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.

Thursday was no ordinary night in the Smith household. Instead of an evening slumped in front of Channel 5 watching Ice Road Truckers, Clarissa and I spent this most unusual of Thursday nights slumped in front of Channel 5 watching football. Manchester United were comprehensively beaten but their poor rich neighbours suffered the agony of an exit on the away goals rule. If there was anything to cheer the English it was the sight of Joe Hart heading up for a corner in the closing stages for the second time in a week. This desperate bid to save the game earned unanimous plaudits as his last gasp header so nearly sent City through but, as so often seems to be the case, there is one rule for the big clubs and quite another for the rest. Hart was applauded for his attacking instinct against both Swansea and Sporting Lisbon but at one point a few years ago I was doing it almost every week for Barnet and, without meaning to blow my own trumpet too much, far earlier in the game. Was I praised for attempting to break the deadlock in cagey encounters? Was I forgiven when the bossman made a substitution after we won a corner (something it’s generally established is a bad idea) and the amount of time that elapsed coupled with the crowded area caused me to forget myself and instead of nodding the ball into an empty net, pluck the ball out of the air with my hands and go to ground to help run out the clock? Was I able to re-establish my place in the side after the seven consecutive games in which I was still stranded in our opponents’ half when they scored? No, no, a hundred times no. Football can be a cruel mistress. Still, it wasn’t entirely in vain. I like to think of myself as something of a trailblazer and it seems Harty learned a thing or two from this old pro. I wish I could say similar about the game between Chelsea and Napoli the night before. With Chelsea 5-4 up on aggregate I really felt the keeper should have gone up for a corner late on. A goal from Cech really would have rounded off a special European night for Chelsea but sadly he remained rooted in his box. Pity, an opportunity missed.

People generally seem to think the away goals rule is a good thing but it is not without its faults. Take Thursday night for example. Without the rule, the 3-3 aggregate score would have meant the scratchcard of a penalty shootout. Everyone loves penalties, particularly the keepers. It really is a lovely moment when you stride up to your opposite number for good luck hug. Where else can I find a cuddle and a pat on the bum apart from when I buy my fish? I speak from experience when I say we are afforded very few opportunities to embrace as players and the fans tend not to like you spending too much of a game focused on finding an opportunity. They’ll never admit it but all footballers love a cuddle. It’s why refs let a lot of holding go at corners. This is not to mention that the accumulated effect of these cuddles is to combat homophobia in football in a far more effective manner than any BBC Three documentary.

The away goals rule is not tantamount to a hate crime although it can also lead to nastiness. I recall at Arsenal losing 2-0 at home in the first leg once during a European knockout game. We failed to score in the away leg, drew 0-0 and went crashing out 2-0 on aggregate. Each of our 0 goals counted double but even that wasn’t enough. We were punished for failing to get any crucial away goals. On another occasion we were away first leg, got a decent 0-0 draw in Moscow, then at Highbury we were 3-2 up with seconds remaining. With away goals counting double it actually meant we were 4-3 down. Fortunately we got a corner and, eager as ever, I rushed forward. Bizarrely Anders and Smudger seemed content to keep the ball in the corner and the bossman was gesticulating that I should get back in goal. These guys seemed content to win on the night but crash out of Europe. A bizarre lack of ambition. Sadly Smudge was dispossessed and I was lobbed from the halfway line whilst desperately trying to get back. And who do you think ended up copping the stick for our exit? No prizes for guessing. Nobody else seemed to realise we’d have gone out anyway but that’s just the nature of sportswriting in this country I suppose. As a keeper, being a scapegoat comes with the territory.

Having said all of this, the away goals rule was implemented to encourage teams to attack away from home; this can only be a good thing. I simply think the rule should be uniform across the board. It should be implemented in the league as soon as possible. Further still, away goals should count double in the scoring charts. Nobody wants to see Pele’s scoring records last forever, that’s boring. It’s brilliant when these things are broken. Imagine just how many goals Van Persie would have got last season if this rule had been in place. I’m sure some very clever bods with their computers could work it out but even I can deduce it’d be a hell of a lot!

Everyone loves a keeper going up for a corner; along with an outfield player going in goal it’s pretty much the best thing about the beautiful game. In ice hockey the keeper comes out more often than not in the death throes of a game and in basketball the keeper goes up with every single attack. I really think this is the reason football has never gone huge across the pond. If away goals were introduced for league games then Harty and myself wouldn’t be the only ones going up for corners every game. And if there’s one thing we all love, from fans to managers, it’s an open game with lots of goals and very little focus on defending.

Follow me on twitter, @simon9smithpro

‘My best moment? I have a lot of good moments but the one I prefer is when I kicked the hooligan.’ – Eric Cantona

‘Now we have to wait to see this issue decided and then the Manchester player and I will have to clear things up. Depending on who ends up in the wrong, one of us will have to apologise.’ – Luis Suarez

This Saturday lunchtime, Manchester United will travel to Liverpool for the fourth round of the FA Cup. United’s left back, Patrice Evra, is likely to receive the worst abuse seen on these shores since Sol Campbell crossed the North London divide. I write these words seventeen years to the day since I sat, an impressionable 10 year old, a few feet from my idol as he attempted to quite literally kick racism out of football. Pros and ex pros from every club supported Cantona, the general consensus being not shock that it had happened but merely surprise that it didn’t happen more frequently. A divisive Frenchman taking exception to racist language? Plus ça change. Thousands of words have been written about the Luis Suarez incident but nobody seems willing to accuse the Uruguayan of one significant offence. Being a racist.

Tony Evans, Times writer and Liverpool fan, wrote an excellent piece about his disappointment at the majority of LFC fans supporting the striker but still insisted Suarez had been guilty only of ‘using racist language.’ Indeed, this is the nature of the FA charge. Racist language. Even amongst the United blogs, highly critical of Liverpool and their talisman, most pieces contained a caveat insisting they were not accusing the striker of racism, simply of employing racist language. This seems to have been the case across the board. It’s the footballing equivalent of the argument we’ve all had in which the semantics of whether someone is/is being an arsehole are debated at length. Well, enough is enough.

Let’s try putting it another way; if a man rapes someone, we tend to brand him a rapist. Nobody says things like, ‘Oh yes, he did rape someone on that occasion but really he’s not that kind of bloke.’ But with the race issue it’s totally different. What a difference a letter makes. It’s much like the ‘not that kind of player’ defence used after a player has committed a dreadful foul ending the season of a fellow professional. Just once I’d like someone to come out and say, ‘He is that kind of player, this was an accident waiting to happen.’ Who is that kind of player? And, more importantly, who are these mythical racists? Where do they live? Nick Griffin has consistently stated the BNP is not a racist party so clearly it’s acceptable to say what you like so long as you simply deny the allegations.

For what its worth, I do think Suarez is a racist. Does this mean I think he rues the abolition of slavery? No. But, as the late Patrice O’Neill so memorable stated, not all racist walk around wearing pointy hats. Or, as another comedian, Bill Burr, pointed out, ‘real racism is subtle’:

Suarez admits using the offensive term word at least once. I have played in hundreds of football games in my life and never uttered a racial slur. In return, nobody has ever referred to me as a ‘yid’ during such a match and if they had I wouldn’t waste time analysing the precise nuances of their tone. The cultural argument holds no water since Suarez has played in Europe for years. The idea that it was jocular is a nonsense given the comments were made during a heated exchange with a Manchester United player during a spiky encounter at Anfield. A racist word was used in a bid to rile Evra, ergo the offender was guilty of racism. Michael Richards from Seinfeld is branded racist for his ill-advised rant at the Laugh Factory but at least he was attempting (utterly without success) to be humorous. Suarez was seeking simply to provoke. And he should not be let off lightly. Some have claimed an eight game ban is Draconian but most people would be sacked for a similar comment in the workplace.

Almost as bad as the incident itself was the response of Liverpool Football Club as they lurched from one PR disaster to another seemingly only able to dig a larger hole for themselves. First the preposterous sight of Suarez donning a T-shirt in support of himself greeted us. Dalglish besmirched his reputation as the finest player in Liverpool’s history not only by shifting the blame entirely onto Evra but also, perhaps the worst of his offences, wearing the shirt himself. Not a good look on a 60-year-old man. As Paul McGrath suggested, how much classier might it have seemed to warm up wearing Kick It Out tops? Clearly nobody had a word with the Liverpool PR department as Alan Hansen spent the evening using the word ‘coloured’ on Match of the Day before ‘God’ himself (Robbie Fowler) blacked up for a night out dressed as Lionel Richie and rather foolishly tweeted a photograph. Stay classy, Merseyside.

Liverpool seem concerned people think of the club as inherently racist. I do not. Football clubs aren’t sentient beings. It calls to mind Stewart Lee mocking the ‘values of the Carphone Warehouse’ as they attempted to extricate themselves from another race row, on Big Brother. The Carphone Warehouse values involve only selling phones and Liverpool’s are only football related surely. This persecution complex and martyrdom of the Uruguayan aids nobody. Ferguson didn’t instruct the United players to wear T-shirts all those years ago, he calmly weighed up the situation before making any public pronouncements. Dalgligh needs to realise, like Walter White in Breaking Bad, actions have consequences. Oldham’s Tom Adeyemi must have thought the trip to Anfield would be the highlight of his career to date yet it was marred by racial abuse from the Kop that reduced the young midfielder to tears. There can be little doubt that this would not have happened without all that came before. This is a simple case of cause and effect and the Liverpool manager has to shoulder some responsibility.

All football fans tend to be tarred with the same brush but it’s a broad spectrum. The fact that Emmanuel Adebayor is the Spurs player who has had monkey noises directed at him when his team-mate is Gareth Bale illustrates just how stupid supporters can be. That said, I can recall a time when racial abuse was commonplace in the stands, not least that remarkable night in 1995, and I found it genuinely heart-warming to see Suarez booed away at Wigan. Broadly speaking, as a society, we have moved from booing black players to booing racists.

This is a bigger issue than just Liverpool and Manchester United. John Terry meets Anton Ferdinand again this weekend standing by his assertion that he was simply incredulously repeating the racist abuse the QPR defender was accusing him of. Gus Poyet then needlessly weighed in to do little more than sully my generation’s memory of him as wonderful player. The Terry defence is as ludicrous as Matthew Simmons (Eric’s detractor in the vile leather jacket) claiming he was simply shouting ‘Off you go for an early bath.’ André Villas-Boas, like Dalglish, responded to the allegation by immediately stating he would support his captain ‘no matter what’. I don’t understand this. Surely if it’s proven that Terry hurled racial abuse at an opposing player then he should lose the support of his manager. Particularly given England’s Brave’s status as the pantomime villain of British football. And I write as somebody who takes the ball to the corner flag to wind down the clock when playing computer games.

Despite the quotation at the top of the page, Suarez has singularly refused to issue an apology to Evra, opting instead for a Jeremy Clarkson style ‘I’m sorry if anyone was offended by my comments’ cop-out. Or should that be Kop-out? And so the fires continue to rage. If I can be permitted recourse to one final bit of stand-up comedy, there is an old Eddie Murphy routine in which he talks about walking along the street behind an elderly white couple. Feeling nervous, they stop to let Eddie pass. The anecdote concludes with the comic asserting, ‘Well I was so offended I just went ahead and mugged them.’ When the Liverpool fans abuse Evra on Saturday as a direct result of him reporting a racist incident that damaged their club’s reputation, they will be making just as much sense. And we all know where such taunting can lead.

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

-

‘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.

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.

On Saturday Wayne Rooney elbowed James McCarthy in the side of the head. It was unprovoked and worthy of a red card.

Despite video evidence Rooney has gotten away with it. Ref’s chief Mike Riley said:

Mark took the correct course of action with this incident. In this incident Mark was following play but caught sight of two players coming together and he awarded a free-kick because he believed one player had impeded the other. We should be clear that Mark did nothing wrong in officiating this incident as he acted on what he saw on the pitch.

Clearly Clattenburg didn’t see what happened. You might suggest he did but I choose to think he didn’t. I choose to believe that he was unable to see exactly what Rooney did and it’s only the vagaries of the system, which says a player can’t be punished by video evidence for an incident already dealt with, which has prevented Rooney getting the ban he deserved. I choose to believe that had he seen Rooney’s elbow he would have sent him off. The decision to give a free kick was based on his belief that it was just a coming together.

I try not to buy into referee conspiracies, the widely held belief that Man United get away with more than anyone else, for example. You might think that, but ask United fans and they won’t agree. They’ll say Arsenal get away with more, or Liverpool, or Chelsea. It’s a matter of perspective. And as fans we can only have one.

And while I think the game has some issues if referees really are bent then we’re in big trouble. What has to change is the rule, the loophole, which prevents referees taking a second look at something they may have only caught out of the corner of their eye. In this day and age it’s stupid and prevents justice from being done.

So while Clattenburg is never going to top anyone’s list of ‘officials that are better than Stevie Wonder’ the real issue is the rule which has let Rooney get away with violent conduct.

And take part in three games crucial to United’s season. He’s a lucky boy.

I don’t know about you but when I hear the word ‘flip’ I think of dolphins and dolphins are complete arseholes. Similarly, when I hear the word ‘flop’ I think of Terence Trent D’Arby’s second album.

Put them together and you’ve got a flip-flopper. Which is Nani. Check this from The Guardian just a couple of weeks ago:

And from today’s The Sun:

I think it’s fair to say Nani is a dolphin whose second album was unspeakably shit. Invert the pyramid on that, motherfuckers.

Perhaps the ‘leaf/book’ one is an odd analogy to headline with.  Despite Harpersport’s publication of ‘Wayne Rooney: My Story So Far’, neither Rooney or Tevez strike me as particularly literary figures.  However, they are united by the one book they both understand perfectly well: the cheque-book.

Tevez and Rooney are from opposite sides of the globe, yet their lives and careers have shared several parallels.  Both emerged from urban poverty to make themselves global football superstars with a distinctive, all-action style.  They even went on to become twin strike partners at Manchester United – all too often split up because their games were ‘too similar’.  And latterly, since Tevez’s switch across the city, they have become emblematic of the blue and red divide that splits Manchester.

It’s probably fair to say Tevez’s move to City was motivated, in large part, by money.  Whilst his wages are already exorbitant, he and his agent Kia Joorabchian will have glanced with interest at Wayne Rooney’s flagrant, and successful, wage-raising tactics at United.

Rooney’s demands were eventually met, and a resolution reached.  It’s not hard to imagine that Tevez looked at his importance to City, and wondered if a similar proportional increase might be possible.  Statements talked of missing his family and ‘irreparably broken’ relations with un-named board members.   The reality seems to have been rather different: one meeting today was able to resolve all Tevez’s concerns, and just as with Rooney, his transfer request was withdrawn with immediate effect.

City say no pay rise will be forthcoming, but one wonders if that policy will hold come the summer.  Just a few weeks ago, club and player were renegotiating image rights.  Who would be surprised if a settlement favourable to Tevez and Joorabchian was soon reached?  The Argentine has followed Rooney’s rebellious lead, and strengthened both his hand and his position.  If results like last night’s home defeat to Everton continue, manager Roberto Mancini could find himself the first of the quarrelsome pair out of the door.

Every week Lawrence Gray-Hodson, a man who made his name in the upper reaches of Division 2 in the 1970s and 80s as well as being a former Scotland and England international, writes a column exclusively for Three and in.

This week it’s heavy defeats

—

It was hard not to feel sorry for Blackburn Rovers fans after their crushing defeat the weekend. They’d made the lengthy trip to Old Trafford and had to trudge home in the cold having seen their team take the football equivalent of a night in Michael Barrymore’s swimming pool.

Even more sickening was the fact that Dimitar Berbatov scored five goals. Blackburn’s display made it look as if the Bulgarian were interested in playing football when we all know he’s just going through the motions, picking up his pay packet so he can enyoy the trappings of a chain-smoking eastern European gangster’s life. The only thing more humiliating I can think of would be to lose a spelling contest with Robbie Savage.

Now, I know well that crushing defeats are part and parcel of football. I had just begun my career when one Saturday we went out believing we’d have an easy win against Bournemouth. Instead we got spanked 8-0 and I scored an own goal. The fans that day were epileptic with rage and I couldn’t blame them. As a young player I felt responsible but one of the grizzled old pros told me not to worry too much, that these days happened from time to time and I should forget about it.

Fans sometimes fail to realise that footballers view the game differently than they do. For example, a hard fought 1-0 might have some fans complaining that the team didn’t perform well enough but I can tell you the players will be pleased as punch to get the points despite playing within themselves. At the end of the day great performances are for the silver screen or Broadway, on the green screen of the football pitch it is only the result that matters.

There are no extra points for autistic impression nor do you lose more than three points if you lose 7-1 instead of 1-0. This is why it was obvious the Blackburn players just gave up on Saturday against Man United. Of course it’s dispiriting to go behind so early in the game but have a bit of balls, stand up and be counted and fight back. For a team so renowned for using their physical strengths Blackburn were like a team made up of players who suffer from osteoporosis and a bad case of yellow fever.

Where was the barging of the keeper? Why didn’t Damien Diouf try and break somebody’s ankle or spit on them as he normally does? How does a 7 foot Harlem Globetrotter like Cherno Samba get beaten in the air by a man who can barely be bothered running let alone jumping?

All questions Blackburn fans would be entitled to ask. Is Sam Allardyce’s crush on Sir Alex Ferguson practically a conflict of interest at this stage? You can be sure Big Sam wouldn’t allow his team to be so timid and obliging in any other fixture.

He doesn’t mind losing to United because he can go in to the United manager’s office afterwards, carrying a bottle of Sicilian red fermented in earthen jars buried in the ground, and wax lyrical about the bouquet and hint of elderberries safe in the knowledge that Ferguson won’t scold him for having the temerity to let his team play their natural game.

I have great admiration for Blackburn Rovers. I once shared a lovely meal with Jack Walker while we were both on holidays in Marbella. The story he told me about Shearer’s fist fight with Tim Sherwood over a local girl who they had both mounted must remain a secret but there’s no doubt the former owner would be turning in his grave at the way his beloved Rovers capitulated on Saturday.

Jesus said, as he broke bread and drank ale with his disciples, ‘Do this in memory of me’. Somebody needs to photoshock Jack Walker’s head onto the Last Supper and stick it up in the Blackburn dressing room.

And  Sam Allardyce needs to stop worrying about the wine he shares with Alex Ferguson. He can’t turn it into water, a lesson that every manager needs to learn at some stage.

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.