Critics are quick to dismiss the Manchester City man as a mere speed merchant, but he is one of the game’s best full-backsIt was about 40 minutes into the semi-final on Wednesday night that Kyle Walker made the first of his trademark overlapping sprints up the right wing. You know the one: the classic jet-powered Walker burst that seems to possess a surreal comic-book quality. Cartoon smoke billows from him as he goes. Cars are hurled aside in his wake. A dweeby looking businessman gets coffee blown all over his suit. Manchester City were 1-0 down to Paris Saint-Germain, and with half-time looming, City’s all-action hero had finally decided to join the party.That run came to nothing, but a minute...
Pep Guardiola’s side suffocated their opponents in the second half as PSG’s collective meltdown gifted City the upper handIt may be that history comes to look back on the past few days as a turning point in the history of European football, as the Super League, a desperate gamble by the impoverished traditional elite, was crushed and the petro‑clubs, having challenged for so long, finally took charge. And in a great time of crisis, of such flux that unlikely alliances have been forged and the quest for at least some good guys in football ownership – anybody, anywhere – landed upon some spectacularly implausible candidates, there is something deeply reassuring that some constants remain: deep down, Paris Saint-Germain still have...
Neither of football’s great petrocarbon empires have won the Champions League and now they stand in each other’s waySo what takes precedence here: the football stuff, or the other stuff? Obviously you know about the other stuff. Paris Saint-Germain v Manchester City in the Champions League semi-final has already more than its fair share of alternative monikers. El Gasico. El Cashico. The Sportswashing Derby. Gulf War Three. A proxy battle on hybrid grass; a clash of new money and even newer money; Qatar v Abu Dhabi; the diseased nadir of the modern game; a big night for Kyle Walker.It is, of course, all of these things and less. The meeting of European football’s two great petrocarbon empires feels ostensibly like...
The Carabao Cup final brought fans back inside a stadium again and they saw City dominate Spurs on the way to victoryAfter the leave of enforced absence, after that failed heist masquerading as a Super League, after a year and counting of isolation and anxiety. Well, here comes everyone.With 34 minutes gone at Wembley there was a moment of authentic match-going beauty. João Cancelo played a wondrous fizzed, flat, crossfield pass to Riyad Mahrez. He took the ball with a super-soft touch, jinked inside – as he must always jink inside – then spanked a thrilling shot back on the same zigzagging angle just past the far post. Related: Manchester City win fourth Carabao Cup in a row as Laporte...
Manchester City fans like me had the chance to vote with our feet, mouths and placards. We didn’t and now the Super League shows we’re irrelevantI’m tapping out a tweet to my football club, Manchester City, trying to make a case for why they shouldn’t join the Super League. But nothing’s coming out except for abuse. A fuck at the start, one at the end and another in the middle for good luck. A three-word sentence. I delete them, and start anew. The same happens again. Pure senseless abuse. Well fair enough, I’m in an abusive relationship, and there comes a point when you say enough is enough, it’s time for the abused to fight back.But I’ve been here before....