That tackle could have ended Becks
By STEVEN HOWARD
IT WAS a tackle - if you can describe it as such - that left Bobby Charlton as mortified as David Beckham.
English football's greatest knight was pale and rendered almost speechless as he slowly hauled himself up a flight of stairs under the Riazor Stadium
"Tell it like you saw it," he muttered as he headed towards some fresh air far removed from the foul stench that had been left behind by Diego Tristan's appalling challenge on the England skipper near the end.
How a player as sublimely talented as Tristan can perpetrate this sort of vicious assault on a fellow player is beyond me.
Tristan almost cut Beckham in half in a wanton act of frustrated revenge that should have brought an immediate red card rather than a feeble yellow.
It was the sort of demented lunge that can split bones and finish careers. And certainly end World Cup dreams.
Let us hope that today's X-ray does not bring the worst possible news.
For that one callous act - as well as the extraordinary cock-sure attitude the Spaniards took into the match - Deportivo thoroughly deserved the sound thrashing they received last night.
The European Cup quarter-final draw had been greeted with sombreros hurled joyously into the air by the citizens of the old sea-faring port of La Coruna.
Having already twice defeated United at the group stage, they imagined it was plain-sailing through to the semi-finals.
But, like the Armada some 400 years earlier, they were riding into a storm that left them broken, battered and on the rocks.
Last night, Manchester United turned the clock back to the annus mirabilis of 1999 with a performance not seen outside Old Trafford since the gladiatorial Roy Keane inspired them to a 3-2 victory over Juventus in the semi-final second leg.
When Alex Ferguson's side completed the Treble that year, Deportivo coach Javier Irureta told his side to sit and watch the way United played their football. And to study the style and panache they brought with it.
But his players failed to note one vital piece of information. That United never take anything for granted.
Neither victory nor defeat - as they so vigorously proved on the other side of the Iberian Peninsula in Barcelona on that unforgettable night in May 1999.
Last night I doubt whether Ferguson could believe his eyes as Deportivo swaggered out into their Riazor Stadium. The only thing missing was the matador's cape and sword.
Yet within 40 minutes, they themselves had been skewered on the hot steel of their own presumptuous over-confidence.
The Spaniards kept rolling forward but this was the night when United discovered a new centre-half.
Yet his name may be familiar. A Norwegian gentleman by the name of Ronny Johnsen.
Johnsen's recent career has been almost obliterated by injury but his display last night was a lesson to all footballers who, at one time or other, may feel the end of the road has been reached.
Johnsen was imperious while Fabien Barthez, so dramatically at fault for two of the goals that gave the Spaniards their 3-2 victory at Old Trafford last October, was faultless.
And what can you say about Ryan Giggs?
This was Merlin, this was the Welsh wizard we have so longed to see take on Europe's finest and confirm the sheer brilliance we have so often seen at home.
Last night he finally waved his magic wand over the other side of the water.
The size and stature of United's victory made it even more surprising that, the Nou Camp experience of 1999 aside, they had not won on Spanish soil in all their 12 visits spanning 46 years.
Yesterday was a public holiday in Spain. In La Coruna, it turned into an unexpected day of mourning. For United, it was a fiesta.
Their bravery and continuing belief in the way the game should be played deserved no less than this glittering triumph.
By STEVEN HOWARD
IT WAS a tackle - if you can describe it as such - that left Bobby Charlton as mortified as David Beckham.
English football's greatest knight was pale and rendered almost speechless as he slowly hauled himself up a flight of stairs under the Riazor Stadium
"Tell it like you saw it," he muttered as he headed towards some fresh air far removed from the foul stench that had been left behind by Diego Tristan's appalling challenge on the England skipper near the end.
How a player as sublimely talented as Tristan can perpetrate this sort of vicious assault on a fellow player is beyond me.
Tristan almost cut Beckham in half in a wanton act of frustrated revenge that should have brought an immediate red card rather than a feeble yellow.
It was the sort of demented lunge that can split bones and finish careers. And certainly end World Cup dreams.
Let us hope that today's X-ray does not bring the worst possible news.
For that one callous act - as well as the extraordinary cock-sure attitude the Spaniards took into the match - Deportivo thoroughly deserved the sound thrashing they received last night.
The European Cup quarter-final draw had been greeted with sombreros hurled joyously into the air by the citizens of the old sea-faring port of La Coruna.
Having already twice defeated United at the group stage, they imagined it was plain-sailing through to the semi-finals.
But, like the Armada some 400 years earlier, they were riding into a storm that left them broken, battered and on the rocks.
Last night, Manchester United turned the clock back to the annus mirabilis of 1999 with a performance not seen outside Old Trafford since the gladiatorial Roy Keane inspired them to a 3-2 victory over Juventus in the semi-final second leg.
When Alex Ferguson's side completed the Treble that year, Deportivo coach Javier Irureta told his side to sit and watch the way United played their football. And to study the style and panache they brought with it.
But his players failed to note one vital piece of information. That United never take anything for granted.
Neither victory nor defeat - as they so vigorously proved on the other side of the Iberian Peninsula in Barcelona on that unforgettable night in May 1999.
Last night I doubt whether Ferguson could believe his eyes as Deportivo swaggered out into their Riazor Stadium. The only thing missing was the matador's cape and sword.
Yet within 40 minutes, they themselves had been skewered on the hot steel of their own presumptuous over-confidence.
The Spaniards kept rolling forward but this was the night when United discovered a new centre-half.
Yet his name may be familiar. A Norwegian gentleman by the name of Ronny Johnsen.
Johnsen's recent career has been almost obliterated by injury but his display last night was a lesson to all footballers who, at one time or other, may feel the end of the road has been reached.
Johnsen was imperious while Fabien Barthez, so dramatically at fault for two of the goals that gave the Spaniards their 3-2 victory at Old Trafford last October, was faultless.
And what can you say about Ryan Giggs?
This was Merlin, this was the Welsh wizard we have so longed to see take on Europe's finest and confirm the sheer brilliance we have so often seen at home.
Last night he finally waved his magic wand over the other side of the water.
The size and stature of United's victory made it even more surprising that, the Nou Camp experience of 1999 aside, they had not won on Spanish soil in all their 12 visits spanning 46 years.
Yesterday was a public holiday in Spain. In La Coruna, it turned into an unexpected day of mourning. For United, it was a fiesta.
Their bravery and continuing belief in the way the game should be played deserved no less than this glittering triumph.