Right now, it feels like no one really understands me, except Natalie Imbruglia.
Tomorrow morning, Manchester United, a team I have followed since birth, will play Tottenham Hotspur in the Europa League final. Manchester United, a team that has given me so many historical highs (and a few more recent lows), have a shot at European glory. Manchester United, the team that binds together me, my father, my brother, and my son, are just one game away from delivering us collective ecstasy.
And yet, I’m torn. More than torn, I’m all out of faith. Admittedly, I am not lying naked on the floor, but honestly, I’m not far off because the naked truth is this: I love Manchester United, but I don’t want them to win.
Before you throw up your hands in outrage, please know that whatever names you’re calling me, my brother has already beaten you to it. Traitor! Sure. Shit bloke! OK, fine. Fair-weather fan! Well, hold on a minute.
The reasons for my alleged betrayal are twofold: practical and emotional. Let’s unpack.
Me in Manchester United gear the last time we were any good (1999).
It is precisely because of my long-running love for Manchester United that I can look beyond the short-term sugar hit that comes with winning the Europa League and appreciate that it is not in our best interests. A win tomorrow night guarantees Champions League football next season and will result in a $208 million cash injection.
For a team currently sitting 16th, with 18 league defeats, enduring their worst top-flight campaign in half a century (since their 1974 relegation), money is a band-aid for a bullet wound.
Any true fan knows that Manchester United have no business competing in the Champions League right now, and should we luck our way into the competition, it will be much like my 2012 Contiki trip: stumbling around Europe getting belted.
Instead, the one thing we really need is the one thing money can’t buy: time. Time for manager Ruben Amorim to focus solely on the domestic league, time for the squad to figure out how to play football again, and time for fans to fall back in love with the club.
Conversely, time is exactly what Ange Postecoglou is short on at Spurs. Depending on what you believe, Ange is either about to be fired or about to walk, regardless of what happens in Bilbao.
It’s no exaggeration to say that his stint at Spurs has been befitting of a Greek tragedy: dramatic, chaotic, beautiful, ugly and momentous, mate. But one thing it has never been is boring.
Ange Postecoglou loses his cool on the sideline.Credit: Getty Images
In an increasingly predictable league, with little room for romance, Ange has given us all a storyline to get behind. Critics may say it’s been tumultuous, inconsistent and messy, and perhaps they’re right, but he’s our mess.
In a country where following football is a constant battle against the bigger codes, we finally have one of our own doing it on the world stage. And now he’s on the precipice of making history.
Speaking of history, I was 10 years old when I experienced my most memorable moment as a Manchester United fan: the fairytale last-gasp come-from-behind win in the 1999 Champions League final.
26 May 1999: Manchester United Manager Alex Ferguson celebrates as United beat Bayern Munich in the European Champions League Final at the Nou Camp Stadium, Barcelona, Spain. Manchester United won 2 – 1 with both United goals scored during injury time,to secure the treble of League, FA Cup and European Cup. Mandatory Credit: Phil Cole /AllsportCredit: Phil Cole
In the minutes following the final whistle, United’s manager, Sir Alex Ferguson, was asked for his thoughts on the match. Such an occasion felt worthy of an inspirational speech, the kind of spur-of-the-moment soundbite destined to become part of football lore.
Eyeballing the camera, Ferguson shook his head in disbelief and offered three simple words: Football, bloody hell.
Brief as it was, “football, bloody hell” would go down in history as an iconic one-liner, probably because it captures perfectly how the best stories in football are those you simply couldn’t script.
In football circles, it is the ultimate betrayal, but as Manchester United prepare to take on Tottenham in the Europa League final, I don’t mind if my team lose.
Credit: Michael Howard
To love the game is to appreciate the extremes it can make you feel, even if that means seeing your beloved team going down for the greater good.
When the players walk out onto the pitch tomorrow, almost everyone, including a large swathe of Spurs fans, expects Manchester United to win the Europa League final. Because Manchester United know how to win the big games and, more importantly, Spurs know how to lose them.
But this bad fan (with the best intentions) will hope Spurs and Ange can get the job done. So, I’ll be watching in my Manchester United jersey, cheering for Tottenham. It’s confusing, I know. But then again, isn’t that what being torn is all about? Nothing’s fine, I’m … supporting both.
