Mike Rowbottom: Manchester United's decline provides solace in darkest of times

Ideally, today's column should have a perforated line printed around it labelled 'cut out and keep'. And, just in case anyone still doesn't understand, a little black picture of opened scissors. The picture doesn't have to be black. It could be green. It doesn't matter what colour it is.

Anyway, this piece has been put together at the end of a week where the metaphorical sky has grown dark with metaphorical clouds. We have a firefighters' strike (when is 16 per cent not 16 per cent? When it's four per cent and you fund the rest yourself); we have impending war with Iraq (unless the UN weapons inspectors co-operate, a scenario which President Bush might characterise as Operation Infinite Frustration); we have unspecified threats of a catastrophic attack on the capital (don't worry too much about this one – there are contingency plans for an escape convoy up the M11, although that could become awkward where it narrows to one lane just past Walthamstow. Or maybe it's the A10. Which also runs a risk of getting snarled up near Enfield, where three lanes go into two just after the main traffic lights.)

May I just correct the last item? Apparently it isn't an ongoing threat but a clerical error by the Home Office. Apologies for any confusion.

So, not an entirely black picture, but certainly one with substantial amounts of smudgy charcoal. The big question is: What are we to do about it?

I think I can answer that question with three key phrases: Be vigilant. Keep your wits about you. And follow your nose. And be vigilant.

Sorry, that was four. But the last one is terribly important.

Having taken these precautions we are playing our full part in what is dubbed Operation Passive Infinitive.

But there is more that we can do to help ourselves. Even though there is, as we now know, not going to be an attack on the Tube at any stage, the Government is prudently planning a poster campaign sometime in the spring, or maybe the summer, advising passengers to leave stations swiftly in the event of any gas attack and not to breathe too deeply.

I say this. Even though it is never going to happen, start practising holding your breath on the Tube now. For instance, if you are on the Piccadilly Line, breathe in at, say, Finsbury Park, and see how many stops you can last for. If you get to Covent Garden before exhaling you are doing well – although remember you can't get out at Covent Garden during the firefighters' strike.

Secondly, I would say this. In the event of any attack, try not to be there when it happens.

Armed with this knowledge, primed with these cues to action, we can return with a confident stride towards what the Government likes to call our Everyday Business. You know. The thing we Go About.

That means we can fret over the imminent collapse of house prices and deplore the exhibitionist activities of that cadaverous German and speculate upon the waning health of the Manchester United team spirit or the expiry date of West Ham's manager or who will be the next England cricketer to join the walking wounded.

No matter how trying one's life becomes, no matter how gloomy things appear, it's vital to remember that there's always someone worse off than yourself. The important thing is to identify that person, and then gloat over them.

Sport is an arena uniquely capable of providing solace in this respect because the whole thing is based upon the twin poles of success and failure. There is no difficulty in identifying Losers and Strugglers.

Happily for us – but not for them – a succession of the cricketers currently seeking to regain the Ashes from Australia have provided anguished copy from Down Under. Poor old Ashley Giles. Crocked by one of his own in the nets. Caught on the wrist of his bowling arm. Ouch. And just before the Second Test started as well. Poor old John Crawley. Out too. And poor old Darren Gough. He never even made it to the starting line-up before flying home with a career-threatening knee injury. How bad must he feel?

And what about Alex Ferguson? According to one report this week, he "as good as admitted that his Manchester United empire was tottering" by re-appointing a previously downgraded coach.

It doesn't sound like much, but after the relentless years of success at Old Trafford it's entirely healthy to anticipate a little in-house grief.

Sounds petty? Of course it does. But please remember – in the broader scheme of things, it all helps.