Ally
Active Member
Man Utd 0
Arsenal 0
Match Reports – the intoxicated one. I was rather surprised to hear accusations of 'poor quality' football when I got back. Maybe it's due to my retentiveness, and the therefore large appeal of a tactical battle in midfield that I'm still not quite sure who won, but that blew me away. What we were seeing was two sides with not a coin toss between them mullering each other in the centre circle – Vieira v Keane, well I reckon Vieira won that. Phil Neville was never in the game, but any creativity on the park was definitely coming from the Manc sector, firmly embedded down the right wing where there was a strategy driven partly by speculation and partly by common sense. Ronaldo's step overs, the first of which left Cole on his backside looking rather bewildered and sorry for himself, worked for 45 minutes. Then, in the second period, it became gradually apparent that Cole was dominating his man, despite the odd cross that got through and was usually dealt with by Toure. Just as Dennis Irwin marked Straw-head out of the game a week or so ago, a flying full back did a rather decent job whilst still managing to maintain his attacking duties.
And then, in support, the central two, who are, in short, utterly sublime at what they do, marshaling each other, interchanging duties (Toure charged out to the left corner flag at one point to deal with Ronaldo jinking forward) and generally looking like a certain Italian pairing with which our dealings reached a level as effective as banging our collective head off a brick wall. The penalty notwithstanding, everything was very calm, very methodical, almost prophetic. Every time a dangerous cross was whipped in, one of them was bang underneath it. Fair enough, in the first half there were one or two instances of miscommunication, but none of them were critical and for a first-time pairing, I just find it astonishing how organised and dexterous these two were. Should Sol be getting back in? Well, compare and contrast the showing against Yakubu, with how we fared with the Ronaldo-van Nistelrooy combination. The results should pretty much speak for themselves.
In turn, we have a keeper who is surely growing on the general populace, making up for what was lacking on Wednesday (any specific blame, by the way, is churlish given such a general fiasco) with a number of assured, simple saves that could have been made to seem rather less basic by a keeper allowing himself to be overawed by the occasion. With the exception of a Makaay-v-Celtic-esque freekick from Giggs on thirteen minutes that swerved inwards, took a ridiculously high bounce on the six yard line and hit the outside of the post on the way out, he was never caught out or found wanting. His punching is utterly sublime, especially under the kind of charging down pressure standard at Old Trafford, his acting as a sweeper in running out and gathering balls on the jump perilously close to being out of the area is, whilst occasionally a little hairy, conversely reassuring and presumably a great deal of help to Boom Boom and Kolo. I wonder if Seaman attempted this strategy the other day, because it looked like it. The one major difference of course, is that Saha rounded him 25 yards off his line and scored. Maybe it looks mad (Well, really. And I'll bet you were wondering where the nickname came from. Thanks Ally, you're a paragon of assistance), but it takes skill and judgment that may not be immediately obvious. A howling mistake against Celtic which necessitated a desperate sprint back to his goal line from well outside the area whilst Cygan had to prevent an hilarious goal with a last minute clearance has not been repeated, indicative to me that he's learning and adding to his considerable talent. Gathering low shots, he's a joy to see.
But anyhow, the match. When Ruud misses an open goal, you know it's your day. When he misses a penalty, you know it's your day. Cliche city, it really is. The truth is that today was a bombardment, mostly aerial, and there wasn't a great deal of respite. The open goal miss was nothing more than one piece of a constant, rather large, wave of attacking possession play (Discount one five minute period when we had 85% of the ball, apparently) – at no point did we have a cushion, at no time could we relax and for all the strolling back and forth across the back four, it was all an illusion of controlling the game. For a side with no shot on target and only one really meaningful attempt, we retain a general air of (over) confidence that many, including myself, don't like (“SHOOT YOU BASTARD!!!!! NOOOO!!!! DON'T LAY IT OFF TO LAUREN!! GO ON, CUT INSIDE!!! NOOO, DON'T PUSH IT LIGHTLY BACK TO VIEIRA!! GO ON!! HENRY'S FREE!!! NOOOO!! DON'T.......” etc.). Whatever, the set piece threat keeps cropping up over and over, and in addition to his free-kick earlier, Giggs held up a floated ball to the back where, mirroring Thierry's attitude, the marking was abysmal and van Nist got up unchallenged, tried to plant his effort in the other corner and got underneath it when any downwards header, anywhere on target, would have done.
“It was a game for great teams.”
Yes. Correct. Great teams in different ways, though? Man Utd simply could not break down our defence, and if they had won it would have been down to an astonishingly dodgy penalty award than any greatly influential individual display or moment of quality. In truth, these games are decided by lucky breaks. See Veron's opener in the corresponding game last year which reeked of illegitimacy on two counts. See the most hilarious brace of goals ever from Thierry at Highbury. Obviously this moment, whatever it is, doesn't need to be decisive one way or the other, because it's unquestionably the “thwack-CLANNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKK” this time around. Greatness either takes the form of eleven players combining flawlessly for substantial portions of any given game, or just for teams capable of digging out a solitary opportuntiy through their individual talent. To know which one each of the two teams today are is beyond me and an issue I don't intend to debate, but perhaps our greatness is being able to compete in shabby midfield scrapping so as we're not overrun in situations such as today. Or maybe it's not that. Maybe it's our versatility in being able to adjust our game to suit the circumstances.
We had just the one chance in the first half. Drifting wide to the left, Henry slipped Cole in as he thundered in on the inside – taking it up to the area and as far advanced as possible before Fortune got to him, he leaned back and struck across the ball, skidding it right across Howard and wide. A decent enough attempt, and a matter of a few degrees on the ball which dictated the difference between skimming wide and nestling in the corner. It would have been an apt goal for the man who was being presented by one of the greatest challenges of his career so far through the mesmeric ease on the ball of Ronaldo...but was clearly beginning to get to grips with the problem. Despite from one low cross that came straight across the face of goal and hit Lauren on his shins (it could have gone absolutely anywhere but turned into a rather nifty clearance), and bar the shimmying that is, to be honest, frightening at the pace, Ronaldo's threat was as minimal as I suspect it could have been.
As the first 45 were monumentally unproductive despite our solidity, words were obviously said and straight away after the restart, Ljungberg hustled his way in on Neville's blind side, got clean through on goal but at the last moment became involved in a convenient tangle of legs and lost his balance. Honestly, I'm not sure where the blame should be attributed, if anywhere, because the contact could quite easily have been accidental and for Neville to attempt to bring Freddie down in that situation would have been suicidal to the point of not being funny. Old Trafford, however, is not exactly the kind of place that decisions like that get awarded in your favour. So there's no point pressing the issue. As it would be a waste of time. That you're already reading this report, of course, has nothing to do with profligate usage of resources and time. Ahem.
Van Nistelrooy then went on a run out on the right, was allowed to cut inside insanely close to goal and dragged his shot straight at Lehmann who surely had to be surprised by the ball arriving straight between his legs and not being tucked into the far corner, but didn't show it as he scooped the ball up with a lovely, lovely ease.
And then, the flashpoint. Sort of inevitable, but you always find yourself praying it won't happen; then it does at a wildly inappropriate and random time, and it always involves an Arsenal player rising to some cynical, cheap bait. This time we had Ruud going up for a dropping ball, climbing all over Vieira with his knee implanted in Paddy's spine and levering him to the floor. As he was lying there, Vieira waved his foot out at the cheating Dutchman who jerked back the way, ensuring a huge gap between stud and player. Referee Steve Bennett saw enough to get his cards out for the second time (PV4 having been done for a scythe through Fortune, I think) – both players saw yellow, Vieira saw a subsidiary colour.
“Patrick should not have reacted, but again you're punished more for the consequence than for the source of the problem. If Patrick goes off, van Nistelrooy should go off as well.”
The discrepancy between the two offences that both, in Mr Bennett's revered opinion, merited yellows, is rather risible, at best. However, what is interesting to me is that Jeffers rose to cheap bait, kicked out petulantly but weakly, and ended his Arsenal career in a barrage of abuse. Vieira rose to equally ridiculous provocation, displayed petulance in equal measure, and got the same result. Both instances were simply childish nonsense, but one (Furthermore, one that happened in a friendly) is blown out of proportion. Fans are so fickle. Although having destroyed Fran in a report for that game, I am not exactly in a position to talk.
We simply tightened up. Even more so than the previous eighty minutes. Three minutes of injury time were added, two had ticked down when it happened. Giggs thumped a last-chance-saloon curler into the area where Forlan ran towards it, lost his balance and was checked by Keown. Penalty.
What an utter, f*cking farce.
A farce that didn't particularly matter seeing as once the dust had died down, Nistelrooy placed the ball, replaced it twice, started his run up as Mad Jens danced along his line and back, and...
“He's a great player but his attitude is looking for diving and provocation. He's a nice boy but on the pitch it's not always fair behaviour”
HE HIT THE BAR!!!!!!!!!!!!! YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU HORSE FACED BASTARD!!!!!!!! YEEEAAAHHHH!!!! And afterwards, Keown comes running towards him. “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! [CRACK]!!!!” SMACKED HIM ONE ON THE NECK!!! HAHAHA!!!!
THREE PLAYERS LINING UP BEHIND HIM!!! PARLOUR CRACKS HIM ONE IN THE STOMACH!!! LAUGHING AT HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAH. THIS IS CLASSIC.
Oh, you can jump on me for condoning such behaviour. The truth is people, I don't care. It felt like we'd won that game today. We cam to Old Trafford and managed somehow to get out with the point that puts us top. I'm proud of the lads. I'm proud, for a change, of their attitude today, how they fought, pressured and harried. I laughed at all the shenanigans afterwards. I laughed long and hard. I laughed at Ruud. I laughed at Keown's reaction. I laughed at the Razors “haha, let's all stand and laugh at you, you useless SoB” stance. To be honest, I got a bit battered today and was loving every minute. As it looked to me, it was hilarious. Utterly hilarious. And since one of my rules for writing is “Write about an incident exactly how YOU see it”, I'll adhere to it.
Truth is, I am an Arsenal fan who hates Ruud, who hates Alex and for the most part who hates fans of Man Utd. And to be honest, this was as good as a win to stick one up them. Sorry, wait. Ruud stuck one up them himself. That's better. The above section of ridiculously partisan shouting and noise is probably rash and remiss of me. But informing me so would be to compromise me as a fan. So don't.
On the way home, I was bouncing off the walls, if that's an appropriate term. A few months earlier I had shuffled back after the Bolton game, looking at families going about their daily business with clearly no interest on football. At that point, I felt like crap to say the very least. I wondered why I couldn't just be normal, not care about football and never have to go through what we all do on occasions such as today. On the way back, it suddenly became very apparant. The guy washing his car, the couple walking along talking about mortgages, the yuppie on his mobile (Purposes of example, y'understand). They will never, EVER get as high as football can get you. Unless they're into something extremely illegal. Today was definitely a high. Unless you're a bitter Manc. In which case, you can sod off.
Top of the league, and in the face of a thrashing off a team with a better attitude and home advantage, we were fantastic. Superb lads. And that's all there is to say.
Man of the Match
Toure, Lehmann, Parlour. All sublime. Even more sublime still was none other than that 'dodgy left back, Wayne Bridge is better', Ashley Cole. Having to adjust his game to a rather unique experience, he well and truly got on top of his assignment. Going forward was nothing to sneeze at either. Top stuff, lad.
Moment of the Match
“CLAANNNNNNNNNKKKKK”
“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!”
Moan of the Match
Paddy, no matter how hard done by you were (And you were done over by a crap official, essentially) – you can't do that, you eejit. Grrrr.
***Who cares, anyway. The FA can piss off, this was a quality showing and we deserved a point. At least. Mayhem of the most enjoyable kind, it really was.***
Ally Winford
Arsenal 0
Match Reports – the intoxicated one. I was rather surprised to hear accusations of 'poor quality' football when I got back. Maybe it's due to my retentiveness, and the therefore large appeal of a tactical battle in midfield that I'm still not quite sure who won, but that blew me away. What we were seeing was two sides with not a coin toss between them mullering each other in the centre circle – Vieira v Keane, well I reckon Vieira won that. Phil Neville was never in the game, but any creativity on the park was definitely coming from the Manc sector, firmly embedded down the right wing where there was a strategy driven partly by speculation and partly by common sense. Ronaldo's step overs, the first of which left Cole on his backside looking rather bewildered and sorry for himself, worked for 45 minutes. Then, in the second period, it became gradually apparent that Cole was dominating his man, despite the odd cross that got through and was usually dealt with by Toure. Just as Dennis Irwin marked Straw-head out of the game a week or so ago, a flying full back did a rather decent job whilst still managing to maintain his attacking duties.
And then, in support, the central two, who are, in short, utterly sublime at what they do, marshaling each other, interchanging duties (Toure charged out to the left corner flag at one point to deal with Ronaldo jinking forward) and generally looking like a certain Italian pairing with which our dealings reached a level as effective as banging our collective head off a brick wall. The penalty notwithstanding, everything was very calm, very methodical, almost prophetic. Every time a dangerous cross was whipped in, one of them was bang underneath it. Fair enough, in the first half there were one or two instances of miscommunication, but none of them were critical and for a first-time pairing, I just find it astonishing how organised and dexterous these two were. Should Sol be getting back in? Well, compare and contrast the showing against Yakubu, with how we fared with the Ronaldo-van Nistelrooy combination. The results should pretty much speak for themselves.
In turn, we have a keeper who is surely growing on the general populace, making up for what was lacking on Wednesday (any specific blame, by the way, is churlish given such a general fiasco) with a number of assured, simple saves that could have been made to seem rather less basic by a keeper allowing himself to be overawed by the occasion. With the exception of a Makaay-v-Celtic-esque freekick from Giggs on thirteen minutes that swerved inwards, took a ridiculously high bounce on the six yard line and hit the outside of the post on the way out, he was never caught out or found wanting. His punching is utterly sublime, especially under the kind of charging down pressure standard at Old Trafford, his acting as a sweeper in running out and gathering balls on the jump perilously close to being out of the area is, whilst occasionally a little hairy, conversely reassuring and presumably a great deal of help to Boom Boom and Kolo. I wonder if Seaman attempted this strategy the other day, because it looked like it. The one major difference of course, is that Saha rounded him 25 yards off his line and scored. Maybe it looks mad (Well, really. And I'll bet you were wondering where the nickname came from. Thanks Ally, you're a paragon of assistance), but it takes skill and judgment that may not be immediately obvious. A howling mistake against Celtic which necessitated a desperate sprint back to his goal line from well outside the area whilst Cygan had to prevent an hilarious goal with a last minute clearance has not been repeated, indicative to me that he's learning and adding to his considerable talent. Gathering low shots, he's a joy to see.
But anyhow, the match. When Ruud misses an open goal, you know it's your day. When he misses a penalty, you know it's your day. Cliche city, it really is. The truth is that today was a bombardment, mostly aerial, and there wasn't a great deal of respite. The open goal miss was nothing more than one piece of a constant, rather large, wave of attacking possession play (Discount one five minute period when we had 85% of the ball, apparently) – at no point did we have a cushion, at no time could we relax and for all the strolling back and forth across the back four, it was all an illusion of controlling the game. For a side with no shot on target and only one really meaningful attempt, we retain a general air of (over) confidence that many, including myself, don't like (“SHOOT YOU BASTARD!!!!! NOOOO!!!! DON'T LAY IT OFF TO LAUREN!! GO ON, CUT INSIDE!!! NOOO, DON'T PUSH IT LIGHTLY BACK TO VIEIRA!! GO ON!! HENRY'S FREE!!! NOOOO!! DON'T.......” etc.). Whatever, the set piece threat keeps cropping up over and over, and in addition to his free-kick earlier, Giggs held up a floated ball to the back where, mirroring Thierry's attitude, the marking was abysmal and van Nist got up unchallenged, tried to plant his effort in the other corner and got underneath it when any downwards header, anywhere on target, would have done.
“It was a game for great teams.”
Yes. Correct. Great teams in different ways, though? Man Utd simply could not break down our defence, and if they had won it would have been down to an astonishingly dodgy penalty award than any greatly influential individual display or moment of quality. In truth, these games are decided by lucky breaks. See Veron's opener in the corresponding game last year which reeked of illegitimacy on two counts. See the most hilarious brace of goals ever from Thierry at Highbury. Obviously this moment, whatever it is, doesn't need to be decisive one way or the other, because it's unquestionably the “thwack-CLANNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKK” this time around. Greatness either takes the form of eleven players combining flawlessly for substantial portions of any given game, or just for teams capable of digging out a solitary opportuntiy through their individual talent. To know which one each of the two teams today are is beyond me and an issue I don't intend to debate, but perhaps our greatness is being able to compete in shabby midfield scrapping so as we're not overrun in situations such as today. Or maybe it's not that. Maybe it's our versatility in being able to adjust our game to suit the circumstances.
We had just the one chance in the first half. Drifting wide to the left, Henry slipped Cole in as he thundered in on the inside – taking it up to the area and as far advanced as possible before Fortune got to him, he leaned back and struck across the ball, skidding it right across Howard and wide. A decent enough attempt, and a matter of a few degrees on the ball which dictated the difference between skimming wide and nestling in the corner. It would have been an apt goal for the man who was being presented by one of the greatest challenges of his career so far through the mesmeric ease on the ball of Ronaldo...but was clearly beginning to get to grips with the problem. Despite from one low cross that came straight across the face of goal and hit Lauren on his shins (it could have gone absolutely anywhere but turned into a rather nifty clearance), and bar the shimmying that is, to be honest, frightening at the pace, Ronaldo's threat was as minimal as I suspect it could have been.
As the first 45 were monumentally unproductive despite our solidity, words were obviously said and straight away after the restart, Ljungberg hustled his way in on Neville's blind side, got clean through on goal but at the last moment became involved in a convenient tangle of legs and lost his balance. Honestly, I'm not sure where the blame should be attributed, if anywhere, because the contact could quite easily have been accidental and for Neville to attempt to bring Freddie down in that situation would have been suicidal to the point of not being funny. Old Trafford, however, is not exactly the kind of place that decisions like that get awarded in your favour. So there's no point pressing the issue. As it would be a waste of time. That you're already reading this report, of course, has nothing to do with profligate usage of resources and time. Ahem.
Van Nistelrooy then went on a run out on the right, was allowed to cut inside insanely close to goal and dragged his shot straight at Lehmann who surely had to be surprised by the ball arriving straight between his legs and not being tucked into the far corner, but didn't show it as he scooped the ball up with a lovely, lovely ease.
And then, the flashpoint. Sort of inevitable, but you always find yourself praying it won't happen; then it does at a wildly inappropriate and random time, and it always involves an Arsenal player rising to some cynical, cheap bait. This time we had Ruud going up for a dropping ball, climbing all over Vieira with his knee implanted in Paddy's spine and levering him to the floor. As he was lying there, Vieira waved his foot out at the cheating Dutchman who jerked back the way, ensuring a huge gap between stud and player. Referee Steve Bennett saw enough to get his cards out for the second time (PV4 having been done for a scythe through Fortune, I think) – both players saw yellow, Vieira saw a subsidiary colour.
“Patrick should not have reacted, but again you're punished more for the consequence than for the source of the problem. If Patrick goes off, van Nistelrooy should go off as well.”
The discrepancy between the two offences that both, in Mr Bennett's revered opinion, merited yellows, is rather risible, at best. However, what is interesting to me is that Jeffers rose to cheap bait, kicked out petulantly but weakly, and ended his Arsenal career in a barrage of abuse. Vieira rose to equally ridiculous provocation, displayed petulance in equal measure, and got the same result. Both instances were simply childish nonsense, but one (Furthermore, one that happened in a friendly) is blown out of proportion. Fans are so fickle. Although having destroyed Fran in a report for that game, I am not exactly in a position to talk.
We simply tightened up. Even more so than the previous eighty minutes. Three minutes of injury time were added, two had ticked down when it happened. Giggs thumped a last-chance-saloon curler into the area where Forlan ran towards it, lost his balance and was checked by Keown. Penalty.
What an utter, f*cking farce.
A farce that didn't particularly matter seeing as once the dust had died down, Nistelrooy placed the ball, replaced it twice, started his run up as Mad Jens danced along his line and back, and...
“He's a great player but his attitude is looking for diving and provocation. He's a nice boy but on the pitch it's not always fair behaviour”
HE HIT THE BAR!!!!!!!!!!!!! YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU HORSE FACED BASTARD!!!!!!!! YEEEAAAHHHH!!!! And afterwards, Keown comes running towards him. “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! [CRACK]!!!!” SMACKED HIM ONE ON THE NECK!!! HAHAHA!!!!
THREE PLAYERS LINING UP BEHIND HIM!!! PARLOUR CRACKS HIM ONE IN THE STOMACH!!! LAUGHING AT HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAH. THIS IS CLASSIC.
Oh, you can jump on me for condoning such behaviour. The truth is people, I don't care. It felt like we'd won that game today. We cam to Old Trafford and managed somehow to get out with the point that puts us top. I'm proud of the lads. I'm proud, for a change, of their attitude today, how they fought, pressured and harried. I laughed at all the shenanigans afterwards. I laughed long and hard. I laughed at Ruud. I laughed at Keown's reaction. I laughed at the Razors “haha, let's all stand and laugh at you, you useless SoB” stance. To be honest, I got a bit battered today and was loving every minute. As it looked to me, it was hilarious. Utterly hilarious. And since one of my rules for writing is “Write about an incident exactly how YOU see it”, I'll adhere to it.
Truth is, I am an Arsenal fan who hates Ruud, who hates Alex and for the most part who hates fans of Man Utd. And to be honest, this was as good as a win to stick one up them. Sorry, wait. Ruud stuck one up them himself. That's better. The above section of ridiculously partisan shouting and noise is probably rash and remiss of me. But informing me so would be to compromise me as a fan. So don't.
On the way home, I was bouncing off the walls, if that's an appropriate term. A few months earlier I had shuffled back after the Bolton game, looking at families going about their daily business with clearly no interest on football. At that point, I felt like crap to say the very least. I wondered why I couldn't just be normal, not care about football and never have to go through what we all do on occasions such as today. On the way back, it suddenly became very apparant. The guy washing his car, the couple walking along talking about mortgages, the yuppie on his mobile (Purposes of example, y'understand). They will never, EVER get as high as football can get you. Unless they're into something extremely illegal. Today was definitely a high. Unless you're a bitter Manc. In which case, you can sod off.
Top of the league, and in the face of a thrashing off a team with a better attitude and home advantage, we were fantastic. Superb lads. And that's all there is to say.
Man of the Match
Toure, Lehmann, Parlour. All sublime. Even more sublime still was none other than that 'dodgy left back, Wayne Bridge is better', Ashley Cole. Having to adjust his game to a rather unique experience, he well and truly got on top of his assignment. Going forward was nothing to sneeze at either. Top stuff, lad.
Moment of the Match
“CLAANNNNNNNNNKKKKK”
“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!”
Moan of the Match
Paddy, no matter how hard done by you were (And you were done over by a crap official, essentially) – you can't do that, you eejit. Grrrr.
***Who cares, anyway. The FA can piss off, this was a quality showing and we deserved a point. At least. Mayhem of the most enjoyable kind, it really was.***
Ally Winford
