The Alex-Arsène show

I fancy football’s most satisfying kick of the year has not been any particular jingo-jangle or hype-hype hooray on the pitch itself, but the cold-eyed gunslingers’ rivalry between two middle-aged obsessives — Sir Alex Ferguson and Monsieur Arsène Wenger, respectively the managers of Manchester United and Arsenal. As an irresistible sideshow it gets better and more compelling by the meeting as the two of them patrol the touchline almost shoulder to shoulder but each, to all intents, completely denying the existence of the other — the hot-blooded passionate Celt Ferguson, his lived-in mulberry cheeks rolling with rhythmic fierceness on his treble gob of Wrigleys, and the pallidly pent-up, wintry-faced Alsatian with the permanent pout which pretends to tame his torment and tensions. Both are unquestioned monarchs of the kingdoms they transformed. Ferguson, the older, has achieved by far the most, but Wenger, who seems even more undistractedly obsessive in ambition for his club, has time enough to plant his flag at the summit of the all-time pile of records.