2013-05-19T01:22:57-04:00 Mark Kelleher http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=mark-kelleher Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Mark Kelleher Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1839684 2012-08-29T11:21:38-04:00 2012-10-29T05:12:04-04:00

Mark Kelleher http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mark-kelleher/
Confined to the bench on the back of a distinctly lethargic and uninterested display against Everton, Rooney watched on, presumably uncomfortably, as those chosen in favour of him swaggered, produced and justified their starting places. In a shot prior to kick-off, a camera trained on Rooney, track-suit top zipped to the neck, sitting wearily in the dug-out. The pitch was being looked at with a cold stare, the bewilderment of a grounded child gazing incredulously out at the lawn where their friends are kicking a ball. Next to him, Javier Hernandez, noticeably less perky than previous seasons, looked utterly resigned.

United are an intriguing proposition now. Teeming with a full army of attacking flair, the signings of Kagawa and Van Persie have lifted the burden from the stocky shoulders of Rooney. While most concede that neither arrival has plugged the widening chasms that were in most dire need of addressing, the presence of each will unquestionably add a ruthlessness scantly available since the departures of Ronaldo and Carlos Tevez.

Van Persie, so often impossible to contain, naturally sent all tongues wagging, but it is the arrival of the little Japanese playmaker that will potentially return United to their fluid best. So light-footed it's possible to believe he would not leave a footprint walking across a field of snow, Kagawa's presence should offer an incisive outlet through the middle - a refreshing change from United's over-reliance on wing-play.

On Saturday, each showed their respective worth. Van Persie thundered a left-foot strike into the net with his first United shot. Kagawa, a scorer later on, dictated the play and provided an ingenuity that had pulses soaring already. The benched Rooney had every reason to be contemplative.

The high regard in which many reds hold Rooney has withered out of late. Once the absolute fulcrum of United's endeavours, recent business has opened the opportunity for many to suggest his presence isn't as valuable as it once was. Now there are other options available, convincing options, Rooney's contribution has become fair game to come under intense scrutiny. Some reds still view him as treacherous, the 2010 disturbance and transfer request unforgotten, but for many the final judgement is based on what happens consistently on the field.

At Everton, Rooney was at his erratic worst. The first touch, something he often struggles with, was wildly askew. Everton's backline coped with ease, as United's spearhead appeared unacceptably blunt. Pre-season training hadn't conditioned him to an acceptable level of fitness and United on the night were unable to muster even a jab at an Everton side fuelled by a raucous crowd and desire. The Rooney of old, the ball-junkie who played with the distinct effervescence of a street-player, was eerily absent. In his place was someone who looked as complacent as an ex-player returning for a testimonial outing. As others zipped around him, he trundled and looked to be in the way.

The Rooney of now is an entirely separate figure from the one United signed in 2004. A far less enlivened beast from the one who swaggered and drove at players with a fearless relentlessness, what we have now is a more mature, but less frightening, striker. The thunderous strikes and hunter-like traversing of the pitch, propelled by a venom that appeared to be burning within, have been displaced by a more measured style. Rooney has matured, but the strengths so apparent in his early game have suffered as a result. The fire of old has long been extinguished, a trait that both had him preset to explosive and at his most unpredictable best.

There is calmness to his game now, a maturity that wasn't as evident in his early years, but it has quelled the risky side that the world's best always harbour in their armoury. It could be said that the joy, too, so often found in those who deliver the game's finest artistry, is absent from what he's doing these days. The youthful vigour that helped trajectory his career into stardom at the tender age of sixteen is less apparent now, as is the overwhelming desire that brought him to nosebleed heights. There is a scarcity to his game. Where he once drove at defenders, pushing by them with ox-like strength, he chooses now to release the ball - delegating rather than taking authority as he used to. His ability is still unquestionable, but his character - which once had him at his fearsome best - is shyer now, less willing to present itself as something unique like it used to do.

There is a litany of reasons why Rooney's style may have regressed. Often shifted to the wings in Europe in his early United years, there is an argument in place that toying with him positionally was an early and destructive harbinger of the style we have now come to witness. Or perhaps his own curbing of his temper helped out a fire that his initial brilliance was so reliant on. Maybe the shadow left over from Ronaldo's departure - a void that Rooney seemed predestined to adequately fill - was too much of a burden for one young player to take on their own.

Fingers will inevitably point towards Rooney's own misdemeanours, too - off-field acts that prompted memories of Beckham and the severity of Fergie's punishment which followed. And, of course, there is the dark shadows of October 2010, the transfer request, the flirtations with the cross-town enemy and the subsequent standing down to sign a contract that eclipsed his previous wage-packet. His issue, he then declared, was with United's progress and ability to sign players of the right standard. It wasn't about money. It was a sentiment that held merit, but his change of mind on the back of transfer promises would have been more believable if 2011's summer had brought considerable quality and if his huge wage hadn't again risen so heftily.

Whispers still suggest the possibility of his leaving. The happy smiles and reconsiderations of the past appear somewhat false even now. The stern disappointment Ferguson emitted in the now legendary press conference, lamenting Rooney's refusal to be part of the club's future, is unlikely to have faded. As history has proven, Ferguson isn't one for forgiveness. Old wounds rarely heal in his world. He will still believe the damage wrought by Rooney's request lingers. In the player himself, the exuberance shown in the wake of his contract renewal is yet to be fully expressed. The goals still go in, as proven by an admirable scoring record, but questions still ask if the heart goes in also. Even during a spell where he's clearly not at his best, Rooney is still the type of player that all the big clubs would hand over blank cheques for.

His age and what he can potentially bring would command an enormous fee, one that the Glazers - always salivating at the prospect of incoming money - would cheerily nod in approval to. Ferguson, sensing his striker's best interests are not compatible with the club's, may well approve his letting loose, too. Not only will van Persie, his latest toy, be in his mind. Lodged there too will be Danny Welbeck, the local kid who has done good and will do excellently when further honing commences. Deserved chances will need to come. Rooney, you sense, wouldn't greet the possibility with much heartache either.

Open to leaving a few short years ago, the pros of uprooting and being part of something else may outweigh the cons. Gauging United's recent signings and a shift to a style that may not always play into his hands, the possibility of him deciding that departure-time is on the horizon is looking credible. But at what cost to United?

United would be losing what has essentially been their talisman in recent years. Reliant on his goal-scoring and the selflessness of his general play, a United eleven bereft of Rooney has always triggered worry amongst their support. When he expresses himself, so does the team. Without him there has always been a ponderousness, an empty feeling that vulnerability is always likely to be exposed. Even when not at his frenetic best, he has decided games.

While his all round game has waned, his goal-getting has improved. He no longer takes up the position of everyman, carrying out the tasks set to each position, but his instinct in and around the box has improved with age. He may not be the all round maestro his early glimpses so wonderfully promised, but there are few better complete strikers around when his mind is at it.

The issue, of course, is how often he does it and if he still wants to be doing it at United. And if he is to go, United need to be sure of what they are ridding themselves of. Capturing Van Persie was a commendable feat, but he is Rooney's senior by two years and inferior when the latter is at his best. Ideally, both would form a duo that would be unequalled in world football, but probability dictates that United are more likely to go with one than both.

Kagawa, who will be integral to the United of the next few years and a sure-starter if early signs prove credible, will sit back in the role of orchestrator. The future will decide who will be on the end of his through-balls weekly. All squad members, due to injuries and resting players, will be granted chances, but the best do not like to reside in the shadows. Ultimately, Wayne Rooney's future will be decided by himself.

Sidelined now for what could be 8 weeks, Rooney will have enough time to stew over what the next chapter will entail. It is early in the season, and perhaps the scathing critiques should be set aside until after a more generous period of time, but he will know there is a barometer to be met. In the oncoming weeks, he will be forced to watch on as a United not so reliant on him anymore takes shape. Pressure on him may have eased off with the signing of quality he once lamented was not arriving, but there is the real possibility that the lesser United are reliant on him the lesser Wayne will feel loved.

Public proclamations of cheeriness in the wake of van Persie's signing may have warmed hearts, but footballers - many of them egotists - do not like when their place in the team is cast into doubt. As Eamon Dunphy wrote in his stunningly honest memoir Only a Game? - "When they sign a new player who plays in your position it is not funny." Rooney, now faced with a real challenge, will need to turn the distress of it into something productive.

For that to happen, perhaps the fire of old - that ignited ferociousness that had him painted early as a potential great - will need to return. At 26 he is still considerably young, and improvement is undoubtedly still attainable. He may not become the truly special player he once threatened to be, but there is enough there to work with to still be one of the best. It will be up to him to prove it before next summer, where the opportunity for him to leave will open up once more.

As it stands, he is giving United an excuse for parting ways with him. In the coming months, he needs to ensure getting rid of him would be nothing less than a horrible mistake. But it will all come down to one thing: what he, deep down, wants the future to hold.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1694433 2012-07-23T08:32:57-04:00 2012-09-22T05:12:05-04:00

Mark Kelleher http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mark-kelleher/
Sir Alex Ferguson's latest espousing of support for the Glazer family should come as little surprise to those forced to endure his sentiments on the topic in recent years. The Floridians may have landed the club with hundreds of millions of pounds in debt, but Ferguson has staunchly supported their ownership since its inception. His case is that, unlike the Abramovichs of the game, the Americans do little to disrupt his movements when attempting to prolong the already enormous success he has achieved with the club. They don't interfere with team selections and transfer targets and never directly engage in the PR guff so popular with egotist owners worldwide. In short: they let him do his job daily without influence and so are good owners.

Oddly, for one so vehement in his beliefs, Ferguson is masterly in evading the many other things the Glazers do not do and the turbulence they have enveloped the club with since 2005. Excuses are made for the manner in which they acquired the club, yet there is little recognition of its lasting effects. Statements are made about the family backing him when needs be, but there are no ponderings on the fact they're yet to proffer a single penny of their own money to stabilise what was once the healthiest club in the world. He describes his position as "comfortable" with the owners, not affording a minute's contemplation towards the discomfort felt by those forced out due to principles and price-rises. In the vast world of the Glazer ownership, Ferguson's view is through a key-hole that glimpses only what the club itself want supporters to believe: all's fine.

If Ferguson's stance is lamentable, perhaps the most disturbing element is the knock-on effect it has over those who rightly hang on his words. United's support has been fractious since the takeover, with the vast majority of its fan-base purporting to be angered at the way the club is being run. However, the numbers of those willing to do something about it are miniscule in comparison to the droves of the ultimately unperturbed. There is a resignation amongst the many. The feeling is that little happened before so little can ever happen now. Small pockets of United's support disagree, vociferously attacking anything deemed pro-Glazer because they recognise the damage being wrought against something they love. Ferguson's proclamations play into the hands of those who lack the motivation to see change. If he says it, it must be right - or, if he says it, his hand is being forced and his public displays of affection for his employers are only being uttered to protect United and keep him in a job. Both arguments are clearly flawed.

The patent obviousness of the detrimental aspects of the Glazer family's ownership has been well covered. Saddling a club in debt, siphoning off money to service that debt and now listing a portion of the club on the New York Stock Exchange to alleviate the burden beset upon the club leaves little room for credibility. Those inclined to slip into apologist mode - a move quite similar to one shutting their eyes to the rain and claiming it's not there - decree that periods of prolonged success prove that the doom of financial figures are no harbinger of failure.

In truth, the titles and European Cup secured over the last 7 years have little to do with their involvement and all to do with the workings of a genius at the helm. Any excuses made to polish the period of their stay can quickly be reduced to the empty nothings that they are. If vitriol cannot be found in United's incapability of spending convincingly, or rising ticket prices, or the sullying of its name in the tax haven of the Caymans, it can unequivocally be found in perhaps the most saddening places of all: the distances established between warring reds on either side of the Glazer debate.

A large portion of Manchester United's support dare not question a word enunciated by Alex Ferguson. Past achievements, it would appear, cannot be separated from character. Managerial greatness, too, appears to guarantee greatness as a man, leaving sparse room for the possibility of error. This too, we learn, shirks away from what is true. We attempt to convince ourselves because the fiction is more acceptable than the reality. There is a sadness in hearing something repugnant coming from someone whose work has supplied your life with beauty. In many respects, Ferguson's reign has embodied United at its truest core; relentless when challenged with adversity, his style was the next chapter of the Busby-inspired United: a club unlike any other, who triumphed frequently and drove on endlessly even in defeat.

Achievements-wise, he has no equal and, given the now unforgiving nature of the game, now never will. His period of greatness verges from the mesmeric to the surreal, descriptions that will catalogue his legacy and mark him down as the greatest manager that has ever taken hold of a team. However, with a career edging towards its end, blemishes are appearing - sad pockmarks on an otherwise largely pristine stay. His legacy will be rich, as it deserves to be, but the championing of those who have done nothing but destabilise and pilfer profit will live long in the memory of those who care most. It hurts because, as trophies have stacked up, Ferguson is expected to be at one with the core support. In truth, he is now more distanced from the hardcore than he ever was before. Their interests outside of the team winning matter little now, it would seem. Glory is wanted by all, but the wider worries - the debt, prices, investment in the team - are routinely ignored by Ferguson.

Still, excuses will be made by those terrified to question. Ferguson, it is said, is merely doing as he is told - a curious excuse, given the near-dictatorial command he has over the club. Along similar lines, apologists will declare that if Ferguson doesn't adhere to his overlords' demands, he will be rendered unemployed as a result of his noncompliance. Again, this is a flawed argument. The Glazers may be parasitic in their ways, but they are not stupid; they realise the immensity of Ferguson's power and are unlikely to ever risk the mutinous backlash that a sacking would produce. In order to be not met with full-scale vitriol, they need those who the fans respect on their side. As seen in the numerous interviews that have followed, Ferguson's puppet-like approach is a tool with which they use to get by largely unopposed. The idea that the Glazers would flog and run the risk of wide wrath is unrealistic.

While it may be idealistic to think Ferguson could retreat back into his purported socialist roots and publicly denounce the debt-loaders, there is an alternative that will change little but keep what was once an unsullied legacy intact: he could keep quiet. A master of batting off anything that doesn't suit his own agenda, a simple reply of "I'm not getting into that" or "My job is to manage the team" would be more desirable than the sigh-inducing issuing of support that he now lamentably chooses.

Ferguson's prolonged support for the Glazer ownership is damaging. It not only undermines warranted worry from those with the club's best interests at heart, but it also warps the reality for the wider support who seek appeasement rather than contemplating what is going on underneath the shiny facade. The club desires little introspection from its support. "Real fans" should remain mute with eyes tightly shut, the message seems clear - a suggestion that evidently queries the adoration of those who, because they care, seek to destroy what is crippling the club.

Manchester United's ownership and the way it has been presented has been criminally deceptive. From Ferguson, to Gill, to the wider support feeding off their mistruths, the reality is often replaced by what the club wants everyone to believe. Certain moments - lack of success; financial results; the recent IPO listing - create temporary storms, sending what appears to be the wider support into disharmony. But a signing later, or a run of wins, and it quells once more, leaving the outrage and calls for action to be replaced by a predictable resignation and acceptance of the way things are. Little has changed since the infamy of May 2005; the majority still disapprove, but only when it suits. The Glazers are winning and have won for the last 7 years.

In truth, the motives behind Ferguson's support are difficult to ascertain. Those clinging to the romanticism of a hero being unable to fall will privately believe that the public statements are a far cry from his private actions. Cynics will purport that with a hefty pay-package in his back pocket and a career almost over he is ensuring his last days are untroubled and left uninfluenced by those above him. Those most aggrieved will render his messages of support treacherous, enormous stains on an indescribably triumphant career. Ultimately, no matter what his reasoning is, the sad sound of Ferguson attaching tags such as "great" "fantastic" and "wonderful" to those who have set a rot into the club he helped make great is inexcusable.

To add further insult, those who are the club - the supporters - and who were there long before him and will be there long after he has gone, have had their devotion questioned for the simple act of caring. Alex Ferguson is not, for all his otherworldly achievements and genius, Manchester United. Nor are the Glazers, or the players, or the illimitable hangers-on who scurry elsewhere when the moment suits. The supporters are the club. To vilify them for opposing the repulsion of an ugly ownership is loathsome. Ferguson is perhaps the only manager in the world who could have performed the juggling act of the last 7 years - of achieving success with a club in spite of the way it was being run. But his comments of last weekend, and the many others that have preceded it, have cast large shadows. Evidence, perhaps, that being the greatest manager doesn't necessarily make you the greatest of men.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1617993 2012-06-22T06:06:42-04:00 2012-08-22T05:12:22-04:00

Mark Kelleher http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mark-kelleher/
Now home, players and management are being subjected to intense scrutiny amid fears over what the future holds for Ireland's national team. With a number of their most esteemed players on the precipice of international retirement, an enormous bellow of 'overhaul' has issued from those thrown into despondency with their recent failings. Having somewhat fortuitously worked their way through a tricky qualifying group and play-off, trepidation was always going to accompany their trips to Poznan and Gdansk - but it is the manner of their defeats that has drawn daggers. Miracles were never envisioned, but people expected more.

Ireland, for all their heart and endeavour, have never been aesthetically pleasing. Prone to lamentably slow build-up play and largely reliant on playing to the maximum of their limitations, it was with considerable surprise that they even reached Poland. Having survived a Muscovite blitzkrieg thanks to a Richard Dunne-inspired act of heroism, lady luck had finally decided to shine for a country whose declining economy had set its populace into a depression. Reaching the European Championships was, many agreed, the lift a fallen country needed to restore hope. The group stage was duly traversed and Estonia, Ireland's play-off opponents, were brushed aside with pleasing ease. Throughout the qualifying processes' later stages, however, ridicule had dogged Giovanni Trapattoni's days. While many employed a faith in the Italian's project, others bemoaned his conservative style and a number of inclusions and exclusions that appeared to make little sense. An unfounded faith, it was decided, was placed in players who didn't merit it. Others, who did, were either not being picked or not being used.

Following his squad selection for the Championships, few took issue with the manager's decisions. There were only three notable absentees - Keith Fahey was sidelined with injury; James McCarthy opted out citing personal reasons; Seamus Coleman, for whatever reason, was deemed dispensable. A man of few surprises, Trapattoni's eleven to do battle with Croatia was predictable in names and what was to come. Barely had the last note of "Amhrán na bhFiann" aired and Ireland were a goal down - an inexcusable start that became a trend 4 days later in Gdansk. Laboured and incapable of stringing sufficient passages of plays together, Ireland's 3 losses exposed what time-served veterans knew only too well: they were simply not good enough to operate to the standard that is required.

Those who could usually be called upon when faced with adversity could do little to quell the waves of attacks that quickly felled them. Shay Given, perhaps unfit, was unusually jittery and was culpable for a number of goals. John O'Shea appeared overwhelmed and showcased the very laboriousness that rarely goes unpunished at the highest of levels. Kevin Doyle huffed, puffed and did little more. Robbie Keane was anonymous. Others looked distinctly out of their depth, while those who could possibly had made some difference as starters were introduced too late to do anything as substitutes. Indeed it was Keith Andrews, and Keith Andrews alone, who was the only one who did himself some semblance of justice in Ireland's short-lived campaign. The red mist that descended over him in the final game against Italy was somewhat understandable for a player who had done his utmost and whose frustrations were mirrored by those grimacing in the stands. In reality, few could fault the efforts of those who attempted but failed to reap some reward. Mediocrity is readily exposed and pushed out of the way at this level; sometimes heart and pride in one's shirt just isn't enough - particularly when up against the efficiency of Croatia, or the grinding quality of the Italians, or - sadly - the surreal brilliance of Spain.

But while dreams of qualification from the group may have been just fantasy, there is still a way to approach things properly. In many instances, Giovanni Trapattoni did not. Following the Croatia defeat, a game in which Ireland were outplayed due to fronting a majorly inferior midfield, the only correct course of action to take when faced with Spain's excellence was to deploy an extra man in the middle and lose one up front. This he did, with Kevin Doyle - who, gallingly, was more impressive than Keane against Croatia - dropping out. In normal circumstances, a central midfielder with a modicum of energy would be emplaced to deal with the workload in store. Darron Gibson, it appeared to all, would be drafted in at Doyle's expense. As it turned out, it was Simon Cox - a struggling striker at West Brom - who was duly given the role. Ireland plodded onto the fielded and off it again without having mustered much of a chance, predictably slain. A loss was always likely, of course, but the least a team can do is make it some bit harder for the other. Ireland failed to do so, thrice, and left Poland having not left any imprint.

Dissecting Ireland's three loses is largely irrelevant to the wider issues at hand. It is the greater past that needs to be learned from and, most pertinently, the future that needs to see in a new era of change. Ireland do not harbor a wide pool of outstanding talent. It is easy to bemoan the present and giddily yearn for dramatic change, but more often than not other options do little to inspire. For Ireland, there is some hope, but fantasists have lulled themselves into a fall sense of renewal. James McClean does, as seen by all but his manager, need to be granted the opportunity to make the left side of midfield berth his own. James McCarthy, perhaps the finest young talent at Ireland's disposal, needs to become the midfield lynchpin that has been missing since Stephen Ireland became a fiction writer. At the back, or at right midfield - if played regularly by his club there -, Seamus Coleman has the cunningness and drive to enliven a side that has been stagnating for too long. Up front, a review needs to take place, too. Robbie Keane's admirable international career is closing in on its final chapter, while Kevin Doyle needs to show more potency if he is ever to be a success at this level. In the wings, Shane Long has the raw talent needed to be Keane's successor, but will only do so if given the opportunities that his last 12 months at club level has deserved. Ciaran Clark is another who, in time, will be a valuable outlet for an Ireland side that is dire need of a facelift.

Elsewhere, battle-cries have been issued in support of those whose merits are questionable. Anthony Pilkington has impressed at Norwich, but has - at 24 - so far failed to declare for an international side. Wes Hoolahan, Pilkington's team-mate, has traversed the lower leagues and should have secured more than his one international appearance At 30, he is now unlikely to offer much in the way of Ireland going forward. The players to herald some form of change, therefore, appear to be at Ireland's disposal but it takes a bit more than replacing elder statesmen with youth to get you to where you want to be.

Giovanni Trapattoni's success in leading a distinctly limited side to a European Championship was rightly applauded for its near-genius navigation. Luck may have sometimes played its part, but his shaping of the side into a solid, hard to beat unit ensured they acquired more points than a squad of its limited talent should have. While his conservatism in approach failed miserably in Poland, the ugliness of grinding out results has ensured his record remains decent. Now, however, Ireland needs a reform and part of the larger question is if the Italian is the right man to see it in. Notoriously stubborn, the fear is that Trapattoni will refuse to implement a new system and a new gaggle of players to shape it. With just a few months to go before 2014's World Cup challenge begins, there is little time to dwell on what can be done to make Ireland more serious competitors. Reliant, perhaps, on retirements in the meantime, time will tell if Trapattoni will abandon past methods and embrace the change Ireland needs for its future. Concentration will be focused primarily on personnel, but individuals and youth are little if the shape and style they are used with doesn't suit them. First and foremost, Trapattoni needs to inject quality into his midfield. Pace is needed, too, and the defensive soundness that led them to their first major tournament in a decade needs to remain intact.

With limited resources, putting these traits in place is a difficult task. The conservative approach may again need to be deployed against Europe's elite, but there is no reason why Ireland cannot improve stylistically and battle well against most nations. Brazil 2014 may come a little too soon for a reshaped Ireland, but the foundations need to be put in place almost immediately if, as its supporters desire, they are to become a team who are about performances as well as results. Trapattoni's task is immense, but the truly great managers thrive on adversity. It is now up to him to secure both Ireland's long and short term future. Following the sad pain of Poland, the coming years need to inspire and excite.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1569315 2012-06-04T18:23:30-04:00 2012-08-04T05:12:12-04:00

Mark Kelleher http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mark-kelleher/
Now that the campaign is over and has been subjected to an intense autopsy, many will cite the Wigan, Everton and City collapses as the harbingers of failure. Highlighting a trio of games where United - seemingly on the precipice of a 20th title - fell asunder as the moments that broke their title charge has merit, but to many it was merely symptomatic of a team who have declined steadily over the last four years. Amassing 89 points did little but beautify a campaign where United looked distinctly un-United for large spells. An improved away record on the season before last may have ensured United's form was commendable, but even the most catatonic of observers would note performances on the pitch have failed to inspire. Descending from the visuals of fluidity to the groans of functionality, United are now more about efficiency than effervescence - a damning reality given what the club once stood for.

Tracking the reasons behind the downfall of United's style is easy because there are so many aspects to it. A failure to ignite the team with fresh faces, particularly in the now infamous midfield abyss, has ensured United's approach is now pockmarked by a slowness and ponderousness that is readily exposed when faced with an opposition who get tight and move with pace. As reflected in the gulf in quality throughout both Bilbao ties, United are prone to affording too much space and time to those who will ultimately punish you if given too many opportunities. It was a flaw in United's armour that was further exposed in the 4-4 draw with Everton - a game that they could, incredibly, have ended up losing despite leading 4-2 with seven minutes remaining. Shock may have reigned in the immediate aftermath, but reflections afterwards were alarming in that most who can be true themselves conceded that such a conclusion wasn't surprising.

If United's collective lack of quality and character were exposed that day, their keeling over at Eastlands soon afterwards bore more evidence of their prolonged struggles. Alex Ferguson, for all his mastery in the managerial field, has never been a tactical-magician. While the squad's limitations may have rendered his team selection difficult, his refusal to approach the game with a mindset anything other than negative was a costly decision that ensured City edged closer to the title. United were a ghostly sight at City and their cringe-inducing petering out was in stark contrast to the old United who, even if things didn't work out, at least lost in a manner that was admirable. Failing to register a single shot on goal when a win would have all but secured a league title was not, even the most blinkered conceded, United in its classical sense. Hefty criticism was rightly directed towards Ferguson in the wake of the defeat, but underlying United's core for a number of years now is a lack of mobility, stealth and flair - everything they once proudly stood for.

Early in the season, there appeared a new optimism stemmed from the ease with which United were coasting along. Having disposed of an unconvincing Spurs, the 8-2 slaughter-spree that felled Arsenal brought with it a renewed hope that the conservatism of past years had been displaced by a swaggering relentlessness. Increasing gaps may have been spreading in midfield, but the almost reckless approach employed by United at least ensured they were doing what all supporters crave: entertaining. As it happened, much like the young nymph who swaggers into town only to be a transformed into a haggard old drunk hours later, they slipped from the enamouring to the aggravating. While tightening was the sensible thing to do, much of what United continued to do for the rest of the season was devoid of electricity and dependent on efficiency. The return of Scholes - a lamentable necessity, despite his ceaseless brilliance - added some modicum of class to United's eleven, but his presence was merely a bandage over a widening wound. Both Scholes and Carrick are more than capable of providing tidiness, but crucially cannot be trusted upon to cope when faced with a sprightly opposition. This has little to do with their respective credentials but everything to do with the failure to surround them with those who can complement their grace with needed grittiness. It should, of course, be noted that United were unfortunate in losing Tom Cleverely for large spells of the campaign. His early assuredness may have blurred perceptions into thinking he was the wunderkind to overthrow all woe, but his craft is one that would have added options to a squad in dire need of them. The rest who waited in the wings inspired little or nothing: Darren Fletcher is sidelined for an indefinite period; Phil Jones experienced a stark regression as the season wore on; Anderson has locked himself in a room and has pleasingly scoffed the key; the kids lurking below in the youth squads are not yet all right.

Such realities only throw spotlight on the necessity for United to do as most aspiring sides do and spend. As quality has regressed, it should come as little surprise that character - the one trait above all that defines United - has taken a slump with it. United may have easily brushed aside a number of inferior sides throughout the season, but notably fixtures that once appeared doable were too often uncomfortable. Some may purport that the general quality of the league has improved and there are now no easy fixtures, but it doesn't help when you afford the opposition acres of space to inflict harm. Where once before they would have got away with stumbling to victory, the dark force looming across town and a potentially reinvigorated Chelsea squadron ensures United have sparse wiggling room. Improvement is needed and it is needed instantly.

Craving a return to what was enrapturing brings with it criticism. Cries of being spoiled will ring the air from those who become distressed by critiques. Stats will be produced by those bent on reducing what is a fundamentally simple game to a confusing mess. Most realists will readily accept that all teams go through some form or decline over time, but it is not a sin to desire the return of a high standard a club set for itself. Unearthing the reasons behind United's regression - in style, at the very least - isn't a difficult task. Financially impaired by their debt-loading owners, it would appear the days of splashing big have indefinitely ceased. The most fervent of criticism is rightly directed to those who have destabilised the club's foundations, but Ferguson and his players have not been without fault. Obscure selections at critical times hampered United along the way. The eleven selected to face City in what was essentially a title-decider had the hallmarks of a nightmare and was suitably punished for its negativity. The selection of Park and the shunning of Valencia gave City an impetus when United were in no position to proffer hope. What we are experiencing now is particularly alien to what was for long witnessed in Alex Ferguson's Manchester United; the swagger, the win at all costs, the cancelling out no matter how many is conceded, has been displaced by a conservatism in approach and a decline in excitement.

United have failed to convince for quite some time because, in reality, they don't have enough quality: a strong overall squad, yes, but too often the starting eleven is devoid of the necessary quality that is needed for the level a club of its status should be operating at. With a lamentably limited transfer budget in hand, Ferguson has needed to be wise in his movements. Yet a long period of time has passed since a signing has been made that has immediately improved the starting eleven. Last summer's captures of Young and Jones improved the squad considerably, but their arrivals came at a time when any money that was at hand was needed to improve a flailing eleven. Another summer cannot pass where United fail to enliven the areas that have stagnated for too long. But the questions remain: how much money, if any, is available - and if some is, how much of it will be spent wisely on the improving the eleven.

The archetypal United mode was barely in existence last season. Revisiting more illustrious times in the hope they may return might sound idealistic, but above all supporters tend to want to be entertained. Crucially, it's not all doom and gloom for this current United side. There is a lot there to work with and some of its younger troops - namely Welbeck, Smalling, Jones and Cleverely - are still acclimatising themselves to the rigors of the league. It would be dramatic to state a complete overhaul is needed in order for United to get back to where everyone wants them to be, but a considerable amount does need to be done. A number of players - Anderson and Park, for instance - need to be shown the door, while doubt still remains over a number of others. An injection of pace and a wealth of quality is needed not to solely benefit attack, but also to ensure the gaps that lead the way to the defence are closed.

What has separated United from most other sides around Europe has been their propensity for the dramatic. Whether it's carving sides open with blitzkrieg-like attacks, or attaining success in the most unlikely of circumstances, the club is defined by its ability to produce when it looks as though all hope has died. Propelled by endless waves of attack, United were once at their most deadly when a goal behind - it was then, spurred on by the terror of failure, that the opposition was reduced to a whimpering wreck and United moved into their comfort zone. Tellingly, United failed to win a single league match after going behind last season - drawing three and losing five of the eight where they fell behind. To put it simply: going behind does not now fuel a club that once thrived on jousting back from a seemingly lost battle. In dire need of midfield dynamism, it is only through the purchasing of quality that the character of old can return. Worryingly the required finances may not be in place to reclaim it.

Manchester United are by no means a mediocre, or finished, side. The attractiveness of the United of old may have been in short supply last season, but the attainment of 89 points did at least prove that there is enough weaponry there to not lose all hope. However, such is the nature of Manchester City's rise, it would be suicidal for United to dawdle like they have done over the last few years. Now is not the time to invest what little money there is in unknown prospects, squad players and areas of the team that are not as immediately in need of faces as midfield. As summer progresses, United's intentions will come to light. Alex Ferguson can bemoan enormous transfer fees and wages - paying little attention to the ugly sums being siphoned out of the club - but United need to act, and to act now, or they will be in danger of aiding the enemy's pursuit of glory.

Unless money is freed up to secure a number of players, the horrific sights of the last campaign's closing moments will become a sad regularity. Desiring good football is not being spoiled or discarding the importance of winning points regardless of how well a side plays; however, as shown regularly last season, United only ever do themselves real justice by rolling along with the rapidity that fuelled the greatest moments in the club's history. Few managers would have brought United to the brink of a 20th title with a team who, for the most part at least, looked to be running on empty. An injury crisis further hampered United's season - they would almost certainly have won it if not for the surreal list of casualties that continued to grow - but improvement is needed. Time will tell if the broken places can be fixed and if those of us lost in nostalgia will soon see a return to the moments that made us not only adore the club but also the game itself.

*Postscript: Tuesday's news that Shinji Kagawa has agreed to a move to Manchester United is - credit to the club - the first step in repairing areas that have long been broken. The Japanese playmaker's arrival needs to be a start - not an end - to United's summer transfer dealings.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1494588 2012-05-07T06:41:51-04:00 2012-07-07T05:12:01-04:00

Mark Kelleher http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mark-kelleher/
Intrigued by where the desires of most reds fell, I asked via Twitter how many, in a hypothetical situation, would abandon the securing of a 20th league title if it meant the owners left in the summer. My intentions were solely focused on intrigue: how many, I wondered, would cast aside short-term glory for long-term health. Most, pleasingly, admitted with some pain that they would forfeit this title - even to that lot - if it meant United were propped more efficiently for future charges. They would withstand momentary pain if the possibility of long-term pleasure could potentially be secured. Others said no, not this year - not with it being City. Not wanting to indulge in the terminal boredom of cyber-warfare, I noted their position and moved on.

One, however, recoiled in instant indignation and, be it through inebriation, mental disturbance or just plain idiocy, felt triggering a torrent of abuse my way was justified for the audacity of putting forward a hypothetical situation. I was, it was soon to be declared, not a 'true red,' 'scum' and a particularly harsh word that rhymes smoothly with 'punt.' Not one to entertain misguided fruit-loops, I merely stated my reasons for my particular stance and suggested he took his to a corner and play safely with them. Since then, however, as United's galling capitulation has led them to sure runners-up, he keeps coming back. Dealing with delusional types is no great strain, but the wider issues stemming from his outrage are curious. Unable to contend with the prospect of United temporarily bereft of success, there are many who would choose immediate glory and carry on rather than mend something that will continue to break. This, to me, is worse than losing out on a league title

Since the 2005 acquisition of United by the Glazer family, much - but ultimately not enough - has been made of the effect their running of the club has had over its fortunes. The great irony, of course, is that despite the landing of enormous door-darkening debt, the 7 year period since their arrival has largely been a successful one. Whilst all reds rightly welcome success, the unfortunate reality is that the garnering of trophies into the club appeases the majority who will as a result care little about what is happening elsewhere. Following United's defeats at Wigan and City, and the crushingly poor collapse at home to Everton, much was again made of 'Glazernomics' - as if the absurdity of their actions only becomes important when the fear of on-field failure looms.

While a vocal minority remain stringent in their opposition towards United's parasitic owners, the heads of the vast majority are stirred only when the pursuit of glory is compromised. Those too deflated by the grotesque pilfering of profit have boycotted, ensuring that, while the enormity of United's fickle support renders their positions ultimately futile, their principles lie firmly intact. Most, even those vehement in their ire towards the owners, simply could not walk away. Many others just do not care enough - or won't, at least, until success dries up. Sustained success has ensured many have remained quiet. The delusion that if the exterior is enamouring, the interior must be fine has damaged all possibility of making the owner's positions uncomfortable.

Coupled with glory, the sight of Sir Alex Ferguson extolling praise for the club's 'brilliant' owners does little to offer hope that the support's heads may sway in the right direction. Drawn in by his unbridled genius, there are many out there who will take his words with a trust that is as saddening as it is naive. Ferguson may well purport that his American bosses have been 'excellent' for the club, but a quick scan of the yearly books since their takeover reduce his words to empty lies. Yearly now Ferguson has proffered some other lame excuse as to why United have failed to spend on the areas in most need. Just this weekend, he lamented the state of the market, finger pointed towards City's heaped money-bags. The message is simple: we cannot compete. Yet, United continue, unlike 99% of clubs around Europe, to make an enormous yearly profit. The problem is that, rather than invest large sums into a labouring squad, huge money is drawn outwards to service debt. Supporters may weep over the gargantuan funds on hand at Eastlands, but the reality is simple: a debt-free United would make enough money per year to compete with any of the top European clubs. No amount of spoofing can deny this.

As a result of a failed campaign - one where each trophy has been surrendered without much of a fight - those looking for someone to blame will now turn their heads towards the Glazers. Already a slew of figures are being brought to the fore. Net spends and interest payments, wasted funds and comparisons to other big-hitters - concern has been rolled out because celebration has been cancelled. Autopsying the detrimental effects of the Glazer regime is always an enlightening, if sobering, experience and should be welcomed at all times. But for any real difference to be made, United's support needs to be as repulsed by its owners in success as it is in defeat. Many now squirm at the rise of the green and gold campaign that temporarily trained sight on the owners, but it did what it was meant to do: raise awareness. That such an exercise had to be forced before the eyes of the majority is a damning indictment in itself and proved that anger is merely a temporary emotion that can be curbed by winning. The sad reality is that while many proclaim to care, most do not care enough.

The reasons rolled out by those who are blasé when it comes to contemplating the lasting effects of the Glazers are predictable and offer little hope. Some will say football lost Its soul long ago and the road to ruin is something we all must get used to. Others will state that the politics should be left to the suits and the game should be left to the man in the street. Accusations of idealism are levelled towards those denouncing what is fundamentally wrong with the game.

The irony, of course, is that those who moan loudest are those who care the least about things that truly matter. The supporter who'll highlight the death of football will curse the silence of stadiums. The supporter who'll suggest shying away from politics will have no issue lamenting price increases, or bemoan a lack of signings, or the illimitable PR waffle issued by all clubs. Attempting to make a difference is only idealistic because not enough people are willing to try. As a result, the game falls further into disrepair in many circles because the only ones who can make a real difference, the supporters, choose not to.

Hypothetical situations may appear superfluous to many, but they're a valuable way of gauging attitudes. Now that City's claws are all but set on the league title, the prospect of losing out to the bitter enemy is a hard one to bear. I understood those who said they'd find it immensely difficult to surrender a title to those who they grew up to abhor. One supporter said he would, begrudgingly, let it loose if United's health was sustained long-term - for two simple reasons: he loved United more than he hated City and he loved United more than he loved success. I sided with the option of surrendering a title not because I devalue the euphoria of success, or because I don't despise City - and what they are doing - as much as the next red. I was merely willing to let go of one title to ensure future strides towards future titles were not crippled like they have been. United's success throughout the Glazer period is a testament to the genius of Ferguson. Even as runners up this season, with an admirable points total, no one can say United have been convincing. Nor have they been for quite some.

Those too entangled in football's tribalism and too obsessed with moments on the pitch will stress that eradicating the enemy, in this instance City, is the most important thing. The real enemy, however, is surely those who are compromising our chances of keeping up with the scoundrels across town. The real enemy are those draining the club of the funds that could be used, oh I don't know, on improving quality to keep up with those who are improving all the time. The most vocal abuse should be directed towards the leeches who have put absolutely nothing in and taken huge sums out. Whether in a stage of success or distress, anyone who really loves the club and the prospect of its future - not just the immediate present - should want the Glazer family out. We only hear their name now because the expected May billowing of 'Champions' has evaded us in recent weeks.

Some will claim that putting forward such a hypothetical situation, given it's an impossibility, is only divisive and smacks of trying to come across as a 'top red.' If so, fine - though being accused of division by those seemingly unaware of the larger impacts of the Glazer ownership is a slight bit ironic. The reality is that the question was merely an attempt to gauge opinion - to see how many, with seemingly one hand on a title at the time, would let go if it meant future pushes towards glory were made without an overhanging cloud. Craving a title, particularly given the alternative is sickening, is nothing to be ashamed of. But totally ignoring the damage waged against the club by its parasitic owners is.

The ultimate goal of the question was to see how many would substitute short-term glory for long-term health - health that would, of course, oversee even more fulfilment in years to come. Everyone is entitled to their side of their argument. Ultimately, given that nothing happened when it really should, reality dictates that nothing will happen now. The thought, nay the terror, of not winning trophies is seemingly too much for too many to change. Or maybe they will change, if prolonged success - as it very well may - evades them for an extended period. One wonders if they'd go back and say yes then.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1454244 2012-04-26T06:05:35-04:00 2012-06-26T05:12:01-04:00

Mark Kelleher http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mark-kelleher/
The game itself coaxes a rarefied form of disturbance out of those whose entire lives are dictated by its perplexing nature. But this particular campaign has set a new bar for oddity, as evidenced by a litany of occurrences over the course of the season. A few years ago, very few would have envisioned a title joust being confined to the environs of the North West.

Manchester City were largely decimated, while their red neighbours across town were as bent on success as they had ever been. Yet here we are, days from a show-down that will be enjoyed by neutrals and dreaded by those whose hearts will be obliterated by its drama. If the absurdity of this title, with all its associations, coming down to the wire isn't enough to certify the game as abnormal, one of the players taking part will: Mr. Paul Scholes

Such was his near-seamless transition back into playing mode, one could be forgiven for thinking Scholes hadn't gone through a stint at retirement. A fulcrum of United's consistency post-Christmas, any doubts that Scholes couldn't do himself, and United, justice anymore were soon allayed by the ease with which the wizard settled back onto his midfield throne. His return, a surprise despite the whispers, came at a time when United craved a return to midfield order and his subsequent form since has aided United's resilient charge towards a 20th league title.

Doubt still remains over precisely why Scholes, who had six months earlier proclaimed his legs had gone, decided to return. Official word from Ferguson stated Scholes had approached him. The coaching role at reserve level had failed to snare his enthusiasm and he was missing it. A new hunger had consumed him and regret - a trait most wouldn't attach to the notoriously reserved Scholes - had forced him to foot his way into Ferguson's office with a request that would always be accepted.

But Ferguson's word is always to be met with a raised eyebrow. An almost pathological liar, his unceasingly incomprehensible managerial style ensures much of what he states is met with instant suspicion. Had his returning star really come a-begging, or - more plausibly - had player and needful club met half way? Given United's ever-gaping midfield abyss, coupled with their pre-New Year form, cynics would unquestionably suggest it was indeed United who initiated Scholes' odd resurrection.

Not that the majority of the club's supporters dwelled on it too long. In the immediate aftermath of the announcement, many bypassed shock and accepted the joy nostalgia brings. Whether enthusiasm for Paul's return stemmed purely from the beauty his game produces, or from a lingering desperation to repair what's broken, or indeed both, was open to discussion. As one who grew up religiously adoring his movements, I had my own feelings when news broke of his coming out of retirement: immediate despondency, for a number of reasons.

Last August, I made a now rare visit to Old Trafford to bid farewell to a master of the game in its purist form. Safe in the knowledge that it would be him, and not United's siphoning owners, who would pocket my money, I felt obliged to go and say two goodbyes: firstly, to Scholes, who had enlivened my youth when football was strictly football and devoid of the politics that drive one's adulthood support of the game frequently into despair.

Secondly, I would part ways - once more - with Old Trafford, not knowing when I would ever be able to return. Having studied the unforgiveable destruction wrought against the club by its parasitic owners, I, like a small portion of United's enormous support, felt unable to justify handing over money that would not go towards the team, but to a Floridian family. My visits were now confined to testimonials - drab fares immersed in poor football, orchestrated 'atmospheres' and silly goodbyes.

The closing moments of Paul Scholes testimonial were illimitably harder to bear than any loss I'd attended, or cup exit, or defeat at the hands of the enemy. It further cemented the very reasons why I've always loved the game: not for trophies, but for the moments that lead to trophies. Spread passes, thunderous volleys, the manipulation of space that Zidane mastered and Scholes, whilst not quite as good, nevertheless has shared throughout the entirety of his wondrous career. Scholes aptly rounded off his night with a customary thunderbolt before rounding the pitch with his children. That was it: goals, trophies, an exemplary pass completion rate - all ended with a shy wave and a final walk down the tunnel.

I stayed behind that night, not wanting to let go and, whilst not teary-eyed, sombre at least in the knowledge that it could be years before I'd ever go back. Months on, his announcement that his career wasn't in fact over, and was about to be rekindled, brought laughs from those who knew I'd spent a considerable sum of money to be there on the day. Jokes about refunded tickets ensued, a preposterous idea given I'd happily have emptied my bank account just to see the wizard kick an orange into an empty field. But I was, admittedly, sad: because he hadn't been allowed to retire quietly and the underlying, deeply unsettling, issues his return only further highlighted. In short, I lamented his return.

Facing into Monday's showdown, supporters are already presiding over personnel and formations and who and which would be best to gun down a recently rejuvenated City side. Given United are in the precarious situation where a draw would be decent, many are suggesting the most sensible approach would be to stop them rather than start at them. Talks of a midfield 5, lined out in order to combat City's roaming Silva and Toure, have been put forward by those who believe to be conservative, given our limitations, is the only way to nullify City's wealth of attacking options.

The inclusion of Scholes and Carrick is a certainty, primarily because they are realistically United's only two reliable options. Picking a third to nestle in alongside them is difficult and only serves to highlight exactly what is wrong, and has been wrong for a number of years, with this current United squad. The list of candidates for a potential third berth reads as follows: Ryan Giggs, Phil Jones and Tom Cleverely - and, at a push, a deep-set Wayne Rooney. Or, in other words: a creaking winger, a shambling defender, a brand-conscious prospect and a striker.

Symptomatic of a club laden with debt, United's midfield options have been slack for a lamentably prolonged period and have been predominantly ignored for the most part. Whether through managerial negligence, or a lack of funds, or both, United's midfield options are in no way adequate for the standard at which they should be operating. The saddening aspect of Scholes' return is that no matter how joyous it is to see him still dominate, no matter how devastatingly heavenly those long arching balls will always look, recalling him and relying so heavily on him out of necessity is a depressant. Reinstating old heroes is fine if surrounded by young contenders, but Scholes' influence over the side since his return has only served to highlight that an attempt to replace him when he called time on his career should have occurred.

That it didn't opens up all sorts of disturbing issues. His pivotal role and restoration of order to what had been a porous side threw further light on a damning failure to do what was right at the time: get someone in who would enliven and improve a despairingly light, quality-lacking, midfield. If Scholes became the harbinger of consistent results to United, he also became the deliverer of the harsh truth: that someone was needed badly. Without him, City could well have been champions by now.

All told, the return of Paul Scholes to Manchester United's playing squad brought with it a host of juxtaposing emotions. Ultimately, if United snare what has become an increasingly difficult league title to grasp, the romanticism surrounding his role in it will be another highlight in a career laden with brilliance. If City win on Monday and race on towards glory, they will not have done so without a battle fought against a ginger-led battalion with fight embedded in their DNA. Title or no league title, he has earned himself a contract for being one of the season's key performers - both a telling tale of his brilliance and a damning indictment of United's current midfield options.

The pleasure borne out of seeing Scholes recreate the on-field poetry of old is marred by a sadness by the circumstances that surround it and the fact it will come to an end again soon. No purist could deny that the sight of Paul Scholes, exuding that terrifying air of total casualness, ignites a hope that the game has not been lost to the huff and puffers of the football world.

As a child, my football hero was not, as it should have been - hailing from Cork, Roy Keane. Keane was a sociopathic leader of men, a winner who could play, too. But Paul Scholes was a leader of the ball, a player who manipulated it so well you often had the impression that it was attached to a length of rope grasped tightly in his hand. Keane's presence in the team showed me value of never giving in.

Scholes, however, supplied the fix that kept bringing me back to my love for the true beauty of the game: an artistry only a select few can ever produce. Since January I've begun to hate my immediate reaction to his return - purely because he has reproduced many of the moments that made saying goodbye so hard first time around. Like any advocate of beauty, I've thoroughly enjoyed, even loved, his return to football. Not solely for the benefit he has offered to Manchester United's title challenge, but most importantly for the supply of sheer joy his moments on the field always produce. No matter what happens on Monday, be it celebration or capitulation, a desultory season has been illuminated by a ginger asthmatic. I just can't help but lament the host of reasons that made his return a necessity.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1416229 2012-04-10T18:06:46-04:00 2012-06-10T05:12:01-04:00

Mark Kelleher http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mark-kelleher/ that was the defining moment. Up until that split second, his short United career had been obituarised and wrought with doubt, to the point where even the most ardent of optimists had begun wringing their hands. United, as is woven into their DNA, had resurrected themselves from near-capitulation and restored a 3 goal deficit to draw level with a resurgent Chelsea. For a spell it looked as though a miracle, even by their unearthly standards, was about to take place. But having fended off a full collapse, Chelsea relented and, with a neatly positioned free-kick, were granted the opportunity to proffer a sting that could potentially have set flame to United's title hopes. Then it happened. With Juan Mata's rasping strike looking eagerly net-bound, the much maligned de Gea leapt to complete what, even now, still looks like a physics-defying finger-tipped save. The immediate joy centred on the sealing of a point, but something else had also been cemented: he had arrived.

Overly-analytical football observers tend to indulge in psychology to appear intellectually superior to those solely interested in the beauty of the game. Yet, in the immediate aftermath of de Gea's save, even the most catatonic of viewers would have noticed a change in his presence. Given their position is a team's last line of defence, it is goalkeepers who are the most autopsied of all players. Human error is rarely afforded forgiveness in football, particularly when mistakes lead to the loss of points and, subsequently, the collapse of a campaign. The early struggles of de Gea were well documented in acres of column space. While the young Spaniard's initial steps into the rigors of the Premier League were coupled with nervousness, the scathing nature of the criticism subjected towards him was unjustified. Purported experts in the field bemoaned an apparent lack of big-game experience, blissfully ignoring the fact he had already jousted his way to heights unseen by 'keepers 10 years his senior. Football critics have an issue with time. If a player, particularly a goalkeeper, doesn't perform immediately he is just as quickly castigated and flung to the wolves. And then, of course, time develops and humble pie is gorged on by all.

It would do a disservice to de Gea's recent rise to suggest his early form didn't inspire some discontent. Spoiled by the immaculate service of Edwin van der Sar's reign, United supporters had become somewhat unused to the sobering jitters of goalkeeping uncertainty. While some lamented de Gea's early nerves, others deemed it appropriate to write off a talent that had been unequivocal during his rise to prominence at Atletico Madrid. United perhaps played their own part in de Gea's early stumbling. Rather than relent with the Spaniard, reserve 'keeper Anders Lindegaard was drafted in to relieve the pressure heaped upon the youngster. It was the Dane's injury, however, and de Gea's extended run, which has finally added a sense of order to United's goalkeeping situation. Gone, it would appear, is the calamitous flapping and misjudgements that blighted his early days. Looking surer now and more commanding by the week, de Gea may not be United's most crucial outlet as they close in on another title, but a quick glance at his reel of highlights defines the impact his form has made throughout United's extended run of wins. His propensity for displaying the outlandish was once more seen at Blackburn last week, when he pulled off a string of saves at a time when United were pressurised and in dire need of success. It's not just a penchant for the spectacular that marks de Gea down as a natural heir to van der Sar's throne.

All goalkeepers should be hardwired to achieve the abnormal to benefit their team, but few have the ingredients needed in order to truly prosper at the highest level. What is often overlooked can frequently lead to what renders a player special. In de Gea's case, as it was with van der Sar, there is an order brought about through the efficient completion of the basics. Some 'keepers are quite content to propel the ball as far as they can so long as it's away from their direct vicinity; de Gea, however, is a one of those rare beasts whose distribution smacks of a man who would at times rather be traversing outfield as a deep-lying creative midfielder. His errors ironed out, he has potentially been the league's most competent stopper in the frenetic run in. As imperative to United's recent run of domination as anyone else, de Gea's moments of magic roll quickly from memory: at Norwich, when his policing of the area ensured the day was a defining one; at White Hart Lane, when a tricky deflected shot was successfully palmed away; against Bilbao, on both occasions, where further embarrassment was somehow staved off by his ability. He has quickly developed a consistency that should, save for a catastrophe, see him snare a league winner's medal shortly.

Such is the enormity of wages garnered by modern footballers, we - the saps in the stands - sometimes come to the conclusion that money diminishes the frailties of man. Mistakes appear unacceptable because, well, they're paid enough. Much of the early noise directed towards David de Gea centred on his nerve and how, because it was Manchester United, a player who couldn't adjust in the immediate was destined to be flogged before settling. Sensationalists perceived his early flaws as the mistakes of a child who would never acclimatise himself to the harsh climes of life at the top. Rationalists, however, accepted the disorder of the present, knowing full well that previous capabilities do not dissolve through a move abroad. Those too quick to condemn de Gea's early faults put his errors down to a lack of talent - an absurd view, given his previous competence with Atletico Madrid. His early mistakes, as anyone capable of applying logic to observance would testify, were borne out of a nervousness that time, as shown, would get rid of. Entrusted with a consistent run - a run pockmarked by considerable pressure - de Gea has eased himself into a period of excellence, a result that came as little surprise to those who had observed his talents for longer than the millisecond it took his critics to pour acid into their inkwells. The role of number one is now his - an extraordinary feat, one can concede, for a 21 year old who we were told was too flaky, too inexperienced, to ever claim the shirt as his own. His rise is not only a testament to the club, who tracked him for years and who emplaced faith in one so young, but also to the player himself, who rather than succumb to unjustified critiques, simply learned from his mistakes and moved on. Supporters often become reduced to whimpering wrecks as a result of their impatience. Dictated by the modern need for immediate results, a player is elevated into a hero or a villain after too short a period.

David de Gea's shift from jittery new-arrival to able number one has been exemplary, but not surprising. Modern football affords us as many moments to despair at as it does ones to celebrate, but one that shall forever remain pleasing can be found in the case of de Gea: players overcoming futile lashings from 'experts' to prosper as logicians only know they will. If, as seems likely, United attain a 20th league title in the coming weeks there will be a certain aptness about this particular success - not only because of their inherent resilience, but also in the way their form has mirrored their young goalkeeper's. Sluggish and slow to impress to begin with, a coming to form - when it really mattered - has put them in prime position to snare what their form over recent months deserves: a league title. ]]>