AT LEAST the ceiling did not fall in on Manchester United this time. Last season, a burst sewage pipe above the Stadium of Light’s away dressingroom prompted the incineration of thousands of pounds worth of playing kit, sharp suits and assorted personal possessions belonging to Alex Ferguson’s squad.
This time it was a case of their title hopes turning, eventually, to dust. In-between came early resignation, then mild optimism followed by a surge of hope so tantalising that everyone felt Ferguson really had one hand back on the Premier League trophy. Finally, 13 seconds after the final whistle blew, the cruellest of synchronicities saw the prize snatched away. Manchester City had recovered from being 2-1 down to register a stoppage-time 3-2 victory against Queens Park Rangers.
Martin O’Neill, Sunderland’s manager, described it as “a harrowing moment” for his United counterpart but, initially, at least, the Scot remained magnanimous. “Our players didn’t actually know the other result at the whistle and they’re really disappointed,” he said. “Normally 89 points would be enough to win the league – but it wasn’t our turn.”
He could not resist a little dig at his “noisy neighbours”, delivered with a hint of characteristic defiance. “It’s a cruel way to lose out but I have experienced many ups and downs in 26 years. I think we have a rich history, better than anyone and it will take them [City] a century to get to our level of history.”
Perhaps, but the suspicion is this was a foretaste of worse to come. In an instant, an entire squad were crushed. With shoulders slumping and eyes fixed firmly on the turf, no visiting player seemed quite sure what to do. For a minute or so of near-suspended animation they just milled aimlessly around. As O’Neill put it, people “hovered”. Then Paul Scholes, swiftly followed by Ferguson, pulled himself upright, turned, raised his hands above his head and headed off to applaud the away end.
Watching one of the game’s greatest managers and one of the finest English midfielders together saluting their travelling support after the final game of a tumultuous season, it was hard to believe you were not witnessing the end of an era. It was an impression only reinforced by the earlier sight of Rio Ferdinand massaging what was clearly a painful lower back, but at least Ferdinand, like Scholes and Ryan Giggs, did their level best to rage against the dying of a collective light. No matter that United arrived with the odds against them. Or that psychologically, the unseasonably cold, windy and grey May weather seemed an unlikely backdrop for a small miracle, Ferguson’s players did their level best to conjure one.
Unfortunately the portents were not promising. Even before kick-off, little indignities afflicted the fallen champions-in-waiting. The official team sheet referred to Sir Alex as plain old Mr Ferguson. Had the act of throwing away a winning position really caused him to be stripped of his knighthood? After Wayne Rooney’s goal, the celebrations were muted, with such pessimism swiftly justified when City scored their opener. Then, incredibly, QPR equalised and went on to take the unlikeliest of leads. A door eased from slightly ajar to half open. Suddenly on-field tempo picked up, party streamers floated on to the pitch and, for the first time, Ferguson, immediately re-energised, strode into the technical area.
The only problem was Mark Hughes was the Premier League kingmaker. If United fans trusted their former centre-forward’s managerial skills they feared, correctly, that by getting himself sent off, QPR’s Joey Barton would ultimately undermine Hughes’s clever tactical choreography.
“Everybody expected City to win, but they did it against 10 men for half an hour and with five extra minutes to help them,” Ferguson said, somewhat pointedly. “But I congratulate City on winning the league. Anybody who wins it deserves it.” Rarely has the phrase “spoken through gritted teeth” seemed more pertinent. Guardian Service
