Playing Catch-Up

Today’s title matches both my blogging silence and United’s lovely come-back victory. So much hath transpired since I last posted, with victories in the Champions League and Manchester derby, plus today’s impressive and improbable victory.

Surely, on a heavy pitch and on a night with so many wasted chances, you couldn’t help but wonder if one point was the limit – but not this night, this campaign, and this championship. Surely, it’s in the bag now.

But, early on and being the superstitious-type, I wondered if wearing my Mission Accomplished Fergie t-shirt, complete with the 2002 quote “My greatest challenge was knocking Liverpool right of their f*ing perch!... and you can print that”, might actually have jinxed the outcome in some sort of deranged Nick Hornby-like-way.

Equal measures of fear in losing the title and Liverpool winning it, both utterly unthinkable at this stage, still flicker dimly in the deep, remote recesseses of my brain. Equal measures of pleasure come from winning it and keeping Merseyside a Premiership title-free zone.

Again, watching the game after work, while keeping the necessary media blackout, makes tense games like these more difficult to bear alone, with nobody around to help distract the mind. The tension simply rises and I ponder fast-forwarding the TiVo.

My wife, bless her soul, comes home just after half time and heads to second floor of the house, as she’s apt to talk about social plans in the middle of a beautiful counter-attack.

The dog lingers around me on the sofa until uncontrolled shrieks of “TEVEZZZZZ!!!” and subsequent singing Who’s that Man from Argentina?! cause her to quickly flee upstairs. I’m alone in the living room with the windows open. Passers-by must wonder who the hell is freaking out in there, as this is America and most neighbors know not why I’m celebrating let alone have the foggiest notion about the song.

What a glorious, glorious victory – it’ll make getting down to the pub before 6:45 AM CST all that much more comfortable this Saturday. Surely, there will be a game-long celebration against the gutted-Gunners now, with only one point needed.

Excuese me, miss, I’ll take the number-eighteen, at home, with a side of champagne, if you will.

And yet, beyond the Premiership, there’s so much more to contemplate in the not too distant future, with the Champions League Final and the consistent Ronaldo and Tevez rumors.

Ah, but not today. Today is the day we absolutely knew we’d win the league. What a memorable goal, what a memorable performance.

Campiones! Campiones! Ole, ole, ole.

One Giant Leap for All Red-Kind

Today’s 2-0 victory down on the Riverside didn’t involve any drama, thankfully, despite Ronaldo, Carrick, Fletcher, Anderson, and van der Sar being rested, and with Rio given time to heal from his rib injury.

What a perfect tune-up for Tuesday’s Champions League encounter with Arsenal. Points taken, players rested, mission accomplished, and one huge step taken toward the 18th top-flight title.

The mathematics now involves taking seven points from the final four games, a comfortable demand from the final matches, and the tasty prospect of clinching the league at home with a win or draw against Arsenal.

As I’ve been sitting here, thinking of what exactly to write, somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind a more contemplative, big picture perspective emerges about this game, this season, and this squad.

First and far too frequently this year, games against inferior opposition resulted in more work and worries than anyone cared to remember, often needing late-game heroics or winning with an uncomfortable one-goal cushion, just a flash-moment away from dropping points.

Yet today, Giggs and Scholes broke down Boro with their typical aplomb – accuracy, economy, guile, and vision – and provided the leadership necessary for a cruise control victory. They provide the gaffer with a critical dimension, one needed on day’s like today, an invaluable card to play at the right moment.

Keeping both Giggs and Scholes, however, wasn’t always a forgone conclusion.

Think back to 2005-2006, with the painful realization our midfield was too reliant on the aging-and-injured Giggs and Scholes as well as the imploding-Keane. How tempting it must have been to clean house and start a youth movement across the midfield. Many pundits called for it, as I’m sure both players briefly contemplated life away from Old Trafford out of necessity.

Yet Sir Alex’s vision saw new roles for both players, while he rebuilt the midfield. Both players loyalty primarily stems from their own character, absolutely, but they needed some convincing from the manager in terms of their and the team’s prospects. This was made possible by only one man, Sir Alex Ferguson. This season, today’s result and Giggs’ PFA honors pay homage to such brilliant foresight.

Second, when this year’s schedule came out, several of us pondered the sheer weight of the fixture list, including taxing mid-season travels to Japan. Surely, we thought, this Premiership title may be one trophy too far. What an utterly brutal campaign, we thought. And yet, here we sit, in pole position with the trophy ours to throw away, a tribute to the talent and depth within the squad.

I keep wondering how Fergie does it, whether it’s convincing Ronnie to stay or recruiting young talent – the Machedas, the de Silva twins – to the club. He’s built a masterful mix of gifted players, ranging from their last-teens to late-thirties, within the current squad. Federico Macheda wasn’t even born when Giggs first played for United in the Premiership, yet today we see them playing together on the same pitch, the perfect symbol of the past, present, and future of United.

Ultimately, Sir Alex’s greatest triumph may be the long-term legacy he’s created for the club, an amazing alchemy of youth and experience that fosters the next decade of Red Devil delight. I can’t imagine a better, more fitting tribute to the greatest manager that the world has ever seen.

When Johnny Goes Marching Down the Wing

What a lovely attacking display and crucial victory. Consider Arsenal outclassed. But the score line doesn’t reflect the dominance endured by the Gunners. Yet again, we’re left with a slight, lingering sense of what-could-of-been and lost opportunity.

On a different day, our new formation, with Tevez central and R&R on the wings, clinically finishes at least three chances and effectively kills off this tie. Not today, unfortunately.

Much will be written and said about this match because nearly everyone tunes into this stage of the Champions League. Unfortunately, I’ve got work to make-up this evening, and as such, the blogpost is short, as I’ve got a couple of moments to share from watching the game at The Local Pub in Minneapolis…

Immediately after O’Shea scores from the corner-scramble, a few of us sing the entire song “When Johnny goes marching down the wing” still during goal celebrations. Immediately when the song’s complete, there’s a second of semi-quite, and you hear a few Gooner’s simultaneously moan in despair, like scoring the goal wasn’t bad enough. That’s brilliant, that is.

Late on, Arsenal finally has some possession in the United half and numbers moving forward. It looks promising for them, but Wenger’s men pull an “Arsenal” and string together passes, with nobody wanting to make a decisive move forward let alone shoot. We chant “Pass!” and “Pass!” with each olé-like connection, until the inevitable loss of possession comes from passing-off. Now, just imagine the Arsenal fans’ frustrated looks from poking them on their sore-spot. In a word: priceless.

Somehow footy brings out schadenfreude, especially when you watch a match too close, in mixed company, and want to loudly and freely express your United joy.

Let’s hope we don’t rue today’s 1-0 score line during the return leg. We can’t always rely on O’Shea to bail us out.

Speechless

How many life-lines do we have this year? Seriously, how many?!

The word “stunning” doesn’t begin to describe it, as the awe-inspiring come back evokes memories of the 5-3 victory at White Heart Lane in September 2001. But this is late April, with Liverpool temporarily taking the league lead on goal differential, and a much stronger statement to our supposed superiors on Merseyside. Rafa, you just don’t know when to shut up, do you, as every time, it backfires.

How could any Pool player or fan not feel gutted, demoralized, and much worse for the wear after witnessing such a display?! Oh, the hope followed by immediate-and-resounding despair, with some lingering resignation about the possible first Premier League trophy.

Today, in the unlikeliest of days against stiff opposition, we kill off the game clinically. Who knew we only needed to fall behind 2-0, attack the East End, sub-in Tevez, move Rooney to wing, and have Ronaldo coolly convert a penalty to kick-start our attacking joy. All sarcasm aside, you just have to wonder why we can’t reach this gear more often.

Here are several quick comments about what stands out today.

First, what’s up with closing down crosses from the wing and our far-post marking?! Both have been shocking, at times, these past two months, which needs to improve in our three games with Arsenal. Walcott or Nasri or Arshavin will open us up unless this is sorted out immediately.

Second, thank you, thank you, “OurHero” Gomes for the penalty-gift and the poor reach on the near-post-equalizer from The Boy, Wayne Rooney. That’s brilliant, that is, as the penalty couldn’t have come at a better time.

Third, does anyone have any doubts about Carlos Tevez’ impact on United after watching today’s revival. His energy and passion lifted the whole team and proved the catalyst for our attacking vigor. Can you ever imagine Berbatov having a similar impact?! Ever?! Enough said. Sign him and let us sing about Our Man from Argentina for years to come.

Last, how do you explain the sudden ruthlessness, especially after a restless first half? Honestly 6-2 or 7-2 wasn’t out of the question today, as Ronaldo and Rooney competed with each other for hat-trick honors in a playful display. The game comes so easily to these two young lads; let us hope Ronnie has the good sense to stay longer to see what they can achieve together.

So we look ahead with a renewed glint in the eye, one that comes from the fresh experience that you can never-ever count out United. We are fantastic. And remember: be champions.

Are You Watching Merseyside?

Three points clear. One game in-hand. Five games left for the title chasers.

We’re sniffing distance away from our 18th top-flight title overall, which ties Liverpool’s English record and keeps them in a Premiership title-free zone. Ah, you couldn’t write a better script.

Or could you?!

I don’t in any way, shape, or form mean to disparage our beloved Red Devils’ current quest for a title or sound like I’m complaining, as most squads can only fathom Premiership titles after a night of binge drinking or smoking something a bit sinister.

But, how many squandered opportunities must we bear witness to this year?

I know, I know – it’s the kind of question only asked if you’ve created many opportunities and have experience successfully converting them – the stuff of champions. But, it’s precisely the inability to kill off games this year that could still prove costly.

A second goal clearly ends this contest, with Pompey looking resigned to a certain fate only to be handed an invitation back into the game in the second half. Why Giggsy alone could have replicated Arshavin’s goal-scoring prowess, with 3-4 guilt-edged opportunities missed.

“Obviously, our first-half performance was absolutely fantastic and we should have been five, six goals ahead,” Ferguson told Sky Sports.

"We missed a lot of good chances and you only encourage your opponents in that situation and that's what we did. In the second-half they got to the by-line twice and you start thinking to yourself, 'we're going to throw this away'. Fortunately, Michael Carrick came on and scored the second goal which settled everyone down, but we made it really difficult for ourselves. You only need a second to lose a goal and you risk the game because you haven't taken the chances."

Scoring hasn’t been as easy this term, nor is it the first time Fergie’s warned the boys about not finishing off teams. On one hand, the trend continues with these “semi-uncomfortable” victories, as you can’t help but wonder when and if we’ll pay for keeping teams in games. On the other hand, points are points, and the Reds keep marching on, on, on. Such questions are the spoils of pursuing an 11th Premiership title.

Eat your heart out, Rafa, we know you’re watching.

Home and Dry

My pre-match jitters were intensified by being forced to watch the match on TiVo alone in the evening after multiple client meetings today.

There’s something incredibly strange about going into “media blackout” mode in the States and actually avoiding such a massive result. There’s no checking e-mail or the cell phone. It’s straight home, grab some dinner, and game on. Such is the life where Champions League matches kickoff midday.

Final: FC Porto 0 – 1 Manchester United.

What an audacious SCORCHER! We’re through to the Semis for the third year running!! And, as if it couldn’t get better, Mr. “bulge in the old onion bag” appears headed for retirement or the sack (http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/blog/2009/apr/15/tommy-smyth-us-soccer-espn). Ding, dong the SmYth is dead. Quick, better play the PowerBall while the mojo's still hot.

Three things stood out from the match.

First, and yes, the goal will be played over and over on TVs and YouTube throughout the world for the days and weeks to come. Ronnie thinks it’s his best goal, and who could argue with him, as it’s a well-worthy match-winner. And did you see the ESPN feed panning the United supporters after the replay of Ronnie’s Wondergoal?! One supporter looked hilarious, as the camera caught him just as the goal was scored and you could just see the shocked, “pinch-me-I’m dreaming” expression change to utter-and-uncontrolled joy. What a fantastic reaction-shot. Hopefully someone uploads it – hint, hint – to YouTube that’s got the time.

Second, welcome back, Rio. Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back. If we just erase the past five games, this is the Ferdinand-Vidic partnership of old. How long did you think the Keystone Cops would inhabit our beloved backline?! The shaky defense streak ends, much like the clean sheet record and United becoming the first English team to win at the Estadio do Dragao. Halleluiah.

Third, the Christmas freakin’ tree formation actually worked! Okay, okay, it was more of a 4-2-3-1, but it did close down Porto’s attacking avenues. The formation worked largely because of the discipline of the midfield, especially Mr. Rooney, who wins my “marvelously-composed” performer of the match. Ah, the ever-emotional Wazza. You still saw his disappointment with missed crosses or lost possession, but you never thought he was anywhere near the boil tonight. Likewise, all players seemed to make an positive effort toward each other with their body language tonight, without the petulance, as Fergie’s recent pokes at players paid dividends.

We’ll keep the red flag flying high, ‘coz we’re home and dry and Man United will never die.

We Shall Not Be Moved

“I don’t think it (game) was extraordinary. Manchester United were very nervous, didn’t play particularly well, but it doesn’t matter – they got the result. You know, what a crisis they are in – out of the last fifteen league games they’ve only won thirteen.”
~ Pat Dolan, on Setanta Sports Live’s post-match analysis

Sometimes it’s easy to loose perspective, especially after keeping fourteen clean sheets in a row only to concede to eleven goals in five games, including two losses and the two terrible away goals to Porto. The continued nervousness amongst the backline should concern us but it is a far cry from a crisis, as Mr. Dolan’s sarcasm so correctly notes.

Rough patches happen to everyone at least once per year and this dip in form won’t matter if we keep nicking results. Points are points, oh Zen-master.

Today Fergie went to a 4-3-3 with Berbatov, Tevez, and Rooney across the front and Scholes, Carrick, and Park across the midfield. No Evra, Ferdinand, or Ronaldo to start. Admittedly, with Berba healthy and Sundlerland prone to putting at least 9 behind the ball, it was the obvious formation of choice.

Early on we were fairly composed and patiently penetrated Sunderland’s defense. The game had the hallmarks of a lop-sided result, as Berba coolly-controlled the ball out wide to Rooney, who’s inch-perfect cross was delicatedly-headed home by Scholes.

Surely, another goal would seal the result and such was the traveling supporters confidence that they began breaking out older songs, ones at-best only tangentially-related to anything on the pitch.

We move from slagging Alan Shearer to the Monkey’s Daydream Believer:

F**k off, Alan Shearer,
Oh what can it mean, to a,
Sad geordie bastard, and a,
Shite football team.

To the next song about the former-Sunderland manager and United captain-of-lore:

Oh Keano's f*in' magic,
He wears a magic hat,
And when he saw Old Trafford,
He said I fancy that,
He didn't sign for Arsenal,
Or Blackburn 'coz they're shite,
He signed for Man United,
'Coz they're f*ing dynamite.

You get the picture: everything was going to plan. Sunderland defended deep and isolated Jones and Cissé up front, while United patiently picked apart the Black Cat defense. An afternoon stroll appeared likely.

Somewhere around 30 minutes it changed.

Maybe it was Vidic’s miscommunication with Foster for a gift-corner. Maybe it was merely going down a goal forced the Sunderland to commit some players forward. Or maybe it was both.

So, while the away supporters considered their vast singing options, Sunderland’s confidence grew, the back four’s nerves surfaced yet again, culminating in Edwards’ cross hitting Jonny Evans and caroming straight out off the post, only to be cleared out of the box by Park.

At half-time it’s still: Sunderland 0 – United 1.

We started the second half brightly, with good attacking possession, but again, the defense seemed anxious and uncertain, ultimately leading to Sunderland’s goal, which came off an entirely-defendable cross.

A poor read, step and whiffed-punch from Foster - what's up with potential England keepers anyway?! - and an equally poor reaction from Evans let Kenyon Jones put in his second-effort, after he muffed his first-touch header. Sunderland 1 – United 1. Game on, as it was yet another bad goal to concede.

We responded well in attack, with Scholes and Rooney both firing chances narrowly wide. You could just feel a second goal in United, with it likely coming from either of my co-Men of the Match, Mr. Scholes and Mr. Rooney.

Who knew it’d come from “Macheda the Magician” (http://soccernet.espn.go.com/index?cc=5901), the 17 year old savior for United, who hadn’t played a minute of first-team action not that long ago. It’s now two games played, two match-winning goals scored for his budding career. Unbelievable.

There will be much debate whether Carrick’s shot was intentionally redirected or simply caromed off our hero.

Sir Alex said after the match: ''He has got something special about him, the boy. I haven't seen the goal, but one of the players said he actually tried it. He side-footed it as it came to him. It's that quick-thinking that goal scorers have got. He has just got that instinct.''

Regardless whether the touch was intentional or not, there’s no doubting the boy’s fast assimilation of a Solskjær-like, super-sub status within the club. His goal knocked the wind out of Sunderland and effectively rendered today’s verdict: game, set, match.

In the days ahead, you wonder what song will Peter Boyle compose for, and which of the nicknames – “Mach the Knife” or “Kiko the Kid” perhaps – will stick with, this young prodigy. All we know now is his impact is beyond massive. Already.

So what was it about that crisis at United?!

When asked: “Are United playing like champions?”

Pat Dolan summarized the mood here: “Well, they’re winning like champions. Six point out of the last two games – that’ll do for Fergie.” That’ll do indeed.

We shall not, we shall not be moved,
We shall not, we shall not be moved,
Just like the team, that's gonna win the football league - again!
We shall not be moved.