After my prediction for Wednesday night's Champions League
final, I think it might be wise to lay off the futurology for a while. Rarely
can anyone have misread a sporting occasion as badly as I did that one.
Manchester United win a war of grind and attrition 2-1? Sorry. That I wasn't
alone in my faith in Sir Alex Ferguson's men is about my only excuse. Or at
least that is what I'm telling myself: nobody predicted quite such a hammering
as United took at the feet of a brilliant Barcelona.
It reminded me of Ricky Hatton's fight with Floyd Mayweather
in Las Vegas
two years ago. That was another