The "alleged best player in the world on current form"

The points stand at the conspicuous number 69, a good nine points clear of Chelsea (who indeed have a grand one game in hand), but let’s be very honest, I could have well been just 67 points after the game against Fulham. Indeed, it could have stayed at just 66 had a certain Edwin van der Sar not have anything to do with it.

Cue Christiano Ronaldo, who at the 88th minute showed his peers, his manager and the staff and board of my beloved Manchester United exactly why he deserves – demands even – a salary reflecting the club’s estimate of his talent.

What a difference 8 months make

In his shoes not many would play it differently; if United were to own the bragging rights to the alleged best player in the world on form, then they had better put their money where their mouths are. From Ronaldo to Ferguson, Gill et al: “Show me the money!”

Few would have interest to argue with the caveat-laden tag of ‘best player in the world on current form’ that Ronaldo has been said to warm up to of late. This time last year Thierry Henry would have easily deserved this, had it not been for the deserving Ronaldinho; I personally would have handed it to Henry who single handedly inspired and led his team of fledgling prodigies to within 13 minutes of Champions’ League victory – a large portion of the game played with only 10 players - only to be thwarted by the Brazilian's more accomplished team-mates.

Didier Drogba’s goals aside, it would be a tough argument for anyone to put the Ivorian in contention for this tag. Ronaldo’s goals on the other hand have spurred United on to where they currently are in the Premiership. Cesc Fabregas has been immense for Arsenal (I still think he should have taken a good swing at Lampard), but again Ronaldo’s influence on the growingly confident United team has been truly immeasurable. And great results aside there certainly doesn’t seem to be anybody from Liverpool – including Steven Gerrard – who can hope to compare with the twinkle-toed Ronaldo – on current form.

United will need more and more from him, in the light of Larsson’s return to Sweden in 10 days, and in clear and honest consideration of Rooney’s decline in form.

Without meaning to jinx it, the team seems to be peaking just at the right time though, and Giggs, Scholes and Saha are really coming into their own. Still, it only takes a rash or malicious tackle or an uneven pitch to throw the boy wonder from Medeira into the Old Trafford injury list, and along with it perhaps any chance of United wrestling the title they last won four years ago.

Best player in the world? On current form, definitely. Show him the money United!

Golf lessons this Saturday
The ‘current form’ phenomenon continues, and I for one will not begrudge Liverpool their recent results against Sheffield United and Barcelona, coming as it did in the wake of the slightly-too-exuberant night out in Portugal.

Rafa seems to have built a dream midfield, and new-kid-on-the-Kop Javier Mascherano looked the solid player he was at last year’s World Cup. That aside – on current form – he still isn’t their best central midfielder, and neither is Gerrard or Xabi Alonso. That honour belongs to Momo Sissoko, who was simply phenomenal in the Barcelona game. Another foray to the right wing for Gerrard perhaps?

All things said, this game has all the makings of a classic; but as all predicted classics go, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised with an eventual stalemate.

Liverpool vs. Manchester United
LIVE from Anfield. Saturday, March 3rd, 2007. 7.45 pm.

This is the match of the week!

The Manchester United juggernaut rolls on

Without sounding too proud, I'm delighted to say how much I enjoyed seeing my beloved Manchester United zoom past a hapless Tottenham Hotspurs on Sunday.

The first half was a frenetic affair, and there was a sense that if Spurs came up with the opening goal it could have been a difficult evening for United. But when Ronaldo scored (from a dubious penalty claim, I accept) there was only going to be one winner.

To be honest though, Larsson had a reasonable claim to a penalty from that careless Gardner tackle earlier on, which the referree didn't award. Another claim at the other end was also ignored, but in the end Spurs took home exactly what they brought to the game, which is to say precisely, nothing!

Many would say that the momentum is on the side of United at the moment, and their movement, squad depth and most importantly team spirit is at an all time high. It is their title to lose indeed.

The critics though will continue to go to town claiming United can win a title only at the expense of other teams' misfortune. These are those who say that had Cech, Terry and Joe Cole not been injured, Chelsea would definitely be ahead at this point.

Why the long face, Jose?

These are also those make the erroneous claim that United have been strangely fortunate to not have injuries in the course of the season, myopically ignoring the fact that Vidic - by far United's best player this season - didn't start the season. They will also conveniently forget that Giggs, Neville, Heinze and Saha have all had their spells with injury and needed to have been deputised time and again by their able replacements.

And they resolutely forget that Solksjaer made a two-year recovery before returning to the field and popping in the goals the way he has. Or that Alan Smith is still shrugging off the effects of a horrendous injury. Or that Scholes and Rooney were unavaiable for four matches at the start of the season, serving time for a longer than necessary suspension.

Worst of all, they can't seem to remember what the club with all the rubles in the world and their special manager once boasted - not too long ago - that they have enough so much strength in their squad, they actually have two first team players for every position.

... and on...
In recognition of that claim, let's all take a look at how things look like at the United bench (or indeed, the plush, Audi-branded bucket seats, as the case may be). I don't ever remember United going on a buying spree in past seasons - and I did indeed bemoan the bleak team sheet when the season began - yet it looks like there somehow seems to be enough to field another strong team in the Premiership.

Consider if you will: Kuszczak, Silvestre, Heinze, Brown, O'Shea, Fletcher, Richardson, Park, Smith, Dong, Solksjaer. Could a team like this sit well about... Spurs?

... and on...
I watched the Addicks play Chelsea over the weekend, and if not for that fortunate strike by Frank Lampard, Alan Pardew's men could have come away with a result of sorts.

Charlton stand a good chance as the other relegation candidates to stay up in the Premiership next year. Which means all is not lost for them. Which means they'll be playing like hell to save their skins. Which can only mean a tough afternoon at Old Trafford.

Previous Premiership aspirations have always been scuppered by poor results against bottom teams, which means United will have to be extra resolute to get maximum points in this game and keep the blue bastards at bay.

Manchester United vs. Charlton
LIVE from Old Trafford. Saturday, February 10th, 2007. 11.00pm.

This is not the match of the week though. That game is at St. James' Park, where Newcastle take on Liverpool - two teams battered and bruised from their weekend mis-adventures, and very eager to get a result.

Bruce Springsteen, and the club that never walks alone

I like Bruce Springsteen - The Boss. Nobody tells a story in a song as well as The Boss does. Nobody throws a concert like The Boss throws them. And nobody can don a pair of overalls and pose unshaven for a photograph like The Boss can.

Here's the thing: anyone who has listened to a Springsteen album will understand that The Boss is probably the world’s number one working class hero, no matter that he's probably rich enough to buy El Salvador. Which is all very curious when you consider how lousy he makes the blue collar life sound.

He has spun countless stories about simple folks with complex problems - almost all of them involving a car that runs badly, a lousy job that they're about to lose, or a girl named Mary (most Springsteen songs have a girl named Mary).

His stories are filled with empty highways, decaying factories, workers on strike, smoggy industrial skylines, wood paneled taverns, and rustic characters who once had it all going for them, but through life's cruel turn now find themselves with no money, no car, no job, and a wife (named Mary) that's about to leave them.

Evidently, nobody in Springsteen's blue collar hell ever gets promoted to manager, or even able to afford a decent Toyota. They instead exist in proletarian hell where mortgages are foreclosed, transmissions leak, and wives have a "headache" every night.

I feel your pain, brother Scouser...

The Boss knows how it feels to be a Liverpool fan
Here is a club that has once won - at some point in its tumultuous history - every prize worth winning in club football. 18 league championships, 7 FA Cups, 7 League Cups, and importantly 5-time winners of the European Cup / Champions' League.

And almost every Liverpool fan you meet will not hesitate to remind you of just that - the statistics. Liverpool fans live and breathe the history that once was. The great 80's with Souness, Hansen and King Kenny – and a bit later with Rush, Barnes, Beardsley and the rest - when they took all of Britain and most of Europe by storm, weighing in as number one contenders on almost every major competition.

Later years saw them unearth the prodigious, predatory talents of Robbie Fowler and Michael Owen. Current captain Steven Gerrard and his deputy Jamie Carragher embody the very spirit of the club: resilience, passion, thirst for glory and a never-day-die approach on the field. A friend who is a die-hard Liverpool fan – and I am close to many of these, in spite of my allegiance to my beloved Manchester United – once said “if Liverpool had six Gerrards and five Carraghers we could again be the club we once were.”

And therein lies the conundrum of the Liverpool fan: in this day and age when strategy, inventiveness, technical ability, panache, wizardry, flair, elegance, flamboyance and style are the sort of buzzwords used by so many to describe a modern football club, all of these don’t matter as much to the Liverpool fan as much as the heart does.

They say if the heart is empty, the rest don't matter (and rightly so).

Truth be told they have had many nights where the heart eventually won the day. Last year’s FA Cup final against West Ham United was one such occasion; on their day, the most tactically astute team don’t have a hope in hell of walking past a Liverpool team that turn up feeling all heart and blood and sweat and tears.

And nobody ever needs reminding of that glorious night in Istanbul. Hand on heart, I will say it meant more to their fans who for over a decade were bereft of any notable achievement, vis-à-vis Manchester United’s dramatic Champions' League victory in 1999, when many of the club’s fans were already used to close to a decade of winning everything.

It’s heart, and blood, and sweat, and tears. Very working class indeed. Why Springsteen has not yet written a song about them is beyond me!

Standard Scouser stance: Heart on sleeve, hand on head / mouth / eyes

But blue collar romanticism aside (and I’m actually referring to the red half of Merseyside), we shouldn’t ignore the real essence of being a protagonist in a Springsteen song: he’s always a loser and a bum, no matter how much you feel for him.

And that my friends, is Liverpool in a nutshell. You tend to feel for the poor chaps. Close to 17 years of absence on top of Britain’s league is a long time indeed. Some of the babies born when they won their last league title have grown up to be teenagers who unlike their parents prefer the modern appeals of the game: strategy, inventiveness, technical ability, panache, wizardry, and all that nonsense. Heck, many of them probably even support Chelsea. Or worse, Everton!

So you would please excuse me my dear Scouse friends if my genuine wish is for you to pull your bloody socks up and start the damn season properly next year. For goodness sakes go on and win the blessed thing so you can finally sing about something worthwhile.

Or don’t. I mean, what the hell would The Boss write about then?

The wild west beckons for David Beckham

After seasonal items on his missus, metatarsal and misfortunes for England, David Beckham is once again making the headlines in the back pages of our daily reads. Now he’s off to America to tantalize the other side of the Atlantic with his celebrity, charisma and charm. Even Rocky is backing him to get back over the top once again in his new home.

The papers are already full of it. They’re all saying that Europe’s big loss can only be America’s big gain.

I say: Good riddance!

A lot of shit on that roof, and not just from the birds

I am part of many who really think that America offered the altogether best option for Beckham, a player who in spite of all his alleged talent and his so-called place in the pantheon of footballing greats is already in the darkening twilight of his career at the grand age of a mere 31 years.

Conquering the final frontier
When the great Pele, Franz Beckenbauer, Carlos Alberto and a few notable others joined the New York Cosmos in the late 70s, FIFA and the world projected a period of unprecedented growth of the sport’s popularity in America. Almost 30 years later, it is Africa and Asia that is recording the success many expected to see from America.

The hosting of the 1994 World Cup was mooted to be (yet another) watershed milestone; the eventual result was a very flat soufflé, both in terms of in-event audience participation and post-event momentum. Japan and South Korea on the other hand hosted a wildly successful World Cup in 2002, and all indications are that Africa’s turn in 2010 will record the same, if not a greater, level of success.

So where does America stand on the football world map, then? And importantly what will Beckham bring to the sport in a country that already ranks the world’s number one game a lowly seventh after baseball, American football (do they even use their feet?) basketball, tennis, golf and ice hockey?

Beckham is first and foremost a figurehead, and being a footballer comes a distant second. He is the proverbial catalyst of the materialistic world, symptomatic of the greed and decadence that has besieged the sport in the past two decades.

While he may not be responsible for much of it happening, if you accept the philosophy of supply and demand, in himself he embodies the reasons why there are more and more empty seats in football stadiums all over the world, and really – when you think of it – the very reason why children all over Britain wait till a few days before Christmas before asking daddy for a Manchester United or a Chelsea shirt (or indeed, a Real Madrid or a Barcelona shirt) under the tree on December 25th, depending on who is on top at that time.

Hero worship is not wrong in sport. Not when the they are about stalwarts like Diego Maradona, Pele or Zinedine Zidane. Or Muhammad Ali, Tiger Woods, Ayrton Senna, Michael Schumacher, Sachin Tendulkar, Boris Becker or Roger Federer - men who brought so much to their game.

But when players like David Beckham enjoy so much from the sport for the very little that they bring to it, there has got to be something very wrong.

Now, let not all of this detract from the fact that come May, we can all expect to see and hear more of football (the ‘real’ football) from America. That can't be bad for the sport. Already there is talk of Ronaldo and Luis Figo heading stateside, at the invitation of their former Real Madrid colleague, and a few more notable names may follow. The newspapers and Nokia Football Crazy are sure to afford America a few cursory column inches and footage respectively. For a while, we may even believe Beckham and America are on well on their way to making good on the previously unfulfilled promise

But with his 32nd birthday coming in May, Beckham's peak as a player is well behind him. Most would say his zenith was reached in the years between 1999 and 2002, with the crunch of Aldo Duscher's boot on his metatarsal in a Champions League tie between Manchester United and Deportivo La Coruna being the moment that stopped the Beckham juggernaut dead in its tracks.

The fact is Beckham was perhaps never all that. All he had was a very good right foot at a time when right feet weren’t very fashionable, and he brought a sense that something could seriously happen if his team won a free-kick at the edge of the box. He could not tackle, he could not dribble, he could not head, he was atrocious at penalties, he did absolutely nothing with his left foot, and to say that he was a captain would still be too kind; the man simply couldn’t lead a kid into a toy store with an open door and a handful of twenties!

A crying shame: He was very good at turning on the waterworks, though...

So you would please excuse me if I think the whole damned thing is a bit too farcical. Give it a year and let’s all see how big a joke it actually turns out to be.

For now, good luck America. Good luck David Beckham. God bless us all!

*******

Finally, for the benefit of any American who might read this: In Malaysia, and the rest of the civilized world, we refer to the sport as football, and rightly so. None of this soccer nonsense!

Pray tell me, anyway: Why on earth do you call it American Football, when all you’re doing it throwing the pigskin about? With your hands!


I don't want to jinx it, but...
With Liverpool hosting Chelsea at Anfield on Saturday, there is a sense at Old Trafford that this is a weekend that seriously offer my beloved Manchester United a chance of stretching their legs over the dreadful Chelsea, if (and it’s a big ‘if’) we get things right against Arsenal.

If Rafa Benitez needs help motivating his players, he need only show them the videos of the games against Arsenal, and the photographs of the Liverpool bench holding their heads in despair after that 6-3 drubbing. My bets are on Liverpool, if only because they definitely need this win, and also because I desperately need them to!

I’ve always been grudgingly impressed with Arsenal. On their day they can really play the opposition out of the game with a display of jaw-dropping finesse and flair.

That said, when Man Utd turn it on, they are simply irresistible, and we’ve seen that a number of times this season already. And the 85th minute goal and the resulting defeat at Old Trafford earlier this season will not be forgotten, for sure.

Arsenal vs. Manchester United
LIVE from the Emirates Stadium. Sunday, 21st January. 11:55pm.

This is the match of the week!

A fitting finish to a fabulous 2006

There’s a story about Sir Alex Ferguson and the Christmas season. Managers always seem to moan about the heavy fixtures during the year end (I think 4 matches in 8 days was the average over the past few years), and Fergie is certainly no different in this respect.

What is nice to note is that over the past 20 years he’s put himself under the same restrictions he imposes on his squad, particularly so over the Yuletide season where gaiety and merry-making seem to be top-priority for so many citizens of the world, with the exception of Premiership players.

Rumor has it that Fergie espouses an even tighter rein on players during this season – a bit of turkey, perhaps an extra slice of pie, but absolutely no wine or alcohol of any sort. None for the players, and none for Fergie.

A trivial point perhaps, but yet further proof of why he’s perhaps the most successful football manager Britain has ever seen.

Add another new salute to the growing list of accolades if you wish: 2,000 goals over 20 seasons (Cristiano Ronaldo’s first recorded against Aston Villa a few hours ago); an average of 100 goals a season, and an altogether excellent record!

It's a good thing when he's smiling more often than he's frothing at the mouth

And what an excellent year 2006 has been, for football, the fans of the game, and of course for my beloved Manchester United. Here are some of my observations on the year:

Time of the Year
Certainly between June 9th and July 10th, 2006, during which Germany hosted an amazing World Cup. It certainly started with aplomb, peaked earlier than necessary, and somehow lost steam in the latter stages of the tournament. But what a time it was.

Hope of the Year
The splendid Zinedine Zidane, and the slow but sure awakening of Les Blues. Zidane and the other ‘venerables’ (Thuram, Makelele and Barthez) cajoled, prodded and pushed on an otherwise uninterested French team and their uninspired manager to the heights of glory, reaching the Finals in some style. That it was to be Zidane's final football match ever was even more remarkable.

Tragedy of the Year
That damned headbutt! Paradoxically, and against all reasoning and romanticism, Zidane’s last physical action on the green was to be the one that sent him packing in shame. It is sickeningly sad that the memory of Horacio Elizondo brandishing the red card, and of Zizou walking desolately to the dressing room will forever live on in infamy whenever this World Cup is recalled.

Au revoir, Zizou

Comedy of the Year
Sven Goran Erickson, David Beckham, the hoopla over Rooney’s metatarsal, WAGs, and the farce of the English hope in Germany. Too much has already been said about this. Way too much!

Underachievement of the Year
Jose Pekerman and his prodigious Argentine team. Their swashbuckling football, a delicate mixture of aristocracy and artistry, should have brought them further than their eventual exit. A quarterfinal loss, even on penalties, was no way for this brand of football to fade out.

Revelation of the Year
My beloved Manchester United. How wrong I was time and time again. And how glad I am to admit they’re certainly as good as they are painted to be.

Ronaldo has gotten with the programme. Vidic is the rock we so badly needed for so many seasons, and with Ferdinand, Heinze, Evra, Neville and van der Sar in the form that they’re in, Man Utd are certainly doing the business on the pitch.

It’s more heartening personally to see the likes of Scholes, Giggs and Solksjaer in the fine form that they’re in. The old guard is not facing as quickly as many thought they would.

If they keep it going, we’ve got a good second half of the season to look forward to.

Departure of the Year
There are a few here: Michael Schumacher after a glittering career in Formula 1, where he’s set almost every record worth noting. Zinedine Zidane’s infamous exit from a glorious career in football. And Andre Agassi’s farewell to tennis.

Saddest of all is the passing of the irrepressible Crocodile Hunter. Rest in peace, Steve – crikey, it’s been good!

Goal of the Year
I have to say, clearly and without question, this has to be Esteban Cambiasso’s goal vs. Serbia & Montenegro in the group stages. 24 passes, exquisite touches, patience, flair, invention, guile, team-work, and a perfect finish. It was the perfect goal, and one to put alongside Diego Maradona’s stunner against England in 1986. Have a drool at it once again, here.

"They'll be playing this in training manuals all over the world"

A few hours ago I would have been tempted to name Didier Drogba’s goal vs. Everton as the 2nd best strike of the year, but then I watched Paul Scholes stun the Villa Park crowd and those of us watching at home with that fine, orgasmic volley. This is my choice for number 2. It was so good, I had to mention it.

Joy of the Year
There are quite a few to choose from. The absence of Sven Goran Erickson in our sports pages. A month of great football, where I hardly had a sorrowful word from the missus, who as a bonus also joined in the fun and excitement for a few choice matches (bless her!). Fernando Alonso edging Schumacher to his second title, when it seemed - at a point - that the German just might nick that eighth title. A fit again Maradona enthusiastically cheering his country-men on in Germany.

But for me, it certainly has to be the sight of Manchester United sitting deservedly at the top of the Premiership on Christmas. Something achieved out of hard work, industry, and in the face of an increasingly tougher adversary.

Run, Ronnie... Run!

The magic of Christmas never fades after all, I suppose.

God bless Alex Ferguson. God bless Zinedine Zidane. God bless Manchester United. God bless us all.

Happy Christmas, everybody!

Incredible Hulkenberg!

Updates have been dismal and pathetic, I know, but would you please put the blame down on the A1GP Malaysian race which I’m doing some work on, and which has certainly taken a chunk of my time, energy and grey-cells for the past two weeks.

The rain poured and poured on race day, and to say it was torrential would still almost be an understatement. But all considered it was a good weekend, and even Jeff Ooi and Lensa Malaysia enjoyed it (thanks for the great pics Jeff and Moriazy!)

But out of the puddle and mud emerged a winner who probably had total domination of the race weekend. Keep an eye out on barely legal Nico Hulkenberg, managed by Michael Schumacher's manager Willi Weber, and a certain star of the future.

A 19 year-old with not just incredible skill, but a chilling calm, a good head on his shoulders, and a look in his eye like faraway fires burning. Seeing him drive away from the rest of the field in the soaking wet tarmac of Sepang certainly brought back memories of his compatriot, the rainmeister.

Hulkenberg is certain to emerge as a star in the higher echelons of motor racing in years to come. It isn't a stretch to say he could go on to be Germany's worthy successor to their favourite son.

Alex Yoong finished a creditable seventh, in the same position he qualified in, but three places down from the position he started the race in, which was gained during the earlier sprint race.

Alex lost some battles, and won some battles, and with A1 Team Malaysia now third in the standings behind leaders Germany and Great Britain, the A1GP season is looking good indeed

Chelsea

But before all that, there is still yet another stern test for my beloved Manchester United, after the swing swung back in the UEFA Champions League unfortunate loss on Wednesday. Pick yourself up Louis Saha; we got business to attend to!

On the one hand, this yo-yoing of results would mean we I ought to be optimistic this weekend. On the other hand, however, we’re playing Chelsea. It should be a tight, cagey affair at Old Trafford and I for one wouldn't be suprised with an anti-climatic stalemate.

As long as it keeps us ahead of them, I’ll be happy for now.

Manchester United vs. Chelsea
LIVE from Old Trafford. Sunday, 26th November, 2006. 11:55pm.
Make no mistake about it: This is the match of the week.

The Manchester United swing swings both ways

Updated! WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 2006
I don't know whether I ought to be ecstatic (that my views are indeed vindicated), or... er, not happy (about the 1-0 defeat to a club 43 bleeding positions below us).

Good... MU 4-0 Bolton
Not good... MU 0-1 FC Copenhagen
Good... MU 3-0 Portsmouth
Even better... Spurs 2-1 Chelsea
Way bad... MU 0-1 Southend

I am - yet again - choosing to be optimistic. The swing will swing back occasionally, and Man Utd were indeed due a crappy performance. Better it comes here than in the Premiership or the Champions League where it really matters I say.

Original post on FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 2006
Without trying to overstate things, it has been a very, very long time since we saw such precision, energy and purpose from my beloved Manchester United.

Make no mistake about it, all credit should rightly to the Red Devils that at the end of the 90, Bolton - an otherwise solid Premiership team - came away with exactly what they deserved from the game, which was precisely nothing!

AIG means "Ain't I Great, innit?"

Four days after that, however, it was same ol’-same ol’ once again from United against FC Copenhagen. On a night when we should have really wrapped up further participation in the Champions’ League, we instead rested some key players, and accordingly came away with exactly what we deserved from the game, which again, was precisely nothing.

Time then to recall age-old wisdom: the swing swings both ways!

However, in spite of my tendency for cynicism, I am choosing to see the glass as half-full. I expect that the team, and Fergie particularly, will have been given a right royal Danish slap on Wednesday, which in turn should adequately give them the much needed boost to bag nothing less than three points when we host a resurgent Pompeii at Old Trafford on Saturday.

Manchester United vs. Portsmouth
LIVE from Old Trafford. Saturday, 4th November. 11pm.
This is the match of the week.

*******

I am going to stick my neck out even further – and in doing so risk a mother of a jinx – by pointing out what I believe are the three factors contributing to United’s great start this season:

Christiano Ronaldo

Ronaldo was a real pain before the season started, but eventually got with the programme once he felt he wasn’t going anywhere.

I suspect he figured out that it is in his best interest to shut his mouth up instead of stirring problems with the club which would bring his image down deeper post WC2006, and his value together with it.

The last thing he wants is to be in the shoes of Ashley Cole. So for now, Ronaldo is going to behave. And so far, he’s behaving pretty well.

Nemanja Vidic
Rooney’s finishing against Bolton was clinical, and he scored three magnificent ‘striker goals’. And there are a number of players in the United team that are starting to really look the part.

But for me, one of the most encouraging components of late has been Nemanja Vidic. I have been heard to moan and groan over the past few years about our total mess of a central defense, but in Vidic we finally have a centreback of steel and intelligence. He is starting to really hook up well with Rio (who himself has got his act together). Its finally looking like we have found our Jaap Stam once again.

The power of S3
The 3 S’s are none other than Scholes, Saha and Solksjaer. All have been in fine form over the past weeks. Saha is starting to remind us of the striker we bought from Fulham some seasons ago, and credit to Fergie for his patience and loyalty to him, which the Frenchman is only too eager to repay.

Scholes has always been the class of the field. Understated, hardworking and averse to all the glitter and glamour that besiege modern British players, he is a typical Ferguson player (others include Keane, Robson, Bruce and Hughes) – solid, focused and interested in only doing his talking on the field.

But the class has to be our dear King Ole! Despite being injured for two years, he looks as classy as ever, and is perhaps the world’s best Super Sub. And he does it all with grace, humility and charm. No wonder he's called the smiling assassin.

Long may he live at Old Trafford!

The toppermost of the poppermost

We have always associated being on top as something good. Being on top of the world is what an elated person might say. Being on top of a situation means being in control. Some would say the politics of the bedroom is about who is - and often who isn't - on top.

There was a famous conversation that The Beatles were reported to have had early in their career: John Lennon asked the other three, "Where are we going lads?"

They replied, "To the top, Johnny."
"How far on top?" asked John.
"To the toppermost of the poppermost," came the reply.

Arms, heads and spirits are starting to rise at Old Trafford

Three months ago I would have never thought my beloved Man Utd would be sitting on top of the table at this point of the season. As all Man Utd starts go, this season saw the Red Devils sprint off the blocks with a near perfect start. The draw against Reading and the loss against Arsenal notwithstanding, Man Utd certainly aren't doing as badly as I initially thought they would be.

The pre-season threw up all measure of doubt: I was cynical at first, then I started believing, then my faith faltered again... and again, then I suddenly started believing.

I'm starting to believe big time now. Watching them blow a hapless Liverpool out of the waters of Old Trafford - and make no mistake about it, Liverpool were thoroughly outclassed last Sunday - was certainly very, very easy on the eye.

If its true what they say that this Man Utd team are yet to hit their peak this season, then the fans have got much reason to be optimistic. The old boys like Scholes, Giggs, Solksjaer and Neville are remnants from seasons gone when this team know nothing but winning; it is deeply encouraging to see them lead the charge this year.

Rooney hasn't found his form yet, but despite this seeming 'crisis' people are scoring from almost every position. Ferdinand, Vidic, Fletcher, and even dear ol' Johnny O' Shea have pipped in with goals.

Contrast that with a Liverpool or Andrei Shevchenko, why don't you?

A Reebok pumping
Still, the true test for Premiership or Champions League aspirants awaits Man Utd this weekend: away to Bolton. Any team who wants to stand up and be counted must be able to come away from the Reebok with a result.

More than Old Trafford or Anfield, and certainly more than Stamford Bridge, it is a Bolton team at home which have scuppered the ambitions of probable league leaders before. They have been the bane / Archilles heel / banana skin of many a good team. This game will be no different.

Bolton Wanderers vs. Manchester United.

LIVE from the Reebok Stadium. Saturday, 28th October. 10pm. This is the match of the week.

An opportunity to focus

...not for the sportsmen who will hold my attention for the next few days, but rather for myself, since I'm planning to devoting much of my time over the next week's holidays tuning in to enjoy some very exciting sporting occasions:

1. Man Utd v Liverpool - here's hoping the table topping winning streak continues, or failing that, a bloody good game for all of us to savour;

2. The F1 Brazilian GP - I have profound respect for Michael Schumacher, but I'm not looking forward to seeing him on the top step of the podium this weekend. He's certainly good enough for it though, mind you... but I'd rather see him go off quietly, than bask in the a glow of glory that he has frankly overstayed. Statistically the best driver the sport as seen; whether he is the greatest is certainly up to debate, and I certainly count Senna, Prost and Fangio above him.

Ta-ra Mikey... I'll try not to miss you

Enjoy the festival of lights, and eid-ul-fitr!

Amster-damn!

Amsterdam, as expected, was a blast. It was a welcome difference watching a Champions League match over dinner, instead of waking up in the dead of the morning as we do over here.

The match in question was Liverpool v Galatasaray, and the Turkish and Greek community in Amsterdam turned up in full force to vent their worldly frustrations on the British team (any British team will do, I'm told). At 3-2 though, I thought Istanbul - Part Deux was on the cards. Sadly, Liverpool and Peter Crouch deeply disappointed us all that night.

There is obviously more to Amsterdam than the Red Light District, and the Noveau Hash Bars ("Hash is legal there, right?" "Yeah, it's legal, but it ain't a 100% legal..."). The cycling crowd, for example, is a sight to behold. It is estimated that 150,000 bicycles enter Amsterdam every day. Bank managers in their Italian suits cycle. Prada-wearing blondes off to their designer jobs cycle. Policemen, postmen and other Dutchmen cycle. Anyone heading within 5 miles of their destination cycle - daytime, or after sunset. It simply is the most efficient way of getting about town.

A common denominator of all things Amsterdam is that most everything is narrow - houses, streets, buildings, walkways, alleys... everything but their state of mind(which is evidently very broad). Buildings that look no more than 50 feet in breadth look like this on the inside:

Still, spending afternoons strolling parts of Amsterdam with its canals, churches, bicycles and windows aplenty was an experience indeed. The A1 GP race at Zandvoort was a real blast, with 85,000 Dutchmen in their orange garb adding a bit of tangy zest into the atmosphere. And to top it all off, we had invites to the swankiest club in town on one of the nights, to watch folks like Danni Minogue, Jay Kay of Jamiroquai, and Ruud Gullit shimmer by (with their 6'6" Dutch bodyguards).

So all in all, it was a 'Dam' nice trip. Of course, no post is complete without a cursory reference ti my beloved Manchester United, and boy, isn't it awesome to see this fella scoring again!