Manchester City, Bell, Lee, Marsh, Sane, Sterling and De Bruyne - Premier League champions 2018

Manchester City, Bell, Lee, Marsh, Sane, Sterling and De Bruyne- Premier League champions 2018.

Who would have thought that one football team could just run away with the Premier League title by so convincingly and so beautifully. Football has plenty of time for aesthetics because it is one art form that looks so fitting on an artists canvas. But with roughly a month left of this hypnotically entrancing season one team have painted quite the most magnificent landscape. In reality it would be a complete exaggeration to compare Manchester City to a Constable or Turner but the analogy is a seductive one.

This afternoon Manchester City won the Premier League title because their neighbours United fancied a spot of neighbourly philanthropy, handing the title to City on a plate. Some of us had to rub our eyes at the surprising unexpectedness of Manchester United's shock 1-0 home defeat to relegation doomed and rock bottom West Bromwich Albion and even United boss Jose Mourinho must have turned the whitest shade of pale when he suddenly discovered that boots do occasionally appear on the other feet. This was the most ironic reversal of fortunes for the two Manchester titans. What exactly is going through Sir Alex Ferguson's mind can only be a matter of guesswork.

Still the facts speak for themselves and for United the truth can certainly hurt. A couple of seasons ago the Chilean Manuel Pellegrini led Manchester City to their second Premier League title in as many seasons. The sour, sullen and bloodshot eyed Pellegrini worked wonders with a City side who must have thought they'd cracked this Premier League winning lark without so much as breaking sweat.

Then, City's super rich Arab owners found a soft underbelly in Pellegrini's character. City simply couldn't hold onto the Premier League title last season at Chelsea's expense, the daggers were out and Pellegrini was toast or just ancient history. One of the essential requirements for any prospective City boss is that he must win the Premier League title every year for the next 30 years or else.

 But Pellegrini didn't fit that criteria and when Chelsea came along to spoil everything by snatching back the Premier League last season it was somehow regarded as the ultimate offence, footballing negligence of the highest order. How dare City miss out on the big prize? The punishment was immediate. Manuel Pellegrini sneaked out of the tradesman's entrance or maybe he was dumped unceremoniously in the shark infested waters of managerial unemployment. Goodbye Manuel.

The new man Pep Guardiola arrived at the Etihad in a blaze of favourable publicity, a man who played for one of Europe's most slick, artistic and fashionable teams, a team who adhered to all of football's classical traditions. Guardiola bled the blue and red stripes of Barcelona and although there were teething problems at first Pep has now completed one of the most polished pieces of artwork ever seen in world football. In fact this has been more of a contemporary art installation with its very own space and an environment perfectly conducive to original, forward thinking and innovative football.

With several games left at the end of this utterly momentous Premier League season, City have swept through their star spangled campaign like the most talented of magicians ever to appear on stage. Their football has been touched with the most glittering stardust, a team whose football has consistently shone with all the lustre of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires. At times City have just swanned through games as if totally contemptuous of their opponents.

 Their football has had a superior snobbery value about it, a bewildering cat's cradle of passes to each other, linking together almost instantaneously, clicking at exactly the most critical stages of a game, moving around a football pitch with a minimum of effort but an abundance of style. The 'tika taka' simplicity of their close range passing, the finely honed geometry and symmetry of it all, has taken the rest of the Premier League by storm. There have been short and sweet passes to team mates in the closest proximity, neat and almost intimate passing movements that have taken English football into some distant dimension.

Yesterday City completed the first part of their Premier League overture with a masterful 3-1 victory over Spurs at Wembley. Once again it was Kevin De Bruyne, a wondrous Belgian midfield maestro with the quickest feet of a ballroom dancer, Raheem Sterling, a darting, dynamic ball of energy and Leroy Sane quite the most remarkable revelation of the season for City, who have guided their team into a world of football fantasy and the fulfillment of all their dreams.

Somewhere though at the back of the minds of those of who love to revel in the old days are the Manchester City nostalgics. How for instance would have the  likes of Malcolm Allison and Joe Mercer reacted to today's Manchester City's happy go lucky histrionics, the elegant exhibitionism of their football, the operatic quality of their football, the feline flexibility of their positional play, the rat a tat, pick pocket nature of their passing, and the sheer theatricality of Manchester City as a club?

But what on earth would the cigar blowing, fedora hatted Allison have made of it all? Would he have whispered a complimentary word into Joe Mercer's ear or would he have just been blown away by the outlandish attacking gifts of today's Manchester City? He may have stubbornly insisted that Colin Bell was equally as skilful and industrious as Leroy Sane. You suspect that Rodney Marsh would have been regarded as much more creative than Kevin De Bruyne and Francis Lee head and shoulders above Raheem Sterling but then again it is hard to imagine Sterling squaring up to Norman Hunter.

This morning Pep Guardiola, City's now victorious Premier League title winning manager played golf with his son. It is to be assumed there were no bunkers or tricky fairways in their path because father Guardiola probably has the most fluent swing off the first hole. When City won the old First Division in 1968 most of the world was still contemplating landing the first man on the Moon. At times some of City's football has reached planetary heights while only recently wobbing briefly at the final hurdle.

Of course not everything has gone City's way. Their Champions League exit at the hands of Liverpool smeared a nasty blot on their copybook. It was almost as if the lead pianist in some renowned orchestra had dropped a note or the violinist had snapped a string. But City are over the line and nobody can ever question the manner or validity of their Premier League title. Maybe Malcolm Allison would have lit a specially reserved Havana cigar and contentedly swilled a satisfying glass of brandy. Allison loved to be the centre of attention and so too do City in the here and now. Oh to be a Manchester City supporter.