CCFC 2 v 2 Man Utd

The director's box today was a sea of Armani sophistication and sartorial opulence, silky greys offset by crimson urbanity, with one stand-out figure challenging the artisan consensus with his off-the-peg high street crafted belted-up banality. Yes, we were blessed with the presence of the man who is synonymous with our 'Fire and Passion' motto, one totally committed to the cause and who commands respect from both the sporting and business communities for his ability to inspire, innovate, motivate and help people reach their full potential.

Let's just hope the sober-suited Sir Alex Ferguson gave Vincent Tan a bloody great turbo-charged hairdryer blast for his shameful treatment of the finest young manager in the country.

The logo may have been dreamt up by Tan's marketing flunkies - and the majority of fans will never fully buy into the rebranding - but the fire and passion displayed by our hired hands today under the tutelage of our very own pupil fiery Scot will have impressed the watching world and reinforced the Cardiff City brand. And made it damned near impossible for our witless chairman to move against Malky.

Ironically there's more fire and passion generated by the increasingly stubborn upholders of the blue cause than the red-faced opportunists, their vacant wonder-struck expressions betraying years of indolent lounge-lizadry. The noticeable resurgence of vintage bluebird livery has given a new impetus to the defenders of our noble heritage and an increasing belief that all is not lost.

And so to the opposition. The early days of David Moyes' reign have been beset by indifferent form, injuries and unrealistic expectations and it was comforting to see that the basic spine of his side, Vidic-Carrick-Van Persie, was absent. Worse still, a remodelled midfield containing the unproven Cleverley and a confused Fellani cried out for the steadying influence of a Scholes or the belligerence of a Keane as it struggled to impose itself against a dominant City powerhouse.

We had the best of the early play culminating in a chance when Mutch headed Whitts' perfectly floated free kick straight into the grateful arms of de Gea. This was followed by the main talking point of the game as Rooney, clearly miffed at being bossed by Mutch, hacked at him from behind and was indulged with a yellow card.

So the unfeasibly follicled one was lucky to still be on the pitch when minutes later, following a misplaced Turner pass out of defence he collected the ball in the box, turned and with a huge chunk of good fortune placed a deflected shot over the diving Marshall as the Home Counties contingent broke out the Bolly with a heartfelt 'Hurrah!'

A lesser team may have capitulated at this point but we responded well, taking the game to the opposition, the consistently impressive Kev T-C linking up well with a revitalised Cowie and keeping the young Janujaz and the veteran Evra on the backfoot. Mutch and Whittingham were taking advantage of the ponderous Manchester midfield and on the half hour they combined with a couple of gloriously incisive defence splitters to set the ever-alert Campbell free to place the equaliser past the advancing de Gea. 1-1.

In contrast to the Championship, the unforgiving Premier League doesn't allow the luxury of switching off for a second. As the half was a drawing to a close Evra was allowed to ghost in the box to meet a Rooney corner and give the League Champions an undeserved half-time lead and reinforce Cardiff's unenviable record of being the only Premier League team this season not to lead at half time. The comfort of spending most of last season defending a routine half time advantage seems a distant memory.

The start of the second half saw the visitors keen to consolidate their advantage with their stand-out player Rooney at the heart of everything that was good. A couple of his early corners, from either wing, proved his worth as they swung dipped and fizzed through a bewildered City box, unerringly finding their target. His set pieces found both Fellaini and Smalling in turns and only the human barricade that is David Marshall was able to prevent them adding to their lead.

City however continued to thrive, always seeking to find a way back into the game, unfazed by the occasion and the stellar opposition, no hostage to reputation or history. Campbell, who spent a frustrating four seasons at Man Utd awaiting the opportunity to prove his worth, being sent out on loan and eventually shown the door when Sunderland came knocking, was playing like he had a point to prove and almost scored a second leveller with a mischievous chip over de Gea from the edge of the box that hit the bar.

A rash of substitutions gave Noone and Kimbo the chance to shake things up, with Giggs and Welbeck brought on for the opposition. Inexplicably Giggs, icon, footballing legend, a towering genius of a player, an ambassador for our nation, was booed by a section of the Canton End highbrows on the basis of his perceived reluctance to be available for the occasional San Marino, Swaziland or Syria friendly. Twerps.

As the less committed were considering leaving their seats to seek an early advantage on the car park exit grid a mistimed tackle led to a 90th minute free kick which was delayed after a fracas between Medel and Fellaini in the box during which the pint-sized Chilean appeared to elbow the Belgian bouffant. With defenders out of position, Kimbo popped up to force a header past de Gea to provide a hard-fought and much-deserved equaliser.

There was barely time for a combined Giggs - Rooney move to fizzle out as the tabloids favourite messed up with the goal at his mercy. Oh how we laughed the longest of the last laughs - of the condemned man pardoned at the gallows as the hangman closes in.

Patrice Evra in his post-match interview declared his admiration for our boys whilst struggling to contain his frustration at the surprising ineptitude of his charges who he confessed didn't deserve a win. So another Saturday, another scalp for our braves. City, United, Everton, Tottenham - 4 of the top 7 at the end of season shakedown. OK we haven't taken maximum points but we've competed against the very best and won over the doubters. And that's good enough for now.

Big Match Preview

CCFC v Man Utd

On a recent excursion to the Indian subcontinent I was shocked to find at Mumbai Airport, alongside the world's greatest and most exclusive shops and boutique stores such as Armani, Chanel, Calvin Klein and Spillers Records there is a store dedicated solely to merchandise from the team on the red side of Manchester.

Quite how the great grey 'Cottonopolis' of the industrial revolution, a city once pitied as 'wretched, defrauded, oppressed, a crushed human nature, lying and bleeding fragments' and an inspiration for the works of Marx and Engels, developed into a global brand, producing the world sporting team of choice for the aspirational and the pathologically shallow is beyond me.

Those that have chosen to hitch a ride on the shoulders of the city's giants might care to reflect that this is the city of The Smiths, The Stone Roses, Ian Curtis, John Cooper Clarke, Mrs Merton and Herman's Hermits. But you'll find no music, no poetry, no irony in those self regarding bling-bling middling piddling flashy trashy fans.

I don't have any problem with the Mumbai Mancs, the Reykjavik or Riyadh Reds, the boys from distant lands seduced by a glitzy unreality beyond their comprehension. We forgive them for they know not what they do.

It's much more difficult to find excuses for the legions of their UK fans who abandon the obvious choice of following their home (inevitably less successful) team in favour of pursuing a vicarious thrill and inviting a little success enter their hopeless lives.

What is going through their minds as they park up their white vans and commit to settling down in front of their mega-tellies in their Sevenoaks semis, their Bracknell bungalows or their Tonyrefail terraces after a hard day's finger-gesturing and tail-gaiting to follow their favourite's flatulent fortunes with nothing but a micro-waved 'meal for one' and a flat lager for company?

Not much as it turns out. A recent study concluded that the majority of MDF's (Manchester Distance Fans) are socially inadequate with unrealistic life goals. They may have experienced childhood isolation and are likely to have adopted their team after failing at stamp collecting.

Worse still are the monied breed of Home Counties Jonny-come-latelys attracted by the gentrification of the terraces and the cache attached to identifying with a successful lifestyle brand. Sitting there in their swanky Mancy corporate boxes the atmosphere is so sterile that you can hear a Pimms drop.

So as the bloated global Man U audience drags up a chair, adjusts its rose-tinted spectacles, belches and settles down to another afternoon of vacuous semi-engaged unrequited infatuation, 27,000 grounded souls at the Cardiff City Stadium will be fighting to keep it real.

Ah, that's better. Nothing beats a bit of bile-letting and spleen-venting to ease the pain of 50 years of provocation.

So what are the chances of an unlikely Manchester double? History, stats, form and global expectations are against us but we know that with a combination of steely resolve on the pitch and a master tactician on the sidelines anything is possible.

After two glamour games at the CCS - with the Gooners up next - any points will be welcome ahead of two crunch games away at Stoke & Palace that will have a greater impact on our fortunes.

Let's hope that any anxiety generated by the unrealistic expectations of the meddling Malaysian won't impact too much on our performance but there is an over-riding concern that  we're never likely to be more than a couple of defeats away from another potentially catastrophic Vincent Tan-trum. 

Match Report to follow...