Published: 27 February 2014
 

ARSENAL by Richard Osley

THE you-know-what-licking commentary on Manchester United in the Champions League always misses its audience, beginning with the confused premise that we are all sat at home roaring them on and thinking: Do it for England, Robin.

Au contraire, Mr Tyldesley. We all love it when they lose, especially when they have been handed the easier of second round draws. It’s not Bayern Munich and Barcelona who these suddenly-hapless loserlings are succumbing to. What the telly folk don’t seem to understand is we’re not all worrying about United falling into a decline, as if having a weak United is as bad for the country as a having a weak pound. Yet on and on they fret, full of worried looks. So when Roy Keane stands there in the pundits’ zone, like the original borstal kid, glaring at everyone, explaining United's faults, in pristine, grumpy, detail, he stands out like some sort of village madman who should be locked in stocks for even considering the idea that our Man U, our heroes, could be a bit naff right now. For so long United have been bubblewrapped by journalists too frightened to question Sir Alex Ferguson, so they’ve hardly heard a word of constructive criticism. Nobody has dared say: “Hang on, Chris Smalling, seriously?” for fear of losing their precious press passes. But it’s worse on the TV because it’s there, always there, always a babbling noise about 1999 and all that, and how United can always score two goals in injury time. With such a misplaced drone, they make Keane look like the conscience of a nation, the only straight talker, a modern day Moses, an inspiration… To think I was always on Vieira’s side.

TOTTENHAM by Catherine Etoe

I DON’T often feel sorry for ex-Arsenal players but after Man United flopped in Europe this week my heart went out to Robin van Persie.

We all know his goals won the league for United last season, but poor old Bobbin has apparently said he’s struggling to knock ‘em in this term because his team-mates are “sometimes occupying the spaces I want to play in”.

Now, I’m not totally sure how an international footballer is supposed to deal with that kind of witless behaviour from his teamies, but I have written to David Moyes to suggest he tries a 0-0-0-1 formation in their next game with RVP as the 1.

“Dave,” I said, “it’s not rocket science – give the Dutch genius the entire pitch to himself and I can guarantee that you will see the goals fly in.” I haven’t heard back yet but don’t expect me to carry on writing this claptrap once I get invited on to the coaching staff at Carrington.

Luckily for Spurs, solving the puzzle of a misfiring striker is easier: send him back to whichever third division Spanish club you got him from. Only joking. I meant to say send him round to Gran’s for a spot of one-to-one tuition. Eh? Well Lord Sugar reckoned his grandmother could’ve scored one of Robbie Soldado’s misses against Dnipro, but Gran recreated an entire season’s worth of his missed sitters in our front room on Sunday and she banged them all in. It’s clutching at straws but what else can we do?

Ooh, how about we quit playing the blame game and give him our unfailing support for the rest of the season?
You never know, it might just work…