'It was supposed to be a local occasion for local people, a contest rooted in the bitter rivalries of a city disunited, but, as the dust settled on the 132nd Manchester derby, the eye was drawn to two Scousers, two young men whose countless similarities cannot mask their contrasting destinies. Wayne Rooney ended the afternoon with the man of the match champagne, Robbie Fowler with the sneering taunts of Gary Neville ringing in his ears. As an illustration of the way their respective careers are headed, it was quite perfect.
Fowler was the Rooney of his day. Not quite as talented, not quite as precocious, but blessed with skills that should have made him among the very best of his generation. He will be 30 in a couple of months and, though he is entitled to feel that he has arrested the downward spiral that claimed what should have been the best years of his career, he knows deep down that the Fowler who terrorised Premiership defences during his mis-spent youth is gone forever. He did not need the laughter of Neville, after ballooning a shot over the bar late on yesterday, to tell him that.
The Manchester City forward must look at Rooney and wonder what might have been. They have much in common, quite apart from the basic similarities of their upbringing on the mean streets of Merseyside, but their destinies could hardly be more different. Rooney will — barring serious injury or the emergence of a self-destructive streak in his personality — become one of the greatest players of his generation, perhaps the greatest. The Manchester United forward need only look at Fowler to realise the dangers that lurk for any player, no matter how talented, who takes his eye off the ball.
By the age of 22, he [Fowler] was already on a downward spiral, which began with the injuries that would blunt his predatory sharpness, but Rooney, even in his wilder moments, shows no sign of going the same way.'