It may surprise many that a dyed in the wool United fan like me is more excited by the prospect of a clash with the reds of Liverpool than the light blues of Manchester City. Maybe that will change now that City have the money to compete at the top level. Maybe Carlos Tevez’ controversial transfer will rekindle the old rivalry. For the time being, the Liverpool game is still the one that gets my taste buds tingling.
I have a personal interest. I was born in Warrington, equidistant between the two football centres that hold 36 top level champions medals and eight European Cups. In 1968 my mate’s dad took Peter and I to Old Trafford. Chelsea beat us 3-1 at home, but the sight of Best, Law, Charlton, Crerand, Syles, Stepney and co strutting their stuff sealed my loyalty that season. We ended it losing the First Division title to City by the narrowest of margins, but compensated by upstaging the noisy neighbours by becoming the first English club to lift the European Cup in a 4-1 victory over Benfica.
I lived in Manchester throughout the 1970s when Liverpool eclipsed us completely. They were grim times. We got better. They got better still. Then, in the early eighties came the job offer that made the Manchester-Liverpool rivalry more acute than I could ever have imagined. I moved to Liverpool to work, met my wife and stayed. So there I was, a Man U fan living in Liverpool. It was like the moment Luke Skywalker entered the Death Star!
My wife is a Scouser. My four kids are Scousers. Two are Liverpudlians, one is an Evertonian and the other prefers fishing to football. It makes for a passionate, three-way civil war. We can’t watch the Man U-Liverpool games in the same room! My kids refer to me to their friends as: “My dad the Manc” or “My dad the woollyback.”
So who will be wearing a smile on January 9th and who will be in mourning. No contest. What price another hat-trick for Berbatov?
Alan Gibbons is author of Total Football and Julie and Me and Michael Owen Makes Three (Orion).
Berbatop
Berba-trap
Berba-dribble
Berba-twist
Berba-soul
Berba-header
Berba-goal!
Berba-challenge
Berba-run
Berba-tackle
Berba-fun
Berba-slick
Berba-control
Berba-bicycle kick
Berba-goal!
Berba-rescue
Berba-brilliance
Berba-grit
Berba-wise
Berba-movement
Berba-rise
Berba-nod
Berba-goal!
Berba-one
Berba-two
Berba-three
Berba- hat trick
Berba-win
Berba-adulation
Berba-joy
Berba-top
No Berba-flop.
Gutted
It should have been my day of rest,
A chance to get stuff off my chest.
It should have been United’s day.
But it didn’t turn out quite that way.
So I was gutted, gutted
The bathroom wall I could have butted.
I was gutted, gutted
Next door’s dog I could have nutted-
Yes, I was gutted!
There were warning signs in the first forty-five.
United looked more dead than alive.
Berbatov went walkabout
As for Ferdinand, he did nowt.
So I was gutted, gutted
The bathroom wall I could have butted.
I was gutted, gutted
Next door’s dog I could have nutted-
Yes, I was gutted!
Nando Torres latched on the pass,
Went past Rio, stepped on the gas,
Went in on goal
And destroyed my soul.
So I was gutted, gutted
The bathroom wall I could have butted.
I was gutted, gutted
Next door’s dog I could have nutted-
Yes, I was gutted!
We had a go, we pressed it hard
Then Vida went and got a red card.
Ninety minutes gone, oh no, oh no
They’ve scored again, it’s David Ngog!
That’s it then…
Day ruined….
Humiliated…
Pig…
Flippin….
SICK!
So I was gutted, gutted
The bathroom wall I could have butted.
I was gutted, gutted
Next door’s dog I could have nutted-
Yes, I was gutted!
(No dogs were hurt in the writing of this poem!)
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