Champions League Final: Two Days To Go...

My final reflective piece looking back at our final in Rome two years ago, is my overly emotional (but highly justified) piece the day after. 29th May 2009 was a dark day, full of disappointment and 'what if's' as we failed to rise to the occasion and in turn got taught a lesson by the best team in the world. Many people's perception this time round is that we'll all be feeling exactly the same on the 29th May 2011. But call it raw passion, loyalty or belief - I think it'll be different. Very different. Anyway. I know we'll step up this time round and avoid this...

the day after...

Posted by The Cockney Red
THURSDAY, 29 MAY 2009

I don’t really know where to begin. I don’t really know why I’m even bothering with this to be honest. But I’ve hidden away from it all day and as much as I thought it would help to mentally remove myself from the realities of last night, it really hasn’t. So here it is. It arrived, and then, somehow, we forgot how to play. Nothing happened, nothing went right, a performance didn't even occur; and then we lost. Convincingly.

Dethroned and embarassed. But it was all unquestionably our fault, and only our fault. I fully, completely and utterly deny any talk of Barca being ‘amazing’, ‘scintillating’, ‘incredible’ and ‘spell-binding’ (all words I’ve read describing them last night).

Barca were good, at best, but the big difference was that Manchester United were awful. That is why they looked good and that is why they are European Champions. Not because of Xavi’s passing or Iniesta’s outstanding vision and play-making, and certainly not due to Messi’s God-like football presence (NB: I've read all 3 of those players, along with the average-on-the-day Etoo, getting over 8 ratings by newspapers. What Bull shit). The fact Barca were up for this and generally solid and fluid helped. On top of that, to their credit, they were able to find an extra gear when needed; but that was only made possible due to our own short-comings. As soon as they knew they had the upper-hand, i.e. after 10 minutes, they sensed we were shell-shocked and immediately weaker. And we were.

From the first goal we were poor in every aspect of the field and so were rightly and deservedly punished for our lack of play. Our possession and use of the ball was most disappointing. For most of the night, the moment got the ball we gave it away, yet Barca – with their extra gear – were compentantly able to maintain, and of course once you have the ball, you can do anything. Well, they definitely didn’t do that, because they were NOT THAT GOOD (sorry, really need to drill that point home), but they made it look easier to progress up-field as we wernt allowed near the ball. The occasions we did win it back exposed their own sloppy nature, yet as soon as Anderson left the field – our only defensive, hard-tackling player protecting the defence – our holes and consequently errors in midfield were more evident, thus allowing them to keep posession in the centre so comfortably.

Did Ferguson get it wrong tactically? Maybe. The 4-3-3 has definitely been successful in punishing teams, especially in Europe, yet when Barca took the (slender) lead completely against the run of play, there should have been a change, as we were still in it. The half-time substitution definitely did bemuse us all however. Giggs would have been a more obvious, less panicky choice to go; not only was he ineffective in the 1st, but this would have allowed us to revert to a wing-attacking, yet still defence protecting 4-4-2, with Tevez and Rooney up-front, and Ronaldo and Park on the wings. Puyol – do NOT even get me started on that cheating c**t – was a complete attacking full-back (as well as a complete c**t. Sorry), often leaving his position exposed, so if we played a wider game in the 2nd, Ronaldo/Park could have played to that advantage and even cut inside to find Tevez and Rooney gasping for the ball.

As it was however, Rooney, Tevez, Ronaldo, Berbatov, Park, Giggs, Carrick, O’Shea, Vidic, Ferdinand, Evra and Van der Saar were clueless. They just could not find a way. I have to say, they disappointed themselves, the fans and the badge. Edwards, Taylor, Best and, of course, Sir Matt would have looked down, shaken their heads and pointed to their chests to remind them what they are fighting for. Lets face it, it was clearly lost on our players on the occasion they needed to remember it the most. And so the months of effort, passion and beautiful football we provided in Europe over the season was reduced to that.

The build up and anticipation for the spectacle was flattened, squandered and wasted. And so our dreams came and went. Over, just like that. I will remember the 27th May with regret and disappointment for many reasons.

Along with the horrifying non-performance and possible explantations for it, I am a complete karma freak and so have been constantly blaming myself for the result. Had I worn my red socks…? Had I not gone to the toilet at half time...? Had I watched it with my Yasmine…? Had I at least spoken to her before the game…? And had I watched it at home…? Yet on that note, what I will remember most from a night of misery was the support and passion from the faithful…and I’m talking those in central London, I can't imagine how they would have been in Rome.

Whatever was lacking in desire and passion on the pitch (and I’m sorry Sir Alex, it really wasn’t there in any of them), it was well and truly evident through the noise and support of the fans. I read a blog on the official website titled ‘Defiance rules Despair’, and that sums it up perfectly. If I was proud about anything last night, it was being a red (on a night when pathetic Gooners and Scousers would ignorantly make you feel ashamed). The response of the fans around me was electric. Although constantly chanting throughout, there were understandably moments of uncontrolable anger, and sometimes confusion, oozing out of us all; yet at full-time, when it mattered the most, we were full of song and undying love for the cause. And that’s the way it should be.

My decision to not watch it at home is still slightly haunting me given that that location was my karma-induced idea on the back two successful (and home-watched) Champions League finals, but I know that had I been alone and not in the support of hundreds of reds, I would literally have found myself in a full state of depression at the final whistle. As it was, my fellow red-army troops saw me through the devastation, helping me to see the light and appreciate a message that should never be forgotten, especially in these times when it is most prevalent. That message was ‘we’ll never die, we’ll never die, we’ll never die, we’ll never die; we’ll keep the red flag flying high; because Man United will never die’.