In the Dog House

No, I’m not referring to the stadium. Big day, big game. The first FA-cup final in the beautiful new Wembley. The Dream Final, starring the winner and the runner-up of the league title. Stadium packed to impressive full capacity with fans; hundreds of thousands (millions?) of people eagerly watching on television all over the world. All set for a classic game, a game to remember, full of football of the highest quality from the best league in the world…

I managed to stay awake during the first half because I was standing up, during the second, when a kind man had offered me a seat in a freakishly comfortable sofa, it was increasingly difficult to do so. Looking at the bizarrely congested midfield scenes during the first half I sometimes forgot which team was attacking where; balls were always played backwards – attacks seemed to happen accidentally. 7 minutes for the first half-hearted attempt; another 7 before I realised that Ronaldo was actually playing. The only goal, which, to be fair to Drogba and Lampard, was a lovely one, came minutes before the goalless drudgery had to be ended in penalties. Now, I decided to watch the game partly because, well, you kind of have to, and partly because I hoped to be surprised. But deep down I was so sure that this was exactly what was going to happen that, in planning the rest of my evening, I had allowed extra time. The 90 minutes were up at 5.45 – so I told my friend I would meet her at 7…

Maybe I’m just being mean and bitter – I’m sure that the fans at the stadium had a splendid time – but I haven’t heard the phrase ‘dream final’ in conjunction with this game now that we have seen how it turned out. Whose dream was that again? In fact, so dull was the game that it was immediately forgotten in the media – unlike the unlikely story about José and the dog, which is still running. Mr Mourinho may be the best manager in the world, but what he undoubtedly excels at, on a scale utterly unattainable for his fellow mortals, is making headlines with absolutely nothing. And I’m sure that that is part of his greatness: few people remember to discuss the football played at Chelsea when they can discuss the latest sentence uttered by its manager – the drama and innuendo is better than a reality show. The dog added whole new a dimension and scope to this: The News Quiz on BBC Radio4, a football free zone even during international competitions, couldn’t refrain from mentioning José and his dog. Chelsea Football Club – Big Brother with balls. Boularouz will be voted out of the house next.

No, my dream final, so cruelly denied us, was Spurs beating Watford 5-2 in a thrilling display of attacking football. Even better, thus beating Manchester United! Actually, even being beaten by Man U would have been preferable – and certainly more entertaining for everyone else… Oh well, next season. Next up, the Champions League final, and dear, oh, dear, am I happy that it didn’t end up being between Chelsea and Manchester United.

The Nightmare Final and The Revenge Thriller

As soon as it became clear that Liverpool was one of the teams in the Athens final we knew that there were only two possible scenarios left – on one hand an all-English, indeed all-North-of-England, final which has had the authorities in Greece and England in nervous trepidation since it became apparent that it was at all possible; on the other hand the biggest revenge drama in European football of the century. Yes, it’s a young century. We now know that we are to be served with the latter, as AC Milan have an opportunity to get back at Liverpool and claim the trophy. Looking at the form of the teams we can expect a cracking game.

Liverpool versus Chelsea was a long, harrowing battle which seemed like it would go on forever until the world stopped. Had the rules been different, say, you have to play until either team scores a golden goal, however long it may take, we might still be watching them now. I had backed Chelsea, simply because of their unnerving ability to close a game down and snatch a goal from nowhere in the last minute. Liverpool, while much more aggressive and creative than in the first leg, also closed down well on their side, however. Terry and Carragher, two draconian defenders placed at opposite poles, fiercely guarding their treasure. Rob Smyth wrote in the Guardian that this was a display of English football at its most… well, English. Basically. Lowest-common-denominator football, reckons Rob, risk-free and defensive. I concur. Even the tough battles for the ball were not very interesting. And since this was in fact a European game it was “like showing an episode of EastEnders at the Cannes film festival”. Quite. Of course, if I had assumed that Chelsea would grind a victory out of this, a re-evaluation of the situation became necessary when the war turned into firing squad execution. Anfield, despite 120 minutes of admirable noise, had been unable to guide their team to scoring another goal, but would surely be instrumental in unsettling even the sturdiest of Chelsea veterans. Especially since Liverpool boast a penalty king in goal. And thus it was that Pepe Reina put an end to a long evening by saving two penalties.

The all-English semi-final was certainly less compelling than the mixed one; Manchester United against Italian teams have been great fun lately. This time, however, they did not so much inflict a sound thrashing than receive one. San Siro, noisy, at times shaking, and the heavens obliging with enough water to fill an Olympic size swimming pool set a perfect stage for entertainment. Players falling over, unable to see the ball… funnily enough Manchester United, who, one might suppose, would be better used to harsh weather conditions, seemed the only ones disturbed. Milan were mighty and did exactly what Man U did to Roma, even if this did not turn into a goal scoring circus: omnipresent aggression and creative cooperation. They seemed to be everywhere at once, never let their opponents pass a ball in peace and were confident in their attacking moves. Even United’s star players were unable to get into the game; Paul Scholes, in an attempt to play clean, was nowhere near it. The role of midfield terrier, so convincingly played by Darren Fletcher lately, was entirely taken up by energy bundle Gennaro Gattuso, who also found time to fire up the audience. So, again I was wrong – I had expected Man U to come through, even if we knew the San Siro game would be tough, perhaps because the images of the previous games were in my head. But things can turn around, this was Milan’s night and Liverpool are up for a hard time. What fun it will be.