It takes two, baby

A couple of weeks ago, after the certainly thrilling match at Anfield between Arsenal and Liverpool, a Dutch pundit may have gotten a little carried away. When he proclaimed this match had been “quite possibly the best game ever to be played”, I decided it must have been getting late and I must have misunderstood because Liverpool – Arsenal, while obviously thrilling, hadn’t struck me as a particularly well-played game. It had its moments, most notably that wonderful rush by Theo Walcott and a rather spectacular final third, but the overall quality of the game hardly boggled the mind.

When I got up, I decided to watch the early afternoon replay of the show, only to see the same pundit look into the camera and utter the exact same line which had sent me to bed the night before. Quite possibly, the best game ever to be played. I was, however, pleasantly surprised by the reaction of one of the regular guests, a Dutch football writer who cried out in shock and called the game a defeat for the game of football. For the past few years, Liverpool has played a brand of football that first and foremost, prevents the other team from playing and only goes from there.

I have nothing against Liverpool as a club. They have a wonderful tradition and a beautiful stadium. But put me down on the list of people who find their current approach to the game rather cynical, effective as it may be.

That evening, I was slightly miffed to find the usually so beautifully playing Mancunians opt for something that eerily resembled this approach for their match against Barcelona, which is why I am writing this right now, a few hours before these two teams will meet again. I’m not saying Barcelona is the bastion of free-flowing attacking football it was a few years ago; besides lining up eleven players, they take a good dose of fear out on the pitch with them, it seems. Barcelona, and more specifically their coach had to get a result and United had come out boldly. Such a gathering of circumstances promised an outstanding game, but after a short while, United too, seemed to settle and became bent on, first of all, not losing, rather than winning. This made both perfectly good sense and a slightly dull football game.

Tonight, it will be decided if the final will be held between two teams out of Liverpool, Chelsea and now United, who have proven to be willing (and incredibly capable) to kill a game off if they believe it to be for their own good, or between one of the former two teams and a team which may fear losing more than anything else, but will at least run relentlessly head first into the brick wall that might spell their defeat. Unless Manchester shows why it has the reputation of what is slowly and sadly becoming the other, romantic but possibly futile style of English football, I hope it’s the latter.