Well, well then. If last week was a “day off”, what on earth will Sir Alex call Saturday’s meltdown at Craven Cottage?
It is rather unlike United to lose, never mind lose two matches on the spin. If it was hairdryer stuff in the change-rooms after the Liverpool drubbing, then Saturday’s post-match verbal volley must have bordered on chest-waxingly violent.
He is hardly a cheerful man, Mr Ferguson — and that’s when he is winning! As for his friend down the road, things are suddenly looking up. Senor Benitez has just signed a new contract, the details of which will overwhelm you given the current financial mud slide.
Topping that, his collection of Spaniards and a couple of local lads have rammed in 13 goals in their last three games. He even managed to crack a smile after being handed yet another duel with Chelski in the Champions League. Not too bad for a man who has been described as just a fat Spanish waiter by rival fans …
The title race is well and truly back on, and with United still due to face Arsenal and Aston Villa, there are potential slip-ups littering the road to glory.
Liverpool’s slump has been well-documented, but it seems they are now over it. For United, however, the timing could not be worse. Where Liverpool have had time to recover, United simply cannot afford to keep leaking points. Or goals. It is the business end of the season, yet Fergie’s boys seem to be running their own little race to see who can gather the most idiotic red cards before the season is out.
Impeccably behaved for most of the season, Messrs Vidic, Scholes and the Shrek-lookalike have really put their mates in the stinky stuff now.
They will all miss games, and every game is crucial now, and they are all critical components to the first-choice side. With eight games left, there is no room for error. Not that Sir Alex will need reminding, but squeaky bum time has arrived before the Easter bunny this year.
While the quest for glory rages on, the dogfight for survival is simmering just as vigorously. The likes of Newcastle, Middlesborough and even Spurs have flirted ridiculously close to the drop-zone.
West Brom and Stoke are near certainties for the drop, but the third member of the dreaded plunge is yet to be isolated. Every time you think one of the “big boys” will distance themselves from the quagmire, they contrive to produce a brand of football not even fit for the pub leagues.
Who would be a manager, hey?
Sleepless nights, brattish players on vast wages, and all the time you can feel the cold reality of the axe about to fall on your neck. Fergie, after more than 22 years at the helm, is better equipped than most to handle the stress. But even he will be glancing over his shoulder nervously for the next month.
Because somewhere amidst the shadows, a portly figure with a garish goatee is appearing. It seems, at long last, the fat Spanish waiter is starting to deliver.
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