Honking sons and sausage rolls: Alex Miller's post-derby Sheffield Wednesday column

It was all a bit polite for a while there, wasn’t it? All a bit needle-free and generous in praise, with both fan bases largely holding their social media tongues on the pre-match sliding scale of banter / slagging / abuse. The pre-match press conferences were all genial, players and both managers refusing the opportunity for a veiled dig here or there. As build-ups to a derby go, it all felt remarkably relaxed. Had everyone forgotten how it was done?

The match itself followed suit. It was a stinker, wasn’t it? A tight and ragged affair in which neither side were able to show their quality going forward and in which the game was won with the only shot on target of the entire thing. Even the flare-ups seemed half-baked and performative. Tyrese Campbell will of course now always have the honour of being the man who won a Steel City derby, but it’s one that won’t be held up in annals of history even for those on the red side, you’d imagine.

That said, it’s not the football that makes true football rivalries truly great, is it? Not really. You need the moments - the Boxing Days, the Bouncing Days and all in between - but only to fuel the depth of emotion that they are soaked in. With the passage of time, you rather think Campbell’s goal will fade into the faraway background noise of other derby clashes that aren’t emblazoned on t-shirts or included in the lyrics of terrace chants. Rightly or wrongly, this one will be remembered for something that happened many hours later.

With the very rare exception, a scour through Sheffield’s little corner of the social media universe this Monday shows United supporters rather enjoyed the social media images of Chris Wilder singing songs in a pub last night. It also shows Wednesday supporters did not. Twas ever thus.

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The arguments centre on the responsibility of being in positions of power and public respect for one’s colleagues. There’s been plenty quipped on the irony of Wilder being caught singing songs about picnic items given his feeling of being disrespected by the chewing of a sandwich not so long ago. There’s many in blue suggesting it’s hard to imagine Danny Röhl acting as such. And they’re all salient debating points.

But let’s face it, this particular episode is not at all far removed from the debate over Barry Bannan’s fire back at Rhian Brewster not so long ago. The only real difference is that the offenders and the offended are this time sat on the opposite sides of the city.

Modern football is so often sanitised. And it’s moments of daft nonsense like this that separates football from tennis. Cringeworthy? Hilarious? Disrespectful? A display of passion? That’s all in the eye of the beholder - be them blue or red. What’s undeniable is that it’s fired up a little needle around a derby that just for a minute there seemed to have gone a bit, well, modern.

This is a proper football city and Sheffield United need Sheffield Wednesday as much as the other way around; to hate if nothing else. Those who say they’d have it any other way, deep down, are lying.

There certainly wasn’t much to discuss about the 90 minutes, was there? Battle resumes in March.