AndersonâÂÂs less than spectacular form in a Manchester United shirt may have an explanation.
I was in a Brazilian restaurant in Manchester last Tuesday, taking advantage of their ã12 all-you-can-eat lunchtime menu, when the portoalegrense ambled in with Nani.
My publisher had come up from That London for a meeting. How Cockney Media does that sound?
But thatâÂÂs what happened, so I should report the facts, rather than pretend I was re-enacting scenes from Kes by a disused coal pit.
There was a time when my mates would dismiss anyone I introduced if they happened to work in the media and live in London.
âÂÂCockney Mediaâ was their dismissive put-down and they were appalled when I moved to live in London for a year in 1998.
They spread vicious rumours that IâÂÂd starting rollerblading to work (despite me working from home) and drinking coffee sat at a table IN THE STREET!
"What happens when it rains, cocker?"
My dad was just as bad. He refused to come to the capital to see me âÂÂin case I get mugged on them trains that go underground.âÂÂ
I could see where he got it from â grandad hasnâÂÂt been to London since going to watch his brother in the 1948 FA Cup final.
HeâÂÂs suspicious of anyone who doesnâÂÂt spend their days in a bookies in Manchester and had a serious word with me after moving to Barcelona.
âÂÂYou mix with foreigners now donâÂÂt you?â he said with a conspirational tone before adding the following advice: âÂÂNever trust the Italians - they canâÂÂt fight. At least the Germans had a go.âÂÂ
Grandad swept the Normandy landings in a minesweeper before D-Day and finished the war in Antwerp.
I was once sent there to write a piece and called him from the beautiful main square of BelgiumâÂÂs second city.
Grandma later told me that he shed a tear as he remembered his mates on the sister ship who hit a mine just outside Antwerp and died â two days before the end of the war.
As itâÂÂs impossible to work in the media and not associate with anyone who lives in London, IâÂÂve always tried to be more balanced - in spite of some of the Nathan Barley-type CMs IâÂÂve come across.
You know, the ones who decide that theyâÂÂre going to be a Manchester United fan and tell their mates in advertising and the city about it for 18 months until they move onto rollerblading, playing Frisbee in RegentâÂÂs Park and not eating gravy, or whatever CMs get up to these days.
IâÂÂll never tire of arriving in London, but IâÂÂm always happy to leave and I try to arrange meetings which would normally happen in Soho in Manchester.
ThatâÂÂs why my (AFC Wimbledon-supporting) publisher ended up sat with his back to Nani and Anderson, eating cow.
Two years ago, Manchester didnâÂÂt have one Brazilian restaurant. Now, thanks to the influx of footballers like Robinho, Elano, Anderson and the Da Silvas, it has four.
You have a little card on your table, which is green on one side and red on the other.
Green means that you want the waiters to keep coming to your table with meat, red that you donâÂÂt.
Anderson always gave the green light. Still, it was pleasing to see them left alone to feast because they would have been mobbed in other cities.
The following night, I watched Anderson from the away end at Turf Moor. He was as insipid as most of his team-mates, probably because he still had half a beast in his system.
The Burnley fans, as you would expect, enjoyed beating Manchester United. We were surrounded by three sides of unabated happiness and despite being angered at the United performance, it was hard to begrudge them.
Burnley have an inspiring history and superb support for the size of the town â though theyâÂÂve picked up 7,000 glory-hunters for this season.
United fans mocked them by singing: âÂÂWeâÂÂve got one stand bigger than your ground.âÂÂ
Not only that, the entire population of the town could fit inside Old Trafford.
"Aye, let the big-city buggers come"
Yet I can remember Burnley taking 40,000 to Wembley in 1988 and another time, driving home from an away game at Derby County.
Burnley, then in the Fourth Division, had played somewhere in the East Midlands, yet there were as many Burnley fans on the road home as United.
The night before the Burnley debacle, I travelled to Merseyside to watch my brother play.
I went with Steve Tobin, who played in the 1992 FA Youth Cup winning side for Leeds United. He also partnered Eric Cantona up front in his first game for Leeds reserves.
âÂÂTobsâ regaled me with stories of his time at Leeds.
Howard Wilkinson made him stay behind after training and pick up all the golf balls heâÂÂd hit on the training pitch behind Elland Road.
The following day, Wilkinson called to see him, where Tobs finally found him relaxing in the bath.
As a further punishment for being sent off in a youth team game, Wilkinson instructed Tobs to individually wash all the golf balls he'd collected.
Since then, Tobs has enjoyed a decent semi-pro career and heâÂÂs just followed our Joz to Prescot Cables.
Joz reckons that Tobs doesnâÂÂt bother with pre-season and only decides who heâÂÂs going to play for when the season gets underway.
He loves playing with him because he delivers the ball from midfield to his feet rather than eight foot in the air.
Joz scored 32 goals in five months in 2007 thanks to Tobs, and the wily old pair reckon that they can repeat the trick on Merseyside.
Before they know it, City could be back on Merseyside making unwanted advances and putting a ã65 million bid for the pair â a million for each year of their combined age.
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