(Kane’s article from the Guardian archives appeared 1/12 in the Guardian.)

Bollocks to Edinburgh – I’m off to Old Trafford. First day of the season and the sun is shining on the Theatre of Dreams. But the first 85 minutes are a nightmare. United are 2-0 down to Leicester with five minutes to go. The crowd start to leave. Sherringham scores, but with only a minute left I’m on the verge of saying, “Bollocks to football – I’m off to the festival.”

Then a miracle occurs. In the last minute we’re awarded a free kick 30 yards out. David Beckham steps up and curls it into the back of the net. A stiff two fingers to everyone in the country who hates him for being rich, talented and shagging that bird. The talents of myself and writer-director Vincent O’Connell are very nearly lost to the nation as we disappear through the roof of the North Stand.

The victory (okay, it was a draw, but we felt like we’d won and they felt like they’d lost) was doubly sweet for being a triumph over Leicester’s negative, injury-feigning, time-wasting imitation of the beautiful game.


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