February 2008

[Sweder]

A poignant week for people of a certain age, for football fans and in particular followers of Manchester United. Wednesday sees the fiftieth anniversary of the Munich air crash that shook a nation and a sporting world. The 'Flowers of Manchester' lay decimated, broken bodies strewn across a frozen runway. News spread like a vile illness; players dead, United finished, the end of the Busby Babes.

There will be a deluge of coverage this week, tributes paid, special kits worn, to commemorate the loss of a generation of footballing talent. As a life-long United supporter I'll soak it all up with mixed emotions. That frozen afternoon in Germany not only saw tremendous loss of life and talent, it also created a force that survives within the club today; a burning desire to succeed. If the tragedy was to have any meaning for those left behind it was to continue investment in precocious, youthful talent, to play football illuminated by dazzling skill and attacking flair. It hasn't always delivered victory, and the modern United have certainly bought as much talent as they have created, but their flair has warmed the hearts of supporters and neutral observers for decades and is as fitting a tribute as any to the spirit of the Busby Babes.

What does all this mean for 'other' football fans? How are they supposed to feel about something that, frankly, happened to 'that bloody football club' so many love to hate? Sympathy? Give us a break. Wealth drips from the ramparts of the Devilbowl, money yielding yet more riches and, occasionally, trophies. Their fans are brash, arrogant, liable to celebrate wildly, dismissive of all others. Their manager is an irascible, gum-chewing yobbo who picks fights with all and sundry, refuses to speak to the national broadcaster and greets any implied criticism with flame-thrower vitriol.

Bobby Charlton, celebrated survivor and England great, said last week that Duncan Edwards, just 21 years old when he succumbed to injuries sustained in the crash, was the best player he ever played with. Charlton played with Best and Law, watched over Cantona and Beckham and currently sits in his seat at Old Trafford under his big fur hat delighting in the frolics of Rooney and Ronaldo. He played with Bobby Moore for goodness sake; the boy Edwards must've been some player. The Busby Babes, say observers of the time, were 'nailed on' to win the European Cup in '58. They'd just held Belgrade 3 - 3 away to qualify for the semi-finals where a make-shift side were destined to lose 4 - 0 away in Milan. The world lay at their dazzling feet, thier National sides ready to greedily gobble up their burgeoning skills. Championships, FA Cups, European glories, even World Cups were theirs for the chasing. As a mark of respect and in part in recognition of the potential of those lost UEFA offered United an unprecedented second slot for the '59 European Cup competition. The English FA refused, reiterating that only the champions, Wolves, could take part. Of course the FA never wanted United to take part in '56, fearful that the European game might, as Busby had foreseen, be the future.

To understand the impact of Munich '58 on the nation imagine the same thing happening today. Imagine the Arsenal team, packed with fabulous young talent, decimated by tragedy. Fabregas, Adebayor, Almunia, Gallas, Flamini . . . Arsene Wenger given the last rights, not once but twice, as Busby was. Or the current United side. Rooney, Ronaldo, Vidic, Giggs, Hargreaves, all dead or fatally injured. Imagine the hours of television, the miles of newspaper spilling off the news stands. Those boys in '58 weren't millionaires; they were lads, staying in Manchester digs, living at home or with landladies, some on apprentice wages, their bright futures stolen by cruel fate in an accident that would probably never happen today.

I'm certain the tribute at Old Trafford on Sunday, when United play City, will be marked with respect. Everyone in Manchester, Red or Blue, wept floods of tears at the time. A minute's silence is the only right way to mark such a solemn occasion. Whilst I don't expect the rest of the country to show much sympathy, it might be a good time to spend sixty seconds to reflect on what happened on that day fifty years ago, when a nation held it's breath and everyone who remembers knows exactly where they were when they heard the terrible news.