I hate playing United. Hate hate hate. Despite that run of Danny Murphy-inspired 1-0 victories, I have barely any fond memories. All I remember when I think of playing United is :
- Going down to Marine FC to watch the games on the big screen (on a Saturday lunchtime. Always, ALWAYS a Saturday lunchtime), with my uncle, the only United fan in the place, and seeing David James repeatedly flap at crosses, and us losing every time
- Gary Neville being a twat
- Mike Riley sending off Sami Hyypia after about four minutes
- Wayne Rooney being a twat
- Us playing badly, United playing little better but somehow coming away looking like they’ve hammered us
Despite the news that either Torres and/or Gerrard may be involved in some capacity, I’m not optimistic. And frankly, given that we’re going to lose whatever happens, I’d almost rather not risk Nando in particular aggravating his injury further. After all, it’s about time Robbie Keane stepped up and did something – and if you remember that El Nino went a few games last season without scoring, before getting off the mark against Chelsea and thus securing immediate hero status, it’s hard not to see a parallel. Likewise, the papers are full of guff about Quagmire… sorry, Riera… being some kind of lucky charm, by virtue of the fact that his only decent game for Citeh was a debut win over Man U.
But still, I find everything about these games agonising. We will almost certainly play badly and lose 1-0. And then when they win, they’ll just be so unbearably smug about it. That’s what I hate about losing to United. Moreso than losing to Arsenal, or Chelsea, or even Everton. The fans, the players, the manager – everything about that club is steeped in the most rub-your-face-in-it kind of gloating that takes all of the spirit and enjoyment out of the game (because at the end of the day, it’s a sporting contest, and we should be able to take defeat with good grace – but it’s hard when you’ve got Rooney gurning like a prick in front of the opposition fans, or Neville running the whole length of the pitch to try and incite crowd trouble).
I’ll spend the build-up to tomorrow’s game, and the length of time up until the first goal, feeling sick with worry. After the first goal goes in, I’ll just become angry, and get progressively moreso. In fact, I’m wondering if I should just stay in bed until it’s all over. That way, if we somehow manage to come away with a 0-0 draw – surely the only realistic positive outcome – I’ll actually be pleasantly suprised, and might even be able to watch MOTD…
Seb
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