Emblazoned on the front of the red 1958 Manchester United FA Cup Final jersey is that of an eagle. It is a symbol which came to define the Red Devils in the months following the most significant moment in postwar English football in which eight players lost their lives. What resulted was an impromptu scramble to rebuild a team in need of major surgery but whose soul remained intact – embodied by caretaker manager Jimmy Murphy. It was Murphy – often the forgotten man in this story – who would nurture a new generation of Eagles to rise from the ashes of Munich.

The events of 6^th February 1958 on a cold winter’s day in Munich were unprecedented in the history of English football. The facts of the day have been regurgitated over and over again but what remains at the very core is that United had lost eight players, more commonly referred to as the Flowers of Manchester. What united those eight was youth, talent and, above all, a lack of fulfilment. Chief amongst them was defender Duncan Edwards – recently named in a Manchester Legend XI – who died 15 days after the crash. Edwards, more so than anyone, embodied these three characteristics. At the tender age of 21, he was the youngest ever international to represent England and gradually established himself as the heartbeat of the England midfield. Many have since posed the question that if Edwards had been alive and well, would he have been the captain leading the Three Lions to World Cup glory in 1966? Matt Busby’s team was widely regarded as the greatest team that ever was however the task of upholding this reputation let alone rebuilding the team following such a tragedy, was a daunting one – a task placed upon the shoulders of one, Jimmy Patrick Murphy.

United’s loss and subsequent rebuilding process must be placed into some sort of perspective. Nine years earlier a similar tragedy befit Italian club Torino whose loss was even more substantial than that of United’s. In total the club from Turin lost their entire team composing of 18 players including five members of the coaching staff. Like United, they had risen to prominence in the postwar years, winning four straight Serie A titles between 1945 and 1949 and, according to some sources, pioneered the 4-4-2 formation. It has been suggested that the Granata (The Clarets) have never quite recovered since that disaster. Nonetheless, what United found in this period of adversity was solidarity in the form of their nearest neighbours and fierce rivals, Manchester City. Three days after the crash, UEFA asked City to replace United in the European Cup to which The Blues responded ‘no’ to – wanting to help their Manchester counterparts instead of benefitting from the circumstances. This hand of support went so far as helping United’s staff, with City’s director and surgeon, Sidney Rose, arranging medical help for returning players. Whilst administrative back up was a priority, rebuilding the team around a central figure was of paramount importance.

Only three first team players – goalkeeper Harry Gregg, right back and newly appointed captain Bill Foulkes, and striker Bobby Charlton – remained from the decimated squad. Nonetheless, after much persuasion, Murphy was able to call on these players who had formed an integral part of the Busby Babes team. As for the rest of the team, Murphy – who was on international duty on the night of the crash guiding the Welsh National team to their first and so far only ever appearance at the World Cup – looked to the youth setup at United. He was viewed as a master of judging ability and potential, nurturing the likes of Ron Cope and Alex Dawson into the starting XI whilst also making shrewd acquisitions such as defender Stan Crowther from Aston Villa and attacking midfielder Ernie Taylor from Blackpool. Furthermore, it was Murphy’s insight which helped Busby to bring in a future Manchester United legend, Denis Law, from Torino in 1962 for what was then a club record fee of £115,000. It was principally he who, despite the panic around him, galvanised this new group of players together, resulting, against all the odds, in the team reaching the FA Cup Final that year.

In the space of a mere three months, Murphy had taken a team blighted by loss and tragedy to the final of English football’s premier club competition beating Sheffield Wednesday, United’s first game after the crash, West Bromwich Albion and Fulham along the way, the last two with the help of a replay. It was a game which pulled at the heartstrings with the majority of spectators rooting for United, hoping for the fairytale finish to what had been, up until that point, a season defined by the events of Munich. Nonetheless, someone hadn’t informed Bolton Wanderers’s skipper and striker and prolific England centre forward Nat Lofthouse – who died in January this year – of the script. Lofthouse singlehandedly steered The Trotters to victory, scoring the only two goals of the game – the second of which has been a point of controversy – and thus 1958 forever became The Nat Lofthouse Final. Furthermore, victory was made sweeter as Wanderers came back to the same venue where they had lost in the final six years previously to Blackpool. Despite the script not going according to plan, this final was the moment which signalled the beginning of a new generation of Manchester United legends.

Busby resumed his full-time managerial duties in time for the beginning of the 1958-1959 season working alongside Murphy who never chose to become manager of the club, sighting a hate of the limelight and a preference for working behind the scenes. Together they continued on from where they had left off before Munich, vowing not compromise on their attacking style on which their success had been built on. The United of the 1960s still had experience within its ranks but alongside it was another dimension, that of youth, exuberance and talent, embodied by the ‘Diamond Four’, as I like to call them, of Bobby Charlton, George Best, Nobby Stiles and Paddy Crerand. How fitting it was then that ten years later United returned to the scene where the foundations for the next generation of Manchester United players had been laid with their historic first European Cup triumph against the great Eusébio’s Benfica under the floodlights at Wembley. Symbolically Foulkes and Charlton, who scored two goals on the night, had finished the work begun by their former teammates ten years ago – a fitting tribute to those who were now firmly memorialized in the hearts and minds of all Manchester United fans.

The events at Munich, which will always remain an integral part of the fabric of Manchester United, and Welshman Jimmy Murphy being suddenly propelled into the managerial hot seat were never supposed to happen. Despite being approached to manage the Brazilian National Team, Italian giants Juventus and Arsenal, Murphy remained assistant manager at United until 1971, passing away in 1979. Thirty years later a small unassuming plaque commemorating his remarkable achievements is attached to his former family home in Treharne Street in Wales. Those who knew Jimmy Murphy will tell you that that’s the way he would have wanted it.

Click here to listen to more on the aftermath of the 1958 Munich Air Crash with the Cherwell Sport podcast, ‘Extra Time’.

Going to see Mount Kimbie the day they release a brand spanking new track – ‘Bave Chords‘, free download, Oh YES – is the sort of perfection that an adoring fan can only dream of. My luck lasted pretty much all evening, which explains the smug style of writing that you are about to encounter. Queuing at Heaven is unlike any other experience I’ve had before as adverts for ‘Gay Porn Idol’ surround the box office, this really is a special venue, but not only because of its sexually explicit advertisements, it’s a club inside the Arches near Embankment – which provide a perfect acoustic setting – and a balcony that lets you look down on the huge crowd below.

First to grace the stage is Sampha, an electro soloist signed to XL Recordings’ imprint Young Turks. Being a huge fan of practically all XL’s artists I had high expectations for the electronic soulster and I was not disappointed. Although his use of synthesisers and drum pads does not necessarily separate him from the crowd, it’s his decidedly emotional voice, which wavers inoffensively between being in tune and slightly out of it which sets him apart from the rapidly rising group of electronic songwriters. Luckily for Sampha and his audience, his use of autotune – or something like it – is intriguing rather than annoying and with lyrics such as ‘no one could love you’ it’s certain that he’s got stuff to sing about. The exquisite use of lighting in Heaven means that each act is bathed in a pool of coloured light, adding a visual layer of satisfaction to the whole affair.

The next act take the term audiovisual delight to another level as their whole set is enhanced by beautiful film footage playing in the background. Creep, the female witch house duo from New York fulfil and exceed the electronic double team stereotype as their equipment comprises two laptops (Macs of course), a guitar that is only used once, and surprisingly a cello complete with cello player. Wearing suitably creepy dark and baggy clothes, Creep are about atmosphere just as much as they are about music. With only a tiny lamp emitting light onto their stage you are tempted to close your eyes and let the heart trembling bass do all the talking. Their languid beats and drippy bass lines evoke a totally electronic world – sounding somewhat like an overhead approach of airplanes – but manage to convey perfectly human emotions. Still there’s a part of me that feels that full appreciation of their dark R&B/shoegaze sound necessitates some sort of hallucinogenic intervention – and by the looks of most of the people in the crowd I think I’m right. They’ve got a fantastic single out now called Days and it features vocals from Romy Madley Croft – aka Romy xx – who was incidentally in the audience.

Whilst waiting for Mount Kimbie to set up I also spotted Orlando from Maccabees – remember them? I won’t even pretend this is at all relevant to the gig, and although I could make some far fetched comment about the current drum pad trend in music and the possibility of an electronic album from Maccabees I’d rather admit my mild obsession with the lead singer. Confession over let’s move on to the humble headliners, Mount Kimbie.

As the ‘post dubstep’ duo – I’m allowed one annoying term per post – make their way on to the stage all the too cool for school fans shed their hipster skin and make their way to the very front of the room and Mount Kimbie are worth it. Suddenly it feels more like a club night than a random gig and the fact that we’ll all be tucked up in bed before 11 pm bares no relevance to our enjoyment. Drum pads at the ready Kimbie fill the room with itchy beats and engulfing bass lines, the whole audience is transfixed waiting to hear the first words from the manchester duo; ‘It means so much to see so many heads’ says one of them, it’s nice to know they appreciate their fans. Just like their support act the special thing about MK is the fact that they appreciate sound, be it electronic or acoustic. Their use of a real snare drum and cymbal brings them into an undeniably refreshing realm of multiplicious musicians.

Their tracks flow from shogeaze to D’angelo-esque hip hop without so much as a warning, and everyone loves it. ‘Before I Move Off‘ receives rapturous applaud from the crowd and it seems that Mount Kimbie can’t put a foot wrong, chopping up several different vocal samples to form the perfect puzzle. Ever eager to bend their own form of music, Mount’s use of guitar reveals the subtle melancholy of their music and it is their silent breaks and slow climaxes which prove to be the highlight of their sound. This memorable gig is ended with the performance of the first song they ever wrote, Maybes which is a staggered journey into an underrated but equally bewildering soundscape. If Mount Kimbie take as to reach their zenith as they do in their songs, we’ll be hearing from them for a long time to come, and thank god for that!

Whilst you wait for their next album, as they confessed  that ‘we have nothing more to play, we’ve been touring a 35 minute record for one year and a half…’, why not listen to a soundtrack of similarly laid back tunes.

Can science tell us what’ s objectively true? Or is it merely a clever way to cure doubt—to give us something to believe in, real or not? In this series of blog posts, we’ ll look at a provocative answer to this question given by the late 19th century American scientist, mathematician, logician, and philosopher, Charles Sanders Peirce. But before delving into this eminent thinker’s view—and in the interest of full disclosure—let me begin by telling you what your present humble blogger used to think. I used to think that science was purely objective. A failsafe machine for churning out facts and converting foggy ignorance to sober knowledge.

Scientists, I thought, were a special breed of truth-discoverers—sort of like superheroes, actually, only much, much nerdier. Removed from commonplace concerns and exempt from ordinary human foibles, their pronouncements were gospel. That was before I trained as a scientist. And skipping to the punch line now: I was naïve. Even if the scientific method, on some ideal conception of it, could justify this dreamy-eyed confidence, I’ ve come to learn that the practice of science deserves a much more cynical look.

Scientists, it turns out, are humans too. They have reputations to defend, insecurities to navigate, and careers to make. Karl Popper, the famous 20th century philosopher of science, had it wrong: scientists don’ t abandon their favored theories or years-long research programs the instant a contrary piece of data rears its ugly head. Studies that don’ t work are run again; equipment is tinkered with or replaced; research assistants are fired. Science can be a messy business. Even so, if someone wanted to mount a defense of science, her best bet might be to appeal to the much-vaunted ‘objective’ nature of its ideal form: its seeming privileged relationship to truth.

Insofar as it’s done right, our imagined apologist might say, science deserves our allegiance because it transcends subjective belief—and the fallible groping of common sense—and latches on in some systematic way to ultimate reality. If we are committed to reason, then we should be compelled by science. This is where Charles Peirce—polymath and founder of the school of thought known as pragmatism—would disagree. In an 1877 essay, The Fixation of Belief, he attempted to champion the scientific method without appealing to reason, rationality, or objective truth. Instead (and this is what pragmatism is all about), he argued that science is more like a nifty trick—a practical emollient for the irritation of doubt that happens to trump other prescriptions. Got uncertainty? Try science. Not for any theoretic, metaphysical, or transcendent reason, mind you, but on pragmatic grounds alone. It just works. Well… really? Does science ‘work’ to cure uncertainty in the way Peirce suggests? And if it does, why?

If you’ re like me, you might not be convinced that the scientific method is in fact the surest way to conquer doubt—at least for certain individuals, probably some whole groups, and maybe even the entire species. I’ ll explain what I mean later on. Second, to the extent that it is a good way, I think it’s for less ‘pragmatic’ a reason than Peirce pretends. In fact, by the end of this series of posts, I want to convince you that Peirce himself must have been committed to an ‘objective’ view of science—one which says its methods are sensitive to the real state of the world, and therefore hit upon truth more reliably than alternatives. It is this special link to objective reality—and not some accident of our animal psychologies—that compels, insofar as it does, the calm stableness of belief. 

But let’ s not get too far ahead of ourselves. In order to be fair to Peirce, we should probably start with his view, in his own terms. How does begin his argument? The answer is: at the very beginning—with a definition of our species. A human being, he tells us, is a ‘logical animal’ —a belief-bearing beast, if you will—who is defined by its ability to reason, but whose access to mind-independent reality is obscure at best. Why is that? Well, as ‘animals’ we are products of natural selection—that much is uncontroversial. But what about the ‘logical’ part—what about our reasoning minds? To be sure, at least some of our beliefs (and belief-forming systems generally) must track the actual state of world. I not, we’ d have dumped by now into evolution’ s scrap pile. (To illustrate: if you sincerely believe that jumping off this cliff won’t threaten your survival—and you’ re still a virgin, I have to point out—you can be sure that the next generation will be spared your genes). That being said, insofar as it’s ‘of more advantage to the animal to have his mind filled with pleasing and encouraging visions’ – irrespective of their truth— ‘then natural selection might occasion a fallacious tendency of thought’. 

For Peirce, then, it’ s a tricky issue to sort out the ‘objective’ relationship of our human reasoning to the world’ s reality—that is, between our beliefs and actual fact. We are probably hit or miss. So for Peirce a different question comes up, namely, How in fact do we reason? When and why do we engage in processes of rational inquiry, and under what conditions do we stop? For the answer, watch this space…

Quotations in this blog come from Peirce’ s ‘The Fixation of Belief’ in ‘Pragmatism: A Reader’, edited by Louis Menand, or, in a few cases, ‘How to Make Our Ideas Clear’ in the same volume