The bigger the game the bigger the letdown. Football does have
this irksome habit of answering great expectations with hard
times.
A season of unending ordinariness now has the promise of
redemption with two momentous encounters. On Sunday Manchester United play Chelsea in a match that will not
decide the winners of the Premier League but could ensure that the
contest remains suspenseful to the last. In three weeks United meet
Barcelona at Wembley in a Champions
League final that already has the country, not to mention the rest
of Europe, agog with anticipation.
It is to be hoped that both occasions live up to their billings.
If they manage to get halfway there the spectacles may still be
acceptable. Experience, however, suggests that the more a match is
hyped in advance the less likely it is to excite on the day.
At least nobody who has been paying attention will expect an
outstanding exhibition of the attacking arts at Old Trafford on
Sunday. United and Chelsea know each other's game like the backs of
each other's hands. Neither has the means to surprise the other
with something unusual unless Fernando Torres comes out of his
trance to score a hat-trick, assuming he makes an appearance.
Nothing will matter except the result and if recent events are
anything to go by the arguments may prove more entertaining than
the action. Football must be living in a desperate, paranoid world
when the choice of referee for tomorrow's game is awaited with
impatient interest to see if the official will meet with the
approval of Sir Alex Ferguson. As if it matters.
Howard Webb was always likely to get the nod for this one but if
he gives a decision that Fergie does not like Webb will presumably
be added to the list of officials who have got it in for United.
Perhaps the Football Association should just leave the old
hairdryer to blast away, like Father Jack.
Far too much significance is paid to what managers say anyway.
Watching the recording of the classic 1960 European Cup final, when
Real Madrid beat Eintracht Frankfurt 7-3 at Hampden Park, is to be
reminded of a time when managers were hardly mentioned, if at all,
and no more attention was paid to the officials than the goalposts
or corner flags. They were there to perform a function not start a
debate.
Thankfully football has been spared a confrontation between
Ferguson and José Mourinho at Wembley on 28 May, the latter having
achieved the singular feat of making every fan beyond the Bernabéu
glad that Real Madrid are not in a Champions League final. To some
Mourinho remains a gifted manager and tactician with the knack of
organising his teams to exploit opponents' weaknesses while
negating their strengths. After his reaction to Real's elimination
by Barcelona others may be even more convinced that he is also a
nihilist with a persecution complex.
Yet it does say something for the man's impact on football that
although he chose to be absent from the Camp Nou on Tuesday, having
been dismissed from the dugout at the Bernabéu, he was still an
object of fascination provoking much discussion about what
subterfuges he might employ to relay messages to the bench.
Managers in England who are banned from the touchline should be
banned from grounds on match days. This may be ruled a restraint of
trade, or in Ferguson's case a restraint of tirade, but is surely
worth a try.
To be fair, there were no serious complaints from Manchester
United after they had been outclassed by Barcelona in the Champions
League final in Rome two years ago, Pep Guardiola's team winning
with goals from Samuel Eto'o and Lionel Messi. Wembley will be
hoping for a more even contest but this will only happen if
Ferguson's team manage to marginalise Messi as successfully as
Mourinho's sides have done in the past.
Messi can make this the best of the six European Cup finals
played at Wembley but United will hope to cramp Barcelona's style
much as Sampdoria bottled up Johan Cruyff's side in 1992 before
Ronald Koeman's free-kick took the trophy to the Camp Nou for the
first time. Ferguson will try to keep the game narrow. It will be
as much a battle of width as a battle of wits. Just so long as the
football leaves something more to remember than a few moans.