esque, meeting with Triumph and Disaster and treating those two imposters just the same.

There's another six months to go yet. Oh the anguish...

September 87 Part 3

Well, what can I say. How can I sum up today? I think that I wrote yesterday that I was planning to go to the Cliff. And, go to the Cliff I did. Mind you, I took a bit of time getting there. I got off the Buzy Bee in Ashton Village to change my money at the Bank. I caught another one and caught the train at Sale Station. Because I was going the The Cliff, I got off at Old Trafford.

I caught the 54 round through Ordsall and Pendleton, that oh so familiar route, and getting off on Cromwell Road Bridge. I toddled down Lower Broughton Road, with that oh so familiar feeling of excitement mixed with nerves, plus the feeling that I'm completely daft, and it's about time I grew out of it, yet knowing that the place has so much magnetism that it will be an awful long time before I do grow out of it.

When I got there I had a good look wound: it didn't take long to realise that the lads might well be at Littleton Road. I checked with Billy W, he said yes they were; they'd be back at about twelve. that wasn't long to go, so I sat on the wall and waited, and sure enough, soon they arrived, all of them in about five cars. when I first see them, I just feast my eyes and calm my nerves. I was able to say hello to Gary Walsh, but decided to leave the rest until they came out. One young lad having been standing by the door went running over to his mates exclaiming "I've spoken to Jesper Olsen." I joined the crowd outside the door. Brian McClair was the first player out. He seemed to get away very quickly - I do hope it's because he had another engagement rather than the fact that he's just eager to get away. He looked very delicious and trendy - his shoes were the give-away: lovely black suede nicely pointed shoes, and snow-washed jeans. He seemed quiet, but he might have been in a hurry, or he might be unused to the Cliff ritual. I'll give him until Christmas until I judge him.

Paul McGrath was the next one out. He is so lovely he is. he is just absolutely really friendly and whenever he sees me, he always asks me how I am. He is definitely, as well as being the best player at Manchester United, the most friendly, and judging from what I've gathered on brief meetings, the Manchester United player with the most pleasant personality.

I can't remember the order in which the lads came out after that, so I will go through them in alphabetical order I've omitted a few players who were only really fringe players and never properly made it

Arthur Albiston came out very early and didn't seem prepared to hang around. Much as I admire Arthur as a player and much as I respect the fact that he's been at United half his life. I wonder why he always seems so irritated at the fans. I wonder if he's always been like that , or has fifteen years of seeing fans, undoubtedly every day, rather made him sick of us all.

Viv Anderson didn't seem keen on hanging around either, in fact he was rushing out so quickly that I had to take a few rapid steps back to take his photograph.

Clayton Blackmore came out very late, indeed it was after two o'clock - I waited that long especially for him. He was almost in his car by the time I grabbed him. I can't for the life of me remember what he was wearing, but he looked absolutely gorgeous, really tanned. I managed to get a kiss out of him.

I missed Peter Davenport because I was too busy with Brian McClair. I'm not sure if I'm annoyed or not. Peter, I have found, is a really good laugh, but perhaps if he was in a hurry he might not have had time for the jokes.

Mike Duxbury is not the most sweet-tempered person, but I managed to get a photo. To be honest, I can't think of anything to say to him, cos he's a boring sod.

Colin Gibson didn't appear to be there, mind you I saw him last week in Altrincham. I had just come out of M&S wearing my Reds on Tour t-shirt when I saw a man smiling at me. I looked a bit closer - it was Colin Gibson. that was the second time I've seen him in almost the same spot - when I was in Upper Sixth I once saw him going into Mothercare with wife and children.

Billy Garton came out at the same time as Clayton. I chased him to his car, a red Cabriolet, because I thought he was going to drive off before I could grab him. I took his photo.

Graeme Hogg was there, looking absolutely lovely. He's not perfectly good looking, in the way that Clayt is, but he's highly attractive. He was looking very tanned, and as (nearly) always he was dressed smartly yet casually. He had a deep turquoise top tucked into his jeans. He always dresses in a way that makes me think he is pernickity I told him he had better not be going to City because I know a lot of people would be upset. He seemed very dismissive of that; then somebody asked him whether it was true he had failed a medical for City. He said it was crap. To be honest, I think out of all the United players, he's the one I'd most like to get to know - I get a feeling that he's quite deep.

Kevin Moran is a nice bloke, the oldest player at the club. I think if I could think of anything to say I could have a really decent chat with him, but I couldn't think of anything to say to him. Besides that, he came out reasonably early, when there were still quite a lot of people about, so I couldn't really detain him to talk about nothing.

Remi Moses came out pretty late. I got quite a lot of words out of him. I said it was great to see him back in the team; he said it was about time too. I asked him how it was going; he said it was going great. Although he said a fair amount, it was still more than easy to see that he's still fundamentally very shy. Mind you, it's nice to see such a skilled player who's far from being big-headed.

Jesper Olsen seems to be getting more accustomed to the habits of The Cliff. His first season he was dreadful - I called him Elusive Olsen, but now, he's prepared to walk a few yards into the group of assembled fans and even exchanged a few words.

Bryan Robson came out pretty late. Not as late as Clayt, but still late. Prior to him emerging from the building, he had walked up and down the stairs a few times in just his shirt and underpants. Well, me and these girls, Michelle, five days older than me, and her fourteen year old sister Debbie from Benchill and Debbie's friend Lindsey from Brooklands, well we were going wild just seeing him. Then he came out, and he was in a really good mood. Debbie asked him to sign his autograph once to Debbie and once to nobody. So he said, "That's a funny name" really witty like. As I say, he just seemed to be in a good mood; he waved to us as he left, mind you, there was only me and these three girls, plus one bloke and one lad.

Gordon Strachan only paused long enough for me to take a photo. Shame really, because he's a nice bloke. Perhaps he was in a hurry. He can be a good laugh, too. I tell you he's one of the best buys that Ron Atkinson made - three years ago I predicted he'll be one of the favourites of the fans - and that was after only one game. After three years, I don't argue with that - he's an ace player.

I had a bit of a chat with Gary Walsh. He seems a good sight more confident than when I last met him. I was telling him that he was the first Manchester United player to be younger than me, and he was trying to make out he was twenty one going on twenty two. He's got a really pleasant. He's bloody tall - I had to crane my neck to talk to him. Mind you he's only 6'1½" according tot he Handbook - perhaps he seemed taller because he was in footy boots.

Norman Whiteside was obviously in a silly mood, although he didn't seem to want to linger. However, I asked him if I could take a photo and he pulled a really silly smile, more of a grin really. What I noticed both this time and the two times I was there at Easter that Norm no longer seems to mind the . When I went in 84/5 he seemed to object to people adoring him, but he's grown up a bit since then.

All in all it was a very good day. I had a really exciting and enjoyable.

I returned to Old Trafford and caught a train into town. I bought a dressing gown from M&S. If it lasts as long as my old one, I will be well pleased it lasted until 1995, when I decided to replace it on moving house

I can talk about it now...

Saturday, that is...

Such a strange feeling, anyway. when I look back to Cup Finals of the past, 83 and 85 in particular, but also 76, 77, 90, my excitement was immeasurable.

In the 90s - well, 1990 seemed at the time to be a spark in the dark, a momentary relief from five years of having won nothing. In retrospect, of course, it was the start of everything. I wasn't at the 1990 Cup Final, but I was at the Third Round Match at Nottingham Forest. Beforehand, people were quoted in the Press as saying "I'm never going to watch Manchester United again whilst that useless Alex Ferguson is manager..." Mark Robins scored a vital goal, and the rest, as they say, is history.

1994 was very special; it was only a year since we had become Champions for the first time in my lifetime (well, we were Champions when I was born, but we were soon to concede that to Manchester City...the hilarious irony being that the season they happened to win the League, we won the European Cup...thirty one years and they've won f...all). An FA Cup win and it would be the double. Fantasy Football League, with Baddiel and Skinner, had had a hilarious sketch, based on a costume drama being broadcast at the time "Middle of March,where it all went wrong..." So wrong, we won the Double. I remember that FA Cup Final. No, I don't. I was at a friend's flat, and her flatmate had a boyfriend who was a drug dealer,and we found a packet of grass down the sofa. I learnt a vital lesson that day - smoking grass eradicates special memories. Just say No, kids.

1995 was awful. I missed the Final because I was at Union Conference. Not even full Conference, but Sector Conference, for the amorphous groups of organisations that were too esoteric even for the Civil Service General Group - the Public and Commercial Sector (us, the Research Councils, British Council, the Equalities organisations, Forestry Commission, Alliance & Leicester-ex-Girobank etc). The Girobankers were all Toffees. Oh dear! The next day I was admitted to hospital with suspected appendicitis which turned out to be burst ovarian cysts. A week off work. One of the managers, himself a Manchester United fan, declared he had never seen such an over-reaction to an FA Cup Final defeat.

1996, Double Again, getting a bit of a habit. I got very drunk on green and yellow Hooch, which my then boyfriend bought me because they matched my Green and Yellow Newton Heath replica shirt.

1999, Make Mine a Treble! I was actually at my sisters that weekend, because it was My Favourite Niece's Christening the next day. At three minutes to three I was in the garden having a cigarette and Nephew #1 (at the time, Favourite Nephew) asked me to play football. I scoffed, no way, I'm old and past it, I'm almost as old as Teddy Sheringham...oh boy, what with his FA Cup Final performance and his subsequent European Cup performance, Teddy Sheringham earned himself a place in the United pantheon of heroes.

This century becomes blurred. I sofa-blogged the 2004 Final when we beat Millwall in a particularly one-sided Final, the match that saw the emergence of Cristiano Ronaldo as a player of exceptional potential. I block 2005 out of my mind, losing on penalties is really unpleasant - having said that, penalties are a better test of ability than tossing a coin, and the rules are known before play commences. And I will be just as happy to forget Saturday. Chelsea won. Fair and square. I thought they were dirty, I thought that Ryan Giggs had a perfectly good goal disallowed. but end of the day,that's the result. I can live with it. Because we are Champions!. And we are still in the lead with 12 wins in history. And we are now level with Arsenal, Newcastle and Everton in having 7 runners up places.

We lost in 1976, but returned victorious in 1977. Because Arsenal did much the same in 1978/9, I developed a view that that was common. Of course I know different now, but supporting a team like Manchester United, one does have the confidence that some time in the not too distant future, there will be another attempt at Glory.

And one day, I suppose, Alex Ferguson will retire - although he has stated he has a renewed zest for football - and those True Fans who tore up their season tickets in January 1990 will be able to start watching United again. I'm not sure about those who said that the Glazers would asset-strip...

It still makes me laugh when the minnows keep sacking their managers. Martin Edwards stood by Alex Ferguson through three-and-a-half years with nothing to show, and some shockingly low League positions; he ignored the clamours for the sack in 89/90. And Nine Premierships later - I want Ten! Not to mention5 Fa Cups, two Mickey Mouse Cups and one each of European Cup and European Cup Winners Cup

Champions...whatever

So, it happened. To be honest, from just about Christmas, deep inside, I never had any real doubt that it would happen. But deep inside is not the same as applied logic. And being so convinced, deep inside made it more difficult when there have been hiccups.

And, I have to say, United have just had the worst run of the season. The match at AC Milan was disappointing. Not that I watched it - I did listen on radio, but that really isn't quite the same thing. And the draw at Chelsea was only slightly less dismal than the depressing defeat at home to West Ham. The season isn't over: we also the FA Cup Final looming. Victory would land us the Double, nothing to sniff at. Defeat would be unfortunate, but would still leave us as Champions. For a few moments, on Sunday, when the trophy was presented, when my boys were being presented with their medals, I felt slightly pleased. Then, the thought occurred to me.

That's the end. A fleeting triumph. In three months, we begin again. Nul points, same as everybody else, with mountains to climb and obstacles to be overcome. I am examining myself, where is the pleasure in this? I recall in 1993, when we won it for the first time in my lifetime, I had a feeling that nothing good will ever happen again. And the next year we won the Double; later, the Treble. But it all counts for nothing when a new season opens.

Perhaps it's a metaphor for life. But I'm trying to work out what aspect. Am I becoming old and jaded...overheard the other day, someone said "I know I'm getting old because this bloke said 'I've got a nice piece of grass at home' and it turns out it was the lawn under under his tree."

Is it a reflection on the circle of life, the meaning of life. All joy is transitory, all misery lingers?

Or is it a critique of vicariousness? Alex Ferguson and Ryan Giggs can rightly point to nine championships. They've achieved that. they look in the mirror in the morning and they don't have to question their value. n one can take those achievements away from them. But me, I just sit and watch.

And yet, sit me down in front of a good football match, and I will enjoy it for it's own sake. It's a beautiful game. The pleasure is passing but it is worthwhile. Next season doesn't matter. Saturday is exciting, it's the new Wembley, over-budget, over-deadline, but nevertheless the home of the FA Cup Final.

Miscellany, including football

Things are slightly strange in Gert Cottage, with Jimmy currently being a man of leisure. He really needs the break; just looking at some of our holiday photos: never the most photogenic anyway, he looks spectacularly awful. Not one to relax, his idea of 'a break' is my idea of hyperactivity. Last week he repainted the hall, stairs and landing; next week, in my absence, he is doing the back reception (dining/computer) room. much preparation is needed, so I have spent most of the weekend sorting stuff, and we are now at the shifting stage. It all takes time. And energy.

It's nice to have a bit of football as a distraction. I think, anyway. I don't think I ever commented on the minor fact that United are through to the FA Cup Final. With the deepest respect to Watford, I never really had the major colly-wobbles about that one. I'm not complacent or arrogant, and certainly not when it comes to knock-out games, and my intelligence was contradicting my gut feeling. I was very disappointed when Chelsea beat Blackburn, and not just out of affection (huge!) for Mark 'Sparky' Hughes. I had a ghostly ghastly premonition, my blood running cold, at the realisation that Chelsea are on course for an unprecedented quadruple.

Oh, my boys like to suffer pain and suffering. Can you imagine the years, the decades, I have had to endure this? I have already blogged a bit - not enough - about the Old Trafford game against Milan. To take an early lead, to surrender it so sloppily, to feel my heart breaking. And the joy when they equalise, and end up winners .on the night. And then to go through the same thing again yesterday. Knowing that Chelsea were up against it at Stamford Bridge, and to see us struggling so badly at Everton - granted, never an easy away fixture. Then, first good reliable unglamorous John O'Shea gives up hope; then Phil Neville - of all people - gets an own goal (I wonder how much stick he got from Evertonians...and from Manchester United's currently injured club captain, er, Gary Neville...!). And then, when it was almost over, ex-Evertonian Wayne Rooney scores a spectacular goal. Sky commentators talking like it was all over...oh please, it doesn't take an accountant to work out that Chelsea are five points behind with nine to play for. Stealing shamelessly from Skuds - I can take the despair. Its the hope I can't stand.. Oh we have such an easy run in - Manchester City away, when the form book goes out the window; Chelsea away, which may or may not be the crunch decider. And, finally West Ham, who have shown a good run of form of late, and may well end up surviving if they win at Old Trafford.

And we have the return leg in Milan, when we find out whether we are set for the first ever all-English European Cup Final. Or not...See what I mean about the hope; it's unbearable.

It is strange sharing so much more time with Jimmy. It's nice that he's a lot less stressed out, and especially good that he is barely drinking at all. It's nice he sends me out to work with a lunch box, and creme eggs craftily inserted as an incentive to investigate my fruit bag! But we are back to the TV vs music conflict. It would be nice if he checked about putting the TV on while I have music playing. A couple of years ago he put the TV on. Pointedly, I said "I'm putting my earphones on," and he reassured me that my music didn't interfere with his TV. He knows it annoys me. He knows that the irregular noise of loud action films especially annoys me. It's a stupid thing to row about, but then, if I put headphones on, apparently, I'm like a zombie or a space alien. Or else, such as today, he moans because it then means he can't hear the music - silly me htought he was watching Arsenal-Fulham. I can't win, can I?

I have now upgraded to Thunderbird 2.0 (email programme), which seems like a downgrade to me. The spell-check no longer works, and it doesn't automatically consign junk to junk folders, so I keep being tempted by enormous cheques from the Republic of Benin.

And I keep forgetting it's April, because the daytime temperatures are hotter than July. That having been said, it is now very much Election Time of year, although not in London, and I know that mini heatwaves at this time are not unprecedented and may well be followed by miserable weather later.

And just for good measure, I have discovered the delights of Rapidshare, via the Yahoo Group, Operashare. I wasn't unaware before, but at first I had connectivity problems, then I found the free service frustrating in its vagaries. I then considered that the premium service isn't at all pricey. Yesterday, an 1981 Otello from Buenos Aires, today a 1968 Contes D'Hoffmann from San Antonio. Next, maybe a Pelleas with Shirtless, LHL and the lovely Gerald.

Manchester United 7 Roma 1

BBC SPORT | Football | Europe | Man Utd 7-1 Roma (agg 8-3)

Goals from Carrick 12, Smith 17, Rooney 19, Ronaldo 44, 49, Carrick 60, Evra 81. Each one bloody good. And De Rossi's wasn't bad, either!

Splendid night, one to remember and savour. And now we are in the European Cup Semi-Final against Milano or (probably) Bayern Munich. Will make the Chelsea-Liverpool semi-final seem a bit of a provincial affair.

I hate football

I speak from years - decades - of sheer hatred. It is not enjoyable, there is no pleasure to be gained from football.

And we are now entering the period of the year when football becomes even less enjoyable. Take Saturday. Why on earth has there to be an early kick off. What team in their right minds takes off Wayne Rooney and replaces him with John O'Shea? Of course, I leapt in the air when John O'Shea scored United's winner. In injury time. At Anfield.

And that's when the misery begins. Alex Ferguson dancing on the sidelines, reminiscent of Sheffield Wednesday at home, 1993. Commentators using the nasty C word. Commentators trying to convince us that United are 12 points ahead of Chelsea; tea-time adjustment to 9 points. In my opinion, no more than 6.

Nine games to go, ten for Chelsea. I envy my brother who today reflected "At least we've avoided relegation this season..." And that's as much as one can say.

I don't know what's coming up. Except a Euro match on Wednesday. Never look beyond the next game. one game at a time. Bloody Sky regarding yesterday's fluke result as a Coronation. Okay, not a fluke result. United play to the final whistle. Good teams play badly and win.

One of these days I shall declare myself not to be a football fan. there's no fun in being nine points ahead of the Premiership whilst still in Europe and the FA Cup.

It would be so easier to be a fan of a team that never achieves anything.

A good weekend for football

I don't write a great deal about football on here. If I was blogging twelve years ago, there would be a lot of football analysis. I've rather gone off analysis and hyped up speculation. It's a beautiful game, and would be a lot more beautiful without the accompanying media hysteria and mass psychosis.

Still, it was jolly good weekend for football. Chelsea - lost. Bolton - lost. Arsenal - lost. Oh, and Portsmouth - lost.

Meanwhile, as Sir Alex Ferguson approaches his twentieth anniversary in the job, Manchester United beat title challengers Portsmouth, with goals from Saha - who surely must be already be favourite for Player of the Year - Ronaldo and Vidic.

1 Man Utd 11 21 28
2 Chelsea 11 11 25
3 Bolton 11 1 20
4 Portsmouth 11 7 19
5 Arsenal 10 10 18
6 Aston Villa 11 5 18

Mind you, I've been a United fan for long enough to know that this is just a signal for it all to go horribly wrong...

And I don't buy the guff about that Goal Difference being worth an extra point. If United and Chelsea match each result for result until the last two games of the season, then Chelsea win one draw one, and United lose two, Chelsea will be a point ahead, and thus, will have won. If we went to the FA and said "It's not fair, look at our goal difference, that's worth an extra point" Messrs F and A will say "Yeah, right. Rearrange the following words..."

McLaren must go...

Two months ago I mocked the fanfare for the new Messiah

I predicted that by June, the honeymoon would be over.

How wrong I was, it's only October.

But this post isn't about football. It's about the 'news' media, mainly the newspapers, but also TV news (why is it that sport is considered to be news, yet so many areas of human endeavour and interest are roundly ignored or, at best, given irregular occasional coverage).

It's immature and sensationalist. I haven't enjoyed England's last two matches especially, and I do believe that the team and management are accountable tot he fans that pay their vastly inflated wages.

But in the eyes of the media, it's hero or zero, good/bad, black/white, on/off. I do not think there is a single newspaper or TV channel that is consistently excellent. I don't think there is one that consistently equals its best performance.  But they demand from our footballers what they are not capable of delivering themselves.

It's hysterical and in its immaturity it infantalises the rest of us.

In that linked post, I attempted to draw parallels with the political coverage by those same outlets. We need a free, sane, fearless, intelligent media as a safeguard for democracy. Instead we get screaming over-reaction, and hyperbole in place of reflective analysis. We have a general population unable to analyse an issue and unable to see that, sometimes, there are grey areas.

Do we get the media we deserve?

United United Top of the League

Played 2 Won 2 Points 6 Goal Difference 7

and Chelsea

Played 2 Won 1 Drawn 0 Lost 1 Points 3 Goal Difference 2

United have already scored eight goals this season....

Saha, Fulham og, Rooney,  Ronaldo, Rooney, Fletcher, Saha, Solskjaer.

Solskjaer? Woot yay! I don't care if he only comes on in the 82nd minute if he scores in the 89th!