Champions League Final: Four Days To Go...

In 'preperation' for Saturday's epic encounter against Barca, I thought I would reflect on the last time we were in this situation - exactly two years against the exact same opposition. Starting with my first ever post on this blog (aww), here is my reaction to the 3-1 Semi Final win at the Emirates...

You Stay Classy Manchester United...

Posted by The Cockney Red

WEDNESDAY, 6 MAY 2009

To quote my hero Ron Burgendy, I am in a glass cage of emotion. Although Burgendy was most definitely not referring to waking life as a Football and/or Manchester United fan, He is the worlds greatest prophet of life and wisdom; to question this absolute powerhouse of knowledge would therefore be foolish and ignorant beyond belief.

This divine being knows and can tell you EVERYTHING you ever need to know about everything: the ladies, diversity (a Spanish ship), San Diego(Def: a whales vagina), hair, sharp suits, scotch and jazz-flute. Football, you’d assume, has to come somewhere in the mix of it all; however after tonight, in fact, after a month of immensely proud, powerful and ridiculously determined performances by United, I feel the worlds greatest living philosopher has perhaps, only this once, maybe, just slightly, undermined the sheer magnitude of how this stunningly beautiful game is able to alter your emotions. (for those of you who are at this point thinking ‘who the hell is Ron Brigundary?’, FUCK YOU!).

We are, in the most magical, satisfying, spine-tingly exciting way that football could possibly offer, Champions League finalists for the second year running. Beating Arsenal at the Emirates, the first time we’ve ever done so, highlighted not only our own brilliant ability and belief to go all the way, however also the rather surprising bridge in quality between the two teams.

Arsenal were, if at times unlucky, completely outplayed, outthought and, even when they had the player advantage, outnumbered. On that note, the only downer of the night was Fletcher’s sending off. I’m not going to dwell though, because that’ll make me angry and have to deride the rules and often pointless systems of football. But that’s not what last night was about. He shouldn’t have ever been sent off, that’s a scientific fact (just as it is Anchorman not Anchorlady), but I am still grateful that that wasn’t Rio or Vidic (I suppose on that note you could raise the point of why Fletch was so far back in the first place…?). Enough of that, back to the tingly spine stuff.

Our football was solid yet mesmerising. It hasn’t been either of late, which made this encounter - on the back of a strong yet wasteful, and therefore slender, 1-0 lead at OT - potentially tight and too close to call. Arsenal were arguably on better form; effortlessly brushing aside team after team in the league, and 4 goals at Anfield? Scary...but no Arshavin in Europe? Still surprisingly scary.

Although we are currently on 5 league wins on the trot, that doesn’t tell half the story. To say we have been rocky and nervy of late is to sayLiverpool struggle somewhat without a certain angry, forward-hairlined scouser. With the resources we have, we should not, at any point, be battling out a 2-1 win away to Sunderland, or to be 2-0 down at half-time at home to Spurs. But we’ve made it, because that’s what we do. We want to, therefore we will, always win.

A ‘rocky spell’/‘iffy patch’/‘complete and utter bullshit lack of form’ is only ever that at United: a spell/a patch/a minor wave of shitness. They make you worry and doubt, then snatch those feelings away from you as rapidly as they unwelcomingly arrive. They make you fear that ‘its starting to get a tad nervy now’ and question ‘what the fuck has happened to my team?’ (REF: two defeats and an aggregate score of 1-6 in two weeks. United fans know what I‘m talking about).

But there was no worry tonight. Rooney is utterly, utterly special and can pretty much do anything on the pitch these days; Park is a diesel-powered speedboat on raw crack; Rio and Vidic are oh so happily back together again and display the kind of in-tune relationship you’d expect from an elderly couple still very much in love after all these years: they are solid, know everything about each other, are comfortable playing together and are always there for one another (aww).

As for Ronaldo. Oh sweet, glorious Ronaldo. Rest-assured, when the critics are joyfully abusing his arrogance that doesn’t quite match his talent, he shows that he CAN impact the big games and there should never be a doubt over his work rate (his second of the night by the way officially makes my top 3 greatest ever United goals). He therefore is, without a midget-Argentinean shadow of a doubt, the best player in the world…but we’ll have to wait to the final to fully see the result of that one!

So, to summarise (you have to forgive me: I have no idea how to structure these nifty little blog things; plus I am still in full on essay mode, so I‘m ALL about the summaries): tonight, my boys made me proud and happy and relieved and very very proud. At times they make me worry, but with displays like this, pride and confidence and joy ripple through me uncontrollably. I just hope that Tuesday night's superior level of football can maintain - rather the type that relies on a 17 year old unknown to save our season - when the ‘biggest’ team in Manchester come round ours on Sunday (oh that’s right, I still have the nerve to doubt them after everything I have just said. I just can‘t help it).

With some help from North London’s lightweight over-achievers of-course, the match underlined everything great, poor, thrilling and utterly-disappointing about football…glass-cage of emotion, Lord Ron, doesn’t even scratch the surface. Buonjiorno Roma…