Sunday, September 27, 2009

Arise, the Next Sir Ryan Giggs



Today’s title plays off the banner shown frequently on TV during United’s comfortable 2-0 win over Stoke on Saturday. Indeed, the Premiership’s most-ever-decorated player deserves a knighthood.

But the bittersweet realization that we may be witnessing Giggy’s final campaign never completely eludes us, as we’ll inevitably receive the news one day that Sir Ryan will hang up his boots. How sad to even contemplate.

Yet beyond the sentiment, the cold reality exists that United can’t afford long-term to rely on get-out-of-jail-free cards played by the experienced hands of Scholes and Giggs.

Someone needs to emerge that will consistently make that pass to cut open defenses or that play which secures a vital three-point away from home. Right now, it appears that someone is lacking within the current squad, as the most likely candidate from the wing, Nani, continues to demonstrate consistently poor decision making.

I know, I know – Rooney and Fletcher have flourished this year, with the former as the consistent goal scoring threat and the latter as the box-to-box midfield engine of United. But neither exactly fit the masterclass-creative roles played by our thrity-somethings. And, that’s why Nani remains such a vital hope for United.

As Phil McNulty, chief football writer for the BBC, wrote so adroitly: “Stoke's fans taunted Nani with chants of ‘You'll Never Be Ronaldo’ in reference to his Portugal team-mate Cristiano, now departed from Old Trafford.

And they were spot on. There is undoubtedly a good player lurking inside Nani trying to get out, but the impression is that he is spending too much time attempting to be Ronaldo rather than himself. Giggs should be his guide.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Think about it: two games, two key Giggs assists later, United are top of the league on goal differential over Chelsea, who now face immense media pressure against the backdrop of their perverse power structure between captain and owner, not to mention their transfer ban.

Without Giggs’ contributions, quite arguably, United could have drawn the last two and would sit uncomfortably behind Chelsea, Liverpool, Tottenham, and be ahead of City only by the prospect of playing an extra game: how dreadful.

All of the pressure would be on United, as the club would face the tiresome prospect of answering a continuous array of post-Ronaldo and newly-arrived City questions. Fergie might have turned a new shade of purple against such predictably irritating journalism – but no way, not with our evergreen twosome demonstrating how to pull the strings when United need it most to capture vital points.

Now is your moment, Luís Carlos Almeida da Cunha. Learn from Giggs’ example. Arise and become the player you alone were meant to be.
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Back at you after the Sunderland match. Cheers.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Welcome to Manchester!


Rarely do overly-hyped matches live up to their billing, as it seems almost impossible for today’s derby to live up to its Elizabethan story line, with a small fortune spent, a former-player-turned-gaffer against his old mentor, and a Judas-like defector returning to his former love.

All too often these games become overly-tight affairs or slip to the other extreme and boil over into an un-football-like madness. But not today – oh brother, not today.

In what Fergie immediately coined “the best ever” Manchester derby, little did we know that players more on the periphery of the build-up and big money – Bellamy, Given, and Fletcher for example – would play lead roles in the match of the season.

Today the pre-match stories failed to live up to the tension, drama, and intrigue of the match itself, as I’m pleasantly exhausted and wired at 10:00 AM Central Standard Time on a Sunday pinging away on my trusty laptop, enjoying every moment here.

After grabbing breakfast and taking some more time for reflection, the underbelly of today’s victory emerges from the afterglow.

When all is said and done, today’s match should never have been this close, with United gifting City two of its three goals with abhorrent mistakes, one from Foster and the other from Rio Ferdinand.

We look at Foster and pray that he’s not headed down the Calamity James career path – an excellent shot-stopper with moments of decision-making madness mixed in with good measure.

Surely, this performance in such a critical match may cause Fergie to lose faith in him, lest he resurrects himself with much calmer performances somehow and somewhere with van der Sar soon to return from injury.

You wonder if Foster might have done better crafting his skill for a few more years with a comfortable, mid-table team, one maybe a bit more forgiving of the occasional blunder. Only time, or Fergie, will tell.

Earlier this Fall I joked that Rio and Cashley (Ashley Cole, for those EPL-challenged) funding a movie together was an early warning sign of an impending (defensive) apocalypse for United.
After Rio’s chronic injury woes, his horrible back-pass with England, and today’s attempted playground trickery, I’m not so certain it’s funny anymore.

Rio plays center-half with such effortless-looking grace that mistakes seem to catch us all off-guard more than otherwise expected. I believe today’s gaff had as much to do with fatigue impacting his decision-making as anything else, as he plays himself back into true match fitness. This isn’t an excuse, mind you, but he’s been such a stalwart defender that I’m sure he’ll turn it around in classic Rio-like fashion, making things look remarkably simple and easy in due time.

Ah, but no worries. All is said and done, which inevitably make these three points even sweeter at the expense of newly-cocky City.

Back at you after the Stoke match. Cheers.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

There's Only One Rooney


Infrequently during the season there are events that call me away from watching United live. This weekend was one such occasion, as we had a mini-reunion at a friend’s lake cabin in central Wisconsin.

All packed. TiVo set to record the game. I’m good to go. Nobody will break my own personal United media blackout out in the woods of rural Wisconsin.

That’s nobody except me, of course.

Instant-access culture now reaches this semi-remote cabin with excellent cell phone coverage and the internet-drug of choice: the iPhone.

On Saturday morning I thought reading about Keano and the past might distract my mind or at least temporarily satisfy my craving for live football. Oh how utterly misguided.

Instead of the desired effect of pacifying my urges, the book and too much fine Sumatra java only served to wind me up without any clear channel for my energies. How in the world will I wait until Sunday?! Then, Bob arrived.

Bob’s alma-mater is Central Michigan, who happened to be playing Michigan State in East Lansing on Saturday. Closely he monitored this college football score on his iCrack, I mean, iPhone as we sat outside on the deck.

Ultimately he lets out a cheer followed by some fist pumping and calls from friends after Central upset State on the home turf. Now, I’m simply beside myself, as if my little craving kept tapping me on the shoulder, saying “Go ahead. Take a quick peek. You know you want to.” Its 3:30pm Central Standard Time and United’s game is long over, my rational mind urges.

After all congratulatory calls from Michigan subsided, I asked Bob the magic question, “Hey, can I grab you iPhone and look up the United score?” On a deck in 80-degree sunshine and shielding the phone from the sun there I sat.

Waiting and waiting for the ESPN soccer score page to load, then the Premier League page… more waiting…

Then it appears in all it’s glory: Spurs 1 – 3 United. Yeeeesssss! My own instant joy follows with bemusement after reviewing the match stats. Scholesy picked up two yellows in less than nine minutes. Ander-son-son-son netted his first real United goal. A brilliant result and my craving subdued.

Sunday night comes with a special piece of mind as I turn on the match and feel nothing as Defoe’s first-minute bicycle goes in. How pleasant it is on this day to know the outcome and know that lovely attacking football will emerge from this ugly-slow start.

Late on, after Rooney’s brilliant goal to kill-off the match, I heard it and it gave me shivers: “Roooo-ney! There’s only one Rooo-ney. There’s only one Roo-ney!”

How fitting that the song sung so many times for Keano echoed around North London while I sat reading his biography and getting twitchy in Wisconsin. You can’t help but wonder, now with Ronaldo gone, if Rooney will become a Keane-like force United and will us to victory. What beautiful symmetry and foreshadowing to finish off a fantastic weekend.

There is only one – red hot – Rooney indeed. Back after the City match. Cheers to you.