ManUtd 1-0 Roma: An Aroma of Tension
April 12, 2008
Neutral observers to a man reported last night’s game as a comfortable stroll for United, but this worrying fan did not see it in that light. I seldom enjoy second legs; there is too much at stake, too much expectation and too great a history of disappointment.
This is stupid because it is a great privilege to support a club which for the moment at least can play at this level; for a hiked-up price (Glazer put the tickets up from £38 to £45) I am watching the best that European club football has to offer; what I should really do is sit back and enjoy.
The first worry was the absence of Vidic. The second was the question mark over Ferdinand. When the second worry was addressed with the announcement that Ferdinand was playing, came the third, unforeseen worry; Ferguson had chosen to play a weak side in a European Cup quarter final.
Pique was Vidic’s replacement. Wes Brown was playing at right back, where he has had a successful season, but Mikael Silvestre was drafted in at left back for his first game since he was injured in September. We picked three midfielders, Carrick, Hargreaves and Anderson, flanked by Giggs and Park, with Tevez as lone striker. Hargreaves played much further forward than you would have expected.
To call that a weak team speaks volumes for the talent that Ferguson has collected at some expense to bolster last year’s core, but that is how it seemed when I first heard it.
United began impressively. It looked as if any personality could slip into any position and the whole machine would work as smoothly as ever. We were producing flowing moves and carving out great chances; Roma had Doni to thank for excellent saves from Hargreaves, Anderson and Giggs; Hargreaves and Park were putting in great balls from the right and Giggs’ through ball for Hargreaves was a dream.
Roma were neat. As you would expect from Italy, they could all find each other with the ball and there was some trickery on show. They plugged away intelligently and cleverly to try to nick the goal which would change the complexion of the tie. People around me said at the end that they didn’t really have a go, yet their strategy looked sound and very nearly produced dividends.
They had three clear chances in open play during United’s opening spell and then Wes Brown produced what looked like an excellent tackle on Mancini – he certainly won the ball – and there was amazement and uproar all around us as it became clear that the referee was pointing to the penalty spot. It looked so astounding that the long history of Italian football and bribery came immediately to my mind and to the lips of those around me.
The place was in uproar. The Noise produced by the Stretford End to put De Rossi off was impressive and heartfelt. Van der Sar did the Barthez trick, quietly ambling over to the post and taking a swig of gin from the bottle he keeps there, taking his time, letting the pressure sink in.
This is unlikely to have unnerved the man who scored a penalty in the World Cup Final; the key factor was that someone had sent De Rossi the Brian McClair manual on penalty taking last Christmas and he had studied it. His effort had Choccy written all over it, smashed confidently and violently ten feet over the bar. It was still rising when it hit the crowd, thirty yards up the terrace. The Stretford End registered its protest at the decision in the only way possible, continuing the ear-splitting catcalls and refusing to return the ball.
The miss did nothing to mollify the crowd; after it the vilification of the refereeing team took over the whole ground. In the dementia induced by tension I introduced intellectual debate at the top of my voice on some of the referee’s shortcomings such as his portliness, his baldness, his age, and his lack of wisdom in behaving in such a way as to raise the slightest suspicion that he might have been given a free Italian holiday or two. I have now seen the incident on television and it was an awful lot closer to a penalty than it looked; he might even have been right.
The incident changed the match. It seemed to give Roma conviction that their game plan could be made to work and to give United the jitters. Suddenly Ferguson’s selection gamble was preying on my mind. I was looking at the clock every two minutes and screaming at defenders to close down, or to get rid every time Roma came forward and it wasn’t even half time.
Wes Brown, who must have been a relieved man, hacked one scramble clear, Ferdinand was limping (it turned out to be a cut on his right foot, not a recurrence of the injury to his left). The overriding reaction when the teams went off at half time was the widespread booing of the Italians and the officials, which was a pity, because despite the lack of goals it had been a genuinely open game and there was plenty to applaud, from both sides.
United were less convincing in the second period and too frequently conceded territory and possession. I had decided that if Roma had not managed to reduce the first leg deficit with fifteen minutes to go we would be alright, but ahead of my deadline, and with the cavalry warming up on the touchline, we scored and the tension evaporated.
Tireless Tevez (what do they feed him on?) advanced through the middle. He passed to Hargreaves on his right and continued his run, cleverly bisecting the retreating defenders. Hargreaves’ centre was perfectly placed and almost perfectly timed; Tevez had to dive full length at the near post to make contact and head in a fine trademark goal; 69 minutes 1-0.
After the goal O’Shea and Rooney came on for Carrick and Giggs; Roma had been introducing their substitutes at regular intervals to no apparent effect. At the last Park was within inches of getting a second United goal, running on to a beautiful little ball from Rooney but Doni just fingertipped his chip to safety. Gary Neville had come on for a nine minute cameo in midfield to a huge ovation and loud cheers every time he touched the ball. He barged the goalkeeper and escaped a yellow card for a very un-European tackle and had little time to do much else.
I was pleased that Pique was playing alongside Ferdinand at centre back; he is a big and skilful lad and needs to develop. He is better in that position than Brown and O’Shea and he proved a cool assistant to the impeccable Ferdinand. Van der Sar had to play well, which he did except for a couple of shots from Vucinic, which had to be hastily cleared by Rio when they proved too hot and swervy to be handled cleanly.
Silvestre, impressively, played the whole game. His first touch he fell over, his second he gave to the opposition but after that he had a sound game as an attacking left back; one of his crosses was a work of art and just before we scored he produced a much needed and brave block when a goal looked certain. Tevez was a one man harassment machine; he never stopped chasing lost causes and harrying defenders. Anderson looked back to his best and over his recent dip in form.
Carrick was excellent in deep midfield and Hargreaves was our man of the match; he looked classy at everything he did and showed his ability as a lethal right foot crosser of the ball, not only for the goal. Giggs worked intelligently, Park ran tirelessly but had a bad final touch night.
It was a very different feeling driving home this year from the euphoria of that amazing 7-1 last year; my thoughts were about Sunday, a big day in the resolution of our season. There will be little sleep on my side of the bed until then, and for a while afterwards if we do not win. Still, however the league turns out, there is the mouth watering prospect of Barcelona. But will it be 1984 vintage Tempranillo, the rich Rioja of 1991 or the corked and acid 1994 brew we’ll be tasting?
Copyright © Paul James
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