Friday, May 13, 2011

Seismic Saturday



We live in the Age of the Overstatement. And you know who’s to blame. Every Super Sunday another superlative gets drained of meaning as Sky dupe us into believing that the Premier League is simply one climactic, borderline classico after another. Hardly surprising then that the claims to historical significance of any given Saturday or Sunday in the footballing calendar should be treated with liberal quantities of salt. But if any Saturday ever deserved to have something like ‘Seismic’ attached to it, it’s the one coming up, a day that for United fans potentially brings two moments of, ahem, massive significance, one of which could cancel the other one out. The big question being, which is which?

Let’s start with the first. Nineteen. Think about that. Twelve times in eighteen years. For those of us weaned during the great famine of the 80’s, with only the odd FA Cup and glorious tales of years gone by to sustain us, it’s almost beyond comprehension. Young United fans, with their reflex hatred of all things Scouse, should have tried going to school when everyone supported Liverpool, when it seemed like every season they’d scupper the hope that this year was the one. They’d know about hating Scousers then.  So I’ll say it again. Nineteen. (And with that said, can reds who should know better abandon this wacky get Paul Hardcastle to Number 1 campaign. Am I alone in thinking it smacks of the sort of fans who get their kicks carrying inflatable bananas or doing Poznan’s?).


Talking of which. Barely a couple of hours after we hopefully sink our claws into a deeper groove on that there perch, history of another kind could well be written at Wembley. Many United fans are already making noises about how any rays of light emanating from Wembley will be obliterated by that giant 19 taking all the space in the sky. I’m not so sure. For one thing, United were practically crowned on Sunday, meaning many of the tribute pieces have already gone to press. For another, there’s just no getting away from the fact that, like it or not, city winning the cup is a big deal. Best to admit this to yourself now rather than make a fool of yourself arguing otherwise. Not bigger than winning a record 19th no, but big nonetheless.

Think about it. This isn’t just getting a single monkey off your back, it is, to quote a bloke who knew a thing or two about bitterness, a wilderness of monkeys. We remember what that was like. True, for us it was the league title rather than just the trinket of an FA Cup, but it matters and there’s no escaping it. What do we do with the flag? Straight in the Irwell for me. In fact, it’s always astonished me that city never got round to negating it by just putting up an identical one of their own, would have soon lost its impact then.

Driving home tonight, mulling over some of the thoughts that I’m putting down here, I thought about some of the decent city fans I’ve know over the years. Kids I’ve taught with pretty shoddy lives – I know, I know, the gag’s write themselves, but not everyone has the courage to call their old man one of them – whose lives would be made a bit less shoddy if for once city didn’t let them down. It was a moment of weakness. I tried to fight it. But I can’t deny that for a spell there I felt what could only be described as a moment of equanimity about a city win.

It passed. I thought about those all those clowns doing ‘their’ Poznan, ‘Munich’ dribbling from their lips and getting caught in their ‘taches. But if it doesn’t happen on Saturday, it’ll happen soon. They’ll act like idiots when it happens, and if we don’t allow them their moment, so will we. Now where’s that bucket with the big hole?