It Was Across a Crowded Bar
…..that their eyes met. Although the moment was brief, fleeting, both had felt it. Each had noticed the other. There she was, perched on a barstool – some might say a pedestal – in a tight, shimmering silver dress. Eyes of deep blue, golden hair tied up in blue and white ribbons. He doubted himself just as surely as the moment had happened. There was no way he was good enough for her. No way in hell. But when their eyes met again, he knew for sure. He had a chance. As unlikely as it seemed, he had a chance of snaring one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. But he had to strike now. If he didn’t move while the planets were aligned in his favour, leap through that celestial window while it was still open, then he wouldn’t get another opportunity. The moment would be gone forever, leaving a lifelong feeling of regret, of wondering what might have been. As he downed the remainder of his pint of Holsten and clambered off his stool, his heart thumped with an uncontrollable mix of excitement and fear, maybe even a little disbelief. He was doing it. He was actually approaching her. Here goes. Weaving in and out of the crowds, he made his way across the bar and met her shy smile with a smile of his own. He rested his forearm on the bar next to her and started to sit down.
A tall, athletic stranger pushed between them with a smile and a raising of a carefully cultivated eyebrow. The girl’s attention was suddenly arrested by the new arrival, leaving her previous suitor with his lips ajar, half-forming a greeting he would never utter. The stranger was quick, ruthless and clinical. In the blinking of an eye it took him to appear, he’d whisked her away. He wouldn’t show her the same love and devotion as the first man. In fact, she wouldn’t be his only priority. He’d probably be off coveting some European love interest in a few months. But with a mildly apologetic look back at the one who would have treated her right, the girl left with the stranger and disappeared into the night. The chance was gone. For now.
So ended our flirtation with the title. It was possible, it was conceivable and it was even realistic. But it’s also gone. We’ve spent a long time on the heels of the leaders. In the so-called crunch title games at Eastlands and Old Trafford, we’ve even matched them for periods. But when it’s come down to it, we haven’t had that same quality or ruthlessness. We’ve come up short. For all the ability in our team, we haven’t been good enough.
Sunday’s game at home to the champions wasn’t any different. I don’t know why we still bother playing fixtures with Man Utd. There doesn’t seem to be any point. We’ll probably be up for it, we might even play well for a while and look the most likely winners, but it always goes the same way. They’ll get chances and take them, and the only consolation we’ll have is the odd bit of controversy, the odd harshly disallowed goal or unnecessary booking because Ashley Young asked for it. Three goals conceded from more or less three attacks, with a lot of mistakes made in the process. A half where we’d been the better side, despite missing Parker, Van der Vaart and Bale. Lennon, finally in the side, to the fore. Evra and Jones beaten with abandon. But a corner out of nothing, an unmarked Rooney header and BANG – you’re losing. A fast-paced start to the second half, some pressure, some near-misses. Then we switch off from a throw-in, Friedel partially intercepts the cut-back and Walker tees it up beautifully for Young to volley in and turn a molehill into a mountain. And just to rub it in, only minutes later we let Young run half a mile before anyone closes him down, by which time the ball’s curling towards the top corner. It might have been Young, but it’s really getting old now.
The mind goes back to the Juande Ramos days, to a patched-up and reorganised defence that lacked leadership and had a startling ability to concede from virtually every attack. The mind goes back to a 6-4 thriller against Reading and a host of last-minute defeats to opposition that we’d dominated. It all goes to show that it doesn’t matter how much you dominate a side. You can play all the football and create all the chances in the world, but if you’ve got a soft centre and are likely to concede soul-destroying, confidence-sapping goals every five minutes, you’ve got no chance. It puts your attack under pressure, makes your defence nervous. We’ve shown a great deal of fight in recent times, fight that an old Spurs team probably wouldn’t have shown. Giving Inter Milan a four goal and one man head start and still making them hang on. Coming from two down to nick the points at the Death Star. But the impact of last week’s defeat at the same venue, and of playing well against United and somehow finding ourselves 3-0 down, was there for all to see as we faded away. That’s why Man Utd are champions. They can play like a toilet and still flush you down the pan. They’re ruthless. They’re clinical.
It’s been the worst week since the opening one of the season. It was always going to be a tough run of games, but they’ve proved even tougher than we expected. Is it all the speculation surrounding Harry? I’m not sure. The FA have said they’re in no rush to appoint Fabio’s successor, although it is a priority. All the bases covered there then boys. But like the girl in the bar, it would be nice if they at least made their intentions known. Then we’d know where we stood and be able to get on with our lives.
But get on with our lives we must, and the replay with Stevenage comes before our next league game. We’re on a bit of a hiding to nothing, particularly after the last couple of results, but we just need to get through it and keep things rolling. A 10 point lead can quickly become nothing. But we need to keep believing in ourselves. We still have more than enough ability to stay where we are. If we don’t, that’ll be more down to us not taking the chance than anyone else getting in first.