If ever there was need for the Gods.............
Manchester United v Barcelona: it's in the lap of the gods
Rick Broadbent
What better way of discerning who will emerge as the sporting legends of the Eternal City than asking the Roman gods? Rick Broadbent went straight to Jupiter, the king of them all
King of the gods (incumbent: Jupiter)
Sir Alex Ferguson v Pep Guardiola
I am known as Optimus Maximus, meaning Father God The Best And Greatest, which I know for a fact Sir Alex Ferguson has woven on a tapestry in his outside loo. Inevitably, people will question his greatness, but I, Jupiter, started out a simple primeval nature deity before moving on, and Fergie did likewise at Aberdeen. My symbol is a lightning bolt, his is a Braun Turbo 600. He has an aura, Bob Paisley had a cardie. The real deal.
Winner: United
God of war (Mars)
Wayne Rooney v Carles Puyol
I remember seeing Rooney do the soft shoe shuffle on Ricardo Carvalho and thinking: “That’s my boy.” Tremendous stuff. Our own God of war was more associated with cattle in his early days before growing a beard and becoming a lusty lord of violence. Latterly, Rooney has matured into a tireless worker while nurturing a hirsute look last seen during the Montana gold rush. Curiously, he is United’s best player and yet nobody knows where to play him. Puyol, by contrast, is hairy but overrated. I am also told that, like Mars, Rooney has dabbled in horticulture. At least it was something like that.
Winner: United
God of the underwold (Pluto)
Cristiano Ronaldo v Samuel Eto’o
It takes all sorts. Some people did not warm to Pluto because he was Lord of the Underworld, had a three-headed pet dog and incarcerated his wife on a trumped-up charge of eating six pomegranate seeds. It is exactly the same with Ronaldo. To be fair to the boy, it must be hard to be so powerful and yet so loathed. In his early days, Eto’o said he was going to kill a TV journalist and then ganged up on his former agent. “They removed my shoes, which in Cameroon means I am threatened with death,” the agent alleged. Eto’o has matured considerably and last year restricted himself to butting a journalist.
Winner: Barcelona
God of trade and profit (Mercury)
Carlos Tévez v Gerard Piqué
There’s no loyalty these days. Take my situation. I was brother to Pluto and Juno. We were a happy family. Then, before you know it, one of them’s running the Underworld and the other’s my wife. So, yes, Tévez will leave Old Trafford unless he gets his money. Which he probably will because United have already spent £30.75 million on one substitute. Barcelona have not bought big since they signed Thierry Henry for almost half the price of the Great Alice Band. That said, Piqué was born in Barcelona and played for the youth team but still ended up costing £6 million. Quid pro quo, I suppose.
Winner: Draw
God of wine (Bacchus)
Rio Ferdinand v Andrés Iniesta
Bacchus had a lovely gaff down Alderley Edge from the mid-1980s when he was a key member of the Old Trafford backroom team. The wild fertility festivals held at Lee Sharpe’s house were legend, if not quite mythology, but then Fergie came in and he stamped out the Bacchanalia. Mark Bosnich did his bit to maintain disorder but it’s not like the days when a sozzled Bestie and a female “worshipper” were caught in flagrante delicto before the 1970 FA Cup semi-final. Iniesta has his own vineyard and says he wants his wines to reflect their maker, which presumably means pale, light with a sting in the tail.
Winner: Barcelona
Not quite a god (Hercules)
Darren Fletcher v Éric Abidal
We didn’t expect too much from Hercules after he made the schoolboy error of killing his children. However, he knuckled down and soon this mortal was maiming lions and rescuing distressed damsels with the best of them. He ended up a demigod. Fletcher, too, has upped his game and become a hero with fans who remember how bad he was. Of course, a shot at immortality has been denied him by his red card. Abidal was unluckier, given that he was sent off without making a tackle, but the real victim is Daniel Alves, who misses the final for kicking Ashley Cole. The game’s gone.
Winner: United
God of time (Saturn)
Ryan Giggs v Thierry Henry
Saturn is generally represented as an old man with a balding head so it is easy to see similarities with the grandees of the final. Giggs is 35K, while Henry is 31O. “When a player gets to 30, so does his body,” Glenn Hoddle said. You can’t argue with that. Fergie first saw Giggs at 13 and said he was like “a cocker spaniel floating over the ground chasing a piece of silver paper”, which didn’t actually mean much and suggested the work of Bacchus. Still, Giggs has had a wonderful season and may get a cameo role in Rome. Like most old mortals, though, Henry has a bad knee.
Winner: United
Result: United 4 Barcelona 2 (United to be Roman gods)
would have liked to say. United have a big match temperament and Barca don't usually impress against English teams.