Manchester United are arriving. Put out the welcome mat.
Do we really have to? The most eagerly-awaited (according to the telly) and least looked forward-to (according to anyone with an iota of sense) match of the season rolls into town, and what fun it promises to be. We’ve got all Saturday to look forward to it and Sunday evening to celebrate/forget it ever happened.
You might think that a few years of what they call failure and we’d be building statues for, having a dilapidated ground and not even being the best team in their own city might have knocked some of the entitlement out of them but you know we’ll still have to endure the daytrippers, gloryhunters and rules don’t apply to them-rs in their travelling circus. They haven’t even got the decency to be as shit as they were a month ago, oh no. Knowing they’ve got the Villa coming up they’ve turned into Unbeatables again. Bastards.
Their manager looks like a mini version of an American wrestler, Axel Tuanzebe is still on their books and probably seeing the world in their fifth team and one of their coaches is Benni McCarthy, who we’re probably about to sign in January. Another one is Steve McLaren. They played away in Europe on Thursday, they’ve got injuries that will miraculously clear up and suspensions that will seen more miraculously get cancelled, which gives us marginally more of a chance than usual.
At least the story before the match will be about us, our new manager and our brave new world. Afterwards it will be about us, our manager and his first successful steps into our brave new world, a memorable victory for our eleven gallant heroes against fourteen defeated yesterday’s men and their redundant technology. We keep saying it, generations before us said it, and one day it will come true. Sunday’s one day.
