“Don’t worry. Berbatov will be fine. Sir Alex has got this one spot on.”
By this stage I’d wolfed down the last of the chips so re-entered the pub to take up my position in front of the TV. I’d barely sat down when who should score United’s second but a certain former Spurs striker.
A roar went up inside the pub and my new friend stumbled in from outside to see what all the fuss was about.
“Here, I don’t believe it!” he said, arm around his drinking buddy at the bar.
“This young lad’s just been telling me to be patient with Berbatov, that Fergie is usually right. Look at that!”
I simply smiled. When Berbatov’s second (and United’s third) hit the back of the net I caught his eye amid the celebrations and gave him a knowing nod.
Come the final whistle, Lard Man called me over to the bar and mumbled what I can only assume was something of an apology.
“I should know better by now,” he said. “It’s true: Fergie always knows what he’s doing.
“Anyway, this one’s on me,” he said, handing me a pint of lager. “Drink up.”
You see, it pays to keep the faith.
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