I can clearly remember watching Peter Beardsley score against Spurs to notch up the 1988 title. It was never in doubt and many of the tabloids were claiming that such was our dominance that it would be O.B.E – Over Before Easter. Such wits. I mention this because I recall watching the team run out that day and wondering ‘what happens if we lose?’ I shook the thought from my mind as it was akin to musing on Richard Key’s five volume series on catenaccio or Jamie Redknapp wearing loosely fitted trousers – just something that wouldn’t and couldn’t happen. The itinerary never altered. Liverpool walked onto the pitch, we sang at them and watched them swat away the annoying little tics that was foolish enough to get in the way.
It was entertaining too. ‘We want ten’ v Crystal Palace, Spanish ‘ole’ chants with twenty minutes left and, memorably, the Kop singing in high pitched voices when John Wark took one in the spuds. I know this smacks of nostalgia being the last refuge of the scoundrel and the past being a foreign country etc but nostalgic emotions only return when something pricks your imagination. Last week at Newcastle the Kop laughed at Joey Barton winding us up while placing the ball at a corner. No vicious songs, no booing - a laugh and a smattering of applause. Jesus, that takes me back. The match as enjoyment rather than a grim duty and hopelessly misplaced optimism.
Course, it wasn’t all rattles and top hats back then so let’s leave the Stalinesque revisionism to Steve Curry (‘United and City fans used to get on after the 1968 European Cup Final’ – yeah, if you like Steve) but there’s been a new injection of fun since He came back. The Hodgson and late Rafa days seem like a documentary about the 40’s – something that happened but now a distant if important memory. We’ll be putting a giant Crown Paints tin on the pitch before too long, you watch.
Okay, the latest opposition hasn’t been much to write about (Newcastle bustled but needed a big number nine with a ponytail, Fulham found their level again after some good results and Birmingham City have begged to be battered since the League Cup Final) but two of those teams had taken points off us earlier this season . It’s the way we’ve gone about it that’s been so enjoyable. Put a player under pressure and he’ll give you 60%. Tell him to enjoy himself and he’ll play for the love of the game and it’s that that transmits to the crowd.
Item: Jay Spearing. The Sunderland beach ball game was one of the worst game I’ve ever seen and he stank throughout. Many could see no way back for him after that as he’d had his chances and looked like we should have left the mascot on instead. Now look at him. He grew up in the Arsenal game where he was closer to Mascherano than anyone I’ve seen since the bucked tooth lad snuck off to a foreign bench. Harrying, tracking back, vital tackles etc. Pre-Kenny these were just words applied to other players.
Item: Dirk Kuyt. Great to watch when he’s great and An Evening With Sam Allardyce when he’s bad. Now he’s getting results and wants more. Then there’s Maxi. Well, Christ knows what’s happened to him.
Even Joe Cole’s scored.
This is all down to two men and it’s important to give Steve Clarke credit here. Much was made of our decline since Paco went and with no respect to Sammy or Pellegrino but you have to wonder what they were doing during the bad times. Mourinho had the chance to get rid of an average player turned coach when he joined Chelsea but saw something there and as loathsome as he is Mourinho knows something about the game.
Kenny’s taken us from mid to low table fodder to a shot at Europe, brought in and trusted a few talented kids (how must Martin Kelly feel about Flanagan’s season? He finally gets his chance, does well and is then usurped by a mere foetus of a lad) and got the whole of our support behind him. Hodgson’s press conferences were banal to bemusing and Rafa’s guarded to the point of paranoia whereas Kenny’s smirk and AutoCorrect replies (count how many times he says the words ‘deserves great credit’) reminds us that football can be about fun and a laugh. I’d forgotten that and I don’t think I’m alone.