Stephen Tudor article...

Why this incomparable Manchester City side have been champions from the get-go

Pep Guardiola's side have waltzed their way to the Premier League title and changed minds and broken records in the process

IN life, in football and in everything, we are what we compare ourselves to, and those comparisons are drawn only from three distinct categories. There is who we once were, standing tall or small depending on our circumstance; there are our peers in the present; and there is the recent past of the wider world around us, informing us what is the benchmark and what is the norm.

In every conceivable way Manchester City this season have surpassed these criteria. Heck they have smashed them all to smithereens even the sacred texts of their own proud history.
When judged against their peers it’s just not been a fair fight. “Try and stop them in any way and you can’t. They can play around anything. Press from the front, they play around you. Try to compete in midfield, and it’s impossible. Pack the final third and they play give-and-gos. They’re brilliant”. That was Sam Allardyce after yet another masterclass of technical, spatial and artistic supremacy had reduced his Everton side to disorientated shadow-chasers.

Allardyce’s exasperation was commonplace among Premier League managers in 2017/18 in the immediate aftermath of their best laid plans being laid to ruin. From early September onwards some of the finest coaching minds on the continent ceased trying to better their betters on that particular day and instead sought out a solution to stopping this stylish, highly organised implementation of chaos theory and time and again their formulas were discredited. Sit deep and City would relentless pick at the seams until the resolve unravelled. Dare to attack them and space would be exploited so ruthlessly it took the breath away. In so many instances the opposition’s best hope lay in City temporarily lowering their standard to becoming simply the very best of the ordinary. In every instance bar two they haven’t.

Consequently this has not been a conventional title race. Indeed it could be argued that there hasn’t been a race at all since the starting pistol’s smoke dissipated. Whereas usually the winning of a league is the ultimate achievement for several months now the narrative has centred on fevered speculation as to what record-breaking margin it can be attained and by how early a juncture. More so the manner in which it’s been done has trumped the accomplishment itself. Manchester City winning the Premier League is not the story and will not be the account passed on to future generations. Manchester City winning the Premier League by an absolute landslide after reinventing English football. That’s the story.

Which gives up one big spoiler as to how they fare against their recent predecessors. Last year Chelsea’s dominance was a marriage of formation and eleven players who excelled in their respective positions.  There is no belittlement in saying that because frankly that is how most silverware is won nor is there any devilment in saying it was a triumph of functionality. The previous campaign saw Leicester complete the most unexpected of fairy-tales and as wonderful as that was it was procured through fortitude. With players who individually were of an everyday calibre and an overall possession throughout 2015/16 of 40% it was a title realised in every sense against the odds.

Put these up against Pep Guardiola’s Manchester City and it’s a pile of phone directories next to a compendium of poetry. This year the determination of 380 Premier League games has placed at its apex a team wedded to a philosophy, one that is noble, innovative, bold and beautiful. One incidentally that was roundly mocked twelve months before.

Going back a little further still we reach Chelsea’s other title win in the two thousand and teens. I’ll be honest here and admit I can barely recall anything about them other than it being Jose Mourinho’s last flexing of power before his stature crumbled to dust and that Diego Costa was a fearsome presence up front. There are certainly no moments that stand out, magical and memorable above and beyond the standard practice of the best team that season winning the most games.

Whereas with City among the vast, scenic landscapes they have explored this term there are a multitude of perfectly formed treasures, each as sparkling and indelible as the last.
Here’s one – Away at the Emirates at the start of March the Blues had already vanquished Arsenal within half an hour with two goals that can justifiably be described as sumptuous. The Gunners were in complete disarray, bamboozled by this exotic new language being spoken so fluently by their opponents and still reeling from the chasm in class and the two goal deficit they meaningfully chased another phase of possession back to Vincent Kompany deployed deep and in acres of space. The City captain rolled the ball to Kyle Walker and Danny Welbeck sensed blood and quickened his pace. Only Walker calmly returned the ball to Kompany and so very often have we witnessed this all season – simple five-yard inter-play designed to frustrate and ultimately disjoint the other team’s shape.

Kompany arrowed a firm pass north to David Silva who laid it off to Walker who was now free from harassment because Welbeck had sprinted to Kompany. Confused? Think how bewildered the Arsenal players were tracking this in real time with lungs burning from exhaustion having hunted for the ball without success for thirty minutes.

Sergio Aguero dropped deep and joined in the fun and after a series of lightning passes the Arsenal players from across the pitch couldn’t help but be drawn in. The ball was there to be won. They were blatantly taking the piss and it was right there. Subsequently five Arsenal players were being subjected to a damn good Rondo-thon while over on the left hand side of the pitch Danilo and Leroy Sane loitered unhindered in acres of turf aside from the solitary form of Hector Bellerin.

In this instance the move came to nothing because Aguero eventually miscontrolled but he instantly recovered and played a simple ball back to Walker. Here is what is never said about this extraordinary side, an aspect that elevates them to rarefied heights: they think nothing of starting all over again.

Which is precisely what they do and we’re now countless passes in. Walker knocked the ball back to Kompany who found David Silva central. A lay-off to Bernardo Silva then went back to David Silva then back to Walker and a pattern was emerging, a pattern that subconsciously the Arsenal players were following because it only took two of them to mentally anticipate Kompany being next in the chain for them to change their body-shape slightly and create the slightest of gaps for Walker to return a ball to Silva and for the first time the magician had room to wave his wand. The most offensive pass yet reached Aguero and now the lull, lull, lulling was over; play-time was over as the Argentine spun and bared his teeth and heels.

The speed in which they went from toying with their victim to lethal intent was little short of exhilarating and less short of rehearsal. Aguero was now away. Pulses quickened and Arsenal were jolted into response but it was too late: they were there in numbers but not in mind or shape.

Aguero dinked it inside to Silva who was everything to this exquisite move and is everything to this exquisite Manchester City side and he in turn found Walker racing into the box and where the hell did he come from?
The right-back didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. Instead he shifted the ball across the six yard line and it duly reached the boot of Sane who had drifted infield.
The finish was clumsy - a last second revision of movement and a toe-poked guide home – and I love that this was the climax because otherwise it would be an act of ludicrous perfection. It made it all human. Gods should have feet of clay and glorious goals should always have a touch of scruffiness to them.

As sensational as it was you may be wondering why I have singled this moment out from all of the greatest hits that have been lavished upon us this season.  It’s because from the avalanche of goals that will soon be recorded in the history books this was the only one I did not celebrate. Instead I just watched agape.

I will not go as far as to claim it was an out of body experience. That would be an exaggeration. What is certainly true though is that it was one of those strange occasions when you know exactly how you look in that instant to others: the expression on your face. There were wide-eyes and a mouth ajar. The only movement was a slow shake of the head in utter disbelief.
I would have reacted the same way had it been executed by any side but this was my side; my team; my club and lifelong love and I sometimes get accused of succumbing to flowery prose here and elsewhere but there is no word to describe how that felt and feels. The thesaurus doesn’t have one. I looked.

Now they are champions but that has long been the case. This futuristic and gorgeous Manchester City eleven. Seminal and incomparable.