My favourite match: Juventus 2-3 Manchester United

In the first of a new series, Alex Mott, co-founder and editor of Get the Mott and Buckett, looks back on his favourite game: the 1999 Champions League semi-final, second leg between Juventus and Manchester United.

I'd flirted with Chelsea and Newcastle in previous seasons - being seven at the time, I think I'm exempt from the inevitable criticism - but it was the Treble winning United side that ignited a fire inside me that has not since gone out. I was unsure about the game before them. It never really interested me. France '98 the previous summer, just seemed like an excuse for my dad not to take me to the park. I remember watching England vs Argentina, and not being that bothered by David Batty's missed penalty. So why Alex Ferguson's men struck such a chord with me, I do not know. Perhaps it was the unhinged intimidation of Peter Schmeichel. Perhaps it was the bombastic runs of Denis Irwin and Gary Neville. Perhaps even it was the immaculate flowing locks of David Beckham. All of these are possible, but it was more likely the partnership between Dwight Yorke and Andy Cole that cemented my love.

I'd love to say, as a child, Ronaldo or Batistuta were my heroes; that the mystique of football on the continent entranced me into playing. But that would be a lie. What made me want to play the game was the telepathic connection between two men; one from Nottingham, the other, Trinidad and Tobago. Two people who had never previously met, and yet managed to strike up the greatest goalscoring partnership British football had ever seen. This game, it transpired, would prove to be its crowning glory.

The first leg at Old Trafford had ended in a 1-1 draw. Ryan Giggs with a last minute goal for United, which, if truth be told, they barely deserved. A midfield triumvirate of Conte, Davids and Zidane completely out-manoeuvred United's British quartet; an away-goal was the least they merited. Advantage la vecchia signora.

The stage was set for the second-leg. United would have to score. Juve were going for their third consecutive Champions League final. And as luck would have it, they were the masters of the 1-0 win. It would be a cagey affair; typically Italian. Or so it was thought.

The atmosphere was electric, not only at the Stadio della Alpi but in the Mott household. As far as I was concerned, this was the most nervous I'd ever been. As the flares went off in Northern Italy, I prayed for a United goal. Six minutes in: disaster. As Zidane played a short corner, his teasing cross came all the way across the six-yard box and was met at the far-post by Pippo Inzaghi. 1-0 on the night; 2-1 on aggregate.

As if I wasn't inconsolable enough, five minutes later, Juve made it two. Conte on the far-hand touchline made a cutting ball into the box. Inzaghi had his back to goal. Jaap Stam marshalling him tightly. Then, something that hadn't happened all season: Stam was turned. With that extra half-yard of space, Inzaghi got his shot away. It looked tame, Schmeichel would save. But an inexplicable deflection took the ball over the giant Dane. 2-0 Juventus; 3-1 on aggregate. Just as I'd found my love for football, it seemed a tiny Italian would be the one to take it away. How could it be this cruel?

Game over. I was ready to give up. Thankfully for me, Roy Keane wasn't quite ready to abandon the cause. It may have been the Cole/Yorke combo who made me want to play, but it was this Roy Keane performance that showed me how. A mere mention of Keane and Turin to United fans would make them - those who are usually stoney-faced at a funeral - go misty-eyed. On 24 minutes, a Beckham corner was met at the front-post by the Irishman, and flcked past the flapping Angelo Peruzzi. Unbelievably, United were back in the game. From then on, Keane's hypnotic passing and tireless energy dragged the Red Devils up from the abyss. Juventus looked into his eyes and saw only an absolute certainty that United would go through. They would have been less scared if Pol Pot had of walked onto the pitch.

At 2-1, Keane was booked for a cynical foul on Conte. It meant he would be banned for the final. Such was the character of the man, this only spurred him on. 10 minutes later the strikers' telepathic connection come to the fore. Andy Cole on the right-hand side put in a pin-point cross towards Yorke. Mark Iuliano was caught flat-footed. The smiling Tobagan flung himself at the ball: 2-2. Astonishing.

Half-time came, and at the point where my dad would normally send me to bed, even he realised this was something special. I was allowed to watch the second half. Half-past-nine on a school night; I couldn't believe my luck.

The second half was a blur; a mixture of tiredness and nervousness. Fighting to keep my eyes open, Inzaghi had a goal ruled out correctly for offside. Moments later, Denis Irwin went on a mazy run down the left flank and caught Peruzzi unawares with a rasping shot. As the ball flew past the 'keeper, it looked for all the world as if the hideously underrated Irishman would score the goal to confirm United's passage to the final. It hit the post.

Six minutes to go, and United were going through on away-goals. It was a tightrope perilously close to snapping. Inzaghi was still being a thorn in Stam's side. Zidane was, as always, pulling strings. A Davids' shot was saved by Schmeichel. He pumped the ball forwards. Hanging forever in the air, Iuliano tried to clear first time. The ball rolled towards Dwight Yorke, 25 yards out. With one touch he took it towards the central-defensive pairing; with the other he skipped through them. Both players falling flat on their backs. Striding towards goal, Yorke took the ball round Peruzzi, only for the 'keeper to bring him to the ground. Penalty! No. The referee had played advantage, and the onrushing Andy Cole tapped the ball into the unguarded net. 2-3 United. 3-4 on aggregate. The English champions had made it to their first European Cup final for 31 years.

As Fergie sprinted along the touchline, I joined him in my living room.

I could have picked any number of games as my favourite of all-time: Hungary 6-3 England for its lasting impression on football in our country; AC Milan 4-0 Barcelona for it being the best performance in a European Cup final; Brazil 4-1 Italy for the same reasons, only on the international stage. But I didn't. I chose this match because, ultimately, it's the match that made me love football.

Motty

The real Championship Manager: The life and times of Andre Villas-Boas

Mr. Championship Manager

Andres Villas-Boas is possibly my favourite man on the planet. He's a man you could be. He's everything you've ever dreamed of, and so much more. He's an inspiration and best of all, you'd get on with him. He'd be impressed by your European reign with Blackpool and how you've managed to keep Van Nistelrooy scoring into 2023. He's the best friend I've never had (Sorry Motty), and here's why . . .

Heading into this weekend’s fixture with Guimaraes, FC Porto hold an eight point lead over their nearest rivals Benfica at the top of Liga Sagres. A feat only surpassed by Borussia Dortmund in Europe’s top footballing nations. But while Dortmund have their own young-gun at the helm, forty-three year old Jurgen Klopp, Porto have someone not only younger, but someone ten years younger. Someone undeniably better looking than Jurgen Klopp, and someone who never played the game himself. Andres Villas-Boas is the first love child of the Championship Manager generation, and hopefully not the last.

But how does a 33 year old, who never played professionally, end up coaching one of his nation’s most illustrious clubs? Once you’ve read this, that last statement will sound like nothing.

As with everything in life, Villas-Boas’ journey started with a little lucky. Imagine visiting your grandparents and bumping into the ‘Special One’. Mixu Paatelainen would be enough to knock most off their stride, especially outside your Nana’s. But not Villas-Boas.  In 1994, after discovering that Bobby Robson had moved into the same apartment block as his Geordie grandmother, the seventeen year old bombarded the new Porto manager with questions and requests at any given chance. Soon enough the pair struck up a friendship, with Robson impressed by the youngster’s inquisitive nature.  Rumour even has it that the young man would openly question his new found friend’s tactics and offer his solutions. Cheeky.

Before long Villas-Boas became part of FC Porto furniture. Attending training sessions, matches and meeting people such as recently departed school teacher, Jose Mourhino. A work experience spell with Ipswich Town and George Burley, and the achievement of his UEFA C coaching badges followed, only furthering the young man’s ambitions, and eventually he was hired by Porto’s observation team.

Robson’s impact, a domestic cup and two league titles in the space of three years signalled a huge turnaround in fortunes for the club. A turnaround which resulted in an approach from Spanish giants, Barca. Once again Robson was off to pastures new, famously taking Mourinho with him. But he knew he’d left them with someone just as valuable.

Having filled a number of roles at Porto, including coaching several of the youth teams, Villas-Boas amazingly took his first leap into international football in 2000. At the age of twenty-one he was appointed Technical Director of the British Virgin Islands, making him the youngest international manager on the planet.  

After less than a year, he was back at Porto, this time taking charge of the clubs under-19s. It was at this time that, if it hadn’t already, his career really took off. Mourinho’s return to the club in 2002, this time as manager, lead to the appointment of Villas-Boas as Head of Observation, the unit he first found himself employed in only a few years before. Unprecedented success followed, both domestic and European, famously attaining the clubs second European Cup and first for seventeen years. Mourinho’s achievements, like his mentors, did not go unnoticed.

Of course, England and Chelsea were the destination for Mourinho. And this time, the exodus included the young pretender too.  By now twenty-seven, Villas Boas fulfilled much the same role as he had previously at Porto, preparing details for both the players and management on the upcoming opposition. Wayne Rooney once detailed how Fabio Capello spent half an hour discussing one throw in with Glen Johnson, if Villa-Boas had been there, by all accounts it would have taken much longer. His attention to detail and thorough attitude lead to Mourhino describing him in 2005 as his “eyes and ears”.  It was with these assets that between 2004-2007, Mourinho achieved two Premier League titles, two League Cups, an FA Cup, and several European adventures.

The next step on his amazing journey, of course coincided with the departure of the ‘Special One’ from Chelsea, and his arrival at Internazionale nine months later. Once again he fulfilled a similar role in both scouting and pre-match preparation, compiling DVDs, documents and in the case of Marco Materazzi; nicely coloured diagrams.  Naturally, success followed.

However, having now reached the ripe old age of 30, Villas-Boas felt it the right time to jump into management, resigning from Inter at the beginning of the 09-10 season in search of his first managerial role. Excluding international football of course.

Then, in October 2009, fifteen years after meeting Bobby Robson for the first time, Andre Villas-Boas was appointed the brand new Head Coach of Academia, his first domestic managerial role, and by no means an easy one. Of a possible twenty-four points since the beginning of the season, Academia had achieved just three, leaking goals and failing to score any themselves.  And yet, eight games later, Villas-Boas had inspired a turn around. From the bottom of the league, they now found themselves in eleventh, where they would eventually finish, and becoming a difficult team to beat. The new manager had instilled not only belief in the players, but a way of managing they hadn’t seen before, with preparation paramount to any success.  Success which came most prominently in a wonderful cup run, cut short in the semi-final by guess who? Porto.

One year in and Villas-Boas had saved a team from what seemed like certain relegation, inspired a cup run and began to be appreciated as neither a coach nor a scout, but a manager. All by the way, while he admitted to still relaxing by playing Championship Manager, this story just gets better.

Of course, the inevitable came true, the fairy-tale came to life, and Villas-Boas got his job.  In order to get, in every sense of the phrase ‘their man’, Porto parted company with Jesualdo Ferreira, the manager who had brought them three league titles in as many years. Leaving those without the full story, a little bewildered.

Now, nine months on from his appointment, no one is bewildered and the Villas-Boas story is truly blossoming. Eight points clear at the top of the league, Wikipedia reporting that he’s now surpassed Mourinho’s record of 33 matches unbeaten across all competitions (who am I to argue?), linked with a host of top European jobs, Villas-Boas’ Porto revolution, likes those of his two mentors; Robson and Mourinho, is not going unnoticed.

Potential Liga Sagres and Europa League success await Porto at the end of the season. Potentially, much more than that awaits Villas-Boas.

Buckett

Despite what the medals say, Ryan Giggs is not one of United's all-time greats

In the week that sees the 20th anniversary of Ryan Giggs's Manchester United debut, his long and decorated career deserves to be celebrated. But his actual contribution to all those medals can still be disputed. So here at Get the Mott and Buckett we are going against the media grain and explaining why the curly-haired Welshman definitely isn't one of United's all-time greats. Just please hear us out.

Villa Park, Birmingham. April 14th 1999. Arsenal 1, Manchester United 1. 109 minutes gone. It had been a properly epic FA Cup semi-final. Davd Beckham with a luscious strike from 30 yards in the first half. Dennis Bergkamp with another long-range effort in the second to equalise. A Roy Keane sending off. A disallowed Nicolas Anelka goal. And a missed Arsenal penalty. Into extra-time, and it looked for all the world that the 10 men of United would collapse under relentless Arsenal pressure. Then, from a misplaced Viera pass, we all know what happened next. Once touch passed Viera, passed Parlour, passed Dixon, passed Keown and then struck high into the roof of David Seaman's net. The greatest chest hair in FA Cup history; perhaps the greatest goal as well.

On the Sky commentary, Andy Grey had only one response: "I'll tell you what that is Martin: that's genius".

Since then, Ryan Giggs has been a model professional, a loyal servant and a decorated Old Trafford hero. But a genius? Never to that degree.

This past week, Giggs celebrated the 20th anniversary of his Manchester United debut. Should United go on to win the Premier League title this year, it will Giggs's 12th league winners medal. A British record. He can add that to two Champions Leagues, four FA Cups, four League Cups and one World Club Championship. And to top off all of this silverware, Giggs was recently named United's greatest ever player in a current magazine poll. This is perhaps unsurprising given he possess one the greatest medal collections in football history. Unsurprising, but perhaps undeserved.

It would be dangerous to confuse longevity with quality.

At the start of his career, Giggs was the undoubted heir to George Best's crown. Lightning wit, unfathomable acceleration, fleetness of foot, an eye for goal and, generally, an uncatchable air of brilliance. That period between 1992-1994 were arguably Giggs's most productive in a United shirt. His goal ration of 1:3 has not been repeated by him since.

It says a lot about how brilliant he was in those first couple of years, that the season immediately afterwards - 1994/95 - his performances, and goal-scoring record of one in 29 games caused such huge media debate, (remember, before David Beckham, Ryan Giggs was the poster-boy of English football). Some put it down to his relationship with Dani Behr, others to his wild lifestyle. More sensible commentators put it down to a natural period of burn-out, attributable to the fact that he had played so much so young.

This dip in form coincided with a pivotal Champions League campaign for Alex Ferguson and his men. The manager attempted to take his team's adventurous, attacking style away from Old Trafford, only to see it picked apart by both Barcelona and IFK Gothenburg.

It was after these defeats that Ferguson realised he had to add greater sophistication to United. A calm head in European storms. Still young, and in his formative years, Giggs's career path represents this experiment more than anyone else.

Just like with his team, Ferguson began a process of rounding off Giggs; adding composure to his crossing, astuteness to his acceleration.

In giving the Welshman a more rounded game, Ferguson took away his most enduring quality: unpredictability. From 1994/95 onwards, he was always too bound by team perfection. We never frequently saw him cutting loose like he had done. He had too much responsibility.

Of course, that FA Cup wonder goal was the exception rather than the norm. But it's often forgotten that fellow winger Jesper Blomqvist made more appearances than Giggs during that glorious Treble season. His effect was never quite as glamorous as 20 years of memories seem to make out.

Simply, Ferguson had to rebuild Giggs for the team, rather than build the team around Giggs. There was always someone better, more superior to be made the focal point. Between 1992-1997 it was Eric Cantona. In later periods, all of Dwight Yorke, Paul Scholes, Roy Keane, David Beckham, Ruud van Nistelrooy and Cristiano Ronaldo passed Giggs in both importance and effect.

It also, undoubtedly, speaks volumes that the years when Giggs was one of United's most experienced and influential players, 2003-2006, the Red Devils won next to nothing. Nor should it be forgotten that, although he scored a penalty, Giggs wasn't named in the starting XI for the 2008 Champions League final. Througout that spell of success between 2006-2009, Giggs remained a valued squad member; but not a vital one.

Of course, none of this is to actually criticise Ryan Giggs. He has been an outstanding ambassador, not just for Manchester United but for English football in general. A wonderful gentleman, and a credit to the club he so dearly loves.

20 years is an amazing feat, I just don't think we should confuse continuance with class.

Motty

Guns don't hurt work experience boys, left-backs do

When I was first told on Sunday that Ashley Cole had been caught making another man's bottom bleed, I have to say that I wasn't entirely surprised; then I realised that I'd got the wrong end of the stick, and it was actually an air-rifle that had caused the damage. A delve into the annuls of history however reveal that Cole isn't the only footballer to have caused trouble with their loaded weapon. (I can't promise that will be the last of the nob jokes).

Diego Maradona

'El Diego in being absolutely stark-raving mental shock' probably wasn't a headline at the time, but it's really the only way of describing this story. In February 1994, five months before his drug-shame at the World Cup, Maradona was caught outside his Buenos Aires home firing bullets at gathering journalists. TV footage of the incident showed Maradona crouched behind a Mercedes with two other men. Four years later, he received a two year suspended sentence, "At least this exemplary case does show that there is justice for all," explained Daniel Talemoni, one of the four journalists injured by Maradona.



Darren Bent

The England striker received a caution back in 2004 after a 12-year-old boy was shot in the back with a pellet gun. Bent, who was an Ipswich player at the time, was released without charge. A police spokeswoman said: "He has been given a formal caution in respect of his actions." Even back then, he was dealing in shots on target.



Javier Florez

The Colombian midfielder got slightly carried away when his Atletico Junior team lost to Once Caldas in 2009. Driving away after the match, the south American shot into a group of Junior supporters who were chanting "weak, weak, weak" at him. One man was killed in the incident. Florez said that he had been "drunk and angry" when the shooting happened, before adding: "He really upset me, but I repent it with all my heart. I just hope people know how much I've suffered". He was released on a £450,000 bail and subsequently sentenced to three years' probation.



John Oster

The Sunderland player shot a member of the clubs' reserve team with a pellet gun back in 2002. Mark Maley - the reserve player in question - had his career tragically cut short because of the incident. After an out-of-court settlement was reached, Oster had this to say:

"The air rifle was just a freak incident. We were larking about in my flat on a Sunday morning and I thought the safety catch was on. It went off and it hit him in the eye. It was strange to say the least because it didn't fire straight at the best of times. I thought he was messing about and then I realised his eye was bloodshot.

"I haven't spoken to him for a while. I had a claim against me which has just gone through, so I have had to go through the process of using solicitors because he sued me; that had been going on for a few years. We settled out of court which we have just agreed. We were mates, it was a complete accident and he's not in any way bitter towards me, but the fact is that he had to finish his career because of me."

Faustino Asprilla

The former Newcastle and Colombian centre-forward was always outlandish on the pitch: overhead kicks, unpredictable goal celebrations and spats with fellow professionals. But it was a shooting incident in 2008 that really proved his penchant for the bizarre. Driving in his homeland with friends, a national security checkpoint refused to let Asprilla's vehicle continue due to the fact that they were carrying a loaded gun on board. A shoot-out ensued in which 28 machine-gun bullets were fired at security forces. No one was injured, but Asprilla was placed under house-arrest. "Seven people who were with me have not yet testified, and so I think it's a bit premature for me to be convicted," said Asprilla. "In fact, it reminds me of a movie that I once saw called Minority Report with Tom Cruise, in which people end up in jail even before you've committed the crime or even been tried." In all fairness, two years at Newcastle would reduce anyone to becoming a machine-gun-wielding-maniac.


Motty

Do we really need the League Cup in 2011?

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On Sunday, Arsenal and Birmingham will walk out on to the Wembley turf to do battle for the first silverware of the season. A win for Wenger would secure the North London side’s first trophy in over five years, ending a long fruitless wait for the Gunners faithful. Victory for Birmingham, currently three points above the drop-zone, could no doubt be the boost needed to turn their season around. But are we interested? And more so, will the Arsenal fans thirst for trophies really be quenched by a Carling Cup? And would most Bluenoses not swap a victory on Sunday for 3 points back on New Year’s Day? Points which would see them sitting just off the top half of the table.

The League Cup has always played as an understudy to the F.A Cup, but whilst it provides many less giant killings than its counterpart by only allowing Football League teams to enter, hence the name, it does offer the opportunity of European competition to its winners. Something the Birmingham players will no doubt have in the back of their minds on Sunday.

Ten years ago, Birmingham reached the same stage of the competition, eventually losing via a marathon penalty shoot-out to Liverpool. This being the last time a second-tier side has reached the final. So with a decade past since a ‘League’ team has reached the final of the League Cup, let alone win it, it’s little wonder many are beginning to show increasing disinterest towards the competition.

Ironically, the other side in this weekend’s final, are partly to blame for the demise of the tournament. For many of the last ten years in question, Arsenal have used the competition as an opportunity to rest first team players, instead making use of both their reserve and youth squads. This season has been a little different, with increasing pressure on the club to win a trophy, Wenger has more often than not fielded a strong, if not his strongest side. However, Wenger’s former approach to the competition has stuck, and many other Premier League teams, even those with very little chance of achieving any other silverware, continue to field weakened sides.

Surely then this must have opened up the competition to those in the lower divisions, and those Premier League sides taking the competition seriously? Apparently not. Of the last twenty League Cup finalists, only six have not been Manchester United, Liverpool, Arsenal, Chelsea or Tottenham. So not only are the top teams fielding weakened sides, but they’re overwhelmingly winning the competition. It can be argued that if these sides didn’t field weakened teams they would reach finals with even more regularity, maybe so, but it would certainly boost the profile of the tournament once again, and perhaps go as far as eradicating the saying “It’s only the Carling Cup”.

But let’s face it, in an age when winning the European Cup is rewarded with the princely sum of around 7 Million Euros, are the top teams ever going to want to field their best side, or for that matter be able to? The increasing over-congestion of fixtures in the British season means that top sides can be expected to play with much more regularity than their European counterparts, many of whom are gifted the luxury of a winter break and not competing in a secondary cup competition.

Options then seem sparse. Perhaps the most logical would be to not invite teams involved in Europe to partake, opening up the tournament, increasing competition and incentivising a cup run. But this seems highly unlikely, the Europa League position would no doubt be withdrawn by UEFA, sponsorship would undoubtedly dwindle and ultimately, if only for the final few games, the quality of football would be watered down.

However, on Sunday, for 90 minutes at least, the role of the League Cup will not be questioned. Both sets of players will want to win, but one may just have their minds somewhere else. Ultimately, I’m not sure there is a solution for the demise of this historic competition. But I hope there is.

Buckett