Daring to do
Recently, there was a programme featuring the 50 most shocking moments in Premier League history. Even I was surprised by how many of those moments involved us being on the receiving end to Man Utd. I felt like a right little victim by the end of it. I was Simba. I was Tess of the d’Urbervilles. I was Stacey Slater.
In years gone by, this was the glamour game of English football, famous for goals and attacking intent. Although it retained the entertainment value, this existed only in the manner in which we’d get beaten. It became a fixture that no longer had any point to it. We’d turn up, lay back, smile and think of London as we got our obligatory seeing-to and were sent packing in the morning. It wasn’t even upsetting anymore. We were a default, win-in-their-sleep three points at the Theatre of Dreams.
If there’s a way to lose a game, or at least not win it, then we’ve found it during the last couple of decades of visits to Old Trafford. It doesn’t matter how unlikely or absurd the circumstances might be. From the one-sided to the painfully tight to the downright unjust, from humiliating hammerings to inexplicable comebacks, crazy capitulations to refereeing aberrations, we’ve had them all. From Mendes to Nani, Carrick to Gomes, those instances roll off the tongue like an A to Z of despair.
To change a run like that, you need something different to happen. You need a few things to go your way. On Saturday, the first of those was our mindset. It’s all very well saying that you’ll deal with a difficult fixture by attacking, but actually doing it is something else. Identifying the weaknesses in their re-jigged defence, we exploited them with a ruthlessness that you wouldn’t normally associate with Spurs. We picked off their lacklustre, ponderous attacks and hit them with the pace of Bale, Lennon, Dembele, Defoe and Vertonghen, tearing into the gaps with abandon right from the first whistle.
On so many occasions in the past, it was a ‘good time’ to play them – but that only made it a good time for them to have Tottenham as their next opponents. They might have been off in the first half, but we had to be ON it. They’ve been off before and we’ve either taken a short-lived lead or remained at parity until they decided to win the game. We had to take advantage of any lapses. We had to put ourselves in a position where we had a chance.
You also need some luck and a few (gasp) decisions to go your way. On most other visits, they would have got a penalty for Vertonghen’s tug on Nani and maybe even for Sandro’s handball, be it accidental or not. But it’s those kinds of things – and far less clear-cut ones – that have gone against us for countless visits there. My conscience is clear.
Above all, you need guts. I’d rather we didn’t sit back and defend for the entire second half. I’d rather we didn’t allow Rooney and Scholes the space to play killer passes. I’d rather a half of consummate composure and comfort didn’t give way to a half of utter carnage, of doing nothing more than keeping the ball out of our net. I’d rather we could hold onto the damn thing and relieve some of the pressure. I’d rather we didn’t just have to survive. But we did survive. The courage that characterised our purposeful opening also underpinned the intensity and determination of our second half rearguard. And anyway, who wins at Old Trafford without any problems?
When a few things go your way, when these powers combine, you can make the unlikely possible. You can end the run. You can make things happen. When you dare, you can do.