Thank you, and Good Knight - Sir Alex Ferguson ruined my life

Saturday May 12th 1990. A hyperactive six year old child with a slightly oversized head is running around a Camden Town council flat. He has no plan, no aim, no real sense of what is going on. All he knows is that it's the weekend and he wants to go and knock for his mates so they could go enjoy the springtime sunshine in the communal play area. Said play area doesn't feature much. A swing, a slide, but also some walls which he and his pals would like to climb and jump from, showing flagrant disregard for their own safety and well being. For all his enthusiasm however, the child was still one to be easily distracted by other things, television being the main one. That big grey box of light in the living room would so often prove to be the draw that prevented him from indulging his desire to leave the house and hone in his playful instincts.

The young lad had more than likely been awake for some hours watching cartoons and children's programmes. While his poor mum was busy shopping/cooking/attending to her two year old daughter, the big headed boy would be planted in front of the box. Today, something strange was happening. BBC One seemed to be talking an awful lot about football. “How strange” the boy figured. “football matches are only ever televised on Sunday”. It didn't take long for him to deduce that it was the FA Cup Final. The boy was slightly confused. Just a few months earlier, he had sat down to watch Nottingham Forest beat Oldham to win 'the Cup' (after which, he decided that Forest were naturally the best team in the country...nay, the world!) so why was there another final so soon? “It must be a different cup. For rubbish teams” was the unwavering conclusion he drew.

The game would feature Crystal Palace. A side from from his very own city of London. A team of plucky heroes and underdogs who had defied the odds to make it to their first ever final. The television kept saying what an amazing achievement it would be if they were to beat their opponents, some fairly average team from the north called Manchester United who never really won much themselves in those days. Naturally, the boy was swayed and, on this day alone, would be cheering on this side affectionately referred to as the Eagles. Seeing as their opponents' nickname was the 'Red Devils', the boy knew his churchgoing mother would certainly not approve of him lending his support to them. They were the bad guys and as Ghostbusters and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles had taught him, the bad guys always lose at the end.

Except, as we would soon discover, these bad guys didn't lose. Ever.

After a thrilling 3-3 draw, the game was set for a replay. The boy still hoped for a Palace win in the return game the following Thursday. However, as it was a school night, he wasn't allowed to stay up and watch it so the following morning when he discovered that a Lee Martin goal had settled the game in favour of 'The Devils', he was understandably, albeit temporarily disappointed (That was, of course, until something else grabbed his attention).



That was Sir Alex Ferguson's first trophy as manager of Manchester United. Even in my youthful naivety it made me somewhat miserable at the time. But it didn't matter. It was just one trophy. For a side without a particularly great recent record of success, I foolishly imagined people would barely even remember this isolated victory a year down the line. If you told me back then that I'd have to get used to it as the next 23 years of my life would be the same, I would have thought you were crazy and told everyone in school not to be your friend any more.

Curiously, such was Manchester United's level of mediocrity at the time, the accepted belief is that the United boss was on the brink of getting sacked and it was that cup win that saved his job. Appointed in 1986, the first four years of his tenure could only be described as bang average. A mid table side who would would only fleetingly flirt with with the top of the table before returning to irrelevance and obscurity. Ferguson's debut match was 2-0 league defeat to Oxford United which tells you all you need to know about the stature of the club at the time. Growing up in London back then you wouldn't have known many United fans. Nowadays, you are never more than six feet away from one. Like rats...

Going into 1990, there was actually a real risk of the Reds being drawn into a relegation battle. The club were on an awful run in the league having gone eight games without a win and an upcoming FA Cup 3rd round tie against the abovementioned Forest – one of the division's stronger sides – didn't look particularly enticing. As I say, it is widely believed that a loss would have seen Ferguson handed his P45. Something that would not have been an unpopular move. Three months before the Forest game, United actually lost 2-1 at home to Palace prompting one disgruntled fan to knock up a banner expressing his frustrations. Thankfully, Mark Robins popped up to score the only goal to give United a narrow win and buy Fergie some precious time. Had it not been for Robins, who knows what the future would have held for the club? Names touted to take over apparently included Terry Venables. Amazing, isn't it?

United finished the season in 13th place – a mere five points above the relegation zone and actually level on points with their cup final opponents. It's difficult to imagine Alex Ferguson would have kept his job but for the cup victory. Needless to say, it was all uphill from there. Sir Alex has since added four more FA Cup wins to his CV making him the most successful manager in the competition's history and United the most successful team with a grand total of 11 wins.

Two years later, Ferguson and United won the League Cup with a 1-0 victory over Nottingham Forest – the first in the club's long history and something he has gone on to repeat three more times. Only Brian Clough, the man he beat in 1992, has won as many as a manager.

However, the holy grail for United was, is and has always been the League. Sir Matt Busby was the last man to lead to club to championship success back in 1967 so their push in the final season of the old First Division had been a long time coming. Unfortunately for Ferguson, they were narrowly edged into second place by Leeds United.

The opportunity to win a first league title in 25 years that season was denied partly due to a late season 2-0 defeat against great rivals Liverpool. The Merseysiders themselves were at the end of a two decade run of unrivalled success which saw them rise and sit alone at the summit of the English game with 18 league titles. Well clear of Arsenal's 10 and United's 7. The history of hatred between the two clubs is extensive so it is fair to say, there would have been a fair bit of belly laughing and schadenfreude after derailing United's title bid.

Not to be deterred, the inaugural season of the Premier League in 1993 saw Ferguson, with the signing of Leeds' best player Eric Cantona, finally win that much sought after league crown and set the wheels in motion for a period of dominance that would eclipse that of the North West chums. Speaking in 2002, Ferguson unashamedly declared that his greatest challenge was “knocking Liverpool right off their fucking perch”. A motivation perhaps sparked by the fact that following that initial Premier League success, Liverpool fans, in keeping with the theme of unwisely unfurled banners, proudly suggested that Fergie's solitary title was somewhat insignificant in the grand scheme of things.



Like my 6 year old self, if only they knew what was to come...

We were sold the idea of the Premier League thinking it would open up competition, allowing different teams to grow, challenge and flourish in this new, all inclusive division. New money, new investment and an attractive new environment for players home and and abroad to thrive. “A whole new ball game” we were told. United winning the first title was actually a good thing as it gave hope to other success starved teams. “if they can do it, so can we” was the thinking. Unfortunately, the devious little Scot had other ideas. He was far from finished.

20 years and 12 more League titles later, Ferguson has not simply knocked Liverpool off their perch, he has single handedly burnt said perch to the ground. And it's not just the scousers. Everyone else in the country have been straining their necks to look over the fortress wall as Sir Alex sits in his throne, decorating himself more lavishly each passing year. None of this is by accident, though. Never afraid to let go, Ferguson has ruthlessly dismantled and rebuilt teams who have continuously remained at the forefront of the English game. Whenever it looked as though we may be thankfully seeing the end of their tyrannical reign, they would, in true super villian fashion, only came back stronger.

And it's not just domestically his presence has been felt. Following that initial FA Cup victory, two Mark Hughes goals in Rotterdam secured the European Cup Winners' Cup against Barcelona the following year. Eight years on, the Catalonian capital would be the scene of arguably Ferguson's greatest triumph. With a league title and FA Cup already in the bag, all that stood in the way of a historic treble was Bayern Munich. 1-0 down early on, Ferguson really earned his corn by throwing on substitutes Sheringham and Solskjaer late in the game and, well, you all know the story.



A nauseating outcome for the rest of us. Bitter accusations of good fortune and the whole thing being a “fluke” were levelled. But there was also the reluctant acknowledgement, as if there was any lingering doubt before, that we were seeing one of the greatest managers in the long history of the game. Despite the fact it was only United's second success in Europe's premier competition compared to Liverpool's four at the time, it was safe to assume there would be no goading banners at Anfield this time around.

Ferguson added another European crown in 2008 after beating Chelsea on penalties and has since reached two more finals – coming unstuck against brilliant Barcelona teams on both occasions, but firmly enshrining his place among the European elite.

However, despite the drive and determination that has brought him incomparable levels of success, there is an almost spiteful nature at its heart which fuels his pursuit of glory. For years, we've had to put up with the whining and complaining when things do not go his way. Referees, the media and even his own players have all felt his wrath at one time or another. The infamous 'hairdryer' iconology is a direct result of his unchallengeable approach to management, and this has even led to high profile fallings out within his own club. Many would point to his dispute with JP McManus and John Magnier leading to the deeply unpopular Glazer family running the club.



His general demeanour doesn't exactly endear him to the neutral. The desire to see United fail and concept of ABU (Anyone But United) can be attributed to primarily to Ferguson and the way he has gone about his business down the years. That said, this is what makes the man and if he didn't have this aspect of his character, he wouldn't have achieved everything he has done.

It was not simply the success which made him a great but the way in which he has responded to set backs and fought off challenges to his supremacy from a number of different foes. Like a boxer or character from a computer beat 'em up game, Ferguson has always had to adapt and refine his fighting style based on different opponents. From Kenny Dalglish and Blackburn, Kevin Keegan's Newcastle, Arsene Wenger at Arsenal, Mourinho at Chelsea, Bentiez's Liverpool and most recently, Mancini at City, the Scot has managed to rise to any challenge and leave them all in his wake. When Ferguson gets into a scrap, you can bet your life he is not walking away until he has won. In football terms, 'Sir' Alex is actually very much like a Knight of the more traditional sense; metaphorically galloping around the country on horseback laying waste to any perceived threat to his kingdom.

I refuse to believe that I am alone in having spent my entire football watching life sneering at his success but begrudgingly had to accept and acknowledge his unmatchable brilliance. The fact that many, many fans up and down the country are not able to gloat or even celebrate the retirement of the greatest manager they've ever seen but only express relief, is perhaps one of the biggest compliments that can be paid to the man.




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Bhoy oh Bhoy! Celtic's Barca Heroics Gives Scotland a Rare Reason to Smile

When Celtic packed their sporrans and set sail for sunny Catalonia two weeks ago, nobody in their right mind gave them a prayer against the all-conquering blaugrana beast that is FC Barcelona in their Champions League group match. Boasting a squad so talented it almost borders on cheating, this Barca team is widely regarded as one of the greatest, if not the greatest club side of all time. It was supposed to be a case of ‘how many’ against a side playing in a league that is about as weak as an anaemic schoolchild and about as relevant today as a Wet, Wet, Wet cassette tape.

However, instead of a brutal, bloody massacre, we were treated to as heroic an away performance as you are likely to see from a side visiting the Camp Nou. The Hoops had the audacity to take a surprise lead through former Manchester City figure of ridicule Georgios Samaras and although they were begged back by Andres Iniesta after a typically irresistible Barcelona move, they looked on course to secure an unexpected and unlikely draw. Unfortunately, they were to have their wee hearts broken by a close range Jordi Alba finish in the dying embers of the game. All the post match talk was about the Celts’ glorious failure. Brave and gallant but ultimately disappointing for them to miss out on both a vital point towards qualification for the last sixteen and a chance to leave an imprint on a rare appearance at this stage of the competition. The manner of the defeat also dealt a devastating blow to a side not expected to repeat such heroics in the return game – even with home advantage.

How little did we know.

And so to a sold out Parkhead for what was again expected to be a stroll for the four time European Champions. If they were somewhat flat in the first game, then surely normal service would resume this time around? Barcelona, with their embarrassment of riches in terms on the pitch started the game in typically flowing, fluid fashion taking the game to their opponents pushing them further and further back. It seemed like only a matter of time before the first goal would arrive. But a peculiar thing occurred. Barca couldn’t create any clear cut chances. I want to make a 'Braveheart' joke here but I'd like to think I'm better than that. Not by much, mind. The green and white wall may have been camped on the edge of their own box but they weren’t about to allow their opponents through. Even though they were up against the admittedly frightening prospect of Alexis Sanchez, Pedro and a certain Leo Messi in the Barca attack – complimented of course by Xavi, Iniesta and marauding full backs Alba and Dani Alves. Compare that all-star cast to the likes of Adam Matthews, Kelvin Wilson and Charlie Mulgrew. Players who you’d struggle to recognise if they came and sat next to you on a bus... in full Celtic kit.

Having weathered the early storm, 20 minutes in the home side found themselves in a rare and unfamiliar attacking scenario. A corner kick was sent into the box by the abovementioned Mulgrew and 21 year old Kenyan midfielder Victor Wanyama found himself rising above his marker to power home a header that sent the green and white half of Glasgow into frenzy. Undaunted, Barcelona immediately retook control of possession and came close to equalising as Messi hit the crossbar and a Sanchez header came back off the post. Celtic were able to hold on til half time. Barca started make something of a breakthrough in the second half. Unfortunately for them, they found England goalkeeping hopeful Fraser Forster in the Bhoys' goal in inspired form.

Not content with merely preventing the La Liga leaders from scoring, Forster decided to claim himself an assist. A huge kick launched upfield was totally misjudged by Xavi of all people and 18 year old substitute Tony Watt found himself with a clear run to goal to slot past Victor Valdes and make it 2-0 with just 5 minutes left on the clock. Cue pandemonium. Leo Messi pulled one back at the death but the damage was done. Celtic had beaten Barcelona and sent shockwaves throughout Europe. What a way to celebrate their 125th anniversary.

A word on the fantastic atmosphere in the ground. I don't want to get bogged down in 'twelfth man' clichés - I'm sure you can read about all that elsewhere - but even watching on TV you could sense that the vociferous support of the partisan crowd played it's part. The 55,000-odd home fans were duly rewarded for the relentless encouragement of their team. The sight of Rod Stewart overcome with emotion and blubbing like a teenage girl at a Justin Beiber concert almost spoilt the moment but I guess we can let him off. Just. Without naming names, fans of some of the other British sides competition would do well to take note of how important it is to back your team even when the odds are so greatly stacked against you.



Celtic Park has hosted some famous nights in the past. Beating AC Milan and Manchester United in recent years will clearly rank highly but both will struggle to compare to this. It’s not unfair to say that the gap between the hosts and their opponents on this occassion is almost cosmic. To deny that Barcelona are by far the superior football team will most likely see you sectioned but Celtic sent out a timely reminder that in football, you can take absolutely nothing for granted. If you weren’t lucky enough to see it happen, you will likely have been left speechless when you heard the result. An upset of truly monumental proportions.

Part of what makes this result so astonishing is the perilous state that Scottish football currently finds itself in. For a number of years the domestic league has been in steady decline and become something of a laughing stock given that there were only two teams with the resources to compete for the title. Especially given that every half decent player in the country eventually found themselves playing for one of the Glasgow giants as soon as they showed any sign of promise. Naturally, this led to growing indifference from fans of other clubs. Attendances have dropped dramatically meaning no broadcaster is particularly prepared to pay any significant money to televise matches. Consequently, all the talent, if not heading to Glasgow, is leaving the country. The fact that the best Scottish managers currently ply their trade south of the border is a damning indictment.

The exodus is not just restricted to personnel. The league lost further credibility with the continued desperate clamour of Rangers and Celtic to join the English Premier League. As people rightly laughed off such a suggestion, there then came whispers of the big two trying to get involved in some sort of pan-European League which again served to highlight the need to escape the continuing drudgery of the lack of competition they faced at home.

Naturally, with very little coming in, clubs have taken quite the financial hit. None moreso than Rangers themselves who, after years of financial mismanagement, found themselves in crippling debt, administration and finally, liquidation this past summer. Much wrangling saw a 'new club' formed under the same identity but as a result of sanctions imposed, this season kicked off with the ludicrous scenario where the team who lifted the Scottish title for the 54th time just one year earlier were playing in the THIRD division against the likes of East Stirlingshire, Annan Athletic and Elgin. How they would have looked upon their neighbours' feat with great envy this week, remembering that it has barely been two years since they were the ones rubbing shoulders with Europe's elite.

Money troubles haven't been restricted to the blue half of Glasgow. Over in the capital, they're also feeling the pinch. Hearts, under the rule of controversial owner Lithuanian-based banker Vladimir Romanov, have spent recent years harbouring not entirely unrealistic aspirations of breaking up the Old Firm duopoly. Alas, no league titles have been forthcoming. The Jambos have instead found themselves emulating Rangers in a rather unwanted way. Just hours before Celtic's heroics this week, the Edinburgh club, facing the threat of administration, issued a statement pleading with supporters to stick their hands in their pockets to help save the club having been issued with a winding up order over an unpaid tax bill:

"Without the support of fans there is, as we issue this note, a real risk that Heart of Midlothian Football Club could possibly play its last game next Saturday, 17 November against St Mirren.

This isn't a bluff, this isn't scaremongering, this is reality.

...we could be entering the final days of the club's existence."

Dramatic, desperate and ominous to say the very least. To bastardise the words of Oscar Wilde, for the Scottish Premier League to lose one club may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose two looks like carelessness.

The problems are not just exclusive to clubs. The news of Hearts' impending demise came just two days after the announcement from the SFA that Craig Levein had been sacked as manager of the Scottish national team. Recent years have seen the fortunes of the game at International level almost mirror the domestic plight. Levein's tenure left the Tarten Army with precious little to get excited about. The current qualifying campaign sees The Scots propping up their group with just two points from their opening four matches. Even putting results to one side, the performances and approach to matches painted a rather grim picture. Levein's legacy will forever be the now infamous ultra-defensive 4-6-0 formation deployed in Prague two years ago. One of the ironies of Celtic beating a Barcelona side that is universally lauded for their vibrant, attacking, fluid collective passing game is that the early origins of this style of play was said to have been introduced in Glasgow by Queen's Park back when football was in it's infancy. Times certainly have changed rather dramatically.

Levein's replacement, whoever he may be, has an unenviable task on his hands.

Curiously, there are no shortage of decent Scottish managers around. Least of all a certain Sir Alex Ferguson. Beyond the impossibly unlikly chance of him taking the job, Paul Lambert worked wonders at Norwich for three years before defecting to Aston Villa this summer while Steve Clarke is currently flying high at West Brom. Either of these would be excellent choices but again, the likelihood of them wanting the job right now would be extremely slim. Gordon Strachan is currently the bookies favourite.

For the most part, Scottish football currently finds itself in the doldrums. Celtic's victory this week is very rare positive passage what is currently otherwise a very miserable chapter in the history of the game north of the border. If you tell younger or more casual football fans that Celtic were the first British team to famously win the competition they'd be forgiven for thinking you were hallucinating after too much Irn Bru. When Jock Stein's 'Lisbon Lions' triumphed over Helenio Herrera's great Inter side in 1967 it was undoubtedly considered the greatest day in the history of the club. People are speaking of this Barcelona win as the second best and it has since has become something the whole country can theoretically latch on to. This speaks volumes of how much Scottish football as whole is in need of a lift.


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Chumps League?

Around the early 1990s some smartarse an UEFA decided that Europe's premier cup competition was not quite exciting enough. Well, when I say not exciting, I mean that it wasn't generating enough cash. After nearly 40 years, European football’s holy grail wasn't as marketable as the suits would have liked so sponsorship contracts were negotiated, re-negotiated and negotiated again. The entire competition was 're-branded' and in 1993, what spawned forth was the malevolent, all-consuming and vile abomination we today call The Champions League.

"I will kill you and eat your children"

How was this different to the previous format? Well, rather than the straight-forward two legged knockout cup competition featuring just the league winners from each country that everyone was fairly content with, mini-leagues were introduced to give us a greater number games to consume like hungry, salivating dogs. As the competition has grown, more and more teams are ushered in leading to the quite absurd scenario in modern football where, in some cases, finishing as low as FOURTH in your domestic league is enough to qualify and actually considered something of a success. Qualification for the tournament means more than winning actual silverware – a quite tragic indictment of the modern game. So yes, a team can win the 'Champions' League despite having not won their domestic league the previous year. In fact, a team can compete and of course win the competition having NEVER won the title in their home nation - this hasn't happened yet but give it time... Sounds silly doesn't it? But why do UEFA allow this? Well, A) Because more games means more money obviously and B) Fuck you! That's why.

Ironically, by opening up the competition and attempting to be more inclusive, the Champions League actually becomes more exclusive. With rare exceptions, it's generally the same names competing for the top prize year on year. These teams make more money from the competition simply by being there and of course, the financial gap between the haves and the have-nots when they play in their own league becomes a gaping chasm - that is unless you have a multi-billionaire benefactor/sugar daddy to give you a helping hand but the pros and cons of that can be debated on another blog post another day.

The group stage of the modern day Champions League competition is very rarely something one ought to waste time getting excited over. Two teams qualify from each of the eight groups of four and the top dogs almost always find themselves seeded which inevitably sees their path to the knockout stage rarely troubled. Particularly in England, we have become accustomed to 'our' teams navigating their way through to the last 16 with relative ease.

Not this year however. As we enter the final round of group games, a very real scenario presents itself where the knockout stage will feature just one English side with the other three dropping down into the competition's fatter, uglier, younger sibling the Europa League – the consolation prize/punishment for finishing third in abovementioned groups.

Arsene Wenger and his Arsenal team have secured first place in Group F with a game to spare allowing them to simply enjoy their trip to Olympiacos. The French manager will send out a team consisting of 2 teenagers on work experience, 5 primary school children, 2 teething babies, a single sperm and Tomas Rosicky to face the Greek side while rumour has it the first team have been sent to the nearby resort of Kavos as a reward where Theo Walcott will throw up after doing one too many fish bowls, Gervinho and Thomas Vermaelen will race quad bikes and Aaron Ramsey will finger a 19 year old on the beach.

Meanwhile, things do not appear to be as rosy for Chelsea and the two Manchester clubs who all have major obstacles standing between them and the Utopia of the knockout stages.

The West Londoners take on Valencia at home first where only a win or a goalless draw will be good enough to see them leapfrog the Spanish side and progress to the latter stages. To say The Blues have had a difficult time of it of late would be understating matters to an almost laughable degree. Initially touted as potential champions this season, their current form has many people asking serious questions as to whether they will even finish in those coveted top four positions. It has been an inauspicious start for new manager Andres Villas-Boas. Indifferent league form spilled over into Europe and a 2-1 setback against Leverkusen two weeks back has led to this do or die scenario.



Opponents Valencia currently sit a comfortable third in La Liga behind the powerhouses of Barcelona and Real Madrid and pushed the latter close in their narrow defeat just a couple of weeks back. They also have the free scoring Roberto Soldado in their ranks who is likely to keep Chelsea's worryingly fragile backline very busy. Soldado has already netted an astonishing 14 times in all competitions this season – a feat Fernando Torres might not accomplish in the next 14 months!

I'm always wary of writing off Chelsea. A 3-0 win over Newcastle at the weekend was a reminder of the quality they possess and more importantly, provided a huge confidence boost ahead of this game. In truth, home advantage should see them safely through but having lost against both Arsenal and Liverpool(twice!) at the Bridge in recent months, you couldn't say for certain that a home win is on the cards.

Unfortunately, home advantage isn't something Manchester United can rely on in their vital Group C game against Basel. A draw will be enough for the Reds to go through but the Swiss side will be going all out for the win and it would be daft to take anything for granted in this game especially given the performance they put in when they went to Salford and came away with a 3-3 draw having fought from two goals down to lead right up until Ashley Young’s late equaliser.

The return to form and fitness of Rio Ferdinand and Nemanja Vidic has seen the defensive headaches from the early part of the season cured somewhat so if the task is simply to avoid defeat, you'd expect Sir Alex Ferguson's side to have enough quality to get the job done. But as recent games have shown, United are not playing anything close to their own usual high standard and you could easily argue that they've been fortunate to win so many games so far this season. This fortune hasn't transferred to Europe where teams have been able to capitalise on their mistakes. It might sound crazy but anyone who saw that first match will know that Basel pose a very real threat. Namesakes Fabian and Alexander Frei will be looking to pick up where they left off at Old Trafford.

While the destiny of the two English finalists from 2008 lies in their own hands, the same can not be said for Champions League virgins Manchester City whose rampant run at home has not been replicated abroad. The Citizens latest victims in the league were last weekend who were dispatched with the kind of delicious exhibition football that has had many commentators declaring the cash-rich club to be on par with Barcelona and the like. Just one glace at their European form will tell you such comparisons are somewhat premature. Having surrendered four points to Napoli and losing in Munich, City must now beat the four time winners and 2010 runners up Bayern at the Etihad Stadium and hope the group A whipping boys Villarreal can get anything against the Neapolitans.

Beating Bayern may well prove to be the easy part as the Bavarian side have already won the group and, like Arsenal, will not be placing a great deal of importance of the game. Similarly, Villarreal cannot even make third place and will be far more concerned with arresting their abject domestic form than doing Roberto Mancini any favours. Napoli will be expected to win this game and send City into the forgotten land that is the Europa League.



The likelihood of all three sides failing to progress is slim and I would stake a great deal of money on it. City are on the brink but United and Chelsea, although not in an ideal position, are certainly well placed to join Arsenal in next week's draw for the next round of the competition.

On the flipside, if all three were to finish third in their groups, the tantalising scenario of up to seven English clubs (if Stoke, Fulham,Birmingham and Tottenham were to qualify) in the bloated mess that is the Europa League would actually be highly amusing.

Well, I’d laugh anyway.


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All Eyes on Wembley

I make few apologies for the lack of input in recent weeks. What has ultimately boiled down to yet another tedious two horse race between Chelsea and Manchester United has killed my Premier League mojo. Even as I tried to get my juices flowing about the relegation battle, it soon became abundantly clear that it wouldn't matter which three of the bottom seven went down as no side has made a convincing enough case for exactly why they deserve the privilege of going through the exact same struggle for survival next season.

Further afield, most of the European Leagues have all but been decided. I mused about the possibility of Napoli putting up some kind of fight in Italy but of course since singing their praises they have collapsed like house of cards in Japanese earthquake and allowed AC Milan to stroll towards their 18th Scudetti crown.

The last major honour to be decided this season before a long, welcome summer break filled with repetitive, improbable and often inconceivable transfer rumour rubbish is of course the European Cup (Am I still obliged to refer to it as the Champions League despite the fact the 'league' format of the competition was completed before Christmas??).

This year's final takes place on my doorstep here in London. Well, not literally of course. Among other things, I live on a hill. Totally impractical for playing football. UEFA's showpiece event will be at national embarrassment Wembley Stadium and will be contested by Manchester United and Barcelona. The latter looking to win the thing for the third time in six years while the reds have now reached three of the last 4 finals (winning one and losing one of the previous two). This match is also a repeat the 2009 final in Rome. Who says football is boring and repetitive???

United's road to Wembley has hardly been the most challenging. Looking at their group, it would have actually been more difficult NOT to qualify given they were up against Rangers and Bursaspor. Valencia were supposed to provide some competition for top spot but failed to do so. In the first knockout round, Sir Alex Ferguson's side made short work of Marseille and dispatched of Chelsea in the quarters. While not strictly an 'easy' run, United would have expected to beat everyone they faced and it's clear that they steered clear of far more testing ties against genuine European heavyweights (Sit down Chelsea).

In the semis United turned over a Schalke side who I genuinely believe would struggle to beat a lot of Championship teams. The Germans' presence in the final four of this competition was like the time you snuck into the VIP section of a club before being told that minimum spend on drinks was £100 but all you had was a scrunched up twenty in the back pocket of your cheap jeans. Comfortably the poorest semi finalist in the competition probably ever.

That said, you can only beat what is put in front of you and beat them they did. Salford's finests entire campaign saw just two draws, an impressive zero goals conceded on the road and remarkably, from their 6 games away from Old Trafford, 5 wins - as many as they've managed in 17 Premier League games so far this season.

Barca also helped provide a strong argument in favour of ditching the group stages altogether as they were faced with the all too minor inconveniences that were FC Copenhagen, Rubin Kazan and Panathinaikos. After naturally cruising through unbeaten, the Catalans made it past Arsenal despite a first leg loss before ruthlessly sending Shaktar Donestk on their way.

Then came their controversial semi final first leg that will ultimately be remembered for whinging, petulance and the worst acts of cheating you would find this side of a Premier League footballer's Super-injunction. And that was just from the Mourinho's post match presser. The game itself, affectionately referred to as the 'Battle of the Bernabeu' turned out to be the worst thing Spain has given to the world since Gazpacho (seriously, cold soup?).

Rather than marveling at a wonderful football match against two of the best teams in the game right now, we're instead left scratching our heads wondering what is so wrong with Sergio Busquets' face that he needs to hold it every time an opposition player so much as farts within 20 yards of him. Barca were not the only culprits however, the cynical nature in which Real Madrid went out to stop them from playing must not be ignored. Dani Alves was universally condemned for his reaction that resulted in Pepe's red card but as far as I am concerned, if the Portuguese international goes flying into a challenge with his studs raised so high then it is completely understandable that he receives his marching orders no matter how minimal the contact.

In the midst of all the diving and play-acting, people seemed to forget that this Barca team is the best club side in the last few decades bar none. People have forgotten how much joy they can bring with their football and decided to solely focus on the nasty side of their game. Thankfully, Lionel Messi was able to rise above the nonsense and net a brace including yet another jaw-dropingly outstanding goal to remind us just why he is considered the world's best player.

Barca's 2-0 win in the capital rendered the 2nd leg almost redundant but the 1-1 draw at the Camp Nou did suggest that things may have been oh so different had Madrid not been so negative with their tactics at home. Something for United to consider on May 28th. Although, it will take more than simply adopting a 'positive' approach to beat Pep Guardiola's team....


(Yes, this video is like porn to me...)

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Karma?

Champions League pre-match news.

Last night, it looked as though Ashley Cole might miss the game because of this...



Now, far be it from me to wallow in the misery of others but if he is deemed unfit to play then you have to say that Karma works in wonderous ways.

Full English? Not For Me, Thanks.

I’m sorry but I’m thoroughly underwhelmed by this prospect of an all-English Champions league final. We are being told that this is somehow the greatest thing since sliced bread. I for one am not as thrilled as I supposedly should be and I’m not the only one.

Amongst the entire furore, it’s not lost on me, and I’m sure others will agree, that the two ‘English’ sides competing are the two most disliked football teams in the country. Outside of Stamford Bridge and Old Trafford, would anyone really be happy to see either of these sides lift the coveted trophy?

It’s no secret to anyone who follows the beautiful game that CSKA Fulham would be nowhere without their sugar daddy and to seethe fruit of his labours triumph in his native Russia in a few weeks will produce the kind of irony likely to induce vomiting amongst the watching world.

In all fairness, CSKA – normally the Lords of anti-football – did produce somewhat of a classic against Liverpool during extra time to go through last night. However, let’s not let the final result mask the fact that over 90 minutes, it was the fourth draw between the two sides in 5 games this season.

A victory for The Salford Bay Rowdies on the other hand will spawn no end of sycophantic praise for the team and manager alike. While there is no doubting that Taggart is great manager and has a CV overloaded with success and his team play some sublime football at times – both legs of the semi final being the noteworthy exception – they are a deplorable, arrogant bunch who believe not only that they have a God-given right to success but also consider themselves above the law. See ‘Sir’s’ incomprehensible rantings last Saturday as a case in point.

No-one want to see a team like that succeed.

A moment of magic from Paul Scholes took them through but that aside, the Rowdies were comprehensively outplayed by a visibly unconfident Barcelona side who still managed to outplay their conquerors over both games.

But we are told that because the two teams are from England we should be happy. How can we be happy when we know there is no possibility that they can’t both lose?
Supporting an English club in Europe in a concept lost on me. It seems like something of a bygone era when there were very few clubs in European competition. Back then, it was something important to back a team who really represented the nation against Europe’s finest. The rare triumphs during the nineties were something most of the nation could get behind.

Nowadays the money-machine that is the Champion’s League is more like a watered down version of the old European Cup. Back then, it was a true test of how the best in Europe faired against one another. In the modern era you can finish as low as 4th and have a chance to win the big cup.

How can you support the team representing England when four different teams are doing their best to outdo each other?

Is it really a victory for English football if CSKA or the Rowdies win the trophy by beating one another? Also, explain to me how that is a triumph over Europe? Had Liverpool made the final, they would have done so having not faced a ‘European’ side since the first knock-out stage.

Me? Unpatriotic? Please!

In the final we have one side that are owned by Americans, managed by a Scot, whose best player is Portuguese taking on a Russian owned, Israeli managed team whose top player is from the Ivory Coast. Might I also add their kit is made by a German firm and their sponsor is from Japan! Hardly striking a blow for English football.

Once again, I’m sure I am not alone. Fans of the other 90-odd clubs in the English league surely don’t give a monkey’s about two of ‘our own’ in the final. How does that benefit anyone aside from the two sides involved? They’re the only ones who reap any sort of financial benefit and the gap between rich and poor gets ever wider. This final does nothing for the likes Doncaster Rovers, Ipswich Town, Rochdale or Hull City.

Finally, the amount of trouble in Moscow on that fateful May evening doesn’t even bare thinking about. The CSKA mob’s reputation has been well-documented for years and the Rowdies fans are hardly angels themselves. Add that to the expected heavy-handed treatment from the Russian police and undoubted ticketless fans who will try and get into the Luzhniki stadium and you have a recipe for disaster.

Ironically enough, this so-called great occasion for English football could very well see the kind of crowd trouble we all fear and ultimately may lead to UEFA imposing some kind of sanctions against English clubs. They can’t be too pleased about our clubs monopolising their competitions and will find any excuse to prevent it from continuing.

Something Is Seriously Wrong

*Blows off cobwebs*

This was recently doing the email rounds.



John Arne Riise's alleged payslip.

If this is indeed real, something is fundamentally wrong in the world if someone being paid THAT MUCH to play football cant kick with his right foot!



...You really do have to wonder sometimes.