A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE
Poor old JT. Initially I was going to use quite a lot of swearwords in this piece. The f word, the t word, the c word, yes even the u word – basically my vocabulary miraculously expanded when I let my mind wander onto the w*nk-faced bunch of morons that is Manchester United – but I won’t. I’m not going to swear, or get upset.
This is football, and as we all know the beauty of football is that it remains unpredictable. You can have 25 shots to 13, twice as many corners, ridiculous linesman calls and unexplained refereeing decisions and still have the press say that Manchester United deserved the victory.
Such is football. But then I thought to myself, hey! I’m fed up reading that sort of impartial nonsense in the papers. I don’t want to hear about fate and Sir Alex “twat” Ferguson’s legacy. I want something that reflects the way I feel, and perhaps cheers me up a little.
So here it goes;
Before we start let’s just agree that even if they’d been knocked out in the first round, Manchester United are a bunch of d*ckheads. So I’m not just being bitter because of the result. And yet there’s no escaping that it’s the result that galls.
What makes it hardest to swallow is that we happen to live in the same country as the opposition. This might not seem the case since the only time we hear about Manchester is on ‘Crimewatch’ or ‘England’s grottiest holes’ or ‘I’m a tw*t! I live in Manchester!’ – Am I wrong in thinking that the only contribution Manchester has made to national culture is two Gallagher’s’ flatulence and gun crime? I don’t think so.
Anyway, because of this shared land space all the newspapers are wallowing like fat pigs in a bog of Manchester United (d*ickheads) self-adoration. But Manchester united (d*ickheads) didn’t win the European cup. Chelsea lost it. And the worst thing is that we’ve got no-one to blame.
Everything was set for the best possible outcome. Chelsea bounced back from a typical Manchester United (d*ickheads) opening salvo, regrouped and dominated play with attractive, fluid, creative football that saw them hit the woodwork time and again and render the likes of Wayne Rooney anonymous. Penalties arrive and stuttering run-up Ro(c*ck)naldo sets it up for the Chelsea captain to bring the trophy home.
Strangely I’ve noticed there is some consolation in JT’s miss. No matter how bad I feel – or you feel – we both know that JT must feel about a million times worse. Of course, many people would say that’s no consolation at all, but somehow to know that somewhere out there is a solitary figure who is guaranteed to be roughing it not only as much as us, but quite a lot more, is in a small way comforting. We know we’re not alone in this suffering.
Scientists maintain that in a parallel universe, somewhere beyond the dimensions that we understand, JT held his footing for one quarter of a second longer, the ball nicked the inside of the post and Chelsea beat Germany to become masters of the universe. (Parallel universes are always slightly off.) But we don’t live in that universe.
We live in the one where Manchester United (d*ickheads) and their referee-hassling, purple-cheeked w*nkstain of a manager sits in his smugger-than-thou theatre of wet dreams and genuinely believes himself when he says Manchester United (d*ickheads) deserved to win.
Here’s small consolation: AC Milan suffered a similar fate against Liverpool and two years later walloped them to settle the dispute. Chelsea is the better side. Give it time and the walloping will be handed out to Manchester United (d*ickheads) too.