Stephen Tudor article...

The Red Devils may have won at the Etihad but they were all too aware that it was mere a speed bump in the road for City

MANCHESTER United’s defacing of a masterpiece this weekend was a postponement of its installation into a gallery that contains many United landscapes. By the season’s end ‘Manchester City 2017/18’ will be framed, hung and given an exhibition of its own, admired by visitors unable to see the dab of red crayon that by then will have been wiped clean for prosperity.


Jose Mourinho and his men know this to be true, which is why their celebrations in the aftermath to a quite extraordinary derby game had two very different demeanours. On the pitch, with emotions peaked after the final whistle the players were bellicose and badge-thumping before their delirious supporters. It was an understandable display of defiance given their avoidance of humiliation and restoration of pride against the half-time odds.

Soon after a dressing room debrief however, the players and manager emerged for their interviews purposely sangfroid and sticking religiously to the party line. Questions about what it meant to deprive their neighbours of the historic thrill of securing a title win from a Manchester derby were batted away as if the scenario had barely occurred to them. All that mattered apparently, was the attainment of another three points to further their aim in finishing second.

Again this was perfectly understandable because United are not there yet; they’re not ready to accept the incontestable fact that they are no longer the city’s headline act, and even if that uncomfortable truth has absorbed into their bloodstream, they certainly know better than to publicly announce it. We need only think back to David Moyes’ comments in 2014, when he said United ‘must aspire’ to reach City’s standard and all hell that broke loose among the red ranks, thereafter to acknowledge that the edifice of arrogance that is Old Trafford will not adopt secondary status overnight. Between here and there, seven stages of grief must be navigated and frankly they are still firmly rooted in shock and denial at the transference of power that has taken place between their club and a rival they were too supercilious for many a year to even deem a rival.
This means that in their present stage they cannot be seen to revel with too much fervour in the temporary disruption of the other’s superiority.

Yet that was precisely what Saturday’s overcoming of their betters amounted to – a singular victory in battle from a war hopelessly lost. Furthermore, if such a thing can even exist and evidently it can, this was a five goal smash-and-grab. Am I being bitter in defeat in writing this? Nope, not really: at two goals down at the break and in great danger of enduring a costly, defining evening, United fronted up and produced a clinical twenty minute reminder of what they could have been post-Ferguson. That is to be genuinely admired.

Elsewhere though, City rioted with their usual lightning-quick invention; their free-flowing, beautiful fare leaving the visitors chasing shadows, chasing who they once were but never can be again. A totemic header by Vincent Kompany was followed soon after by a Gundogan finish carved from improvised magic. And around these goals was a plethora of chances created at will. Ashley Young clearly handballed in the area to deny Raheem Sterling a tap-in but maybe the 21-goal striker would have missed anyway, when factoring in that later he spooned two over the bar with just De Gea to beat. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: when Raheem learns to strike a football a quarter of an inch higher when his adrenaline is up he’s going to be a very special player. Until that day arrives he is not.

A forty-five minute blitz was rounded off by Gundogan only needing to direct a simple close-range header to bag another.

It could have and should have been five-nil at half-time, and even after the visitors pulled off a jaw-dropping comeback, City refused to resort to any sort of compromise, instead continuing their surgical dissection again and again. Young committed an atrocious leg-breaker inside the penalty area and Martin Atkinson’s decision to not even award a spot-kick still confounds, while in a late bombardment De Gea pulled off a worldy and Sterling hit the post.
With the title on hold, I walked down the spirals a mess of conflicting emotions. I was deflated, obviously, because this could have and should have been a truly memorable day. I was thoroughly despondent too, because of the result, and the manner of the result, and who the result was against. Yet I was also weirdly buoyed, almost but not quite upbeat.

City had just schooled United. For the sixth time in seven years they had not only beaten their hated foe but showed them around a university their lack of education will ensure they never apply for. Better yet, United’s response in derby victory mirrored City’s own back in the day: euphoria merged with wide-eyed astonishment at their slaying of a local domineering presence. What is a result - what is a two week wait for glory - in comparison to that?

This was rightfully billed as City’s defining week, and it’s fair to say that it has not so far gone to plan. Yet there is more than comfort to be found when last Wednesday to right now is viewed in context. City, on the cusp of greatness, are no longer solely taking on individual opponents – no matter how historically loathed – but also competing with their own potential, and ultimately their legacy.  Compared to that, the once mighty ogre United are a mere thorn in their side.