United 0-1 West Brom

I was lucky enough to have won two tickets to the game on Saturday, and it was with high hopes and the familiar swell of pride that I walked into those hallowed red stands. The only thing the ensuing 90 minutes taught me was the answer to that old question “would you rather watch the game from home and have your team win, or watch live and not know the result” – always the win. Always the three points. Because we don’t seem able to do it on our own, so we’re going to need all the divine intervention we can get.

Saturday was a potluck of mishaps, bad luck and an overwhelmingly underwhelming display. The 4-2 derby demolishing was less than a month ago, but it feels an age away from the United I saw. To be fair, the first half wasn’t that bad – there was a complete domination in terms of possession and the team kept on pressing higher, van Persie in particular gunning for goal, to the point that there hung in the air an almost palatable sense that it was coming. Frustrating to watch, yes, but comfortable, in terms of knowing that there could only be one result.

The second half begun with what I can only describe as a scramble akin to families desperately clawing at precious commodities on Black Friday sales. West Brom immediately had two shots on goal and once again only the confidence of de Gea prevented anything from going in. There was absolutely no comfort here – just frustration, just me shouting “COME ON, FOR F-‘S SAKE” until my voice started to crack. The free kick given was accompanied by a sinking feeling and completely justified. And it seems that in the span of just three weeks teams have worked out how to play against this once-dominant United team – wait for a goal, either from mistake / counter attack / set piece – then park the bus. And West Brom did that to the letter.

I don’t usually like to blame the referee, because I believe that first and foremost a team has to accept its failings and take responsibility for its own performance. But it would be impossible to go by without having a word on Anthony Taylor, who was simply appalling and had the stadium chanting “the referee is shite”. I think he missed at least three fouls committed by West Brom on United, most of which would have been free kicks in dangerous positions, and a penalty appeal before the second one was given. Of course, I haven’t seen the TV version and everything was happening real time, so some of the decisions I thought were wrong might have been right, but it still felt like ‘play on’ was being used exclusively at the expense of United.

To give credit where it’s due, West Brom defended well and had an excellent goalkeeper. I think there was a great van Persie – or was it McNair, who was predictably out of position? (I say that with affection) – effort saved brilliantly, and a couple more that would/should have gone in. Still, given the potential of the lineup, I was expecting much, much more from the team. A lot of it had to do with positions, and I will never for the life of me understand why I saw van Persie more behind the halfway line than beyond it. The same could be said for Rooney, while Fellaini was always up in front. Yes, Fellaini’s big and we need him in the box, but surely we should be playing actual strikers in front and midfielders behind? It’s no coincidence our slumps come around when Rooney’s playing midfield and vice versa. I hope that’s something van Gaal sorts out soon.

Central to the game, of course, was the penalty which really should’ve gone in and levelled at least. I understand the mentality behind giving van Persie the penalty – he needs a boost of confidence, needs it fast, and there’s nothing like a penalty to do that. But all the same, if you’re 1-0 down in a game you have to win, this is not a time to be taking gambles for the sake of confidence. It has to go to someone you know will put it in, and Rooney was the man to do it. Instead it means three points slipped, van Persie with even more shattered confidence, and a team reeling from three straight defeats.

United needs to win at least two games from the next three to guarantee fourth spot without bringing Liverpool into consideration, and it’s starting to make me nervous that we might not be able to pull it out of the hat – particularly if Liverpool start grinding out wins and if this bad bounce continues. I mentioned sometime ago that United seem to be a team very dependent on their run of form and confidence, and it’s definitely lacking right now. From the second half onwards, and especially past the goal, there was no sense of being able to come back the way there was against City. Palace away will be difficult, Arsenal in the form they’re in as well. But this is something that we have to do.

A few observations on the sentimental and emotional side. On the day itself Rio Ferdinand made a statement his wife, Rebecca, who’d passed away from cancer. It was sudden and awful – and cancer really is the most awful disease. Before the game even started, chants of Ri-o swept the stadium – old fans, new fans alike – and it sent shivers down my spine, knowing how football bands together like this, to support one of our own (who will always be one of our own). At the fifth minute, everyone – even West Brom fans – stood up and applauded. Just applauded, occasionally chanting his name. I don’t know if he saw it, but that’s not important – what was important was that we showed how life transcended football, and indeed how football brings about a respect and reverence for life. I pretty much cried because of how moving and poignant the display was, and I want to thank United fans for doing that.

As probably everyone knows it was the first return to Old Trafford for Darren Fletcher, who was really one of my favourites and a perennial United crowd favourite as well. He got a rapturous welcome which he deserved, and I was touched that he stayed on at the end of the game – once everyone else had gone off the pitch – to applaud the Stretford End. It was proper respect and love for the fans and the club, and speaks for how much he still cares. Which is more than I can say for a certain someone who shares his initials with Doctor Who, but I’m not going to mention any names. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

United will not go for two seasons without European football. It’s simply not in the club’s DNA. I know I have my doubts, but all the same there is a little part of me inside, a miniscule figure standing somewhere in the left ventricle painted red and waving the United flag. “We’ll never die,” it’s singing. And we won’t. Defeats just mean a wake-up call and something that United must respond to. For now, the fans must rally behind and believe that they will.

Swansong

So it’s official: Darren Fletcher, after twenty years at United, rising from the ranks of the academy, has gone. A disturbing point was made the other day on social media, when someone observed that of the 2008 Manchester United Champions League winning team, only two players are left: Rooney and Carrick. In a few years’ time Carrick will probably have to go too, be it retirement or another club. For me, he and Fletcher made up the last of an old guard in the Premier League – a guard I’m not sure we’ll see again.

Let’s talk about Fletcher. Let’s talk about the reaction he got upon his leaving. United have seen two other academy graduates make moves this season – Welbeck and Cleverley – but none got the reception that Fletcher did. #ThankYouFletch trended for at least twelve hours and numerous players – conspicuously, many foreign – thanked Fletcher for his service and dedication to the club. Fletcher, it seems, was instrumental in settling new players in, helping them learn the ropes, guiding them and basically being a father figure to them. How many players do this anymore? Even with his injuries and problems that kept him off the field, he must have been such a stabilising presence in the dressing room. It reminds you of the family that United has always portrayed itself as (minus the club’s antics, which I’ll probably talk about another day).

This sort of an attitude is something I feel present-day clubs lack. I was making a – how shall I put this – ‘football friends’ graphic for my football tumblr a while ago, and I couldn’t think of particularly strong friendships for many of the clubs, let alone anything that felt like a cosy family. Down to earth people like Darren Fletcher, who care for the team and help players to settle, are few and far between nowadays. The job of being the glue and foundation has I suppose gone to club staff rather than the players themselves. I disagree with this method – I think it’s always important to have a team foundation, because teams play better when they like each other and are bonded, and father figure players are especially important for the young ones who still require guidance and help. But with less players of his elk come less personal ties, and I can understand why football is progressing down this path.

Another thing that’s changed about football is, of course, the loyalty. Football has become far more mercenary, a phenomenon I’m sure everyone and their mother has commented on. Back in the day, one-club players were far more common; on the wikipedia page of one-club men you’ll find that most of the dates reach far beyond the Premier League and to a time only happily recalled by grandparents. Fletcher’s name has already been removed from the list, but no one can doubt how much he loved (and loves) United. There’s dedication and then there’s devotion, and that’s something that’s been sorely missing from the game. I suppose you see it more in League one, League two teams who are happy just to play for their sides; Cambridge players last night looked elated to come to Old Trafford for their team. In the big-pound game of premier league football that’s far less common. United’s academy is producing absolutely great players, but I dread to think how many of them will be joining that list in the years to come. Fletcher hailed from the old era of footballers, where once you found a club you wouldn’t think twice of staying with it. You’d have to be pushed out of the club, either because of injury or less playing time, to leave. A simpler era, a more beautiful one.

Most of all, I miss the type of player that Fletcher is. Nowadays you have the flashy, the skillful, the brash; but what we’re missing is the quintessential, stereotypical English bulldog. Wenger once described Fletcher, after a United-Arsenal game, as playing ‘anti-football’. But anti-football is exactly what the Premier League is known for, and is exactly what football needs. There is grit and determination in the fighting spirit of the anti-footballer, the chasing of the ball, the mentality of having to run your legs into stumps and enjoying the experience, at that. Fletcher, in the real tradition of Manchester United, came back time and again from illness, battling it through. He fought. And more than that, he never uttered a single word of complaint. He was always working for what he wanted, never giving a damn what other people thought of him, whether he would be playing the next game or not. Players nowadays might throw up hissy fits upon being dropped at games, but for players of Fletcher’s calibre, they worked for the sake of the team, not for themselves. It’s not a pretty way of playing, this sort of anti-football. It’s ugly and gritty and sticks you in the mud. But you can’t have flash and no foundation (think of Arsene Wenger’s teams) and you always need that bully in the back to stick his head where it hurts. You need the spirit to win at all costs – that’s how you actually win.

I suppose that’s a dying breed of footballer now, what with the newer kids on the block who are more sensitive, more technical, more every-man-for-himself, less prone to putting up with the abuse and getting on with the job. In a world of fines and punishments for even the slightest infractions this is to be expected. I’m not deriding the present-day state of football – after all I’m still watching the games, still dying for a chance to see the lads play, still loving all the players that we have. I love creative players – one of my favourites is Paul Scholes, after all, and a more technically gifted English player you never did see. But my other favourite is Gary Neville and you can’t have one without the other. The latter is part of that dying breed, for whom this swansong is written. The footballers of old who protected the people around them, who led by example and were driven by passion and a love for their club or their cause. Who fought for every ball, who were “horrible to play against”, who couldn’t ever take a loss sitting down, who fought all the way till the end and always gave their 200%. The Nevilles (both of them), the Kuyts, even the Rooneys – Fletcher was, too, this perennially underrated player a lot of people forget did so much for his team.

On deadline day I was watching Phil Neville on BBC and he was talking about Fletcher’s move, and it was such a poignant moment. Because they were, essentially, the same player. Both academy graduates, both United first-team for a while, both forced to leave because there were other players around who were simply better. And it made me so sad, to think of the fact that soon we might not see this sort of player come again, driven out of necessity by the changing face of modern football.

So thank you, Fletch. For being one of a kind (a kind we may never see again). For giving United everything you had. I will always cherish your spirit and your heart.