RED11.ORG

This is the first time we have met Bursaspor, who come from the city of Bursa on
the Trojan side of the Sea of Marmara and with the usual arrogance we were all
expecting to beat them. Yet they are the Turkish champions and lead the Süper
Lig again this year and our record against Turkish sides is bad; we had
previously achieved two victories in five home games. The first was when we
blooded youngsters against Galatasaray in 1994 because the league looked lost.
Simon Davies and David Beckham swept us into an early lead, we won four nil and
thanks to Gothenburg’s achievements at the Nou Camp were within a few heady
seconds of qualification. Ironically given the present crisis, our other win
was achieved with Wayne Rooney’s hat trick debut in the competition against
Fenerbahçe in 2004.

In 1993 I had arrived at the ground ten minutes late and missed seeing United
take a two nil lead against Galatasaray in a game we ended up rescuing only with
a late equaliser from Eric Cantona. The other Turkish encounters were the
dismal 0-1 defeats to Fenerbahçe in 1996 and to Be?ikta? last year.

This time around Ferguson had picked a fairly strong but very conservative
team. Tomasz Kuszczak was in goal and Chris Smalling at centre half in place of
Rio, but the surprise was Federico Macheda playing in the role a fit and willing
Rooney might have occupied, as lone striker.

Wednesday was a brilliant, chilly, sunny day in Manchester, the great hog’s back
of Kinderscout clear as could be, dramatic Autumn shadows highlighting its
greens and purples. Even though the clocks have not yet gone back as night
descended the temperature, never more than 4? or 5? in the sunshine, slipped
below freezing for the first time this year.

Gaggles of Turkish fans, the red crescent flags on their cars, could be seen at
the motorway service stations, some of them sporting Fenerbahçe shirts. I
looked in the faces of the United fans for signs of stress due to the great
upheaval and found none. Around the ground I wondered if there would be a
picket or a demonstration to support the angry talk of boycott which had been
colouring the airwaves, but there was none. Events off the field had made this
occasion seem important to the immediate future of the club and offered a chance
to mix among United folk, to find a communal solace in our bewilderment. I
anticipated the brool of the stadium but when I stood on the steps for my first
glance at the green baize, half an hour to kick off, there was none; the Theatre
of Pathos was empty.

The ground filled up quite quickly though there were empty seats dotted
everywhere and it must have contained only three quarters of the 72,610 claimed
by official spin doctors. One whole block of the South Stand was unoccupied;
perhaps it was reserved for the tarts and blowens. It was not possible to tell
whether the majority were nonplussed by events or whether they were merely
irregular visitors and the silent majority, determined to ignore the events of
the last few days. As ever, the mood of the Theatre of Sheep can be judged by
the readiness with which the songs and chants led by the loyal diehards at
either end are taken up. The early rendition of The Red Flag went down well.

The game began in lively fashion, both sides harassing, Anderson putting Macheda
through wide on the left for a low, hard shot which needed saving. Then Nani
lit up the night with a goal which on television looked as good as anything his
countryman Ronaldo could have produced. In the flesh it was magical. He got a
short ball from Darren Fletcher on the right, spirited a birl through two men
with the grace of a dancer, dribbled infield as the defenders hesitated to chop
him down and when he reached the edge of the area let fly with a left foot a
shot which curled teasingly away from the desperate stretch of the diving
Dimitar Ivankov’s fingertips; 7 minutes 1-0.

For a few heady minutes there was fire in United bellies and Bursaspor were
pinned inside their area. Anderson looked a powerhouse, Nani was a bag of
tricks, Patrice Evra was incisive, Rafael da Silva, playing his fiftieth United
match, was decisive in the tackle and energetic in his work and Darren Fletcher
and Michael Carrick provided decent support. Ji-Sung Park, sporting a curious
ginger barnet, offered lots of energy and the Turks were rattled. It looked for
all the world as if we were about to administer a heart warming and morale
boosting thrashing.

In fact in was mere bathos and we might as well all have gone home. United
spent most of the rest of the game in the Turkish half but produced little to
threaten the goal because no-one seemed capable of attacking the ball in the
area. Bursaspor were nowhere near as negative as Rangers had been the other
week but lacked the necessary skill as a team to produce a threat with the
counter attack. As the match declined in spectacle the supporters had their
say. “We want Glazer out” was taken up weakly, “Every single one of us loves
Alex Ferguson” was mouthed timidly by those usually silent but “If you all hate
Scousers, clap your hands” has seldom been sung with more feeling. There was
another United surge just before the interval but Macheda lacked that killer
touch, Park was demonstrating that it must be something more than ginger hair
that makes Paul Scholes what he is, and Vidi? missed our only real chance, a
header from Nani’s corner.

Perhaps, given recent events, United were scared of going two goals up;
certainly the stalemate continued after the interval. Anderson was doing his
best to create something but neither Park (twice) nor Macheda was sharp enough
to read good balls threaded dangerously through a crowded defence. Evra’s
fierce cross was on target and well handled by Ivankov at the near post but when
Nani controlled a ball just outside the area and curled a shot which the
goalkeeper smothered it was our first shot on target since the goal more than an
hour’s playing time beforehand.

The ground had been in a deathly hush as Nosferobertan, who has slept the bright
summer in the crypt, was brought out to do his night’s work in place of Park.
Not only were there no visible cobwebs on his clothing but he looked much less
skeletal than when last seen. Perhaps the club has access to virgins’ blood
(which in Manchester nowadays would clearly have to be imported). His
introduction was the most exciting thing to happen in a long while. That of
Javier Hernández a few minutes later also made sense, though why we should
withdraw Anderson, our most effective midfield player, to accommodate him was a
puzzle.

With the arrival of the Mexican things looked up a fraction. Gabriel Obertan
produced a welcome little cameo with a crazy, mazy dribble in the area and then
rose to head Nani’s corner just wide at the near post. A long pass by Vidi?
found Hernández just onside but his first touch was slightly askew and with his
second he shot wide. As the night drifted into added time Gustav Svensson
produced the visitor’s first shot on target, a tame lob into Kuszczak’s arms and
at the last gasp they won a free kick and packed the United area with everyone
including the goalkeeper. Any nervousness on the part of the remaining crowd
was due to recent events on the pitch; bores as poor as this were hardly going
to score.

Thus, while other English sides are exchanging goals in balletic games United
move two points clear of Rangers at the top of this group thanks to a total of
five minutes electric football in three matches. It is efficiency of a sort, I
suppose, but it reflects the pervading sadness and reeks of the decline to which
those in the Rooney camp who can read and write referred when they penned the
statement attributed to him a few hours before the match.

Settlement of the unhappy dispute will not lance the Glazer beal but for the
while there is absolutely no doubt who remains in charge at United. Fergus
rules the brazen cars, and rules the shadows of the wood and the dishevelled
wandering stars. Especially them.

Paul Andrew James