I had a number of versions of this written and ready to publish but wasn’t sure which one would be most entertaining or enjoyable for the average Republik of Mancunia reader. I did, in fact, send two of these versions to Scott and if you’re reading this one (Version 2) he has decided that Version 1 didn’t deserve a place on his website. I have taken a screen shot of Version 1 for you to look at so you can judge for yourself. I think you’ll agree with the entirety of its content even if it didn’t take as long to write.

In previous months, I have built up to the final decision but, for United fans everywhere (except Roy Keane), there was only ever going to be one winner. With a single flash of his red card Cuneyt Cakir secured himself the award as he gave Nani his marching orders against Real Madrid at Old Trafford in the Champions League, denying us what was an inevitable (possible) treble. To be honest, from where I was sitting I didn’t get a good look at it and I was fully expecting the crowd to be baying for Nani’s blood. What followed was just stunned silence. No lambasting of Nani; no foul mouthed tirade at the ref; just stunned silence. I’ve never experienced that before (largely because it’s usually me leading the swearing) and Cakir must know that his decision was wrong even if Keane doesn’t. So Cakir wins it and he wins it comfortably.

Saying that, I did consider other candidates for the award with the likes of Stan Collymore, Niall Quinn, Micky Summerbee, Rodney Marsh, Joey Barton and Piers Morgan once again all featuring heavily in my thoughts. I actively tried to avoid naming Cakir as the winner to save myself looking bitter and resentful. But that’s what I was for a while after the game; a bitter man wondering what might have been, making excuses for our exit; claiming that we were the best team in the game despite us losing on the night and losing the tie; fantasizing about what might have been had we been able to field some of our great players from our history. I even rationalized it and started looking forward to next year because I firmly believed that we are “only” a few signings away from winning the treble again.

You see what you did to me Cakir?! DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU FUCKING DID?!! You fucking thunderbastard of a cunt! You turned me into a bitter, excuse-making, fantasist with visions and promises of “next year being our year”. Essentially, you turned me into what I hate the most: a sick combination of the worst kind of Manchester City and Liverpool fan. You took their worst qualities and, without warning, thrust them upon me, leaving me defenseless and open to ridicule.

The symptoms were all there: the aversion to rational thought; the involuntary frothing at the mouth as I furiously screamed at anyone who would listen about how we had been robbed; the piss dribbling down my legs as I lost control of my bodily functions; the bitter, nonsensical and illogical verbal diarrhoea spewing from my kebab hole; and the repeated mentions of our great history as a club. Diagnosis: bitter, piss drenched, dipper cunt.

That, my friend, is the real reason you are a deserving winner of CoM for March. Despite it being a ludicrous decision that very likely changed the course of the tie, I can look back on it and say that I’m over it. It happened and sometimes it’s shit but I can see past that and move on. What I have not yet come to terms with, is the absolute cunt of a mess I became for a while after the game. It may have only been a few hours but I never want to feel that way again. I now have a sort of weird, new found respect for City fans and Liverpool fans; they’ve endured feeling that way for years and I couldn’t even tolerate felling that way for a few hours. Kudos to them all!

Cuneyt Cakir please accept RoM’s CoM for March and GO FUCK YOURSELF!

Note: I did originally say that I would always pick a Manchester United CoM each month as well in order to maintain integrity. However, after going out of the Champions League and then throwing away a two goal lead, at home, against Chelsea in the FA Cup I’m pretty sure they don’t need me to further ram home the point that I’m certain Fergie will have already made: “You fecked up the treble; don’t feck up the double!”