Mickey Owen

Fuck me sideways, you couldn't really have written it any better could you? Unless you're a Bitter Blue of course. Five minutes into injury time, having just gifted City an equalizing goal after some exquisitely poor defending, and the little Welsh midget pokes home a truly memorable winner in front of the Stretford End. Cue pandemonium; delirious joy from United fans, salty fresh tears from the eyes of distraught Bertie's and Craig Bellamy running a full ten yards to chin a United fan who had waded onto the pitch. Fucking amazing scenes!

And all this stemming from the breezy right foot of a player who used to relish scoring against United at OT, who had once bathed happily in the adulation of the Kop and hoards of 'Ingerland' supporting numpties in the late 90's, an injury prone gambler who was almost universally shunned by United's support when he first arrived earlier this summer and perhaps most poignantly: a footballer who was deemed too greedy and too old by David 'Wheeler Dealer JD sports tsar' Whealan; Wigan's gregariously proportioned chairman.

Back in August many reds were quick to underline their total disdain for the player. Others swore blind that short of scoring a last minute winner against Liverpool in a European Cup Final they would never accept Owen as a United player, let alone the owner of our talismanic number seven shirt. After his dramatic introduction to the Manchester derby however the Welsh dwarf might just have cemented himself all but the most steely, anti scouse hearts of the Red Army.

I for one will freely admit that I was horrified by the signing of Owen; not because I thought he was a poor player, nor because of his past escapades with Liverpool and England. No it was the selfish disregard he seemed to have for players and fans at Newcastle that stood out. The stories of gambling debts and unreserved arrogance were thick on the ground amongst the Geordie ranks and Owen's attitude towards football had never appeared to involve anyone but himself. Equally his signing by Fergie highlighted a number of important issues regarding United as a club. On the one hand it confirmed that the Glaziers really are mired in the shit; selling your best player for £80 million and replacing him with an inferior product at a cost of precisely Zero pounds hints at an organization desperately operating in deficit whilst clawing back any sources of capital they can. It has also sadly emphasised Sir Alex's blatant disregard for fan rivalry and tradition. Given the choice between honoring the unwritten codes of United/Liverpool rivalry or taking a risky punt on an unproven star, Fergie takes the difficult option.

But oh how have I eaten my words. Humbled once again by Sir Alex and his footballing omnipotence I can do nothing but slink back to my desk to type out a drivelling apology to Mickey fucking Owen. What a hero!