Deck The Hull With Balls Of Holly...

"...falalalala lalala/'tis the season to be jolly/falalalala-lalalala..."

The holiday run continues.

There was however a time, precisely, 21.45 GMT(+1) thereabouts, when I not only thought that the season of good cheer was over but I also had sweat-inducing epiphanies of the not-too-far-back purgatory the club is slowly but steadily, no longer crawling, but now walking out from.

This, of course, left me in a foul mood.

The first object of my wrath - Matteo Darmian. Or rather, The Curious Case Of Matteo Darmian. Flattered to deceive on arrival, won the Manchester United's Fans' 'Player Of The Month' in his first month and generally looked like a solid all-action Azzuri defender. And a fair catch too for transfer fees reportedly not exceeding £13m. I was willing to ignore the nasty patch of hair on both sides of his face (No, those are not 'sideburns') as long as he was willing to consistently produce those commando performances but one of us did not keep to his side of the bargain. It wasn't me.

Some things have become evidently clear. Darmian cannot cross the ball accurately. At all. But more on that later. Darmian can neither run nor tackle. I'm sure he still has nightmares about Moussa Sissoko. Hull's right-sided players went past, round and across him over and over again without any resistance. Darmian is also not strong. Apart from his cross in the 1st 5 minutes, every single time the ball got to him on the left wing, he passed back to one of the midfielders. No initiative whatsoever. A dead end. Playing against a 10-man West Ham the other day, it became necessary for him to be yanked of the team before head way was made for the simple reason he offered absolutely nothing. If Mourinho can still keep up his Melisandre Of Asshai act, then there may still be hope.

I shared a morbid joke with a friend that if I were to ever face a firing squad, I would want Messrs Pogba & Herrara as marksmen. I reckon I would have cunningly bought a few more years or at least breathes, as they are almost guaranteed to miss. And miss wildly. I think the problem with the expensive mostly excellent prancing horse is that he has challenges kicking the pig’s bladder when in motion. Place it on a spot and give time to think through his shot and he will hit the…bar. Herrara, on the other hand, plays the game like a puppy chasing a ball of thread – enthusiastic and endearing but can also become mildly annoying. There’s nothing a little Xanax cannot fix…

Captain Wayne too was focused intently on No. 250. A bit too intently, actually. He kept running into Rashford’s positions (Haven’t I heard this before? Hhmmm…) and lashed at the ball when he could have exercised a little more calmness. Well, I don’t blame him too much…as it is said, when you tell someone they are in your Will, the only decent thing to do is to die. Let’s just get it over with. Preferably via a late penalty against the Scousers on Sunday. Final Score: 4-0.

All in all, the play was very tepid in the first half. It felt like the lads took to the pitch with Hull’s EPL position in mind and believed that the Tiger’s makeshift defence would actually help the ball into the net. (I actually DID have that believe when I saw Tom Huddlestone playing as a centre half). The passes were a second too slow, Mkhitaryan looked like he was instead bitten by a scorpion and a rare perfectly good cross put in by Valencia on his standing leg was wasted. Gosh, when next would we see that again?! Only Mata (operating from the right again. Smh) looked the part.

After undoubtedly receiving some version of Mourinho’s hair-dryer at half time, things picked up a gear in the 2^nd half. Mata (who else?) came up with a poacher’s goal from an unlikely sequel of events: Valencia crossed the ball high up into the box knowing fully well we did not have Zlatan on the pitch and there was ordinarily no presence in the box capable of effectively nodding in or suitably holding the ball up but in the continuing festive season, Mikki won the aerial tussle and created the assist for Juan. 1-0.

Cue Anthony Martial for Rooney. Now, the goals will flow. Abi? But God is not man and he has His unique ways of keeping us grounded. After a bit of huffing and puffing with no further goals, Mourinho introduced Marouane Fellaini in place of Mata. The biggest turn-off known to football desire. A bead of sweat broke out. We were now essentially playing for a draw…so grateful that a 2^nd leg was still to come…

…but herein lies the twist in the tale…the raisin at the end of the hotdog…Damned Darmian and Felonious Fellaini combined to give the comfort 2^nd goal. A rare accurate cross from Matteo was intelligently connected by Fellaini with his temple in the 87^th minute. Un-be-lie-va-ble. Scenes of joy and exultation. And he promptly ran to give a bear hug to the man who is attempting to breathe life into his career corpse.

In retrospect, it may be unrealistic and unfair to expect the burgeoning Reds to put up a master class every single time they step on the pitch. This is after all a team still in transition who have played 8 games in just over 3 weeks. The justified fear however was that often times in the recent history of the club, those sort of careless performances have come to cost us bigly down the line. Thankfully, not this time. Viva la festive season!

In other news:

* Cast-off soon to be cast-away Morgan Schneiderlin has reportedly passed his medicals with Everton. He is going to be reunited with his former manager, Ronald Koeman for a fee in the region of £24m inclusive add-ons. I really can’t put a finger on why he didn’t work with the team but I surmise that he was another great example of the scatter-gun transfer policy in the purgatory years. Decent to excellent players purchased with no clear plan of how and where they expected them to play. All the very best, Morgan.

* Did you see the Greatest Player In The History Of The Game’s free-kick against Villarreal? Woof! Hashtag We don’t need Balon D’ors for validation. Hashtag Enrique Must Go.

Signing out…

B.L