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La Pasion Turca

After my European adventures last season (we are still locked in combat with the Co-op to get compensation for the Rome debacle) this was a game which I would have dearly liked to experience. If the reports are accurate, a stadium of fans turning up when the gates open at noon to begin their chanting and singing for a 9.45pm kick-off is something just about as far removed from the modern experience of the Theatre of Polite Applause When We’re Playing Well as was Tom’s report of the atmosphere at the FC United Cup tie in Sheffield last week. Watching Fergie being interviewed with the Bosphorus behind him did nothing to assuage my wanderlust.

This was United’s first step towards purging the misery of Rome, our fifth visit to Istanbul but the first time we have visited the home of the current holders of the Turkish double. The only previous occasion we played Besiktas was in the unlikely surroundings of the Kearney high School Stadium in New Jersey where we beat them 2-1 during our tour of the United States in 1950.

Quoting the uncertain start to their season and alleged problems in the squad, from which Bobo walked out (presumably throwing his toys from the pram) the seagulls were squawking of mismatch and Turkish haplessness, citing the eight goals which Liverpool put past them at Anfield two years ago. Who were they kidding? This is a long trip between two games against high flying league opposition and few visiting teams prosper here amid the fervour; indeed, Liverpool’s effort was in response to a 2-1 defeat at this ground.

Ferguson’s selection and tactics gave concerned fans cause for doubt; it was not a question of doubting who was playing but noting who was not; no Rio, no Giggs, no Fletcher. Gary Neville was given a game at right back, Jonny Evans was substituting for the injured Rio, Nani and Valencia were on the wings and Carrick was with Anderson and Scholes in midfield as we played Wayne Rooney alone up front. We should by now have more faith; we came with a twelve game unbeaten run away in Europe during which Ferguson’s tactics have done the job and Valencia, whom I thought had earned his relegation to the bench on Saturday but whom it transpires was only being rested, turned out to be our man of the match on his Champions League debut.

Had I gone I think any match memories would have been of the atmosphere and not the football. To the accompaniment of the incessant chants and synchronised gestures of the home fans (there was no way the away fans would be outsinging this lot!) the match itself was as disappointing a spectacle as away European matches can be. Despite their temporary slide from grace the home side were eager and well motivated and as soon as they had seen the referee allow Paul Scholes to win the ball with a typically remorseless slide in the opening exchanges they laid in to United with some hearty tackling. Italian referee Nicola Rizzoli, who looked about nineteen, behaved with a common sense born of European inexperience and allowed a man’s game while sharply rebuking those who took it to the edge and rightly cautioning those who became underhand, such as Tomas Sivok on Rooney in the first few minutes.

Aside from the pleasure of watching Valencia twist the blood of his tortured marker, Ibrahim Kas, there was precious little in the way of flow or excitement to enthuse about for a while. For all United’s possession (63% half way through the half) Rooney was half starved of service by some United carelessness and for all his superiority on the right wing, few of Valencia’s crosses looked truly dangerous. Goalkeeper Hakan Arikan had to field a 25 yard shot from Carrick and then fumbled a Valencia cross but for half an hour the nearest we got to a United goal was when a Nani left wing corner was nearly glanced into his own net by Filip Holosko and cleared off the line by Ibrahim.

The nearest the game got to a goal was at the other end, when Serdar Ozkan was not closed down and his hopeful twenty five yarder looped venomously off Evans’ shoulder and inches over the bar with Foster a wrong-footed spectator. Although we were the better side at that stage by most measures they were willing to get bodies back and forth and had had four corners to our one. It was a good job our heading and Foster’s catching were up to scratch.

A few minutes before the break Valencia at last put in a really telling ball which the unmarked Paul Scholes ghosted on to only to produce an air shot and end in a crumpled heap upon the penalty spot. When Nani took a free kick it lobbed embarrassingly and dropped into the space behind the goal in this oval ground; it was galling for television viewers to be told that just beforehand Cristiano Ronaldo had opened the scoring for Real Madrid with a free kick in Zurich.

At half time Ferguson expressed himself delighted with Valencia’s performance and promised more of the same and the introduction of Owen and Berbatov, our two prolific contestants for this year’s Golden Boot. The first move of the second half saw some excitement as Valencia’s cross, yet again into a penalty area thinly populated with red shirts, was missed by Rooney then retrieved and returned by Nani into the goalmouth and it took some courageous athleticism from Matteo Ferrari to clear the danger. This was a false dawn; Besiktas grew in confidence, had ambitions for a point and maybe a goal if they could get it, and the game sank into stalemate until we took off Carrick and Rooney and introduced Owen and Berbatov, as promised. Rooney was not best pleased, said something to a Turkish fan behind the dugout and threw his boots around.

Berbatov’s first touch was a clumsy one in the middle of the field and led to some pressure on our defence. Owen’s, a few minutes later, was equally crass but the presence of two strikers changed the shape of the match and Nani and Valencia began to come back into it again, even though their final product was not telling. Owen was put through and wrongly flagged offside. Just as the win began to look possible again the dangers were underlined; substitute Jusuf Simsek produced a deep ball into the area which Mert Nobre thankfully headed wide.

It was just that the decisive move should originate from Valencia. He passed to Owen and, moving away from the wing, took the return and passed it across the edge of the area to Nani who dragged the ball wide of his man and cracked in a shot which Arikan good only parry. There were three unmarked United players optimistically awaiting the rebound at the goalkeeper’s left hand post but the ball fell to Paul Scholes running in on the other side. From about eight yards he controlled a header which went in off the post; 77 minutes 1-0.

The commentators behaved as if the job was then done but Evra slipped and Holosko was clear; Evra used his pace and guile to recover. A few minutes later another Evra mistake led to a right wing cross, Mert Nobre slipped in between Evans and Vidic and thankfully failed to connect with what would have been a gift of a header; there was no way I was leaving the screen to get another beer. Berbatov, at last looking like a class act, had made an opening for Owen to shoot wide and at the death he produced a lovely dribble along the bye line, but it led nowhere.

The Yahoo headline “Scholes rescues United” irritated me; I thought we’d won. The conclusion of James Ducker in the Times “United stumble on” I found equally graceless. This was three points from a potentially tricky situation. It was a lot to ask for more than that.

Paul James