El Clásico

As I approached the Bobby Moore stand at 7.30 on Tuesday night, I received a call from my dad to tell me that he was stuck in snow and wouldn’t make the game and that, more seriously, we were lining up with Radoslav Kovac and Jonathan Spector in centre midfield. As I shivered in the snow I confess that the idea of heading home fleetingly crossed my mind. Two hours later I left the ground having witnessed one of the greatest games I will ever see.

Manchester United had not lost in this competition since September 2007, having won it for the last two years. This was their heaviest defeat since 2001. We lined up with the aforementioned midfield pairing and with absentees comprising Scott Parker, Mark Noble and Frederic Piquionne (ie our three best players this season). In the starting line-up were also Luis Boa Morte, James Tomkins, Tal Ben Haim and Pablo Barrera who, to put it kindly, have not covered themselves in glory in 2010. We have denied Man United on many occasions over the last two decades but never in such devastating fashion.

The visitors' “second string” line up included Darren Fletcher, Ryan Giggs, Anderson, John O’Shea and £10m Chris Smalling. We were rightly the underdogs and 15 minutes into the game we were reminded why, as Julien Faubert tried to shepherd the ball out 10 yards from the byline and Man United hit the post. And then suddenly we scored.

The disallowing of Obinna/Spector’s goal was almost worth it just to see Avram petulantly throw the ball in the referee’s direction as a throw-in was about to be taken. That, coupled with the Roberto Mancini-style scarf, was a step in the right direction to winning over sceptical fans who believe him to be passionless and a bit, well, dead. Having subsequently watched the game again on TV (probably not for the last time) it was surprising that co-commentator Alan Smith needed about five views of the goal to realise that the linesman had actually made a very good decision.

The fans inside the ground could be forgiven for being outraged, fearing that our best chance at snatching an unlikely victory had gone. Little were we to know that Jonny Spector was about to make every pun-hungry journalist’s day by showing great spirit to ghost into the penalty area and score not one but two goals. The fans jokingly sang “3-0 to the cockney boys”. Had the linesman not been so alert Spector would actually have had a hattrick.

It’s unlikely that he will now displace Noble and Parker on a permanent basis but with Noble currently injured he has to be a genuine consideration for a place in the starting line-up against Sunderland. I learned after the game that as a trainee Spector was a striker, which certainly explains a few things. The person responsible for turning him into a defender (if that is not too loose a use of the expression) has a lot to answer for.

Spector is an unlikely professional footballer, falling into the Graeme Le Saux school of players capable of constructing an eloquent, cliché-free sentence. Even his appearance suggests anything but a footballer. This softly-spoken American driving West Ham to a 4-0 victory against Man United seems about as plausible as Elijah Wood heading up the ICF.

Putting the result to one side, this game was pure entertainment in its own right. The physical brutality, perhaps embodied best by Tal Ben Haim smashing into Bébé, was a refreshing change from some timid performances this season. Off-the-ball drama was never far away either with Fergie jabbing his finger in Boa Morte’s face following another hard challenge on one of his little lambs. It was rather reminiscent of the handbags between Pep Guardiola and Ronaldo on Monday night, except that everyone just got on with the game rather than standing round for five minutes trying to convince the ref that they were the more sinned against.

Robert Green, who made two excellent saves, could also be relied upon for his usual faux pas, this time choosing to kick the ball straight into Macheda’s back from a drop kick. Green’s brilliant reaction, albeit to his own cock-up, prevented a goal and a nervy second half. That said, in terms of nerves, it was only really at 4-0 that we could relax and enjoy the rest of the game, a rare luxury even against the worst of teams. At 3-0 no-one honestly felt safe. The memory of May 2006 is forever seared into all our psyches.

Talk of this being a turning point seems rather premature. We have been Man United’s bogey team for some time now. Our defeat of them in Alan Curbishley’s first game in charge proved to be a false start. Even the 2002/03 relegation season included a rare victory at Stamford Bridge. I prefer to just enjoy this game for what it was.

Fans have long memories and the player whose name they chanted was substitute Scott Parker. Indeed, Avram may fear he has lost the fans forever. Still they chanted for Paolo Di Canio, even at 4-0.

On Tuesday night, for the first time in my life I sang Que Sera Sera. It was a strange feeling, as if I was singing another team’s song. The idea of contented uncertainty seems rather apt right now.