Behind the Scenes: The King and His Rolex.

We always wonder what goes on inside the dressing rooms between the players and the managers, or in their lives off the field when they are together. What do they talk about, whom do they talk about, the special incidents that happen between them, the relations between them when they are not footballers or team-mates but humans and friends are matters of curiosity indeed. I've always wondered what goes on behind the walls of the biggest club in the world - what goes on between the players, the Gaffer, the staff et cetera on non-match days.

Starting today, I plan to write and share all that. I've had read autobiographies of a few United players and of the Gaffer too, so I've had first-hand account of their memories. And of course, the Internet never ceases to open the vault to other memories through countless articles that surface every now and then.

Today, I write about Eric Cantona - the persona that he was and how he was admired and respected by David Beckham - and about a particular incident, in his autobiography - 'David Beckham - My Side':

Every good team needs a strong leader. We'd had Bryan Robson at United in the past. More recently we had Roy Keane. That season, though, the man who made us tick didn't come back into the side until early October. Eric Cantona had been signed from Leeds in November 1992 after he'd won the championship with them the previous season. I'd watched him play a couple of times and you could see he was a good player then but, once he arrived at Old Trafford, something more started to happen. In no time at all, Eric had become this player that the rest of us wanted to be. As a person, he had an aura about him: when Eric walked into a room, everything stopped. He was a presence. And he brought that same quality to being a Manchester United player.

In all the time we played together and trained together, I don't think I ever had a conversation with Eric about football. To be honest, beyond a few words here and there, I never had a conversation with him about anything. I don't think many people did, he was that private about his life. After training, and after games, he'd just disappear. We accepted that he had his own life and his own way to doing thigs. He'd turn up for training, driving this little Vauxhall Nova, and lever all six foot four of himself out from behind the steering wheel. He'd do his work. Then, when we'd finish, he'd squeeze himself back into the thing and be gone. Amazing, really, when you think about the impact he had not just on me and the rest of the players but on the whole club. We didn't talk to him but we talked about him almost all the time.

Eric could do no wrong in my eyes. And I think the gaffer was a bit in awe of him as well. One evening we were at a premiere of one of the Batman films. It was a club invitation so we were all supposed to turn up in black tie. Eric arrived wearing a white suit and his bright red Nike trainers. I laugh about it now, after the ear bashings I used to get from the boss about the clothes I chose to wear. Eric was special, though. The gaffer knew that and so did all the players. We never begrudged him being treated differently to the rest of us.

Eric was class apart. If anyone tried it on, he made sure you knew that. Not that people risked it very often. There was one evening, after a game, when we'd arranged a 'team meeting': it was just a night out with the lads but calling it that meant you knew everybody had to be there. We'd planned to meet at a place in Manchester called the Four Seaons at 6.45 and then go on from there. By 7 o'clock, only Eric was missing. He eventually strolled up and Giggsy pointed to his watch:

'Seven o'clock, Eric.'

Ryan was doing his best to sound like the gaffer if you were late for training. Eric looked over:

'Six forty-five.'

Giggsy looked at his watch but, before he could say another word, Eric hitched up his sleeve and showed us the face of the most beautiful Rolex watch any of us had ever seen:

'Six forty-five,' he smiled.

End of argument. How could that watch, or the bloke wearing it, possibly be wrong about the time?

The Mancunian War: Battle of Old Trafford.

"Form is temporary. Class is permanent. You cannot buy class."

The Mancunian War had been raging on for the past 100 years or so and will continue for ages to come. Battles, fought by mere mortals, had been immortalized into the minds of the warring armies for reasons of their own. But the most recent clash, the Battle on the Plains of Old Trafford, bore such significance in history that it compelled the historians to believe that a battle of such ferocity was never fought before. I had been a part of the War for the last few years, a part of the Red Army, a part against the enemy from the Blue side of Mancunia.

Before the Great Battle had even begun, even before the armies would stand in front each other ready to unleash their might, the two sides were engaged in a War of Words, full of passion and hatred, both so intense that it would have struck terror in the hearts of other mere mortals. There was even the betrayal of the Red Army from one of its own warriors who joined the enemy which fanned the fires raging within the walls of the Red Republik. The Battle was destined to be told for generations to come.

Manchester United faced the new big spenders in the League, Manchester City at Old Trafford for the 153rd Manchester Derby on 20th September, 2009. Prior to the clash of the English Champions and the Stockport 'Champions', City had been in the news for all the wrong reasons. Their latest toy-cum-striker, Adebayor, had been banned for 3 games for running the entire length of the Wastelands pitch and celebrating his goal in front of the visiting Arsenal, his ex-employers, fans and also deliberately kicking Van Persie, his ex-teammate, in the face.

Carlos Tevez, an ex-United player who won 2 League titles with United and also a Champions League medal, had joined the Bluenose Cunts in an intra-city switch that didn't go too well with the United fans, specially with those who chanted "Fergie-sign-him-up" during the Gaffer's speech at the Trophy Presentation in May. Tevez's reasons for leaving United and joining the Bitters were acceptable, not wanting to leave Manchester for family reasons and not getting enough time on the field being the most significant of them. But all that was washed away when that fucking Argie Judas cunt started lying in the media about the Boss and how he was treated at United. The Bitters even erected a banner saying, "Welcome to Manchester" with Tevez in its backdrop celebrating a goal that he scored for United the previous season - Massive indeed - which prompted the Gaffer to say, "It's City, isn't it? They are a small club with a small mentality."

On Derby Day, as the TV cameras focused inside the players' tunnel, you couldn't see a single United player looking at Tevez. He was greeted though, by a lady from the staff. However, as the players trooped outside, he was greeted by something he clearly wasn't expecting - boos from the United fans. The disillusioned cunt thought he was still famous with us! United fans unfurled a banner that said, "Welcome to Manchester" and had the trophy count written underneath. That set the tone and with the Sun high in the sky, the game kicked off.

United attacked the East Stand in the first half. Park made a tackle or two and had me rubbing my palms in anticipation. United got a throw-in deep inside the City half and Micah Richards - the former so-called heir of Neville for England, switched off and let Evra get behind him and cut-in for Rooney to calmly shake off two City defenders and slot home the first goal of the game inside 3 minutes. As United pushed more and more, they looked very comfortable on the ball, except for Ferdinand, who had, meanwhile, made one or two sloppy backpasses to Foster. On the next such occasion, however, the sloppiness was such that even Foster couldn't help but return Ferdinand's gesture by trying to dodge the on-rushing Tevez but failing miserably to gift City an equalizer. From that point on, City grew in confidence and United looked shaken.

The interval came and went and the game resumed. United looked far more settled and had conviction in their play. They started the second half as they had started the first - Darren Fletcher, barging into Gareth 'I-want-to-play-in-Europe-so-I-joined-City-It's-not-the-money' Barry, getting on a superb Ryan Giggs cross to head home from close range. 2-1 to Manchester United. Oh yeah, take that you fucking Bluenose twats. But that lead lasted only 3 minutes, when Craig Bellamy the Golfer, cut in on his right foot and let loose a cannon-ball in the top-right corner of the United goal. 2-2 and it was only 52 minutes on the clock. Fuck it.

What contrived within the minds of United players I cannot say, but since that Bellamy goal, United shrugged off the setback and produced such display of dominating and solid football that it was only a matter of time before the winner came. Ryan Giggs, 35 years of age, playing in his 35th (?) Derby, must have forgotten to blow the candles on his birthday cakes all this while as he rolled back the years with an impeccably classy performance. He and Evra marauded the right City flank. Everytime City cleared the ball with all 11 men inside their half, it landed into the feet of a player in Red. United continued to penetrate when finally, with 10 minutes remaining, Fletcher headed in another Giggs cross. 3-2. By that time, Berbatov, who tested Shay 'I-try-only-against-United' Given twice, had already made way for Michael Owen, the former Kop hero who still isn't comfortable a sight in the Red of United, and Park had made way for Valencia.

With a minute of normal time remaining, United were fairly in good control, defending deep and trying to hit City on the counter. Ferdinand, who was having a sloppy afternoon, tried to flick the ball over Bellamy but failed. The ball landed for Petrov instead. He put Bellamy, who had sneaked behind Ferdinand, through on goal. Foster, as before, complimented Ferdinand by getting all his angles Hong-Konged and going down too early to enable Bellamy to slide underneath him the equalizer which had the City fans giddy with celebrations. Most of the United fans, including me, couldn't believe what they had just seen. The twat from Wales celebrated his equalizing goal for more than a minute, probably thinking the referee would blow the final whistle right after the game would restart.

If what had just happened was unbelievable, it was just the prelude to the incredible rhapsody that was about to unfold. A minute and six seconds into extra time, United kicked-off. Michael Carrick came on for Anderson, adding another 30 seconds to the total time added of four minutes. United attacked City, who were settling for a draw, straight away. Five minutes into extra time, Rooney hoofed a ball into the City box. It was cleared by Lescott directly in the path of Ryan Giggs. With the clock ticking down and with the ball at your feet in the middle of the park, any player, no matter how skilled or experienced or intelligent, would have lobbed the ball back in the opposition's box. Instead, Ryan Giggs, catching Wright-Phillips out of position, threaded a perfectly weighted pass to Michael Owen, who had aligned himself perfectly with their defensive line and had called for the ball the minute Giggs looked up. With a deft touch with the outside of his right boot, he brought the pass under control and onto his stride and stroked the ball, as he had often done in the past, beyond Given in the far post corner. The Theater of Dreams erupted into a deafening roar. 4-3 to Manchester United in the 96th minute against Manchester City, with a former Scouse hero scoring the winner in front of the Stretford End - no one could have scripted it better. While Owen wheeled away and celebrated with team-mates and fans, Carlos Tevez stood there, hands on hips.

City thought they were robbed. It was 95:27 when Owen scored and the total time added was 95:36, a perfectly legitimate goal. United fans couldn't care less. Neville went mad, dancing down the touchline and Fergie couldn't stop hopping about. It was mayhem. When the final whistle sounded, there was rapturous applause. It had been a dramatic game, probably the "greatest Manchester derby" as Fergie later proclaimed.

Fletcher was awarded the MoM for his 2 goal contribution. But if Fletcher was dynamic, Ryan Giggs, with 3 direct assists and an important role in the first goal, was precise and artistic. Michael Owen, of all people, popped in with the winner and he displayed why he was brought into the United fold by Fergie - he still had the classic finishing ability within him. Tevez was never a great finisher, just as he showed when he hit the post with the goal at his mercy, and ironically, if it wasn't for him wanting to leave United, we probably wouldn't have seen the Liverpool icon at United. What he, Owen, does next at United remains to be seen but if there was any doubt over how the United faithful take to the former Scouse hero, those doubts were clinically dismissed by himself, just as he clinically dismissed City.

And as the dust settled, the soldiers of the Red Army marched back to their homes, savoring a victory that will be remembered for the years to come - the victory in the Battle of Old Trafford.

'Football - Bloody hell!’

Moscow, 21st May, 2008: On a long and wet night inside the Luzhniki Stadium, Edwin Van Der Sar made himself big enough to save a Nicholas Anelka penalty. 3000 miles away, a gathering of about a hundred Reds erupted in madness. ‘Bedlam is what followed.’ Tears, joy and ecstasy. ‘Football – Bloody hell!’

The 2007-2008 season began with a no-show: a 0-0 draw against Reading at home followed by a 1-1 draw at Portsmouth. United had won the title after 4 years the previous season by a fairly good margin. Add to that, the signings of 4 more players – Carlos Tevez, Nani, Anderson and Owen ‘I’d-let-you-shag-my-wife’ Hargreaves. I was particularly keen on United signing Hargo. I watched him run from box-to-box, apparently the only English player wanting to win, in the England v/s Portugal World Cup QF. He’s a no-nonsense, orthodox footballer, sort of some Mr. Steel in the middle of the park, something we wanted since Keane departed. The season after the World Cup, United tried to sign him but Bayern wouldn’t let go. If Owen Hargreaves was famous and wanted, I knew little about Nani and Anderson. They introduced themselves in the course of the season that followed and how! Tevez was almost an established Premiere League player. He had scored for West Ham against United at Old Trafford in their last match of the previous season to avoid relegation.

As the season progressed, United hit top gear and gave themselves a formidable chance of winning a second title in two years. The squad was terrific, the injuries didn’t really bothered, or atleast it seemed (easy to say in retrospect). United also did a memorable Double over the Scouse bastards. The only blemish on an otherwise great campaign was that Citeh did the Double over United. On the final day of the season, United were locked on equal points with Chelsea, who had fired Mourinho at the start of the season and appointed a certain Toad-faced manger called Avram Grant. To be fair to him, he did a good job at Chelsea, even transforming a ‘11-men-behind-the-ball’ Chelsea to a more attacking one. United traveled to Wigan for the one last match that remained. United had to equal or better Chelsea’s result and they would be crowned Champions of England for the 17th time. And they bettered Chelsea’s result of a 1-1 draw. Ronaldo scored his 41st goal of the season from the spot and Giggsy scored another vintage goal. Champions of England! I remember shouting “Champions…Champions” and then proceeding to take off my shirt to sing “Champione…ole ole ole” much to the tut-tut ting of my parents who obviously thought that I, immersed in my books, would have been a less disappointing scenario. United missed out on the FA Cup though, losing narrowly to Portsmouth at OT where an incorrect decision from the referee sent United out of the Cup and from the Treble potentialities.

On the European front, United showed impeccable class. They remained unbeaten and were now in the final of the European Cup, for the third time in their history, 9 years after Barcelona and 40 after Wembley. It was also the 50th anniversary of the Munich tragedy. Their opponents were Chelsea, again. The two of them made the first ever All-English final. It was one of my dreams to watch United lift the European Cup, and I realized I would probably live it. I couldn’t help imagining things – things like the European Cup in the hands of Ryan Giggs and Scholes and Gaz Neviller, things like Fergie parading it around, things like being there myself.

On 21st May, when United were going to play Chelsea in the final, me, my friends – Abhishek, Aalhad and Sancheet and my cousins – Animesh and Anukool went to the screening of the match hosted by the Manchester United Fan Club of Mumbai at Avon Ruby, Dadar, Mumbai. There were around a 100 people that night in that hall. There was some general banter and a good atmosphere, full of anticipation in the crowd. I don’t remember the exact time, but it was certainly past midnight.

United scored early with a brilliant move that involved Brown and Scholesy exchanging passes and Ronaldo to head home his 42nd goal from the resulting Brown cross. And as we still reeled from the celebrations, United stepped up. Another wonderful move which Rooney started from a cross-field ball to Ronaldo, who crossed to Tevez, on the counter resulted in a great save from the Chelsea keeper. The rebound fell to Carrick who shot on target but United were denied again. Few minutes later, Tevez had another chance to put the game beyond doubt but he couldn’t stretch his leg enough. But Chelsea suddenly equalized when an unlucky triple-deflection fell to Lampard to slot over VDS just before the interval.

In the second half, Chelsea were resurgent. They hit the woodwork through Drogba but couldn’t score. After 90 minutes, the teams remained at 1-1 and were forced into Extra Time in which Terry cleared a Giggs shot from the goal-line and Lampard hit the woodwork from a few yards out. The destination of the European Cup was going to be decided on penalties.

I don’t know about the others, but I was pretty confident that we would win it quite simply because United deserved it more than anyone else. They played brilliant football, were unbeaten in the competition, were the best team in the best league in the world and they had fate on their side. But all that comes crashing down when you see Ronaldo missing a penalty. As the commentator, it was probably Gray, said, “And suddenly, 42 goals don’t look so good.” Even when Ronaldo missed United’s third, I thought about the old United adage – ‘It’s never over till it’s over.’ Up stepped the Chelsea captain to take the fifth kick and win it for Chelsea and I kept repeating in my head that United - the fans, the players, the Boss - didn't deserve to lose out on United's Holy Grail after coming so near. Fate probably played its part when John Terry slipped and missed. As our nerves frayed and the heads throbbed and the throats parched and the palms sweated, Big Edwin Van Der Sar saved from Anelka in Sudden Death to win it for United.

The moments that followed are frozen in time. They are chiseled in my mind. On a long and wet night inside the Luzhniki Stadium, when Edwin Van Der Sar made himself big enough to save a Nicholas Anelka penalty, when 3000 miles away, a gathering of about a hundred Reds erupted in madness, I held my head in my hands. I felt happiness – glorious happiness, relief, numb, cold, calm and as the adrenalin pumped infinitely, I jumped up and beyond the chairs and hugged everyone in sight. I remember shouting ‘Europe! Europe!’ I remember Abhishek with a face struck with pleasing horror that came with the understanding of reality and Animesh laughing and shouting unintelligible words. ‘Bedlam is what followed.’ Tears, joy and ecstasy.

‘Football – Bloody hell!’

Blogging resumed.

Much water has passed under the bridge.

I stopped blogging long time ago. But I've resumed it now. I have had many memories and events to share, but I never really came around to actually do that courtesy of my HSC year. Now that I have stumbled over that hurdle, I find myself wanting to write again.

In between this period, United did the Perfect Double Act - Champions of England and Champions of Europe, 2008. They followed it up with another title in 2009 but lost to Barcelona in the 2009 Champions League final. The 2009-10 season has begun and I just watched a thrilling 153rd Manchester Derby where United made life difficult once again - winning 4-3 in stoppage time with Michael Owen of all people grabbing the winner. But more on that later.

I'll try and keep blogging.