Date with destiny for ace Scholes

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13 April 2012

All round Old Trafford, the tributes rang out to the little man. "Priceless ... a true great ... a fantastic player," came the paeans from his admirers. Yet naturally, Paul Scholes was not there to laud Paul Scholes. Hey presto, the ginger magician had already scarpered as silently and as free of fuss as if he were ghosting unseen towards the Stretford End penalty area.

Rueful smiles all round from his media pursuers. We knew that even on his night of nights the chance of a word from the coy hero of the hour was about as feasible as Cristiano Ronaldo managing to stay upright for 10 minutes on the field. The betting was that the anti-showman was already ensconsed back at his local in Saddleworth or having a swig of milk in the kitchen with his missus, Claire.

If somebody had suggested to him that, nine years on from missing out on United's Champions League final glory through suspension, fate must have been at work for him to earn a second chance at 33 with his goal from the heavens, he would no doubt have harrumphed: "Don't believe in fate, mate".

Scholes never bought into anything so airy fairy. He reckoned he was never too upset about missing the epic win in Barcelona in 1999, anyway, and was just as phlegmatic when his career seemed threatened by blurred vision at the end of the 2006 season. Two years on, the only blurred vision was that of the Barca keeper Victor Valdes, blinded by Scholes's wondrous, slicing 25-yarder. It was fitting that a goal of such magnificence should decide the tie. Of late, the defining moments of big games have come in the shape of calamitous own goals, cock-ups or contentious penalty calls. How about a battle of two great clubs being decided by a great goal from a great player.

The names which make most noise couldn't do it. Lionel Messi offered his meanest Maradona impression but with such scant support, it was like watching a conjuror in a cul de sac. Ronaldo gestured more than he ever truly threatened. Yet the quiet man, who at times could only watch Messi run embarrassing rings round him, took the solitary chance presented to him by Gianluca Zambrotta's messy clearance with devastating brilliance.

He may not believe in destiny but his extraordinary intervention made Ferguson ponder it. Here, half a century on from the Munich disaster, United had been piloted to another historic European Cup Final, the first to be contested between two English clubs, by his favourite player. Well, at least the player who's the only one never to suffer his hairdryer treatment.

Fergie's affection sounded as warm and genuine as that pouring from the 75,000 who stood to salute Scholes's departure in the 75th minute.

"How Paul deserves to be in the final. He's one of the great players to come through the ranks here," he said. "You can't expect him to score 10, 15 goals a season like he used to but when he gets a fantastic one like this [his first in 29 games], it makes up for it. He'll be the first name on my team-sheet for the final."

What a just reward. The reason Scholes's glory will be savoured by even some United haters is that, in this madly hyped footballing era, his quiet brand of professionalism, excellence and commitment - this season, he's had to battle back from a knee injury - makes him so easy to admire.

"And hopefully that's right about fate too," said Fergie. "We're in the final and have a fantastic chance". Had he a clue about whether it would be Liverpool or Chelsea? "No idea," he said. "And I don't care who we play, to be honest."

Which is more than can be said for the Muscovite police, who must be dreading the idea of the timeless red versus red feud being acted out in the vicinity of Red Square.

At least, reckoned Fergie, there would be more tickets available for United fans against Liverpool than if they were playing Chelsea. "Yeah, I think Abramovich has bought them all," he said.

His mood was now as sunny as it had been fractious in recent days. There was no 'told you so' rebukes for his doubters but just a combination of relief and high emotion over another personal milestone.

A second appearance in a final had seen him surpass Sir Matt Busby's European Cup record but it was the manner of the triumph which made him feel humble.

It hadn't been achieved with United's trademark attacking flow but, in adversity with the absence of key men Nemanja Vidic and Wayne Rooney, on organisation, teamwork and bloody-minded defensive resilience. After criticising Rio Ferdinand's loss of head against Chelsea on Saturday, it's only fair to recognise his towering effort to shackle Barca's forwards, even if they appeared as one-dimensional and docile now as they were mobile and razor sharp a couple of years back.

An era may have passed at Barca and coach Frank Rijkaard, even while adamant last night that he wouldn't resign, will fall off the carousel. Yet Ferguson, who looked as if the years had fallen off him again, just goes on and on, a 66-year-old sounding like an energetic 40-year-old plotting some grand new era of supremacy.

So where would he watch tonight's game, he was asked. "I'm going to the match. Is that all right with you?" he boomed back with a broad grin. Yes, back at the Bridge for a fond welcome from the stewards and just adoring the idea that he's already Moscow-bound while Roman hasn't yet got the keys to his home city.

The irrepressible one is loving it again, just loving it.

Date with destiny for ace Scholes

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