The face was haggard, the chest was heaving and the shirt was soaked in honest sweat. Somebody said he had ‘put in a good shift’. It was an absurd phrase, one which portrayed the Bernabeu as the modern-day version of a mill or a mine. Yet when you studied the suffering figure, the description seemed fleetingly valid.
He had toiled unsparingly for 84 minutes, now he appeared to welcome the sanctuary of the dugout. Time was when he might have thrown a technicoloured tantrum at being denied the chance to play out the final six minutes of a Champions League tie; now he was a picture of breathless acceptance.
Had he been an ordinary Premier League footballer, then the scene would have been unremarkable. But he isn’t ordinary, he is Wayne Rooney and he is living in troubled times.
You're coming off: Wayne Rooney is substituted during Manchester United's clash with Real Madrid in midweekOut there on the pitch, Cristiano Ronaldo was still working his mischief. His influence had waned with the match but the notion of substituting him had crossed nobody’s mind. He is what these days they call a ‘marquee player’. You know what they can do and so you leave them to do it. They don’t go around snuffing out fires; they prefer to light them.
Rooney was one of those players. Abrasive, of course; headstrong, even. The sort who could start a riot in an empty room. But right from the start, he generated rare excitement. This country produces any number of earnest, competent athletes who can plug the gaps without lifting the pulse. Rooney was different. He attempted things, he took chances, he embraced the outrageous. Rooney was the kid in the Croxteth street, the one who plays as if he has just had a good idea and can’t wait to try it out.
He was, in short, the most dazzlingly accomplished footballer this nation has known since Paul Gascoigne was in his rumbustious prime. It is 10 years to the month since Rooney won his first cap and in that decade we have yearned to see him as the talisman, the lad touched by magic.
Big night: Rooney duels for the ball with Real Madrid's Sami Khedira at the BernabeuOther clubs, other nations could offer a Messi or a Ronaldo; we had Wayne Rooney, who could do most of the things they could do but do them with a snarling aggression which they could not begin to emulate. And all his best years were stretching out before him.
Well, he is now 27 years old and, while his career has been wonderfully rewarding, it is something less than the stuff of fantasy. Pace was never his most obvious asset but it was offset by the muscular eruptions which yielded such dramatic results. When ungenerous critics were waiting to pounce, Rooney had the knack of producing something extraordinary to silence the doubters.
I was privileged to be at Old Trafford for the piece of acrobatic serendipity which defeated Manchester City two years ago this month. No ordinary player could have contemplated, much less executed, that stunning coup.
What a moment: Rooney scores his overhead against Manchester City two years agoBut the well may have run dry. The other evening in Madrid, his touch was occasionally heavy, his movement frequently sluggish. By contrast, Danny Welbeck was a riot of speed and enterprise, while Robin van Persie, despite his missed chances, exuded the air of authority which was once the hallmark of his ponderous colleague.
Sir Alex Ferguson had said of his favoured son that: ‘He plays different positions with great enthusiasm. Not every player in the world has these qualities.’ And, of course, he was right. Against Real, Rooney grafted diligently, obeying tactical instructions with a selflessness which spoke volumes for both his spirit and his character. But while selflessness may be an admirable characteristic, it is not the hallmark of the great player.
The fact is that nobody would seriously award Rooney the same exalted status as Ronaldo or Lionel Messi, whose equal we hoped he might prove. But while their abilities have advanced in spectacular bounds, his have taken a different, more prosaic direction. Why, we have now reached the stage where Gareth Bale, four years younger than Rooney and with ability largely unproven, would almost certainly command a greater price on the open market.
All smiles: Manchester United boss Sir Alex Ferguson and Wayne RooneyThe United man is not a negligible talent, far from it. There is scarcely a club in Europe who would not be enhanced by the raging spirit which he brings to his game. But, in our unreasonable way, we had always hoped for something more; a body of work distinguished by soaring skill and lavish achievement. That hope grows dimmer and more distant with each passing month.
Rooney seemed destined to spend this decade strolling off with the glittering awards. Instead, he must be content with the status of Best Supporting Actor. That says something about his failure to progress along the lines we anticipated. But it says a good deal more about the failure of English football to refine and develop those remarkable gifts.
In a perfect world, Wayne Rooney would be rubbing shoulders with the most remarkable footballers on the planet. Instead, he must be content with earnest tributes to his energy and enthusiasm.
He puts in a good shift: it is not so much a compliment, more a lament for what might have been.
One poser too many, Jose!The second half was four minutes away when Jose Mourinho emerged from the Real Madrid dressing room. He took his seat in the home dugout and stared into the middle distance, his face blank, save for the familiar pout.
The cameras picked him out, since that was the object of the exercise. This was precisely the time when a manager must earn his salary. Instead, Mourinho (right) just sat and stared, consumed by his own image.
Later, having avoided defeat, he made a witless attempt at a ‘mind game’. ‘I don’t think, with the British culture, that United will play with all their defenders in their half at Old Trafford as they did here,’ he said. ‘But I won’t criticise what they did because they got the result theywanted... they did not play to win.’
Coming from one of the most cynical coaches in world football, it was a pathetic effort.
He regularly announces his intention to return to the Premier League. It is a truly depressingprospect. For the English game has its share of posturing chancers. Jose Mourinho would be one too many.
PS...Few Ashes summers have been so sharply anticipated. So we must assume that Matt Prior was trying to convey that sense of anticipation with his remarks last week. The wicketkeeper remembers facing Warne and McGrath and ‘the way they walked around and bullied England’.He says: ‘Maybe it’s our time to do a bit of bullying.’ This will involve some dimwitted ‘sledging’, of course, but also ‘hustling around’ to ‘let guys know they are under pressure’. It seems an incautious boast.Indeed, we must hope that Prior does not find himself batting at Trent Bridge with England, say, six down for 85. True, there will be no Warne or McGrath but he may discover that one or two full-throated Aussie bullies still lurk beneath those baggy green caps.PPS...Billy Davies is an optimist. As the new manager of Nottingham Forest, he needs to be. He also enjoys the knack of keeping a straight face while talking nonsense.
Consider his assessment of his new boss, Fawaz Al Hasawi: ‘The chairman has great respect and great understanding of the structure of the football club.’
This from the fourth Forest manager in seven months. Asked why he was returning to the club whose previous manager lasted just 41 days under this paragon of a chairman, Billy replied: ‘It was a no-brainer for me.’ Yes, that sounds about right.
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