HE TOLD us so. Big Ange Postecoglou told us that he always wins a trophy in his second season.
And even though it was a statement of fact, we laughed at him, we sneered and we wondered why he’d made such a bold statement when he was the manager of Tottenham Hotspur, London’s long-running comedy club.
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But after a terrible match, between two terrible teams, settled by a terrible goal, Postecoglou has done it again – winning silverware in his second season, just as he’s done with five different clubs as well as Australia’s national team.
Brennan Johnson’s scruffy winner, which looked like a Shaw own goal, was enough to settle a Europa League final which resembled a relegation dogfight between the two clubs hovering over the Premier League’s drop zone.
And so Tottenham – no sniggering at the back – are in the Champions League.
Big Ange is highly unlikely to join them here. He sounded like a man who knew his fate before this match.
A shocking campaign of 21 league defeats is almost certain to earn the Aussie his P45.
Conversely, Ruben Amorim looks like remaining in charge of Manchester United despite a season of untold misery which wasn’t even afforded a silver lining.
The Portuguese has so far proven a significant downgrade on predecessor Erik ten Hag, who won trophies in both of his seasons at Old Trafford and never plunged towards the bottom of the table either.
A flying goal-line clearance from Micky van de Ven denied Rasmus Hojlund an equaliser but that was as good as it got for a United who dominated possession but showed precious little class.
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The bald truth is that United are one of the worst five teams in the top flight and will not be playing in Europe next season.
Their hopes of a major summer rebuild have been badly by this defeat – both financially and reputationally.
It wasn’t as if Postecoglou’s side rolled out any classic Angeball. We were not entertained by a conservative, defensive display.
But after a first trophy in 17 years, since the unloved Juande Ramos guided them to the 2008 League Cup, none of the travelling army of Tottenham fans were bothered.
Like Newcastle and Crystal Palace before them, they have ended a long drought for glory in a season of unlikely Cup winners.
This was the baddest Cup final on the planet, a battle to discover English football’s tallest midgets.
Would Uefa replace the Europa League anthem with the theme to the Muppet Show?
Postcecoglou had called out a journalist who claimed he’d be a clown if Spurs were beaten but the farce factor was high on a night when two bunches of serial losers scrapped it out for one of football’s greatest prizes.
Amorim handed a surprise start to Mason Mount – who had started Champions League and Euros finals in the past – benching Alejandro Garnacho.
Postecoglou, meanwhile, preferred Richarlison to club captain Son Heung-Min.
Any pre-match predictions felt like attempts to nail a jellyfish to the wall. There had simply been no precedent for an occasion like this.
Still, despite the formbook, they had invaded Bilbao – many of them Phileas Fogging it around Europe to reach the Basque Country.
It felt as if we were waiting to find out who would do something extremely silly first.
And it was Harry Maguire’s poor pass which allowed Johnson to rob Shaw and have an angled shot pushed out by Andre Onana.
Next, Guglielmo Vicario flapped at a corner and Amad Diallo drilled wide across goal.
It was anxious, low-grade stuff with occasional outbreaks of quality – Diallo’s darting dribbles, Mount with some pleasing reminders of his class, Richarlison showing energy.
But largely speaking, it was living down to expectations. Spurs were not in a ‘to dare is to do’ mode, refusing to commit too many bodies forward.
So when the opener arrived, there was little surprise that it was a scruffy own goal.
Pape Matar Sarr centred from the left and the ball glanced off Johnson, then cannoned off Shaw’s arm before it spun past a flailing Onana.
It was just the sort of goal you’d have imagined this contest might throw up.
But the travelling Spurs fans couldn’t give a stuff. Their team were roared off at the break.
United started the second half with a slick attacking move which ended, predictably, with Hojlund miscuing a header horribly.
The match shambled along, even Bruno Fernandes continually gifting possession.
On a Spurs break, Destiny Udogie fed Dominic Solanke, who completely missed his kick when he had a clear sight of goal.
Richarlison decided it was time for a nice lie-down in the middle of the pitch as Spurs attempted to run down the clock, and was replaced by Son.
At this point, Amorim called a spontaneous time-out, imploring his team to maybe string two or three passes together.
Casemiro punted a free-kick into the box, Vicario and Solanke went for the same ball and, from Hojlund’s header, Van de Ven produced an outstanding acrobatic clearance, connecting with his right shin.
Finally, Amorim sent for Garnacho, in place of Mount and Joshua Zirkzee for Hojlund.
And Garnacho instantly livened things up, darting down the left, cutting inside and pinging a shot which Vicario pushed away.
Here, at least, was a sense of urgency about United.
Maguire moved to centre-forward, as he tends to do when things get desperate.
But there was no way through Tottenham’s white wall.
Big Ange always does it. He always win his second season. Even when that second season is his last.
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