Intimidation Factor at Old Trafford……….

…………….Is there one?

Up and down the land many years ago you visited football grounds, the local fans would always be behind their teams to a fanatical status.
Most of the time players even worried about whether some fans would jump on the pitch and kick ten barrels of shit out of them.

The crowd really played a big part in their teams performance, even the home team were concerned of the amount of abuse they would get leaving the pitch, if they had not at least given their all and showed they wanted to win but were just beaten by a better team on the day.

Yes okay the country was gripped by a big hooligan eliment, that only went to matches to cause as much shit as possible but the real fan, paid his money, went onto the terraces and not only expected his team to win that day but demanded it.

The day nearly always started, with a guy leaving his house, meeting his mates in the local pub, having a few beers, then catching buses, trains or even walked to the local supporters pubs near to the ground, from this point not alot has changed, this still happens, fans gather like we do in the Trafford or the Blaize, or just stand in the street, drinking and laughing, singing and chanting, under the ever watchful eye of the local Old Bill.

Then at some given signal and time, everyone moves onto the ground, making their voices heard from streets away, that they are on the way, all heading to the same place, all with one thing in mind, the beautiful game that lay ahead.

Inside the ground used to be mass hysteria, pushing and shoving was far better than sitting in your own little cocoon, scared of being too close to the next guy.

The singing and shouting used to be as one voice, it would worry the crap out of the opposition, nowadays usually its a very splintered affair, mainly because, all grounds are now seated but moreso because the grounds have got so big and the acoustic levels are not the same, so by the time the Stretford End start a song it takes time for it to filter through to the rest of the ground and vice versa.

But saturday I saw a big glimpse of what it used to be like, the fans singing and shouting all through the match, yeah ok we were playing the great pretenders Arsenil, thinking they could come to Old Trafford and show us how to play football but the mere fact that the whole of OT was making so much noise, firstly it gave our team great heart to go on and beat them in style and 4 great goals and as far as I was concerned, we all got our monies worth that day.

But most of all it was the intimidation factor that was back, that worried the Arsenil players alot, they didnt know what to do, looked at one point they weren’t coming out for the second half.

This was Old Trafford as it was in days gone by and how it should be in all future games, any opposition should fear coming to the Theatre of Dreams, afterall we have the biggest fan base and the biggest ground and some of the best players the world has to offer, so yeah they should worry and with our help (the fans) we can make it even more uncomfortable for them.

So I would like to finish off by saying, well done to everyone who was there against Arsenal, for making it such a great atmosphere, here’s to next time.

HERE COME THE EXCUSES – WENGER THE PITCH WAS TO BLAME

Arsene Wenger felt his side’s lack of ‘physical resources’ and the poor state of the Old Trafford pitch were to blame for his side’s dreadful performance in the 4-0 drubbing at the hands of Manchester United on Saturdsay.

Although without a host of first team squad members, Arsenal played a competitive starting eleven in the fifth round FA Cup clash but were overrun from the first minute.

Wenger was at a loss to explain the depravity of performance, but felt the pitch was a mitigating factor.

“It is difficult to find any positives from the performance, apart from the fact we do not have any more injuries,” Wenger said. “Even before the sending off we never looked like we could come back.

“It was difficult. We did not seem the have the physical resources that were needed.

“We were not up to our level. We need to pick ourselves up quickly because we have a massive game on Wednesday and need to be at our best against Milan.

“The groundsman had as bad a day as us. You will see us in a different shape when we come back and a on different pitch.

“The pitch is a disgrace. You have players worth £20-25million and you cannot play a pass without it bouncing”

RED ARMY RANTS - No Mr Wenger your team were shit, simple as that.

Can the FA be trusted over the future of English football?

Article from caughtoffside.comNever before has the debate about the state of English football been so prevalent. Just looking at the evidence, it is not hard to understand why.So we have Arsenal, top of the Barclays Premiership. We can all agree they are a team who play attractive football, a fantastic manager and some world class players including the sub lime Fabregas. However it is also time to agree that a team with little or no English player representation other than the elusive Hoyt is not good for the future of English football.

And then there is Sir Trevor Brooking stating in The Times (3rd February 2008) that he believes the condition of children’s football is the key – stop playing kids on over sized pitches, start teaching the 5 – 11 age range the basics and technique. Again I believe he is correct – especially as they turn up in their droves with Man United shirts marked Ronaldo or Arsenal shirts marked Adebayor. Our kids and youth systems need ownership, direction and a strategy and most importantly more English footballing hero’s.

And finally there is our national teams inadequacy – a group of players who look world class surrounded by other world class none English players – but actually are too self promoting to play as a team.

Truely talented foreign players deserve a place in any team whatever its nationality. However too many times an average cheaper foreign option takes the place of a young potential English player. And so I would like to propose change, encourage debate and state that the time for limited foreign players in each starting 11 is back upon us. And a time for investing the FA’s £1 Billion revenue for F2008 at getting the grass roots right is overdue.

I believe the only thing holding us back is the FA themselves – out of touch, dinosaurs of industry who need to make way for new footballing blood. A maximum 5 none British players per 11 – is this not a start?

Red Army Rants – This is always going to be a matter of contention, maybe we have become a victim of our own success in this country with possibly the best football league in the world and now no one is really sure what to do for the best but my own personal thoughts are, yes its great to see such gifted foreign players coming to the UK and showing us some really exciting play, this should be allowed to continue, any limitation would only set our league back again but somewhere along the line, more money effort and time should be made in developing kids from an early age to be able to be just as good in future generations, maybe even better than our foreign counterpart clubs.

We should be a bit like the Japanese as a nation, they can take an idea from anywhere in the world, play around with it and eventually they will make it better than its original, guess what I am trying to say is, lets learn from the foreign players, clubs etc, in the hope that in a few generations down the line, the British footballer has evolved into such a player, that the rest of Europe would love him in their side, more emphasis should be made at all grass roots levels, development should start at a very early age, more football schools made available, so future kids have half a chance, some clubs have made a start and some of the efforts have made a difference already, just more of the same needed.

More time should also be made by the FA to allow our national team to spend more time together even if they are not playing allowing them to bond more as a unit and learn more about each other but whether this can happen because of the ever present heavy fixtures at club level, tough one to call but you never know I guess.

Fans adorn Duncan Edwards Statue in Dudley with United shirt.

In the week of Munich memorials, Manchester United fans have not forgotten the former national icon Duncan Edwards, who was among the 23 who lost their lives in the plane crash 50 years ago.The statue commemorating Edwards life, created by sculptor James Butler, was unveiled in the town centre of his hometown of Dudley in October 1999 by his mother and Sir Bobby Charlton.

And yesterday it bore a United shirt with the message ‘Legend – not forgotten’.

In memoriam: the statue of Duncan Edwards in Dudley sporting a United shirt

The Flowers of Manchester.

One cold and bitter Thursday in Munich, Germany, Eight great football stalwarts conceded victory, Eight men who will never play again who met destruction there, The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester Matt Busby’s boys were flying, returning from Belgrade, This great United family, all masters of their trade, The Pilot of the aircraft, the skipper Captain Thain, Three times they tried to take off and twice turned back again. The third time down the runaway, disaster followed close, There was a slush upon that runaway and the aircraft never rose, It ploughed into the marshy ground, it broke, it overturned. And eight of the team were killed as the blazing wreckage burned. Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor who were capped for England’s side. And Ireland’s Billy Whelan and England’s Geoff Bent died, Mark Jones and Eddie Colman, and David Pegg also, They all lost their lives as it ploughed on through the snow. Big Duncan he went to, with an injury to his frame, And Ireland’s brave Jack Blanchflower will never play again, The great Matt Busby lay there, the father of his team Three long months passed by before he saw his team again. The trainer, coach and secretary, and a member of the crew, Also eight sporting journalists who with United flew, and one of them was Big Swifty, who we’ll ne’er forget, the finest English ‘keeper that ever graced the net. Oh, England’s finest football team its record truly great, its proud successes mocked by a cruel turn of fate. Eight men will never play again, who met destruction there, the flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester

One mothers son personified the waste of so many young lives

The old lady’s house was full of memories. There were scrapbooks and letters, pictures and postcards, all the poignant minutiae of a short and shining life. She handled each item tenderly, with the pride of a mother.

Several times she smiled, as incidents sprang unbidden to mind. And once she shed a tear, as she remembered her infant son, kicking a ball.

Sarah Ann Edwards closed her eyes and gently shook her head. “Mah Dooncan,” she said, in the broad vowels of the Black Country.

SO PROUD: Duncan Edwards’s mother cherished the memories of her famous son

“He was a devil for the football. You couldn’t take the football away from him.”

She was a lovely lady, Mrs Edwards; a warm, kindly soul, always topping up your tea and producing more sandwiches. “There, that’ll keep you going,” she’d say, the way mothers do.

She died in 2003, at the great age of 93. But the light had gone out of her life more than 45 years earlier.

Whenever we think of Munich, we remember her lad, the one with the barrel chest and thighs like oaks. Of course, we acknowledge the pain of all those other grieving families, but the disaster was so vast and so randomly cruel that it resists comprehension; far easier to select one young man as the personification of the promise, the joy, and the heart-rending waste. Duncan Edwards has filled that role for half a century.

When the first reports of the crash came in, I remember my father calling home from the sports room at the News Chronicle. He knew many of the people on the plane, and some were good friends. An instinctively calm man, he sounded shocked and helpless. He called several times, but his voice kept on breaking. In the end, he left us to our tears.

To understand our anguish, it was necessary to understand how we felt about those men. We did not know them in the way we believe we know the modern players. For one thing, we rarely saw them play. There was no live football on television, save the FA Cup Final.

To watch these players, you went to the ground when they came to your town.

By definition, only a small number of people could take that option, so you grew to know the team by rumour and report.

And all the rumours, all the reports insisted that Manchester United were exceptional.

In his wonderful book on the tragedy, the journalist John Roberts illustrated the human qualities of young men thrust into the spotlight and blinking in its glare.

There was a young Dubliner, hugely gifted yet fearfully shy. When he arrived at Old Trafford, he was greeted by Johnny Carey, captain of United and Ireland.

“What’s your name, then?” said Carey.

“Liam,” said the lad. “Liam, is it?” smiled Carey. “Well, you hold on to that name, Liam. They’ll try and take it away from you here.”

And, of course, they did. To Mancunians, he was always the anglicised ‘Billy’. But he never protested.

Apparently, when required to wear a club blazer on social occasions, he would throw a coat over his shoulder to hide the badge, so that nobody would think him grand. He was a fine man, was Liam Whelan.

And Tommy Taylor, the dramatically accomplished striker. Leave aside the strength and the pace.

Remember, instead, the youthful uncertainty.

After the crash, Taylor’s sister-in- law went to his digs to collect his things. “We found two little black and yellow books,” she said. “One was Teach Yourself Public Speaking, the other was Teach Yourself Maths. It broke my heart. They showed just how much he wanted to improve himself.”

Mark that reference to ‘digs’. That was the way of things when you earned £20 a week in winter and £17 in summer. You lived in digs if unmarried, and a club house when the knot was tied.

And that way was accepted by young men like Billy Foulkes, the miner who worried about leaving the security of the pit, and Bobby Charlton, of whom great things were expected.

They were essentially ordinary people, save for their talent.

And Edwards was the most talented of all.

As a boy, I saw him defeat the Scots at Wembley. I thought him a magical figure, yet I wondered if the years had inflated the legend.

So last week I consulted Sir Tom Finney, a contemporary of Edwards.

“Wonderful player,” said Sir Tom. “He was so strong that people could only see the power. But he had a very delicate touch.

“He was 18 when he won his first cap, and some thought that was too soon. But I didn’t. Duncan was already a good player who was going to be a great one.”

But then it ended; suddenly, brutally. The airliner crashed at its third attempt to take off from a frozen airfield.

And the young men perished. “I remember the sadness,” said Finney. “Terrible sadness. The club came back and prospered, but they never had better than the side of ‘58.”

Mrs Edwards once told me how she had encouraged her son to take up a trade, in case his football should not live up to expectations.

“He said he might try his hand at cabinetmaking but he was only trying to please me.”

And she said something else.

She remarked how touched she was to find fresh flowers on his grave in Dudley cemetery whenever United played at Wolverhampton or Villa.

“Fancy them remembering after all this time,” she said. Yet, secretly, she knew they would always remember. For this was Duncan Edwards. Such men are never forgotten.