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When he returns

After a summer of gale and flood we got modestly good autumn weather for the beginning of the new European campaign. I was off to see relatives in Hyde before meeting for the football so I was ahead of many of the fans travelling up the country and did not enjoy that feeling of pilgrimage as you pass the converging thousands.

The usual suspects met at the usual time in Sangam, our newly adopted cockroach-free environment for pre-match dinner. There was an unspoken decision to break away from the confines of superstition and to order whatever we wanted. Perhaps since we haven’t won a single game while going there it seemed less difficult to make this break than might otherwise have been the case.

Our unofficial car park seems to be no more, and we had to park in the industrial estate behind the Audi garage on the Chester Road. One tradition we kept however; we had lingered too long over the Cobra and conversation and ended up rushing to make the kick-off as the strains of Euro-music spread across the night sky of what once was dockland. I have never worked out the significance of all those schoolboys in black shaking a big round blanket. Perhaps it is the vision of a Europe without bedbugs, which seems a pretty tall order.

This was never going to be easy. We are hardly setting the world afire at the moment with our artistry and anyway Martin Samuel in The Times points out how difficult it is to defend this trophy nowadays; the last five winners have got nowhere significant. Last time we played Villarreal they got two draws off us and we did not progress to the knock-out stage.

Our team selection was interesting. The big news was that Cristiano Ronaldo was available and on the bench. Of the starting line-up Van der Sar, architect of our downfall on Saturday, retained his place in goal. Vidic was dropped to the bench, Jonny Evans taking his place; steadily he played, too, and was nearly a local hero. Gary Neville was in for the injured Brown. In midfield it was Darren Fletcher recalled for the injured Carrick and Hargreaves taking the suspended Scholes’ place.

Berbatov’s injury prevented the selection dilemma answered so unconvincingly on Saturday; Nani played wide with Park, with Rooney and Tevez paired in the centre, thus adopting the astounding tactic of selecting wingers to play on the wing. This meant that Anderson was on the bench.

Villarreal came without Rossi who is injured, so we were spared the risk of having our former player score against us. Diego has, of course, moved on to Athletico Madrid. They are no mean side, second in La Liga last year, ten points above third placed Barcelona, and they showed some nifty skills.

It is trite and very British, too, to complain that they came to Old Trafford, as last time, with no ambition. Europe is not like the Premier League. Sure, they showed little inclination to attack for an hour or so, but their tactics very nearly got them all three points on offer.

What they clearly don’t do in Villarreal is colour coordination. The team plays in yellow but their tracksuits were also in blue and red and purple. They ran up and down the touchline ostensibly to get warmed up but actually to try to make us all sick.

The referee, Herr Stark, was utterly clueless. It wasn’t just that he chose even when he was better placed always to follow the advice he was getting from the line which included a couple of silly offsides and a booking for Tevez which was a joke. Blind faith in your subordinates is probably taught nowadays as leadership though we might have expected a more authoritarian approach from a German.

What was worst was his failure to apply the rules on penalties which are clear and universally applied unless AC Milan or Porto have been handing out free holidays. In the first half Ji Sung Park should have had two, one for a trip in the corner of the box very similar to the offence for which Nicky Butt was once rightly penalised against Juventus, the other when he looked clean through on goal, a clumsy challenge from behind by Joan Capdevilla which bore little relationship to the ball.

Nani had a great rasping shot spilled by the goalkeeper and Tevez had another tipped over; given the early spill it was a pity United did not test Diego Lopez much. Nevertheless by half time Dennis, next to me, who is a glass half full man because he is getting married this week, was pleased and seemed to be expecting improvement and ultimate victory.

Unfortunately it was my lesser expectations that were met; the United performance fell away steeply after the interval and the match drifted unconvincingly.

United’s complacency and lack of cohesion and ideas was at first merely tedious and frustrating but the Spaniards started adventuring over the half way line with intent and a lovely move ended with a right wing cross and the cleverest of flying back heels from Guille Franco (whom I swear the announcer called General Franco when he was substituted) which came off the far post with Van der Sar beaten all ends up.

Even the tactics-free zone of the United bench could see that something urgent needed to be done. It was the perfect public relations moment to bring back the Prodigal Son, the Bronzed Narcissus. Kuszczak at centre-forward would have got a reasonable hand but sad to admit, the United team, off form and lacking self-belief and forward cohesion, had demonstrated to us all that without Ronaldo it has been nothing much to shout about. We roared him on to the pitch. We didn’t have to think about casting aside the issues of loyalty and pride; he seemed to represent our best hope of redemption. At the same time Anderson came on for Hargreaves.

For all who had eyes it was obvious that the double substitution transformed the match. Ronaldo unleashed the power of the forwards; he played as if he had never been missing and suddenly Rooney and the others were playing with incision and speed. Anderson played his part, providing a service with a purpose but there was no getting away from the fact that the catalyst was the man who had given us all a sour summer.

Even the defence played with more spirit; the game was lifted on and off the pitch. It took a few minutes for moves reminiscent of last season to develop, but develop they did. First Ronaldo provided the perfect ball for Rooney who should have shot but passed it right to Tevez. His first touch was good but not perfect and when he shot hard and low the goalkeeper had it partly covered, taking the sting off it for Gonzalez Rodriguez to clear off the line.

Nani lobbed a tricky one just under the bar and then Ronaldo centred from the right, a lovely ball, and at the far post Jonny Evans dived full length to head it against the base of the post. If we had been playing like that earlier we would have won. We should have won anyway; sixteen shots to their four, none of theirs on target.

The journey home reflected the disappointment of the scoreline. AbUs from the Highways Agency had, as usual, chosen match night to block two lanes of the M6 for a hundred yards of line painting which caused an hour’s stationary traffic and with Leonard Cohen my choice from the iPod I had much time for morose thought; I didn’t get home until three.

Sangam doesn’t work. The new car park doesn’t work. The fish curry doesn’t. Neither does the 1963 Cup Final Denis Law shirt. Oops, we’re meant to have stopped all the superstitious nonsense; Ronnie’s back for the time being, it’s only Chelsea next and you never know......

Paul J