one second to midnight
THE NIGHT THE GODS CUT IT FINE
one second to midnight
IF ANYONE needed glorious testimony to the truth of that
tired adage "It's not over till it's over", Manchester
United proved it last night with the most thrilling end to a
match involving English players for half a lifetime.
One-nil down after six minutes to Bayern Munich in the final
of the European Cup at Barcelona, Manchester United fought
on until the 90th minute, with umpteen chances blocked or
deflected. The last part of their historic treble seemed
dismally beyond all their efforts, and sad to say, their
recently acquired status as "gods" was in jeopardy.
In fact, despite Manchester United's larger share of the
possession, despite all David Beckham's splendid passing and
Jaap Stam's brick-wall defence, it was Bayern who looked
much more likely to score in the intervening end-to-end 84
minutes, with strikes bouncing off the post and the
crossbar, and all Andy Cole and Dwight Yorke's efforts
easily turned aside and defused in the goalmouth by
steadfast Bayern defenders. The truth was, if it hadn't been
for the posts, United would have been two or three down. And
it always makes you feel a bit sheepish when the goalposts
save the day. It doesn't seem even demi-godlike, let alone
the full Olympian malarky.
So it appeared all up for Man U. The chap with the reprieve
who so often bursts in with a one-second-to-midnight message
from the governor appeared to have either lost his way in
the Ramblas, or got distracted by the Gaudi architecture.
Either way, he was very late. In the 90th minute, I put my
hands in front of my face and just listened to the
commentator reel off the names. Even that was terrible. I
wondered if I should put my thumbs in my ears as well.
"Giggs," he said. Oh God, it was the same old story; was it
time to move abroad? Or kill myself? I was in Amsterdam,
after all. Those canals had a certain attraction. "," he
continued, with an excited inflection. I refused to look up.
These Dutch people probably have a very different speech
pattern from us, which implies a goal attack where none is
taking place. "!" he yelled. But I'd heard it all before,
and was renouncing football for being too wearing on the
nerves. "SHERINGHAM!" he bellowed, at which point,
unbelievably, Teddy Sheringham equalised.
One all? One all? Can't be. But it was. One all! The chap
with the reprieve had turned up after all! His bike got a
puncture, and he was attacked by wolves, but he made it none
the less! This meant extra time, and with Bayern Munich
demoralised by such an astonishing late goal, there was a
good chance they might roll over. Of course, the Dutch
commentator might be saying this, but I could hardly be
expected to follow it. So I was just imagining, with heart
in mouth, how it would be if (miraculously) Bayern rolled
over in extra time, when the ball turned up in their
goalmouth again, and via a very neatly controlled double
action from Sheringham (again) and Solskjaer, a second goal
was scored and the game was over.
And like millions of other people watching it (except in
Munich) I danced and yelled and laughed and laughed. Because
it was preposterous and funny, and the happiest turnaround
in a football match that I have ever seen. This is a match
that should wipe out all the misery of England v Argentina;
it certainly crowns David Beckham's brilliant season, and
confirms him as a footballing genius. It also proves the
supreme value of self-belief in winning at the highest
level. Despite everything, United clearly never stopped
thinking they could win this match.
I wish I could say the crestfallen looks of the Germans did
not add to the enjoyment. But I would be lying. Each morose
expression that filled the television screen only enhanced
the joy. Had Manchester United led from the start, there
would be room for sympathy with those gallant losers, but
after 85 minutes of distress, the tension released comes out
as pure we-won-it-and-you-didn't ecstasy. We don't have that
feeling very often in England. How marvellous to enjoy it
while we can.
tired adage "It's not over till it's over", Manchester
United proved it last night with the most thrilling end to a
match involving English players for half a lifetime.
One-nil down after six minutes to Bayern Munich in the final
of the European Cup at Barcelona, Manchester United fought
on until the 90th minute, with umpteen chances blocked or
deflected. The last part of their historic treble seemed
dismally beyond all their efforts, and sad to say, their
recently acquired status as "gods" was in jeopardy.
In fact, despite Manchester United's larger share of the
possession, despite all David Beckham's splendid passing and
Jaap Stam's brick-wall defence, it was Bayern who looked
much more likely to score in the intervening end-to-end 84
minutes, with strikes bouncing off the post and the
crossbar, and all Andy Cole and Dwight Yorke's efforts
easily turned aside and defused in the goalmouth by
steadfast Bayern defenders. The truth was, if it hadn't been
for the posts, United would have been two or three down. And
it always makes you feel a bit sheepish when the goalposts
save the day. It doesn't seem even demi-godlike, let alone
the full Olympian malarky.
So it appeared all up for Man U. The chap with the reprieve
who so often bursts in with a one-second-to-midnight message
from the governor appeared to have either lost his way in
the Ramblas, or got distracted by the Gaudi architecture.
Either way, he was very late. In the 90th minute, I put my
hands in front of my face and just listened to the
commentator reel off the names. Even that was terrible. I
wondered if I should put my thumbs in my ears as well.
"Giggs," he said. Oh God, it was the same old story; was it
time to move abroad? Or kill myself? I was in Amsterdam,
after all. Those canals had a certain attraction. "," he
continued, with an excited inflection. I refused to look up.
These Dutch people probably have a very different speech
pattern from us, which implies a goal attack where none is
taking place. "!" he yelled. But I'd heard it all before,
and was renouncing football for being too wearing on the
nerves. "SHERINGHAM!" he bellowed, at which point,
unbelievably, Teddy Sheringham equalised.
One all? One all? Can't be. But it was. One all! The chap
with the reprieve had turned up after all! His bike got a
puncture, and he was attacked by wolves, but he made it none
the less! This meant extra time, and with Bayern Munich
demoralised by such an astonishing late goal, there was a
good chance they might roll over. Of course, the Dutch
commentator might be saying this, but I could hardly be
expected to follow it. So I was just imagining, with heart
in mouth, how it would be if (miraculously) Bayern rolled
over in extra time, when the ball turned up in their
goalmouth again, and via a very neatly controlled double
action from Sheringham (again) and Solskjaer, a second goal
was scored and the game was over.
And like millions of other people watching it (except in
Munich) I danced and yelled and laughed and laughed. Because
it was preposterous and funny, and the happiest turnaround
in a football match that I have ever seen. This is a match
that should wipe out all the misery of England v Argentina;
it certainly crowns David Beckham's brilliant season, and
confirms him as a footballing genius. It also proves the
supreme value of self-belief in winning at the highest
level. Despite everything, United clearly never stopped
thinking they could win this match.
I wish I could say the crestfallen looks of the Germans did
not add to the enjoyment. But I would be lying. Each morose
expression that filled the television screen only enhanced
the joy. Had Manchester United led from the start, there
would be room for sympathy with those gallant losers, but
after 85 minutes of distress, the tension released comes out
as pure we-won-it-and-you-didn't ecstasy. We don't have that
feeling very often in England. How marvellous to enjoy it
while we can.