Balotelli Disappears to Milan

And then he was gone.

Like a magician who leaves the stage in a puff of smoke, Mario Balotelli packed his bags and departed Manchester City.

Roberto Mancini finally gave up on the striker he hand-picked to lead his City revolution, his fingers burnt following the 22-year-old’s training ground fracases, late night cavorting and threatened employment tribunal.

And that’s before his on-pitch indiscretions and blatant lack of form.

Balotelli was never the magician his compatriot manager envisaged he would be for City and a return of just three goals in 15 appearances so far this season meant the striker had become more scourge than sorcerer. The unpredictable Balotelli was embarrassing a club that seeks a place in football’s aristocracy. He was the prince that would not behave.

He’ll head back to the familiar surroundings of Milan, but this time in red and black, and join fellow City rebel Robinho at the Rosseneri as they hope to overhaul neighbours Inter into a Champions League spot.  

If Carlos Tevez was City’s marquee signing (literally), Balotelli will go down as a symbol of excess since City's new-found oleaginous wealth.

His record of 20 league strikes in 53 appearances has merit but it's not his goals nor the his role in the massacre of  Manchester United last season.  

Instead it’s bulbous headwear, bibs and Bentleys that will be etched into his Premier League epitaph.

But English football will miss Mario.

Trawl through Twitter on any match day and you see vitriolic bile flung in all directions. Football has become so serious to some fans it seems we’ve forgotten the best, most intrinsic part: fun.

On and off-pitch racism, crippling ticket prices and the Hillsborough inquiry have rightly dominated front and back pages this season leaving it to Mario the maverick to reminded us of football’s futility. Tales of generosity at the petrol forecourt, an apparent interest in the UK justice system and of course the fabled blowing up of his own bathroom brought a smirk to fans' faces if not his manager's and peers'. 

Of course he was indulged by City's hierarchy. But lets not begrudge the man his grotesque fortune for without it he would not have given us his marvelous expenditure. Afterall, why have an iron when you could equally have quad bikes?

The flip side is that Balotelli was no angel. Just ask Scott Parker’s head or Alex Song’s leg. Ask even his City teammates, at whom he snapped into. Balotelli’s farcical episodes were tempered by an inveterate anger and propensity to explode.

Mancini’s decision to offload his protégé was tinged with a morsel of regret (a penny for his thoughts stood on the touchline at Loftus Road on Tuesday), especially as he believes Balotelli can still become a world beater, that he can still pull a rabbit out of his hat.

Hernandez Brace Resurrects United

A Javier Hernandez double inspired yet another Manchester United comeback in a hard fought victory against a deflated Aston Villa.

Hernandez, a second half substitute, left Villa feeling a sense of de ja vu after United came from 2-0 down to turn the game on its head.

A pulsating second half was barely five minutes old when Andreas Weimann doubled Villa’s lead, after opening the scoring on the stroke of half time, with a close range finish from Gabriel Agbonlahor’s cross.

But the introduction of Hernandez was the catalyst for a dramatic turn around and three goals in half an hour which captured all three points for the league leaders.

Were Villa architects of their own downfall?

Emphatically not.

Paul Lambert’s side won’t be win the league with kids but on this performance his youthful side must be favourites to pull themselves out of their slump. 

Villa made it hard for United, who were not at their best, by pressing their midfielders, particularly Paul Scholes, into submitting possession.

Indeed it was Lambert’s men who for an hour looked good value for their lead but Villa Park has been a happy hunting ground for United, the ground where they have prised the most Premier League points away from Old Trafford.

Villa’s lead came after 45 minutes of counter attacking play from both sides, Austrian striker Weimann placing above David de Gea in the United goal after a well measured pull-back from the lively Christian Benteke.

Though Ashley Young, who was booed from the outset, swung a shot side wide and Wayne Rooney drove one from afar, United failed to threaten Brad Guzan’s goal; Robin Van Persie cut a peripheral figure up front.

It was when the second half got under way, with Hernandez replacing the futile Young, that United’s rhythm improved. 

But when an errant pass from Scholes was latched onto by Stephen Ireland, Agbonlahor tore up the left wing in support. His cross-goal effort was diverted past De Gea from close range by Weimann and with 50 minutes on the clock Villa should have been favourites for an unlikely victory.

Ferguson’s United, though, are never dead and buried and a second half resurrection was given life when Hernandez ran onto Scholes’ lob over the Villa defence to slip past the ensuing Guzan.

United have made a habit of falling behind this season, eight times in all competitions, before recovering  to earn a victory, but when Van Persie twice hit the wood work, firstly with a close header and seconds later with a curling effort, Villa could have been forgiven for thinking this was their night.

But United don’t do sympathy and when Hernandez’s deflected second at the back post drew his side level there was only going to be one outcome.

With less than five minutes to go Van Persie swept a delivery into Villa’s penalty area to find an unmarked Hernandez to stoop low and head home to conquer.  

The last time United came from two down at this ground and won was when Ruud Van Nistelrooy fired two past Villa. 

Partnering the Dutchman that day was a Norwegian striker whose habit of conjuring match winning goals earned him cult status in the Stretford End.

Hernandez might have earned a place in the starting 11 next week.   

Euro Nightmare

I have seen the future.

It came to me only last week but through the most unlikely method.

The premonition didn’t come through telepathy , tarot cards or even travelling gypsies.

Nor did I have to squeeze my temples, forcing my brain into activity, while exasperating: “Commmme onnnnn, you stuuuuupiid heaaad orrrgaaan. Ahhhh,” for my image of the future. 

My insight into the next century, perhaps even the next decade, came from none other than my own vehicles of discernment: my peepers.

I was in Portugal, the great pretender to Greece’s King of the PIGS, and staring right back at the sun-blushed canvas that was my face was the very envisagement of a supranational union that could eventually become reality.

I was looking at Europe: one federal nation to rule them all.

While this may have uber-Lefties foaming at the mouth, and indeed, I suffered from similar convulsions, albeit through the local white, this dystopia perfectly laid out why Tory grandees might just have to thrust Boris Johnson upon the nation if Dave does not sever our ties with the continent.

So, without mentioning the obvious towel malfeasance, unkempt arm pits or catastrophic currency, allow me to outline some observations. 

Remember: this could be you.

A European’s dress sense is nonsense.

I’m no Alexander McQueen but I do have eyes. European’s, namely Germans, do not. One German man with large hands, and an even larger wife, wore dungarees over a tshirt, a pair of those ghastly Crocs and a woven cowboy hat. “Ha,” I laughed, “that guy, he’s a real joker wearing that. He must have lost a bet with his fellow Germanic pals.” It was only on the fourth consecutive evening when he was wearing precisely the same that I almost admired the gall of the man. But not his lumberjack/lesbian attire.

Europeans do weird things

The British have a reputation for being rather eccentric but we’ve a long way to go, judging by what I’ve seen, to match our continental counterparts. One hirsute, fuzzy, French chap with a moustache

not so much like a handle bar but a fully operational  bar, complete with optics, smoked a pipe while laying by the pool. A pipe. And he wasn’t a Victorian.    

(Jumping French beans! I have seen my first ever proper pipe being smoked, with all, like, the ash in the wooden bowl! Author eagerly ticks “Man Smoking ‘Real’ Pipe” off ‘Cool Things To See List’. Next up: George Lazenby cooking an omelette)

Europeans talk too much

Sometimes a little piece and quiet to gather ones thoughts is a nice way to spend a few moments, right? Try telling that to Franc and Miguel at the pool bar. It’s not just that these people talk too much, it’s the thunderous, inconsistent volumes they insist on talking in. Put a pipe in it.

Europeans are arrogant

Yes, I know, you don’t need to be Howard Carter to discover that but its the various circumstances in which their arrogance arises that baffled me. Take, for example, food. Diners would walk past my table, take one look at the quivering stack of meat piled upon my plate, raise their noses and off they went to a table with their malnourished children.

Another instance was sport. Picture the scene. Day two: England vs Rest of the World (Europe) on the scorching Astroturf football pitch. “AAAAA, you Inglesh?”, one of the Spanish said before erupting into laughter with his amigos. Last minute, Birmingham Cit fan Jason leaps like a bloody Salmon to head home: 5-4 to England.

So if Britain wants to remain its blazer wearing, meat scoffing, goal scoring best it’s future is not alongside the rest.