IT'S THE MIRROR'S FAULT

Look, I know I'm not Superwoman. I have to juggle a lot of balls in the air and sometimes those balls get dropped.

But rather than try to play for some sympathy with a well-rehearsed sob, it's probably better to come out and say this loud and clear without any involuntary trembling of the lower lip.

I.. er... cough... gotitabitwrong.

There. I feel better for that. This has been a momentous week for half apologies, confessions and public bouts of self-pity and there is no more appropriate moment to make my own public admission of guilt. Once again: I was wrong.

You may have missed it, but this particular incident revolves around a small, on-going football concern based in the north west known to some as Manchester United.

On this same page three weeks ago, I served up on a cold plate of unappetising deficiencies in United's performance and sprinkled it with a generous seasoning of words like 'crumbling', 'rot' and 'passionless' before serving it on a bed of random curses.

But, as you will have realised by now, my forecast proved about as accurate as a Michael Fish weather map. Ever since the moment I spoke out, United have crushed everything in their path like Rik Waller racing for the front of the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet queue.

Smokers take tobacco firms to court because they end up with lungs which look like a burst Michelin. The inventor of the knife and fork gets sued because a random individual ends up with a fat arse.

But I work on the basis it is far better to admit your sins and say 'Yep. I got it wrong' than cling on to some false hope.

No questions. No excuses. It looked bad - because it was. End of story.

Having made my peace with the great Barclaycard God in the BSkyB, United fans may now wish to send me small trinkets and seasonal gifts of gratitude in response, rather than claim this is some kind of personal humiliation.

Because there is no doubt when the club and Ferguson were criticised here they deserved every single word of it. What's more, they seem to have been provoked into a worthwhile response.

They lacked edge, they lacked purpose, they lacked any obvious sign of team spirit and - most importantly - they lacked hunger.

Not now. Their pride has been stung and United have shown exactly what they are made of. So it would be churlish not to recognise the club has responded in the most remarkable fashion.

Also-rans like Phil Neville, unheralded, occasionally abused, but quietly admired by Old Trafford's paying public, have demonstrated what it really means to be wear a red shirt.

Now this column is unlikely to be pinned up in the United dressing room because it is full of everything Sir Alex Ferguson may find unhelpful in today's press.

It is full of praise and compliments - and that wrecks the siege mentality of 'everyone hates us' which the United boss uses to motivate his troops. He prefers to believe everyone is against the club.