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Thanks to Andrew Kilduff

Why does this company have access to Manchester United away tickets?

I’m not going to publish the name because I have no intention of advertising them but it is scandalous that any one who fancies it can buy up to as many eight tickets at a time for our away matches.

Fans pay a fortune for their season tickets every season and to ensure they have even the chance of getting away tickets, must purchase the League Cup tickets too. So many fans get knocked back for every away allocation so the find out that companies have access to the limited number of away tickets on offer is fairly sickening.

How is this allowed to happen?

“We have taken into account the improvement of the Manchester United supporters at the most recent Premier League fixture relating to the blocking of gangways and aisles,” said Stephen Clare, Liverpool City Council’s principal licensing officer. “Liverpool FC will be responsible for determining the actual numbers that this will result in.”

It is expected we’ll get the bottom tier of the Anfield Road stand, holding just under 6,400, but two seats at the end of each row, around 300, will not be sold.

When the rumour that Berbatov’s departure from Old Trafford was imminent took flight, we witnessed perhaps the biggest love-in that the striker has had since he joined the club. It was so great that you wondered whether Berbatov had hauled us to the title single-handedly, and felt a bit sorry for James Collins.

When Berbatov arrived, he joined a strikeforce also consisting of Ronaldo, Tevez, and Rooney. The quartet were almost never deployed together, though Ferguson did use them as a ‘nuclear option’ on occasion – they were tasked with destroying Tottenham when we found ourselves 2-0 down at White Hart Lane, and the result was the best, most exciting half of football we’d played since the 7-1 versus Roma.

Everything gelled that day, and United’s fantastic four looked to be in serious contention for the title of ‘greatest strikeforce ever put together.’ It really did have everything – physicality, work-rate, irresistible pace, guile, technique, and with all four being able to produce magic and score goals. It turned out to be a false dawn – Ferguson, in his caution, or wisdom, rarely used all four together, and the last time we saw the combination was in a futile pursuit in the dying stages of the clash with Barcelona in Rome.

Berbatov, however, stuck around, and improved in successive seasons but has still not found his place at the club. Having fallen foul of Ferguson’s refusal to play him in bigger games, his confidence has wavered, and he has also bizarrely failed to attract the unconditional admiration of the fans enjoyed by the likes of Rooney. It’s hard to imagine a player scoring a hat-trick, involving an overhead kick, to defeat Liverpool and attracting such limited reverence.

And so, I’m prepared to admit that in a pragmatic light, a move makes a lot of sense. PSG were the club rumoured to be making the bid, and a moneyed club short on success would be ideal, as it would mean we’d get good money for an ageing striker who has never fitted into our system, and has plenty of young replacements waiting in the wings.

Yet if we sell Berbatov, we will lose something more valuable – we will lose our swagger. Berbatov fits into a category of players that has, under Ferguson, included Scholes, Ronaldo, and Cantona – the player who gets people off their seats. Nani may be capable of the spectacular, but people are reluctant to vacate their sofas when they know that the outcome is more likely to be a shot wildly blazed into the stands. Berbatov, like the other players named, not only has the capacity for magic, but there’s also the very high probability that when the ball is moved on, we’ll be in a better position than we were previously.

Yes, contrary to the doubters’ views, Berbatov is reliable. Rooney would be our spark if he could be trusted not to give the ball away with a leaden touch or a floated, searching pass to the linesman. And it’s the unpredictability we’ll miss – ways of scoring goals we hadn’t thought of, rather than a small repertoire of simple goals which can at times find itself quickly exhausted

Still, Ferguson’s European record in recent years makes it difficult to question his judgement. Berbatov was unlikely to have been key to either Champions League defeat to Barcelona, and perhaps his style of play really is at odds with the modern game – too slow to put pressure on an opposition backline, not energetic enough to close down midfielders. Instead Rooney has been moved to this role, a player with half of Berbatov’s imagination and reliability with the ball but who never neglects his defensive duties. Zlatan Ibrahimovic, the closest player to Berbatov around in terms of style, fell out of favour at Barcelona for similar reasons, and success has eluded him at the highest level in Europe.

So perhaps there isn’t room for imagination anymore. Sheer imagination is no longer for settling tight games between giants, but for unlocking the massed defences of Birmingham and Stoke. The genius who would formerly be the inspirational, talismanic presence is now a squad player to be used in a specific situation. It’s happening elsewhere too – Ronaldo and Messi have been more effective as they have become more flairless, and Barcelona, the greatest team of our age, have a passing game not modelled on the swagger and fearlessness of the great Brazilian sides, or the patience supported by magic of Italian masters, but rather the robotic uniformity we label as boring when practised by Germans.

It’s a painful thought, but if Berbatov wants to be back playing his best football, playing the best role he can for a team, then he should leave. There are plenty of clubs that would be ideal for him, but sadly, United, and anyone else with notions of European dominance, are not one of them. It’ll be sad to see him go, and the memories will remain, but Dimitar – I just want what’s best for you.

For a video tribute to Berbatov, or some t-shirts honouring the great man, check out Surreal Football.

Last season, 2,948 tickets were given to United fans, but now they plan to give us just 1,965.

Manchester City, Sunderland and Bolton are amongst the clubs to have already reduced our away allocation for persistent standing.

Over recent years, Liverpool fans have repeatedly destroyed the toilets, ripped up seats and vandalised the ground with “Munich” graffiti, yet United have never reduced their allocation.

I wonder if Liverpool will also reduce the number of fans they allow in to the Kop for the same reason?

I myself am not long out of my twenties (well, not that long) and it certainly makes me feel old. In 1993 I was a teenage lad scribbling furiously in my bedroom (steady…), learning dead languages in deader settings, and selling my dinner tickets so I could afford 90 Minutes magazine. The only sky sport I knew of was the javelin, and the internet was kept by Walter Zenga.

It may seem like a long time ago, but it certainly not long enough for a baby to be born, bred and brought on during a midweek Carling Cup tie. I’m old enough to father some of these lads – admittedly the kind of manboy dad who’d appear on Jeremy Kyle – but still…

Such is the relatively year-round presence of football in our lives that each season seems to bleed into the next. We somehow manage to endure the tedium between enthralling transfer windows by watching some games, but in the grander scheme of things it really is amazing how quickly the months, seasons and years pass.

Most of today’s youth won’t recall the Ryan Giggs of yore, making fools of fullbacks twice his age. To them he’s the salt ‘n’ pepper saucy pepperer, fooling around with girls half his years. The Welsh Hugh Hefner, pursuing huge-chested heffers with stories to sell.

But that’s cool. Or safe. Or whatever. Because that’s part of the reason why football is so bloody good. It’s kinda brilliant that you can rub shoulders twice weekly with young ‘uns and old boys you’ve absolutely nothing in common with other than the game you watch and the colours you wear.

Where else would Harry Redknapp, a twitchy old man who curb-crawls the streets of Chigwell in search of football reporters, be allowed to groom athletic young men without it raising some very serious questions? Look at him – one can only assume poisonous halitosis seeps from his crumply old face and thumps you in the nose with every utterance. But you can bet that the Spurs stars of tomorrow hang on his every stale breath.
The grand old Knight of Govan himself has repeatedly stated his greatest satisfaction in the game comes from working with youngsters and watching them develop into men. One could argue that the likes of the Da Silvas, Smalling, Hernandez and Welbeck have as much to do with Fergie resisting retirement than his undying thirst for trophies. Such are the exciting prospects and talent of these young boys, he’d be loathed to allow his successor to preside over their fruition and bloom.
Why resign yourself to a life of SAGA cruises and golfing with granddads, when you can bound into work wearing a Welsh beanie and ridiculously age-inappropriate Nike garb, surrounded by the enthusiasm and competitive zest of ambitious young footballers?

In a way, it’s the same for us mere turnstile turners. As sad as it is to see friendly old faces slowly exit left from our stands and pubs with time, it’s exhilarating to see youngsters and new faces join the fray and chorus. Football supporters by their nature don’t want to grow up. Anyone who devotes the vast majority of their spare time to a sport is a bit of big child. That innate immaturity seeks out youth and it feeds off it.

It doesn’t work in other realms. An old fella going to see The Like looks like a perv. A forty year old wearing skater gear looks like a tit. A forty year old football fan sporting a polyester replica however…also looks a tit – but that’s not the point. The point is football, like Teddy swinging a toe at a stray ball, makes for a great equaliser.

A Spike Island alum can argue the toss with a fresh faced student from Jakarta re Nani on the left, and you’re equals. A cast of thousands can sing in unison regardless of age or follicle fullness and it’s a beautiful thing. It may all sound extremely trite and Nu Football. But it’s true, and it was ever thus.

Football is the one thread of our youth it’s socially acceptable to hold on to, and sharing it with young folk keeps it fresh and relevant. Without them it would be like going to see Status Quo every week for the rest of your life. All strained denim and nose hair. With them, football culture is a living, vibrant, visceral joy.

‘Twas desperately sad to witness the likes of Edwin, Neville and Scholesy wave goodbye last season, but they are now part of our glorious past. The regeneration is already underway. We’ve got the likes of Pogba and Morrison to look forward to – and the kids are alright.

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The experience of going to watch United is the same every time. You get yourself to Stretford, walk down the Warwick Road and enter Old Trafford to see the reds.

The good weather made it a warm balmy night so good for football. The walk to the ground soundtracked by songs for the reds and laughing and talking. It was in contrast to those cold nights in winter when only the warmth of the edifice and light of Old Trafford is able to lift chins in an upwardly direction out of their scarves.

The fanzine sellers, now sold at £2, unlike the day when they were 50p and drawn by hand, badge men and burger stalls have all changed but still make me feel like I’m 10 again.

When you get inside its no different but I still smile when I see the green of the pitch and hear the crowd.

After some trouble from a few of the German ultras (most fans behaved impeccably) who decided they were going to make themselves heard, and kick the stewards, the Stretford End decided to sing songs from players of old. Keano, Ronaldo, Solskjaer, Stam, Cole, Robson and Butt were paid tribute as their names rang inside Old Trafford one more time.

After the display in Germany last week, where United looked confident and were only held back by the heroics of Neuer, on Wednesday, United looked a little edgy until the first goal. It was a lovely through ball from Gibson in to the path of Valencia, who yet again had a big impact. Pressure off and a half chance from Gibson bounced off Neuer and in to the net a few minutes later, prodding United fans into life as the Shalke ultras attempted to show they were not just here to see United.

Second half showed a much calmer display of attack and with Rafael off for Evra, United moved up a gear, playing much more like the away leg 1st half in Germany.

Better pressing gave Anderson the chance to get forward and prove what he’s worth with an assist from Berbatov for his second. It could have been more but for some dodgy decisions on the line, particularly against Michael Owen, late in the half.

So, we got the result and have booked a place at Wembly on the 28th against Barcalona (again). Our third final in four years. It took Matt Busby and Jimmy Murphy ten long years to build a team that was capable of winning the European Cup after Munich. As we go to our third in four years it becomes paramount to make this game counts. Get stuck in lads!

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The tickets came from Sony Ericsson. ‘Like’ them on Facebook for a chance to win tickets to the final.

Stretford End Flags have organised the mosaic above for tomorrow’s game against Schalke, showing our three European Cups on a red, black and white scarf.