At the time of writing, Foul Play is resting up and gathering his thoughts after yet another rip-roaring night of mayhem on the carousel of chaos that is Manchester United s 1999-2000 Champions League campaign.
I know that the denouement last May was a hard act to follow, but did things have to be this fucking dull? Apart from a nice overhead kick by Andy Cole in the first Marseille match, and David Beckham being harassed by a moustachioed Austrian person in Graz, virtually nothing of interest has occurred in United s first four European ties.
After last season s two six-goal thrillers against Barca, the titanic clashes with Inter and Juventus, and those interesting last few minutes against Bayern, United seem to see it as their duty to do the bare minimum in Europe until they come up against a team they regard as equals. It s condescending, it s dull, and it will probably rebound on them soon.
Improbably enough, it has fallen to Arsenal to assume the mantle of dashing buccaneers in Europe this season. The Gunners have lately been flaying opposition defences with their attacking skills and leaking unlikely amounts of goals at their own end.
The problem is, they seem to be at the stage United were at three seasons ago, with each morale-boosting win against AIK Solna/Rapid Vienna being followed by a sobering lesson at the hands of Barcelona/Juventus.
At least they put on a hell of a show against Barcelona, attacking like furies after the hammer-blow of conceding two early goals. It didn t work, ultimately, but nobody who saw the match will ever forget it.
Conversely, United s stratagem against Marseille amounted to nothing more sophisticated than sitting on their hands and hoping that the French didn t run at them. Nothing happened for 70 minutes, then came the goal, and only then did United turn on the style, battering away at the beleaguered Marseille rearguard, in unconscious imitation of Ireland s rugby team and their 14-man rucking machine in the closing seconds of the Argentina game.
Perhaps, as karmic payback for the events of May 26th 1999, United are due the worst of both worlds in Europe: firstly, a dull campaign with little to enliven it except the routine massacre of Sturm Graz at Old Trafford, and then an early exit at the hands of someone like Fiorentina.
As regards Arsenal, one out of two ain t bad.
The season feels old yet.
Having not learned from years of bitter experience, I always jump at the chance to watch Celtic playing in Europe. I still treasure the videotape of their UEFA Cup tie from September 97, when they hammered the living daylights out of Liverpool at Parkhead, and somehow scraped a 2-2 draw. So it was with heady anticipation that I sat down on Thursday night to watch them taking on Olympique Lyonnais.
The 20 minutes spent trying to tune in to the French station TV5, which was showing the match, meant that I was just in time to witness the grisly Larsson Incident. Any thought that this would be an enjoyable night of European football was completely dispelled when the great man smashed his leg to smithereens in a collision with a Frenchman.
When old Henrik fatefully tussled for the ball with Serge Blanc, he destroyed not just his left shinbone, but also Celtic s title chances, the prospect of a genuinely interesting season in Scotland s top division, and the hopes and dreams of an entire community.
Even with the lively Swede spearheading their attack, Celtic were already well capable of handing the title to the Huns of Ibrox on a silver platter. Now, with Mark Viduka an increasingly enigmatic presence, Eyal Berkovic already starting to exhibit the I-me-mine tendencies that made him such a hit on West Ham s training ground, and this latest disaster, it looks as black as the ace of spades for the Bhoys.
Perhaps what drama there is in Scotland this season will be provided by Aberdeen, and their magnificent quest to singlehandedly rewrite the record books of British football.
Already this season, the Dons have set a new milestone for consecutive defeats in Scottish football (ten), with manager Ebbe Skovdahl s post-match press conferences featuring frequent recourse to phrases along the lines of These players I ve inherited are completely crap. What can I possibly do?
Something had to give. On Wednesday, Aberdeen travelled to Motherwell s Fir Park in unforgiving mood, having endured a seven-goal rogering by the majestic Larsson and his mates the previous weekend.
True to form, they leaked another five at Motherwell, a statistic made marginally more bearable by the fact that they managed to bang in six goals of their own at the other end.
This extraordinary result was only partially explained by the presence of Andy Goram between the Motherwell sticks. The former Rangers man, now sporting the kind of mullet that even Czech Republic ice-hockey players eschew these days, was apparently culpable for four of the six Aberdeen goals, in a detail that will have brought wintry smiles to the faces of Celtic fans everywhere.
The Dons have got Rangers at home in a couple of weeks. Down down, deeper and down. n