Three and in – not just another football blog

In a professional career spanning almost two decades, Simon Smith has played for over sixty-seven clubs. The ultimate utility player, as his pace has diminished Simon has managed to reinvent himself time and again, from poacher to holding midfielder, centre-back to goalkeeper. Now that his website has been closed down, we have exclusive access to his weekly column.

I feel for Andre Villas-Boas, I really do. We’ve all been there. And I don’t mean the managerial magic roundabout. I know better than most what it’s like to be given too little time. And at Chelsea no less.

Picture the scene: Stamford Bridge, 1992. Tony Cascarino and myself are at the top of our game and scoring goals for fun in training. This was my first big money move as Chelsea had splashed out nearly £1.5 million on Paul Elliott MBE and Celtic threw me in too just to sweeten the deal. I was excited. My first game was a pre-season friendly at Boreham Wood. This was the big time.

Sure, I was nervous. Who wouldn’t be? No easy games at that level and the Wood are no mugs. I figured the most important thing was to get through the first 10 minutes unscathed. Unfortunately fate (a.k.a. Dennis Wise) had other ideas.

At times of stress I can get quite gassy. I make no bones about that. This I knew. What I didn’t know was that the captain of Boreham Wood’s ’47 Athenian League second division title winning side had sadly passed away that week. This would quite literally be squeaky bum time during the minute’s silence before the game.

Well, we’ve all been there. However hard I tried to think about not farting, the more difficult it became to not fart. Eventually one popped out that was simply too loud to ignore. My situation wasn’t helped by Wisey comically covering his nose and pretending to retch. What irritates me most is that sure, it was a loud one, but fairly scentless. Dennis is a lovely bloke but part of me still hasn’t forgiven him for that.

The crowd went ballistic; largely I should add, as a result of Wisey’s mime antics. So this was what it must have been like in Galatasary. Welcome to hell. The Hertfordshire mob began chanting, ‘You’ve shat and you know you have.’ Before things escalated any further, the bossman came over and told me to disappear down the tunnel. I didn’t even get that opening 10 minutes. I wasn’t given enough time. Robert Fleck took my place and bagged a brace. Where’s the justice in that? He didn’t even kiss the badge.

A fortnight later and it’s Kerry Dixon’s testimonial at the Bridge. No margin for error this time. I eschew my traditional pre-match pound and a half of cheese and focus on the game in hand. It’s all about proving my worth and making sure I do enough to warrant a place in the side. Kerry, a tremendous servant of the club is bowing out after a decade and boy is he on fire. Twice he rounds the keeper and strokes the ball towards an empty net. I’m in the zone though and twice apply the finishing touch just to make sure. I’m on a hat-trick and there is a stunned silence throughout the ground. I can see the disbelief on the faces of some fans. They’ve clearly never seen a debut like it. Then, after half an hour, we get a penalty. Kerry plops the ball on the spot and pauses. As he looks with a tear in his eye into the stand behind the goal, I can sense his apprehension. Nobody wants to miss a penalty on their testimonial so I run up and take the weight from his shoulders. The keeper didn’t even move. Pure class. I expect to be mobbed. A hat-trick on debut. This is the stuff of dreams. But no. None of my team-mates embrace me. The Chelsea fans have broken their reverential silence and begin to boo. I’m touched as I realise they must be trying to steel me for future away matches where my prodigious talent will no doubt draw some stick. It goes on for what feels like forever and does begin to get quite nasty. I look over to the bossman for validation. My number’s up. I’m being subbed. A chance to soak up the adulation after a job well done perhaps? Far from it. The jeering continues unabated but sadly not loud enough to drown out the sound of the bossman assuring me, in no uncertain terms, that I’ll never play for Chelsea again. And I never did.

Sometimes, at a club like Chelsea, even a hat-trick isn’t enough. AVB was a good man with a good beard but ultimately it wasn’t enough. It annoys me that he got so much stick for losing the dressing room. That’s happened to me countless times over the years, Craven Cottage in particular is a labyrinth of windy corridors, almost impossible to find your way around. It’s not as though he was ever late for kick-off or anything.

What next for AVB? Well, Villas his middle name so I wouldn’t bet against him replacing Alex McLeish sometime soon. Some cynics will suggest there’s no link between name and club but I’d point out ARSENe at Arsenal and MANCini at City. Not to mention, when I’m down about the state of the world, I’m often cheered up simply by recalling the fact that, between 1998 and 2003, Wolfgang Wolf was the manager of Wolfsburg. And who would rule him out of taking on the Wolves job next? My own middle name is Randy so you’ll have to ask the missus whether I live up to that one!

With managers being granted less and less time, you have to wonder who will go next. Well, here’s this week’s betting tip for you all based on recent events. After West Brom beat Wolves, Mick McCarthy was sacked. After West Brom beat Chelsea, Villas-Boas was sacked. Who have the Baggies got next? Manchester United. With generous odds of 200-1 on Ferguson to be the next man to get the chop, you’d be a fool not to stick a fiver down.

Follow me on twitter, @simon9smithpro

United fan Darren Richman plays tribute to his club’s extraordinary manager.

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‘People say mine was a poor upbringing. I don’t know what they mean. It was tough, but it wasn’t bloody poor. We maybe didn’t have a TV. We didn’t have a car. We didn’t even have a phone. But I thought I had everything, and I did: I had a football.’

On the final day of the 2000/2001 Premier League season, Manchester United played Tottenham Hotspur at White Hart Lane. Coming as it did, just a few months before the remarkable 5-3 at the same venue, this match is not so well remembered. With the league already wrapped up, the game was largely an irrelevance for those of us standing in the away section. United lost 3-1 and, unlike our next trip to the Lane, very little about the occasion sticks in the mind. Bar one thing. For the duration of the second half, without interruption, the fans sang ‘Every single one of us loves Alex Ferguson’ ad infinitum. Forty-five minutes without a break, the longest sustained piece of chanting I have ever heard. You see Sir Alex Ferguson had talked about retiring at the end of the season. We had come to praise Caesar, not to bury him. Part thanks, part plea, the noise would not let up. And though received wisdom suggests repetition leads to a loss of meaning, on that particular day nothing could have been further from the truth.

Fast forward a decade. Three weeks ago Fergie celebrated twenty-five years at the helm. On the day that the North Stand was renamed in his honour, I texted a friend to remind him of another day, in 1998, when an acquaintance of ours had suggested it was about time the gaffer was handed his P45. This pal, a Spurs fan, texted back with the words, ‘I can’t wait until you have a normal, human manager.’ Quite. In his very first set of programme notes all those years ago, plain old Alex wrote ‘A man is very fortunate if he gets the opportunity to manage Manchester United in his lifetime and I can assure you that I have no intention of wasting my opportunity.’ Consider us assured. We used to taunt the City fans with chants of ‘25 years, fuck all.’ Perhaps we should replace the expletive with ‘it’ and direct the song at the man for all seasons.

I deliberately decided to postpone writing this piece in order to let the dust settle and the clamour subside a little. I have a friend who will only watch an American drama box set once the series has come to an end as he feels one should not judge things contemporarily. Much as I agree with the sentiment, Sir Alex ain’t off any time soon and I felt I had to write something this decade.

Though gushing, the bulk of the press coverage of this remarkable milestone focused on the myth rather than the man. The papers have always preferred archetypes and love to paint Ferguson as the furious masticator, angrily berating his players for any perceived inadequacies, not much of a tactician but a masterful man manager ruling with an iron fist. Though tempting, this somewhat misses the point. Cristiano Ronaldo, for one, has claimed he never saw a single example of the famous hairdryer treatment during his six years at United. Mark Hughes coined the phrase in relation to his old mentor way back when but people change and none with quite as much success as Sir Alexander Chapman Ferguson.

In that same set of programme notes, that mission statement, Ferguson, perhaps surprisingly, insisted he was not interested in the past, concluding ‘there is only one way to go, and that is forward.’ This is the man’s entire M.O. in microcosm. Alvy Singer was right, a relationship is like shark and does have to constantly move forward or it dies. It’s just that in this case the relationship is with a football club. It is a simple case of adapt or die.

To paraphrase another manager with a decent claim to be amongst the greatest ever to have drawn breath, Brian Clough, I wouldn’t say Ferguson is the greatest manager ever to have lived. But he’s certainly in the top one. Clough, of course, made the claim about himself and yet, for all his success, Fergie rarely talks about himself and the extent of his achievements. Even the twenty-fifth anniversary was marked only by his insistence on extolling the virtues of the great players he feels he’s been ‘lucky’ enough to work with down the years. Winning is everything, the glorification of the Ferguson name means nothing. For all the flak he has received over time, I cannot think of a decision he has made that wasn’t at least intended to be for the good of Manchester United football club. His outbursts are never about showmanship or a desire to be the centre of attention (an accusation that could be levelled at Clough on occasion and Mourinho more readily in recent years). Even the feud with the BBC suggested a man unfussed by how history will remember him. Or perhaps he realises it tends to be written by the winners.

The difference between the two managerial heavyweights is aptly summed up, oddly enough, with reference to Frank Sinatra. The idol of both coaches, the Forest legend once claimed of ol’ blue eyes, ‘he met me once.’ This soundbite is quintessentially Clough; pithy, witty, arrogant but brilliant. Sinatra did not meet Ferguson though. In 1989 the two were supposed to have dinner together. United lost away at Charlton during the day leaving the boss in such a foul mood that he cancelled dinner and went home on the bus. It is one of the few decisions Ferguson regrets to this day and tells one a good deal about the nature of obsession. Watch his interviews carefully and you’ll notice the word ’challenge’ recurs more often than any other and he’s much more likely to reflect on the final day on the 1994/1995 season than any of the twelve title successes. The man will be seventy on New Year’s Eve and has won everything there is to win yet is still driven by an obsessive fear of failure. I happened to catch a quiz show between players and staff on MUTV last Christmas and Ferguson’s side wiped the floor with Giggs, Neville and Carrick. Not the strongest opposition perhaps but the manager’s single-mindedness shone through as he barely consulted his team-mates and still stormed to victory. I suspect in that moment they knew how Mike Phelan feels.

It is almost impossible in sport to compare different eras. For a multitude of reasons there can be little doubt that the Barcelona of today would beat the 1970 Brazil side. Context is everything and this doesn’t necessarily make modern Barcelona the greatest ever football team. What is remarkable about Fergie is the manner in which he has straddled the divide and succeeded in an era of Clough, violence and pitches resembling the Somme all the way up to the present day. The game is almost unrecognisable yet the result is identical. Perhaps the most significant thing you can say about the man is that the story of the Premier League is his story, the one constant pushing the narrative forward. The hero or anti-hero depending on where you came in the lottery of life. The protagonist.

Ferguson has risen to every fresh challenge over the quarter of a century he has managed United. Initially he had to overcome Liverpool and the weight of history, then he had to take on Blackburn and Jack Walker’s millions, Wenger’s Arsenal came next with some of the finest football ever seen on these shores, finally he bested Chelsea and Abramovich outlasting even the ‘special one’. For the record, Mourinho himself refers to Ferguson only as ‘the boss’. Hard to believe there was once a time when there was actual discussion of whether Wenger was the greater manager. Now Ferguson faces City and possibly the greatest challenge of his managerial career. I wouldn’t back against him having the last laugh.

On Yom Kippur this year I went to synagogue with a book of Ferguson quotes disguised as a prayer book and read it cover to cover. Initially I felt bad about breaking the second commandment on the holiest day of the year but then I recalled I need only beware false idols. It brought to mind a Passover choon entitled Dayenu in which we list all of the gifts God has bestowed on us (brought us out of Egypt, gave us the Torah, yada yada yada) and conclude each line with the titular word, the rough translation of which is ‘that would have been enough.’ Even just one such wonderful blessing would have sufficed.

If He had brought us our first title in 26 years? That would have been enough.
If He had brought us our first European trophy since ’68? That would have been enough.
If He had brought Cantona to the club? That would have been enough.
If He had brought home 2 European Cups? That would have been enough.
If He had placed us on top of a certain perch? That would have been enough.

A successful manager need simply get it right more often than he gets it wrong. In football, you don’t have to be good; you only have to be good enough. Last season’s title triumph was perhaps the most pragmatic of the twelve but in a sense that makes it Ferguson’s finest achievement. One could even argue it was a transition year and yet still his side ended the season as champions. The team reflected their maker, as always, and proved extremely difficult to beat. Even in his finest hour, the treble triumph, unprecedented in the history of English football, United, as so often before and since under Sir Alex, left it late. It happens too often to be deemed mere coincidence, that never-say-die attitude comes from the top. Fortune favours the brave. Pundits have lost count of the amount of great teams the man has fashioned, four or five at last check and always with an eye on the future. Put it this way, if I had access to just one immortality pill then I’d give it to Sir Alex Ferguson and die safe in the knowledge that I did the right thing. Football? Bloody hell.

Last season, when Rooney requested a transfer and all seemed lost, Ferguson delivered arguably the greatest performance of his reign. One could have formulated a hundred different ways to handle that situation and none would have been quite so effective. Ferguson opted not for silence, anger or histrionics but instead for emotion. He displayed his fragile side and allowed himself to look vulnerable, quite unheard of prior to that press conference. Like Mel Gibson in Ransom, he turned the situation on its head and used the cameras to his advantage with all the cunning and guile acquired through years of experience. One can only hope that, when May rolled around, some of the Premier League prize money was used to buy young Wayne a dictionary in order to look up the definition of ambition.

I believe, as a fan, the most one can hope for is that come April your team is still involved in some important games. For the best part of two decades United have been there or thereabouts in the league during the latter stages of the season along with an outstanding record in cup competitions. I was born in 1984 and as a result, in pure footballing terms, I know nothing of pain. I say this not to gloat but because I actually realise quite how lucky I have been. I trust Fergie enjoyed a decent glass of red on his silver anniversary. Here’s to another 25 years.

Although the pressmen of the 90s loved to characterise Ferguson and Wenger as polar opposites with the cultured, professorial Frenchman at odds with the abrasive Scottish football man, nothing could be farther from the truth. By all accounts Wenger has very few interests outside the game and spends his time almost exclusively viewing matches whereas over the years I have heard Ferguson espouse on topics ranging from Shakespeare and American military history to the Coen brothers and classical piano. Astonishingly well read, I wonder if Sir Alex has ever come across the following quote, from Jonathan Safran Foer, a particular favourite of mine and one which I used last year in a piece about Ryan Giggs and Paul Scholes but bears repeating here I think:

‘If you love someone, you miss them while they’re still there.’

Every single one of us loves Alex Ferguson.

As the news of Bébé slipping back out of the Old Trafford door with as little fuss as when he quietly slipped in, it begs the question; How has his transfer to Manchester United been so easily forgotten about? This was a player who was homeless a year or so before the signing, which is novel enough as a multi-million pound industry story. But on top of that, and here we may find the root of the answer we seek, his transfer to Manchester United had a distinctly ‘dodgy’ aroma to it.

The player was signed by Guimaraes for just half a packet of Rolos, then five weeks later, after a couple of pre-season games, they sold him to Manchester United for over £7m! Without Ferguson having ever seen him play! During the midst of a difficult financial period for Manchester United in which £7m wasn’t far off being their record transfer fee!

But why didn’t Manchester United, with their Portuguese scouting system and former assistant manager in charge of the Portuguese national team, just sign him for free a month earlier? Did he really make his mark during those pre-season friendlies?

But what’s this? Just before he completed this big-money transfer, he was suddenly poached from his existing agent by Portuguese ‘super agent’ Jorge Mendes, also responsible for the sales of Anderson, Ronaldo and Nani to Manchester United? A man who knows Alex Ferguson well? And he owned £30% of Bébé’s ‘economic rights’, so made about £3m out of the transfer for himself?

That sounds a bit suspicious. Has he ever been involved in Alex Ferguson paying over-the-odds for a Portuguese player before now then? What’s that? He handled negotiations directly with Alex Ferguson and Peter Kenyon for the sale of Ronaldo to Manchester United for £12.24m when Sporting had already accepted a bid from Arsenal for just £5.5m? An extra near-£7m? It sounds almost as if someone or other may have made the transfer happen purely for potential underhand personal financial gain.

As does this Bébé one.

Just like another Ferguson family member was once accused of doing on a BBC documentary. Which led to Ferguson blackmailing the BBC. Which he’s still doing. And coincidentally, no press agency is asking any questions about the potential for dodgy dealings behind this recent transfer.

Interesting…

Pea-shooter a deadly weapon
18 goals from 37 appearances would be more than good enough for Javier Hernandez in his first season in English football. When you factor in that of those 37 games, only 20 have been starts, his record become even more impressive. The fact that the Premier League’s top scorer, Dimitar Berbatov, has fallen behind Hernandez in the pecking order speaks volumes for the Mexican’s potential.

It could get worse for Torres…
…in the short-term. Ultimately, it will get better. Form is temporary, but class is permanent, and there’s no doubting the Spaniard has that in bags. Last night, however, he seemed to crumble under the weight of expectation. Not only was Chelsea’s entire season in the balance, but the fact he hasn’t yet scored in blue is clearly strung about his neck like an obese albatross, and judging by his impact as a sub Didier Drogba would almost certainly have been a better bet. Not even facing his favoured opponent Nemanja Vidic could revive the Spaniard. I suspect we may not see the best of Torres until United have the title in the bag too and the pressure is well and truly off. Only then he can he concentrate fully on integrating in to the side.

It’s too soon to sack Ancelotti
If you believe some of the rumours on Fleet Street, not even a victory last night could save Carlo Ancelotti’s job. I have to say, I find the idea of sacking a manager who won the double in his first season after a solitary trophyless campaign ridiculous. Ancelotti has experience of reigniting ageing sides at Milan. There have been signs in recent weeks that he’s capable of doing just the same at Chelsea.

This “average” United side could win a treble
I have to admit I’ve been waiting all season long for this United side to come a-cropper. Now they’re odds-on to win the Premier League, and in the semi-finals of both the FA Cup and Champions League. It’s a huge testament to a winning mentality instilled in the culture of the club by the manager. If he is able to claim all three prizes once more, 12 years after the Nou Camp, would Alex Ferguson finally decide to go out on a high?

While I don’t really agree with Manchester United going into media lockdown after the Liverpool game, I can understand it. Alex Ferguson is short-tempered at the best of times and the defeat to Liverpool was painful and damaging. Coming just a few days after defeat to Chelsea and the Rooney elbow incident it’s the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The camel, let’s face it, wasn’t the strongest camel either. Its back was riddled with spina bifida and bone-rot. Still, I think United have done themselves, and the game, a bit of a disservice.

The more I see Jamie Carragher’s tackle the worse it gets. Nani is lucky in that he lifted his leg off the ground just before contact was made. Had he not, then I suspect the injury would have been far, far worse. The nasty gash on his leg might keep him out for a few weeks but he could easily have been out for months.

The ridiculousness of the system means that Carragher can’t be punished any further but United should have come out and condemned the tackle and how dangerous it was. Sure, Rafael made a bad tackle as well but there’s nothing to say they couldn’t have admitted that. It doesn’t take away from the fact that Carragher’s challenge is exactly the kind that the game should be ridding itself of.

That no retrospective punishment can be made is ludicrous in this era and regardless of what you might think of the United manager his words hold much weight. When we see incidents like Carragher’s challenge it’s important that they get the focus they deserve. Too often football and the media focus on the trivialities, like Nani crying, instead of the real issue.

There should be real debate on how to properly punish those kinds of dangerous tackles and on why FIFA can find the time to ban snoods while continuing to ignore video technology. By failing to publicly address those issues and going into lockdown, I think United are doing the wrong thing.

Ferguson should have immediately condemned the Carragher challenge and swallowed any criticism of the Rafael one. Then, perhaps, we’d be talking about important things, like how to prevent serious injury, instead of what appears to be another strop from the United manager.

Man United’s loss to Chelsea last night was telling. Not just in terms of how it opens up the title race but it gave us another fabulous insight into the world of Alex Ferguson.

Barely hours after Wayne Rooney had gotten away with his elbow, United found themselves on the wrong end of a couple of decisions. Firstly, I thought the penalty was extremely generous. Zhirkov ran into Smalling who made no Denilsonesque wave of his leg. He just stood there and the Russian tumbled.

Then, having already been booked, the exciting David Luiz very obviously and very deliberately fouled Wayne Rooney. It was a second yellow offence, no doubt about it. Especially when you consider what Vidic got his second yellow for. But perhaps Martin Atkinson chose to overlook the foul because it was on Wayne Rooney. Perhaps it was some payback for Rooney’s first half dive.

Whatever the reason for it, it was a poor decision. Luiz should have gone. And the United manager’s ire was understandable. Yet surely after getting away with one over the Rooney incident he’d keep quiet? Nope. That’s forgotten, water under the bridge already, and he directed the invective towards Atkinson.

I must say that, when I saw who was refereeing it, I feared the worst. You want a fair referee, you know … You want a strong referee, anyway, and we didn’t get that.

It will be interesting to see how the FA react to this. Having been accused, wrongly in my opinion, of being in United’s pocket because of Clattengate, they know face a situation where a top level manager has called into question the integrity of a match official.

Like I say, I can understand the ire, but casting those kinds of aspersions on a referee is not something that goes down well at Soho Square. I suspect an FA charge and this time not even Mark Clattenburg can save him.

Yesterday, Wayne Rooney released his first official comment on his desire to leave Old Trafford. Note: his first ‘official’ comment. It is briefings from Rooney’s camps that have fuelled these stories for the past five days.

When the statement finally arrived, it didn’t make for pretty reading. The choicest extract is probably:

“I was interested to hear what Sir Alex had to say yesterday and surprised by some of it.  It is absolutely true, as he said, that my agent [Paul Stretford] and I have had a number of meetings with the club about a new contract. During those meetings in August I asked for assurances about the continued ability of the club to attract the top players in the world.

I met with [United's chief executive] David Gill last week and he did not give me any of the assurances I was seeking about the future squad.  I then told him that I would not be signing a new contract.”

It seems Rooney has paid close attention to the Roy Keane Guide on How to Implode Your Status as a United Hero.  Implicit in what he says is a criticism of both the current playing staff and the ambition of the club.  It makes it almost impossible to imagine any kind of reconciliation, and with Ferguson and David Gill due to convene tomorrow, I wouldn’t be surprised if Rooney has played his last game for the club.

Now let’s get one thing clear: much of what Rooney says is true.  Judging by their recent transfer activity, United can no longer compete wih the Citys and Real Madrids of this world.  Alex Ferguson’s continued refusal to criticise the Glazers mask an economic uncertainty which threatens the team’s continued success on the football pitch.

That, however, does not excuse Rooney’s words.  Rooney may be on the side of the truth, but the is not on the side of loyalty, integrity and honour. I don’t doubt that Sir Alex Ferguson has twisted the facts slightly in order to protect the image of his club, but he is just doing his job. He is under contract to serve Manchester United. So is Wayne Rooney, although he appears to have forgotten that slightly awkward reality.

It’s the question on the mind of every United fan, and Sir Alex Ferguson himself.  Having reportedly informed the club of his unwillingness to sign a new contract, Rooney has made his position at United as good as untenable.  The idea of losing him for nothing is simply not palatable, and his value is depreciating with every month.  United have a business to run, and debts to serve.  If Rooney is as determined to leave Old Trafford as the press suppose, then it’s a question of if not when his club decide to cash in.

There is an argument that now is the optimum time for United to get a return on their £25.6m investment.  Rooney is definitely out of sorts, and has scored just once from open play since picking up an ankle injury against Bayern Munich in March.  Since then, personal problems off the field have precipitated problems on it.  His most telling contribution at the World Cup was this remark to the cameras in the wake of a draw with Algeria:

The start of the domestic season saw tabloid revelations coincide with his poorest run of form in years. Of late, he’s been left out of the side, with his manager declaring him “injured” in spite of the player’s claims to the contrary.

There is a consensus growing that Rooney’s star might be burning out.  On The Guardian’s Football Weekly podcast, recorded live in Rooney’s hometown of Liverpool, a salient comparison was made with scouse strikers Robbie Fowler and Michael Owen.  Like Rooney, both players burst on to the scene in their teens amid wild fanfare and expectation.  And both players’ careers petered out in their mid-twenties.  Wayne Rooney is 25 next week.  He has played top flight football for almost a decade.  Perhaps his precocity has a price, and he is destined to fade well before many had expected.

That’s just one argument, mind.  It’s easy to forget that last season was hailed as Rooney’s best.  He thrived off service from the likes of Nani and Valencia to become one of Europe’s most prolific centre-forwards.  Several patchy months later, and he’s being written off.  Despite his apparent unhappiness, and the financial windfall a sale would bring, United and Ferguson will most likely be desperate to keep hold of their most prized asset.

It seems unlikely he’ll head anywhere in January.  He’s cup-tied in the Champions League, and whilst that wouldn’t impact upon all suitors, it is extremely rare for a marquee player to move outside of the summer window.  Summer, after all, is marquee season.

One man who knows a thing or two about when to let a player go is convinced Rooney will remain at United beyond even then: Arsene Wenger.  Having sold the likes of Thierry Henry and Patrick Vieira in the past, Wenger has the authority to speak about when it is time for stars to move on.  He, however, seems certain about where Rooney’s future lies:

“I am convinced he will stay at Manchester United because it is his club. They have the power to keep him and I don’t believe in the story.

When you give a great player a rest you have a story. Rooney is Rooney. He will stay where he is.”

Wenger’s conviction is no doubt built on his faith in a club-controlled transfer market, where player power is secondary to stable, well-run institutions.  It is this philosophy that saw Arsenal resist Barcelona’s bid for Cesc Fabregas just a few months ago.  Whether a club in as perilous an economic situation as United could do the same remains to be seen.

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United fans, what do you reckon?  Is Wayne on the wane, or is this just a blip?  And if he really is determined not to sign a new deal, how quickly should United get shot of him?  And would you ever, ever accept a bid from City?

Hysterical media reaction to things is very much the norm nowadays, yet Wayne Rooney saying he doesn’t have an ankle injury has become a big fight with his manager. According to the press he’s on his way to Real Madrid because of such comments.

From the press:

No, I’ve had no ankle problem all season.” Then when asked “Why did Alex Ferguson say you had?”, Rooney laughed and replied: “I don’t know.”

Yet it’s obvious. On October 1st Ferguson said:

He has been playing a few weeks with his niggling ankle injury and he’s kept it to himself, so it comes to a point where it suffers. He thinks he’s fit because he always thinks he’s fit. That’s the problem with the lad.

So, Rooney always thinks he’s fit and tells reporters he’s fit but according to his manager he always thinks he’s fit even when he’s injured.

Rooney saying he’s got no injury will be no surprise to the United manager … so where’s the fight? Where do the stories about Rooney wanting to go to Madrid come from? Then you remember it’s been a slow week with internationals and the real stuff starts again on Saturday. Create a story before the pre-game press conferences – that’s assuming United have one – and off you go.

The bottom line is Rooney either has an injury or he doesn’t but even if he did he wouldn’t know about it. And we know this because Ferguson told us.

A total non-story.

For a tough Scotsman from Govan Alex Ferguson is surprisingly sensitive.

He’s cancelled press conferences as he’s unhappy at the way the media portrayed his comments about Fernando Torres after the United Liverpool game. According to the Guardian:

A few newspapers interpreted the comments as an accusation that Torres was cheating and Ferguson does not like that, prompting his withdrawal from all press-conference duties.

What he said was:

I’ve watched it. Definitely, Torres made a meal of it, an absolute meal of it. There’s no doubt he tried to get the player sent off.

He may not have used the word cheating but that’s exactly what he meant. Some might say that he’s well within his rights not to speak to the media if he feels hard done by but he’s hardly been badly misrepresented here.

Other managers find their words twisted much more often and in much more damaging ways yet they still meet the press every week. When you add this to Ferguson’s continued refusal to speak to the BBC United fans will be hoping Sir Alex sets himself up with a Twitter account so they can hear what their manager has to say.

It’s all a bit unseemly and petty from a man who is experienced enough to know better. He’s well able to deal with silly questions from the assembled hacks, it’d be much better to see the United manager take someone to task in the public arena than seemingly hide away.

His comments about Torres held little weight considering the actions of one of his own players on that day, but he’s too experienced and too clever a man to throw a strop like this over something so trivial.