da apostaganha： ‘Dull? Limp? Lifeless?’ asked Cheryl Tweedy-Cole-Fernandez-Versini (sounds like the Sunderland back four) whilst tugging at her perfect hair extensions promoting some overpriced shampoo with super ingredients you’ve never heard of such as ‘elephantjizzium’. ‘Sparse, greying and prickly’ would be my follicular response.
da pinup bet： The words of the Geordie singer-socialite echoed in my mind after witnessing the second instalment of last Thursday’s Europa League (the Hipster’s Champions League), and they pertained to the not-so-horny Manchester United’s performance. While Jurgen Klopp’s Liverpool (as inextricably linked as Gary Neville and Valencia) bullied and harassed like evil Duracell bunnies on speed, Van Gaal’s United cowered in the corner, asking not to be punched in the face because their first communion was at the weekend.
Van Gaal’s post-match declaration that Fellaini had been one of the best players on the pitch was as ludicrous as his dive only a few days previous. Playing Fellaini in the holding role proved that the eight months of research Moyes did in playing him there was completely wasted: the only holding Fellaini ever does is on the opposition’s jerseys. The continuous formation switching coupled with the fluidity of defensive positioning – Chris Smalling has had more partners this season than Noah did in his big boat – made for a kaleidoscope of confusion.
Van Gaal’s masterplan, or ‘philosophy’, seems to be to make lots of unorthodox decisions, hope one comes off (like Dirk Kuyt at right back or picking Marcus Rashford) and then claim all credit for being a tactical wizard, absolving him of all previous sins and underachievement. His team are currently one very good goalkeeper away from being mid-table also rans. In 6th position in the league with nine games remaining, practically out of the Europa League and hanging on in the FA Cup (remember when Man United dismissed its importance?) like a stubborn dangleberry, difficult games will fly in more quickly than Paul Scholes’ soundbites.
The worst thing about the performance was that, for all that Liverpool played well, there is an obvious way to play against the high pressing team. Diagonal balls over the top would have had Lovren and Sakho back-pedalling against Martial, Memphis and Rashford (MMR – the injection of pace) with space to be exploited. However, all viruses need a host cell to bind to in order to flourish, and the antibody came in the form of the patient passing game, attempted with hexagonally-booted Fellaini as the playmaker.
Before this maul on Merseyside, I was torn between two games: Borussia Dortmund v Spurs or Shakhtar Donetsk v Anderlecht. That was until I saw Pochettino’s starting XI. Harry Kane was rested for the game away to one of the best teams in Europe to keep him fresh for the crunch match against Aston Villa, a team who cannot beat its own reserves.
So my attention was divided three ways, between watching Anderlecht continue to disappoint, occasionally peeking at Dortmund v Spurs on my delayed stream and engaging in a vociferous Facebook debate about Pochettino’s team selection. While Dortmund inexorably battered Spurs like a pizza in a Glasgow chippy, the social media debate arrived at an impasse that stated “if Pochettino wins the league, he’s a genius and if he doesn’t, he’s a fanny”.
Anderlecht meanwhile were a little outclassed, despite Flying Frank Acheampong’s away goal, and their ineptitude at set pieces remains depressingly recurrent. For the return leg, I’d quite like someone with more technical nous than me to do a heat map plotting the movement of Anderlecht coach Besnik Hasi, whose histrionics and gestures make Klopp look like one of those people who paint themselves silver and want money for standing still. They should fit a dynamo to his flailing right hand and he could power the floodlights for the entire match.
Finally, I really enjoyed that all of the Europa League ties were played on the one night, back to back. This diffusing the Champions’ League matches over four weeks for the same round in order to maximise the number of adverts shown is less organic and makes you lose sight of who has played who, or even what round it is.
The Europa League, much derided by the English establishment because Thursday to Sunday is deemed a shorter recovery period than Wednesday to Saturday, has proven to be a sweet filling to the stale bread of the predictable and repetitive Champions League this year and is fast becoming the tournament of the discerning football fan.
Roll on Thursday!
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