What a palava.
A lot has been said about Alexis Sanchez’ transfer from Arsenal to Manchester United. Sanctimonious hacks have framed the move as a sneaky foreign mercenary, reneging on a ‘gentlemen’s agreement’ with Pep Guardiola to prostitute himself to the Dark Side of Manchester. The contorted moralising paints Pep as some sort of benevolent charity worker, wanting to pay Sanchez with the priceless smiles of happy young children to build wells in South Sudan. Unfortunately, for both Alexis’ soul and the people of Juba, the Chilean has instead chosen the indignity of performing lubed up tricks for Jose Mourinho in his Lowry suite, whilst a traumatised Atom and Humber watch on in dismay.
It’s ridiculous of course. The haughty bollocks spewed by sports hacks (who have no fucking room to talk) has turned a juicy soap opera into a dull exercise in holier-than-thou Catalan cock-sucking. Sanchez has no more reason to turn down ridiculous money to play for one of the biggest clubs in the world as Guardiola has to refuse the biggest treasure chest in football each summer, because – perish the thought – folk will moan that he’s buying the league. So fucking what? Perhaps those sensitive souls in the press box, so emotionally scarred by Sanchez’ betrayal, should question the ethics of the implied tapping up of a contracted Arsenal player last August. Anywho, moving onto the actual football…
Amidst all the brouhaha surrounding the rights and wrongs of a professional sportsman making his own life choices, with scant regard for the whims of some twat with a laptop, the fact he’s pretty fucking good at kicking a ball seems to have been lost. This is a footballer of such immense talent and – in the Arsenalese vernacular – elite mentality, that he could have transformative impact on United’s season. There are very few players in the world who could walk into pretty much any dressing room of any of the top leagues, and bend the course of their season upwards. Alexis Sanchez is that calibre of player, and United have pulled off one hell of a coup in securing his services – regardless of cost.
Considering he’s a world-class forward approaching his thirties (although he’s closer to 29 and that’s a fact), moving from Arsenal to United in a scenario that Arsene Wenger would never willingly condone, the comparisons to Robin van Persie are inevitable. Like the Dutchman, Sanchez is a ready-made superstar who is more than proven in the Premier League. He won’t require much assimilation, and is as close to a sure thing as the football universe will allow. There is also an sense of gap-widening between rival clubs (although the quid pro quo of Henrikh Mkhitaryan should mitigate that to some degree). Certainly, Mourinho will be hoping for the sort of instant impact Van Persie made at the club.
That said, in terms of the player that United are getting, perhaps another Old Trafford alumnus is more apt. For all his talent, Sanchez has none of Van Persie’s natural elegance, nor the same cushion-deft touch to his every encounter with the ball. Fergie was gifted a Rolls Royce in RVP, and the Chilean is certainly not that. He is however a [my knowledge of cars doesn’t allow me to finish this forced metaphor, so insert a fast, powerful model here]. Just as Van Persie made everything look utterly effortless, you can most definitely see all of Alexis’ working. In that sense and others, United fans may note a greater resemblance to Wayne Rooney, once their new number 7 makes his much-awaited bow.
It may seem like a contrived comparison in some ways. Rooney had a propensity to fall back into midfield (and even deeper) in search of the ball; he became accustomed to picking up possession around the centre-circle, and spreading play wide with floaty passes to the flanks – a bit like a Stars In Their Eyes impression of Paul Scholes. And increasingly, he joined the hallowed ranks of Denis Law, George Best and Sir Bobby Charlton – in that he became a statuesque figure at Old Trafford for tourists to take photos of. None of that bares much comparison to the player who Mourinho hopes will inject some much-needed dynamism and penetration to his often staid forward line.
But it’s not the latter-era Rooney we’re on about here – it’s the irresistible force of nature that landed, fully-formed and raring to go, in his earlier time at the club. That Rooney was a different creature altogether. No one lucky enough to have been there will easily forget his sensational debut against Fenerbahce in the Champions League, when he strode onto the pitch with a torn neckline and total conviction, and left with the still smoking matchball under his arm. With time, that Wayne Rooney slowly faded from view, replaced by a more sensible, grown up version. He was still mostly excellent, but that visceral presence of raw savant skill gave way to a more deliberate, perhaps lesser, player of function.
Rooney was still a teenager when he scored that remarkable maiden hattrick at Old Trafford, whereas Sanchez is over a decade older. But, unlike his predecessor, the Chilean has never lost that scrotum-tingling spark to his game. He is 1.69 metres of stacked-up muscle, and has retained his explosive ignition from a standing start. Rooney was never more thrilling than when he shifted past two or three defenders as if they were crisp packets in the wind, the shock of the burst leaving them on pause. Alas that was one of the first of his youthful assets to go, either through the passing of time/gathering of mass, or a conscious decision to play within himself. Either way, it was a pity.
Thankfully, for the red half of Manchester at least, Sanchez is still rocket-fuelled. Indeed, his new fans may feel the odd jolt of nostalgia when he starts giving visiting defenders the kind of whiplash a freckle-faced youngster once did. He may be a ripe 29 years of age, but there’s different types of 29. Granted he has racked up a fair few miles for club and country over his career, but he remains in phenomenal shape. Much has been said of how Rooney mistreated his body over the years, but Sanchez is far more like Cristiano Ronaldo in that respect; he is comically vain, and would not countenance an ounce of extra body fat to blur those carefully chiselled abs.
Like Rooney, Sanchez has a tigerish hunger to win back possession when it is lost, but as with the White Pele, it is quite often his own doing that needlessly tosses it away in the first place. For Rooney’s sometimes shocking control (and it could be sensationally bad), read Alexis’ wasteful possession. Arsenal fans will tell you how maddening it could be when the South American casually misplaced a pass, and then has no option but to try and atone for his own error. Not only can such profligacy break up a very promising attack, but against stronger opposition it can put his out-of-position teammates in real jeopardy on the counter-attack. And the less than positive comparisons don’t end there.
Both Rooney and Sanchez are driven winners and that of course makes them the forces they were/are, but it comes with a slapped arse demeanour that hardly endears them to some (including the odd teammate). It is hard to establish who is the mardier fucker when comes to being substituted. And they love making a show of their displeasure for the cameras. Luis Nani must still wake up in the middle of the night with recollections of his former Scouse teammate flapping his arms in rage at not being passed to, whilst Sanchez made a regular exhibition of his post-match look-at-me crouches after a disappointing result. It screamed: ‘This shouldn’t be happening to me. My talents are above this.’
But any manager worth their salt (and Mourinho is worth at least two sacks of grit) would welcome such an attitude in their players – providing it can be backed up with the resolve and talent to do something about it. And Jose is hardly Mr. Magnanimous himself; he welcomes a bit of focused ire. The Portuguese tried and failed to sign Rooney on more than one occasion in years gone by, and must be relishing the chance to mentor a player of similar qualities – good and evil. There are numerous reasons why Mkhitaryan’s Old Trafford career was disappointingly short; a lot of them are probably no one’s fault. But perhaps, above everything else, the Armenian was just too fucking nice. His dickhead levels was insufficient.
As a nation we love framing the ‘street footballer’ trope as being a uniquely British thing, and Wayne Rooney is romantically painted as the last of that ilk. But few players in the modern game embody everything that symbolises more than Sanchez. He is a wonderful technician, with an intuitive footballing intelligence and bucketloads of God-given talent. But he is also an irascible warrior whose palpable enthusiasm for winning is matched only by his next-level twattiness when things don’t go to plan. The media can bang on about money matters all they like, but ultimately Alexis Sanchez is not motivated by money. He is a born and driven winner who is acutely aware of his own worth. Not unlike his new club’s all-time record goalscorer.
