Jump to content
Search In
  • More options...
Find results that contain...
Find results in...

2011 Manchester United - A Team To Remember


United58
 Share

Recommended Posts

united.png

We know the good teams, but we remember the great ones

The debts at United exceed £700m, and towards the end of the season, the green and gold scarves of Newton Heath were proudly worn, firmly against the Glazers. Most fans are scared that there will be no money to spend in the close season, but that issue was quickly forgotten as Alex Ferguson dropped an impending bombshell in an MUTV interview.

'I've been managing Manchester United for twenty four years, and you may not have noticed, but I'm starting to get old.' Reporters laugh, but not yet getting it. ' I've seen great players in my time, and created great teams. But every day my bones ache more, and my burning flame is slowly being put out by Father Time.' A pause, to let it sink in. 'I'm beginning to realise now, more than ever, that time is precious, and I want to spend more with my family.' Another pause, even more shocking than the first. 'With that, I am stepping down from my role as the manager of Manchester United Football Club.' Suddenly the whole place explodes with talk. Yet when Sir Alex Ferguson raises a hand, the din quietens to nothing. Not many people command that kind of respect. 'My last role with Man United will be to help the club select a new manager.' And with that he leaves, a true Manchester United legend, the biggest of them all.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Right lads, this is it, no more chopping and changing, no more deleting updates, here we go, I want as many replies as possible, get ready to be blown away :D

Link to comment
Share on other sites

united.png

Beginning of the best

Unknown location, 40 years ago...

'We have gathered you here today as we feel you are the future of football management,' The FA official tells us in a serious voice. 'The game is moving along at a far quicker pace than anyone ever expected, and many managers won't we able to cope with the extreme pressures.' There's around twenty of us in a dimly lit room, with three FA men and a blackboard with chalk.

'Money will soon centre the game, and eradicate loyalty and trust. We need men in our country to help us overthrow Italy and Spain to become the world's biggest footballing nation. People like you, sitting here now. We have scouted ye, and ye are the best there is, or rather, will be. Football needs new managers, and new managers need football. We will train ye to become top of football's greatest list. You will not tell anyone about this secret society. If you do, you will be prohibited from receiving your coaching badges, and sacked. Any questions?' Silence.

'Jesus,' I whisper to my newfound friend, Harry, 'I thought the Scottish FA was bad!'


'... and don't leave players' contracts all expire on the same date,' explains our leader. We've been assigned to groups; I've been put with Harry. He's smarter than he looks (which is a good thing!!). This FA are clearly a cut above the rest. When they talk, you listen. They want us to succeed, and so do we. I'm only twenty eight, but I've officially caught the management bug!

Harry and I have similar views. He likes to build a team and boy, has he been good at it. We've been handed control of a few under thirteen players - our practical, if you want - to see how we do. We are allocated a budget, and are starting a league soon, to test us young. We both seem to be good at man management, but he prefers to quietly praise his players, while I always tell them to expect the best out of them, praising them after they perform. I'm beginning to understand how stressful football management is. But I love it. I was born for this. I was flown all the way in from Scotland. This is my destiny.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

united.png

The Little Pea with big potential

Mexico, twenty four years ago...

This was it.The big game. No excuses. Mexico expected. Javier Hernandéz - Chicharo - was now twenty five, and this was as good a time as any to release his full potential. His breath came quickly as the teams marched down the tunnel. The screams of countless Mexican fans gave the whole team an adrenaline rush and the West Germans physically wilted. 'Come on lads!' roared Hernandéz, and the whole of Mexico screamed back. This was going to be Mexico's biggest game ever.


Mexico, twelve years ago...

'Come on Dad, you're useless!' I laughed as I outsprinted him with ease to tap home the ball into the garden fence.

'You got lucky!' he complained. 'I slipped.'

'I know,' I replied, 'just like the other twenty five times.'

My dad used to play for Mexico and he was the best player in the whole wide world, even though he kept on telling me he wasn't. I was good, too, but he was on another level. He had four international goals and played in the World Cup Finals twelve years ago, making the semi finals. He always refused to talk about the Germany game, though, where he lost on penalties.

'I need a drink,' moaned Dad.

'I don't,' I snorted.

'Wait til you're my age,' Dad quipped, 'You'll be in a wheelchair and taking your mother's beautiful dinner through a tube up your-'

'Javier! Dad! The Man U match is kicking off!' called Mum through the window. The whole family was Man United mad. We both sprinted to the front room, me arriving well before him.

'Come on, old man,' I laughed. 'I'll get you a beer if your lucky.'

'You'll escape with just a slap if you're lucky,' he growled back, but I knew he didn't mean it. We all loved each other; a typical Mexican family. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the near ice cold fridge. It felt amazing, but I knew it really tasted like frozen pee. I got a Coke for myself, and ran upstairs to throw on my Man United top. I could hear my dad singing Glory, Glory Man United as the team lined out against Arsenal.

'Come on United!' I shouted at the TV screen, settling into my favourite armchair with the red cushion.

'Maybe you'll play for them one day,' said Mum, smiling.

'Yeah, and maybe Dad will lose some weight,' I replied.

'Hey!' he complained, patting his stomach defensively and sipping his beer contentedly. I sighed happily. Life doesn't get much better than this.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

united.png

Legends forever

Unknown location, forty years ago...

We sit, semi circled around a small table. A coach sits to the front. 'The most important rule of football, which most people forget, is that it's a ninety minute game,' he explains. 'If you're two nil down in the last few minutes, you can't just stop! When players are asked why do they play football, they always say for the enjoyment. But why do they go out, having the privilege to play and give up when they're losing? A player who enjoys the game will never give up, never, because they play for the fun.' The words are a perfect synchronization of my philosophy. This man knows what he's saying. 'This is your last session,' he continues.'Pre season starts soon. You're going home tomorrow.' He stands up. 'Remember what we've told you; you are the future of football. Nothing can stop you, only your own limits.' And with that, he's gone.


Nou Camp, eleven years ago...

'Come on!' I scream as we win another corner. I'm surprised we're only down 1-0. Bayern have hit the post twice and are playing better than us. The Nou Camp is gargantuan. I think it's got to my players heads, despite what I said in the pre match press conference - 'Aye, it's big, but not as big as our spirit'. Teddy and Olé were brought on as fresh faces, but we're about as fresh as milk left out overnight. David lines up the corner. 'PETER!' I shout, 'GET IN THE BOX!' The Bayern defenders are outnumbered, but in the chaos manage to clear. I groan, but it only goes as far as Teddy, and he swivels round and lashes it home!

'YYYYYYYYYEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!' The whole world, it seems, roar as one. One all! From nowhere! But we can't concede now.

We win yet another corner. We don't have as many men in the box now. Both sets of players are tired, but you can see the gleam in our players' eyes. David sends in another beauty. We head it on, and, in a moment of pure Olé genius, he calmly slots the ball home!

A half a second of silence. Then, there's a roar to end all roars as Olé wheels away in celebration, all of our players running after him.

'The subs have won it! The subs have won it!' The bench sing. Gary is pumping his fists towards the fans, and I look at them and see Roy, who's grinning. Yes, even Roy's happy. I smile the proudest smile of my life. This is our moment, what a team, what a day, what a season!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

united.png

The real future stars

Mexico, ten years ago...

'Is Geovani there?' I asked, bouncing an old leather ball on the ground outside his door. I've had it forever. My dad gave it to me as a present. I've had it since I was in a cot. Geovani's mother, Juana, smiled at me.

'Yes he is, get him out of bed for me, would you? He's dead to the world.'

I laughed. 'I'll try,' I informed her, then bounded up the stairs.

'Javier's one fast runner, isn't he?' commented Juana to Davido, Geovani's dad. He snorted.

'Not as fast as me,' he chuckled jokingly, but I took no notice of him. I went into Geovani's room. He bolted upright and pulled his covers over him. 'Jesus, Chee, I'm naked here!' he shouted, but I could tell he was delighted to see me. 'Who's out?'

'Well, Carlos's in the park, and Fernando and Munez are outside,' I told him, 'and we're getting more.'

'Good,' said Geovani. He groaned and stretched. 'I'm too old for this early morning business.' I pulled his blanket off him and threw it away. 'It's two o'clock!' I bellowed. He screamed and ducked by the far side of the bed. 'Okay, okay, let me get my God damn clothes on!' he moaned. I grinned and left, anticipating our kick around with glee.

'Hernandéz.'

'Carlos and Chee can't be on the same team!' complained Geovani. I grinned.

'I'm useless,' I said innocently.

'Rubbish,' he snorted. You'll be playing for Leeds in five years.' That was when the local underage team's bus rolled by. We couldn't afford to play for them. We gazed with envy as they sneered own at us, superior in every way except abilty.

Carlos whisted. 'There go the rich snobs, off to impress blind scouts. I hope they choke on their own pre contracts.' I smiled at that. Carlos was a down to earth, unbelievable footballer. Even as he I thought that, he flicked the ball up and lashed it at the bus. It would have hit it and broken a window, which all of us together couldn't pay for, but it hit a pole and came back to him. He killed its movement with a deft flick of his heel, placed his foot on it, hands on hips, and declared, 'Now who wants to play some real football?' We all cheered and clapped.

'I'd love to see one of those bastards doing that!' growled Giovani, and we all murmered in agreement. If I wanted to, I could play for them. But give up on my friends? No way. We're knitted tighter together than the sinews in the Mexico jersey.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

united.png

Northern lights

Derry, ten years ago...

'Darron! The ball! The ball!' screams Jack. I touch it back to him with natural grace. I was born a footballer. It's my one love. Lately though, life's changed. I've hit puberty. I used to be a midget, now I'm average. I also put on weight. A lot. I'm not obese (yet), but I wouldn't win any races. I used to be a weed. If it wasn't for footy, I'd have serious heart problems. I play up front. I used to play winger because I was good at crossing, but I wasn't fast enough. I play for North Side. We're ok. Division Three, mid table mediocrity. Know what I mean?

Jack whallops a shot at goal. Nothing special. It sails wide. He swears loudly and jogs back to the centre of the field. He's amazing in the air. He's barely five five, but put him up against Tony Adams and he'll win every time. No joke.

The kick out's taken. It bypasses me, as I'm up front. I stare at the sideline. There's normally a group of kids our age (mainly girls!) on our side, for Jonny. He's our centre back and the rock of the team. He's tall and all the girls thing he's handsome. I think he's an ugly wart. Joke. Then I spot Rachel and my heart flutters. She's blonde, short, thin (not sickly thin), blue eyes. I like her. I've liked her a while. Trouble is, she's cool. I'm not. Maybe if I wasn't so fat, or cut my hair shorter...

'Darron, you fucking twat!' roars Seán as the ball slips by me. I groan. They played on while I was daydreaming! I try to get to the ball, but it's halfway downfield before I have a chance. I hear laughter on the sidelines. I turn red. I'm having a bad game. The weight's a serious handicap. Then I recieve quite a shoulder slam right into the back.

'Sorry lad,' says the burley centre half. 'You're so big, I couldn't miss.' A red flash twitches across my brain. I get anger attacks sometimes. Mostly at home. This is the first I've had at a match. He's just dissed me bigtime. Then I get an intentional slap between the legs. I squeal with pain. Of course, the referee is looking the other way. I suddenly snap. Throwing myself at him, I aim for the face. He swats me aside with ease, but I barely notice. I'm on him, scraping the life out of his cheeks. I'm going to kill him -

When something extremely strong pulls me up. The ref. Oh, shit. I'm standing there, shirt tugged halfway up my chubby stomach, the defender on the ground roaring crying, ref holding the red card high. Tears stain my eyes as I trudge off. 'What a freak!' I look up to see Rachel shriek at me. I bow my head like a scolded puppy and will the ground to swallow me whole.

Walking home. Feeling numb. Realising past mistakes. Why did I eat so much? Thinking about exercise. Why didn't I ever work out? My heart beats unusually fast due to the copious amounts of chocolate I've eaten. As I near a turn on the footpath I come to a conclusion that I was magnetizing towards for some time now. I start to jog.

Feeling better than I have in ages. Not physically, so to speak, but the fact I'm running gives me a mental surge of happy hormones. Why didn't I think of this before? I stop to do press ups. My heart is thumping, ecstatic I'm saving it from the suffocating effect of fat. Sweat drips down my body. Blood surges round, through the veins, heart, arteries, then begins again. I get up and sprint twenty metres. Get down to do sits ups, gasping as I come up. A quick break, to let my muscles relax and my lungs cool down, then I'm off again. But then it happens.

I'm out in the country; not many cars come through here. So I have to go straight across the road, running, not bothering to look left, right, or left again. I hear the spine-chilling roar of an engine. Trust me, it's much louder when you know you're the unintended target. I'm hit with what must be the force of a million - no, a billion - rockets thundering towards me. I fly though the air like a lifeless ragdoll, and upon impact with the ground am dead to the world.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

united.png

Birth by sleep

Derry, ten years ago...

The bed creaks. I hear a monitor hum. It's awfully peaceful.

I'm in hospital. I woke to the sound of my mum screaming crying. She must have thought I was dead. I tried reaching for her, but I couldn't move, or open my eyes. You don't know how frustrating this is.

I'm in a coma. I can hear everything that goes on around me. That's about all I can do, though. I can tell it's night. It usually gets quiet like this when the visitors go home.

-> Days.

Mum and Dad visit every day, saying how much they love me, reading me stories, telling me all about life in general. Mum usually cries. Dad's harder. He keeps it in til Mum leaves, then he starts too. This is nearly as bad for me as it is for them. They don't know if I can hear them, so sometimes they just sit, a silent vigil. I mutely scream at them to talk, but to no avail.

The needle in my hand itches like crazy. It's hooked up to a drip. Well, I think it is. I can't feel much else. I'm surprised I can even feel the needle.

Mum and Dad leave. Every silent moment like this brings back agonizing memories. I relive the moment of the atrocious accident over and over again. Just as I was on the road to being fit, the world came crashing down around me. I mentally sigh.

-> Weeks.

I feel like I'm slipping away. The darkness has become part of my existence. It's lonely, being like this. Every day I think of what could have been, what could have come to pass. but shit happens. Life moves on. But I don't. I'm stuck, stranded halfway between life and death.

-> Months.

Life has become a distant memory. I fight to stay sane. I repeat my name, over and over, so's not to forget it. Sometimes I do, and I panic, but it always comes. It's taking longer and longer, though. The doctors are slowly giving up. I hear them talk about my organs shutting down. Can they afford to keep me alive, just to prolong my death and agony? But there's always hope. There's always hope.

-> A Year.

I succumb to madness over and over again, but with nothing to do, I reluctantly reestablish a weak foothold on my wiltering sanity. Over the past few - days? weeks? months? - I've felt a void of nothing sickeningly opening in the pit of my brain. It grows and grows. I know it's an escape. It's so tempting. I have to force my way away from it, but it's arduous work. I'm fighting a losing battle.

One day I hear a voice. 'Darron'.

What are the doctors playing at? I haven't answered for over a year, why should I now?

Maybe they're going to put me to sleep.

Deep sleep.

'Darron!'

'What?!' I shout inside, irritated and terrified in equal measure.

'Do you want your life back?' That shocks me. I never would have expected an answer.

'Yes!' I plead, then suddenly realise it's all in my head, that it was all just a dream. Darkness reigns.

'Stop that rubbish! Darron, you're about to die. We can preserve your life if you live it well.'

I'm confused. I want this to be real so bad, yet I think that's what's helping me make it up, fuelling a fake furnace.

'I need my life.'I croak. 'I only started living it minutes before I stopped.'

I'm sure the voice is smiling. 'Well, you can have it back.'

I can feel an unusual, warm sensation running through my body, giving me strength. It makes me feel invigorated, like I can do anything. I grin. I grinned! I moved! I'm alive! In a sudden rush of pure adrenaline, I push myself up and open my eyes. The light blinds me, but I gradually adjust. I look around, smiling like an idiot.

'I'm back.'

Link to comment
Share on other sites

united.png

Like father, like son

Scotland, thirty years ago...

I kick the ball off the fence. It comes back to me, and I take a touch and kick it off the fence again. And again. This is what Dad taught me. To be the best, you have to train like the best. I do this for hours on end. I like it. It helps a lot when playing. I glance at the window, where I see Dad. Rushing in, I leap up to him. 'Did you win?' I shout excitedly.

'Aye,' he says in a soldiers voice, then grins. 'One nil. Alan had a great game.' And I squeeze all the information about the game out of him. Football management fascinates me. Dad seems to have mastered it. I see his eyes go bright whenever we talk footy. He says I could be a manager one day. I know he's just saying it to make me happy, but who knows?


Scotland, twenty six years ago...

Dad comes home from work, earlier than usual. I've become a force to be reckoned with on the football field. I play centre mid. Dad comes through the door. 'Darren!' he shouts. 'We're going to Manchester! Cathy!'

'What?' I cry.

He grins broadly at me. 'United offered me a job. I accepted.'

Mum comes down the stairs. She always wanted to move to England. 'Really?' she says excitedly.

'Yes!' exclaims Dad, unable to contain his excitement, which is bubbling fit to burst inside him. 'What are ye waiting for?' he enquires. 'Pack your bags and let's go!'

Old Trafford is magnificent. It's absolutely gargantuan. I gaze around, awestruck. There's so much to take in. 'This,' booms Dad, 'Is the Theatre of Dreams.' I stare at it. I want to be part of this so bad. I feel a strange tingling in my blood. I crave the power of being in control. The stadium whispers promised dreams to me. 'Darren...'

'Darren. Darren!' I snap out of my trance. 'We're going on our tour. Ready?'

'One step ahead of you,' I call back, already gone, seeking my destiny.


Manchester, twenty years ago...

'Darren,' says Dad to me quietly after training. 'Since Bryan's injured, I want you to play centre mid against Everton, ok?'

My heart thumps hard. My Old Trafford debút! At eighteen! My legs felt like jelly. 'Yes, Da - Sir,' I manage to reply. I continuously pinch myself on the way home. I keep thinking it's not real, that it was all just a dream, coming up through the youth academy. I've been flirting with the bench, but that was about it. Dad's putting a lot of pressure on me. If I flop, the media will blame him big time. They're already on his case regarding his job security. For the sake of the future of Man United, I can't fail Dad.

We're warming up. I play a one two with Paul Ince. Paul Ince! He's on a poster in my room. I'm trying as hard as I can, striving to prove I can be great with the big guns. The pitch is perfect; Old Trafford is always perfect. 'U-N-I-T-E-D United are the team for me...' I hear the Stretford End singing faithfully, and that warms me.

Before I know it, I've my hands on my hips, right foot placed over the ball at the centre circle. 'Relax,' says Paul warmly to me. I must look a mess. I'm all tensed up. Oh well. I grin shakily back, then the ref blows his whistle and we're off...

Link to comment
Share on other sites

May have to wait a while as I'm doing my Pre (mock?) exams next week, then a week off, then another weeks of joyous, uplifting, inspirational testings :):( Maybe during week off

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.
Note: Your post will require moderator approval before it will be visible.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

Loading...
 Share

×
×
  • Create New...