In Bruges

How on earth did we get to June so quickly? It seems only weeks ago that we were celebrating Mels 40th in January. Yet when I think about it, so much has happened already this year which probably explains my lack of posts. There are times for reflection and capturing the moment but there are periods where you just want to live in the moment, when you just don't feel like stopping to catch a breath. This year has been once continuous whirlwind of activity both in my professional and personal life. But due to circumstance, I am taking most of my annual leave in a 4 month period which hopefully will allow me enough time and space to do a little more writing than has been possible of late.

In May, Mel and I decided to do something special to celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary. Since watching the film 'In Bruges' we have been borderline obsessed with visiting the City. One evening, after a particularly intense day Mel offered to do all the organising and get our weekend away booked. At that point, Manchester City were eight points behind United and as far as everyone was concerned the title had gone for this season at least. So when Mel suggested that we travel on the 12th and 13th of May I didn't object. The flights and hotels were booked and we were both really excited at the prospect of a long weekend together. I'm away 3-4 nights a week through work and consequently we've reached the stage where we have to plan quality time together.

It was only as the dénouement of the season began to play out that my hasty decision became apparent. United dropped points and City edged nearer and nearer. By the time the derby game at the Etihad stadium arrived I began to realise what a huge clanger I had dropped. I hastily scoured the internet for early flights back on the Sunday morning (I haven't mentioned this to Mel so don't tell her....) but to no avail. I was to miss the final game of the season, the biggest in my lifetime, a chance to witness us sealing the Premier title.

Resigned to my fate, I gave my ticket to my sister, who doesn't get to go much since having a family but who used to be an incredibly enthusiastic supporter back in the 90's at a time when frankly there was not much to be enthusiastic about. I could have sold my ticket for a small fortune but that wouldn't have been right, it deserved to go to someone who had suffered the bad days so that was that.......

We left early on the Friday morning, flying to Brussels and then an hours train Journey to Bruges. We were in our beautiful and luxurious hotel by lunchtime and out exploring all afternoon. Bruges is if anything even more fascinating and atmospheric than I had imagined and being so early in the tourist season it was reasonably quiet.

After lunch and a few drinks we headed out to to a bar that was well rated on Trip Advisor, down a quiet back street and away from the main tourist drag. The Cafe Rose Red is a place I'll always remember and always long to go back to. Serving the finest beers known to man, with impeccable service and knowledgeable help with our selections it is by far the best way to sample Belgian beer. Unfortunately Mel has now acquired a very expensive taste for Liefmans Cherry beer which is far nicer than I expected.The price was fairly reasonable there but costs £4 a bottle from Waitrose.

Saturday was a full day of exploration of this amazing city. We must have walked several miles through the cobbled streets and unusually for us, we took in all the cultural highlights including Michelangelo's Madonna and Child. There was so much to see and do and we worked up a thirst that could only be quenched with a return to the Cafe Rose Red.

We had pre-booked dinner for the Saturday night at the Park Restaurant which was the perfect way to celebrate 5 years of marriage. A perfect evening in a great restaurant with impeccable service really helped to mark the occasion and Mel and I laughed, ate and drank our way through the evening.

Sunday was a completely different affair. I had managed to block all thoughts of football up to this point but I awoke early on the Sunday morning in a blind panic. Mel attempted to distract me by taking me on a horse drawn carriage tour of the City which was lovely but didn't really distract me from the drama ahead.

We checked out and got the train back to Brussels and thanks to an old School-friend who recommended a bar off the beaten track we were able to settle down to watch the game in the company of several neutrals and a lot of United fans. By this point I was almost hyperventilating with nerves and every fibre of my being was wishing I were at the stadium.

The first half passed in a blur assisted by a few drinks and going in 1-0 up at half-time helped to settle the nerves a bit. However, early in the second half disaster struck, first conceding an equaliser and then worse going a goal behind. I don't think I've ever sworn so much and the crowd in the bar began to enjoy my pain. So much so that with just a few minutes to go, I doubted my team more than I have ever done before. I told Mel we were leaving, I just couldn't take the disappointment. To her eternal credit she demanded we stay. I loitered at the back of the bar, not wanting to be part of anyone else's entertainment. When Dzeko scored to even matters in the 91st minute I just became more infuriated. How could they do this to me? 'Typical City' - words I had uttered many times before......then from the darkness came light.....Aguero to Balotelli, back to Aguero then..........well I don't really remember the next few minutes. Mel said I cried a lot as we jumped and danced our way around the bar. I literally could not take it in......

"Drink it in, you will never see anything like this ever again..."

Somehow Mel got me back to the airport, I just couldn't function any more and had simply reverted to repeating the words 'I can't believe it....' over and over again. I spoke to friends at the game and we hastily arranged to meet and celebrate as soon as I landed. We made our way to the gate, boarded the plane and were just beginning to be moved to the runway when suddenly a loud bang rang through the cabin.

'Apologies Ladies and Gentlemen, you may have just heard the sound of the nose cone being hit by the tug vehicle......we think it will be OK but are just waiting for an engineer to check it out....."

Two hours later, we were still sat on the plane and our worst fears were confirmed. The flight was cancelled and we disembarked, collected our luggage and made our way to a hotel at the airport. I couldn't be persuaded to eat with the other passengers and instead we had room service delivered while I consoled my celebratory self by watching Match of the Day before drifting off into a victorious coma......only to be awoken by a gut wrenching stomach pain that consequently turned out to be food poisoning. How I made it through that journey I'll never know and by the time we landed in Manchester the following morning I was a husk of my former self. Exhausted, delirious and absolutely ecstatic, I somehow made it through the day and was able to get the train in to Manchester to witness the trophy being paraded around the City.

There will always be a part of me that regrets not being there but equally I will always remember the weekend and the broad spectrum of emotions I went through that weekend. Plus I was able to share the moment with my soulmate who understood what it meant to me and had the fortitude to make me stay until the end and witness the most electrically charged moment of my entire life.

Sick swans

The annihilation of Manchester United by 6 (six) goals to 1(one) will live long in my memory. Not so much because of the scoreline (we've beaten them by big margins before) but because of the ruthless and clinical manner of the performance and the shell shocked reaction of every United fan I know. Naturally of course, they have tried to respond with accusations that we are buying our way to success (a strategy they know only too well) and that the sending off materially changed the outcome (who knows). There is however a look in their eyes that suggests they realise this is the first of many hidings coming their way and that the pendulum of football has well and truly swung.

I'd like to think that my reaction to this monumental result was respectful, measured and appropriate. I'd like to think that except it is of course not true. I've been pretty much whooping it up ever since, lauding about the place like I scored the six goals myself and getting completely carried away with the whole thing. 

My friends Paul, Neil and I travelled to Valencia for a three day trip to see City take on Villareal in the Champions league. It was my first euro away trip but it definitely wont be the last. We had an absolute blast from the minute we arrived and even an endless succession of work calls during the day couldn't dampen my fun.

Valencia is an incredible City, modern and vibrant with a lovely mix of the old and new. Some of the architecture is stunning and I made a mental note to revisit for a long weekend at some point in the near future.

It's also a City on the beach and within minutes of checking into the hotel we were in a cab heading towards the old port and tucking into several lovely courses of tapas accompanied by more than a few ice cold cervezas. The combination of the heat, the octopus and the beer was lethal and I was soon quite squiffy.

From there a taxi to the old town where the night was spent enjoying a carnival atmosphere outside an Irish bar (yes, yes I know.....) where approximately 50% of the songs were about the derby victory. It was like old times supporting City in my early twenties only this time on the back of success and I confess I enjoyed myself a little too much for my own good.

The next morning I was fragile and the prospect of another day on the pop was almost too much to contemplate. Almost. By 2pm we were on the coach for the hours journey to Villareal and by 3pm we were in the bars next to the ground despite the game not kicking off for another five hours. I spent a few hours on the phone sorting out some work issues which probably kept me sober enough to see the rest of the afternoon off in relative sobriety but in the hour leading up to kick-off I fatally decided to try and catch up with my friends Paul and Neil's drinking tally.

I say fatally because Villareal's away end is named the 'birdcage' and is unbelievably steep. At the bottom of the stand is a huge perspex screen covering the whole of the front of the stand. It's main purpose is to stop missiles being thrown onto the pitch but it also does a really good job of blocking the view of the game. I stumbled to my seat and missed my footing sending me tumbling down rows of seats saved only by some kindly City fans who managed to catch me despite collapsing with laughter.

Thankfully the alcohol I had consumed prevented the pain from affecting me too much and I was able to witness another thoroughly professional victory. The celebrations went on long into the night though in truth I was a spent force. After the coach journey back we had one beer and then retired for the night.

A fantastic euro trip all round capped off by a terrific win. I'm optimistic that we will make it through the group stages so I can make another trip next year to some other destination maybe even Barcelona. I'm not confident we'd get a result there but it would be a brilliant experience. 

New Territory

This is my third attempt at a blog since City won the FA Cup and I doubt it will be much more successful than my first two attempts but I'll just go with it anyway. It's not that I'm struggling for words, it's just that the words don't seem to fit with how the whole experience of the last few weeks, culminating in our win on Saturday have caused me to feel.

Even in the dark days of the mid to late 90's I always felt I would one day see my team successful. Never at any point no matter how bad things got did I ever lose my grip on the feeling that one day the tide would eventually turn and City would return once more to being a winning club. To me it was simply a matter of time, until we lost the 'typical City' tag that has firmly attached itself to us over the last 35 years.

I'm not even going to go into the day, better written reports of the game, the atmosphere and the joyous outpouring at the final whistle can be found elsewhere. Suffice to say I lost my voice for two days, hurt my knees doing the 'Poznan' and my bouncing up and down muscles had seized up completely by the time we retired to bed on Saturday night. Whilst I managed my pre-match alcohol intake much more carefully this time round compared to the semi-final, I made up for it after the game and the hangover on Sunday was the biggest and frankly most enjoyable hangover I have ever had.

The constant stream of e-mails, texts and voice mail messages on my phone have made my permanent smile even bigger and best of all I shared the whole experience with some of my favourite people in the world, people I have grown up with and suffered the trials of misfortune with. We didn't say that much after that game, everything that needed to be said could be said with the eyes. Knowing looks between families and friends who knew they had witnessed something really special.

The overriding feeling since Saturday though is one of shock. I just cannot get used to the idea that I have seen my team win a trophy, that our ascent to the peak of football is now under way. There are those that say we have bought the trophy, as though football has hitherto been run frugally on a shoestring. One of the 6,458 articles I have read even had the audacity to suggest that the soul of Manchester City has been sold to our Abu Dhabi owners for petrodollars. Anyone who was there on Saturday and again at Eastlands last night will tell you that is utter nonsense.

The spirit of my club has been galvanised, we are no longer the comedy sidekicks to football's main attractions. Instead the noisy neighbours are having a party and on Saturday we ratcheted up the volume.

The time of my life......

My nerves ahead of the cup semi-final were not helped by potential traffic problems. Due to some incident or other the M1 was closed over the weekend, which whilst not on our route to Wembley had knock on implications so we were determined not to get snarled up. My friend Paul arrived at 6.30am and we were straight on the road down to Wembley. The roads were already busy with coaches, mini buses and cars with flags and scarves flying. The services on the M40 were literally bursting with football fans and even at 8 o'clock in the morning it was already boisterous.

It may be a cliche to claim that Mancunians support City but there were certainly more blues on the road on our journey than reds, so either United fans were so used to travelling to Wembley that they leave it late or else they live just round the corner from Wembley and get up at lunchtime to travel to the game. I suspect a bit of both.

At just after 9.30am we arrived at the Harrow Hotel which as you have probably gathered is in fact a Hotel in Harrow. It's an approach to naming your business which everyone could benefit from, though as a hotel it did little else right other than being just one tube stop from Wembley and only £65 per room per night. However, we were there for an FA Cup semi-final rather than to review hotels so we dumped the bags and off we went.

All of the pubs were still closed so we killed an hour with strong coffee and sausage sandwiches and as tradition dictates used the condiments to map out likely team formations and tactics. Soon enough it was opening time and we found a pub called 'The Moon on the Hill' which whilst on a hill, was nothing like a Moon - not even a blue one so it completely failed on the naming front. It did however serve alcohol so I decided not to phone the Trade descriptions people.

Each pub was designated either City or United and this pub was already heaving. We sank a couple of looseners whilst waiting for a mate and his kids and then had a couple more to celebrate his arrival. When we were suitably refreshed we headed for the tube and off towards Wembley. As luck would have it we boarded a carriage full of United fans who were in full voice. Spotting my friends young lads City shirts they burst into some nursery rhyme they had all learnt about building a bonfire with City on top. They seemed a little shocked when their twee little song was returned with interest but we are well practised at this game.

Arriving at Wembley Park Station we walked up Wembley way through thousands of United fans as we headed towards the City end. It was still three hours before kick off but the atmosphere and tension was already building.

We had arranged to meet Paul's cousin David, a long serving Naval officer and as rabid a City fan as it is possible to imagine. Naturally, he had sought out the most tribal of positions to wait for us, a roundabout on the opposite side of the stadium where City fans had congregated to welcome each coach full of fellow blues and berate every coach full of reds. By the time we got there, there were thousands congregated around the roundabout. This is not my video, so apologies and thanks to the person who posted it on YouTube for posterity.....

The pubs around the roundabout were not admitting anyone else, particularly the Green Man which was overflowing with blues who had arranged to meet at the only pub that everybody knew the name of. The nearby supermarkets had closed their doors to the disgust of the thousands of fans milling around. However, a local off-licence was meeting the insatiable demands at £2 a can of beer.

The roundabout became more and more boisterous and a pair of United fans in a convertible golf with the roof down were forced to regret antagonising City fans when they became stuck at the junction. By the time they managed to get moving again their car was swimming in beer. So it continued for three hours with singing,   bouncing, bantering, antagonising but mainly drinking.

The time soon came to head up to the stadium and the bright sunshine and electric atmosphere made the walk up to the stadium one of the most spine tingling experiences of my life. One of our tickets was an OAP ticket with the word concession written on it, a mere quirk of how we had distributed the tickets but nevertheless a nervous moment ensued which soon passed without incident. One entering the stadium we still had time for one more beer before entering the cauldron of noise. It was almost impossible to hear yourself think, a wash of noise. I've never heard anything like it even at the World cup semi final I went to in 1990.

I won't even attempt to describe the game, it has been covered thousands of times elsewhere and besides I needed to watch it back twice on my return to be sure of what really happened. The alcohol and the viewing angle from our seats made it difficult to get an accurate perspective on the game. What I can tell you is that when Yaya Toure scored the winning goal, I and everyone else in our half of the stadium went absolutely ballistic. Not for the 30 seconds or so that it would normally take to celebrate a goal but for a full 5 minutes.

As a seasoned City supporter, I fully expected United to come at us and I could barely watch. In fact I had to sneak off for a walk around the concourse at one point. It was really getting to me. The five minutes of injury time seemed to be in slow motion, the countdown accompanied by 35,000 City fans whistling like their lives depended on it. When the final whistle arrived I experienced a high like nothing else I've ever encountered at a football match. Complete strangers hugged each other and danced celebratory jigs together, the sound washing around the City end like a victory howl, song melting into glorious song.

I remember noticing the away end being empty within 2 minutes of the final whistle, I have half a memory of the players celebrating immediately in front of us and I vaguely remember falling over the seat in front as the one I was dancing on gave way beneath me.

The rest of the evening was a complete blur. Half remembered conversations and celebrations, drunkenly lurching from one pub to another, singing all around us, . We eventually stumbled to bed somewhere around 1am, exhausted and emotional.

Whether our win spells a true turning point for us remains to be seen and largely depends on how we perform in four weeks time. However, the significance of this result was about more than the FA cup. It was about achieving some form of retribution, redemption or payback for past suffering. For the team and fans alike it meant turning up on the big day, standing strong and showing pride in battle.

Without a shadow of a doubt it was a day I will remember for the rest of my life.

The Mancunian way........

Tomorrow will be my first ever visit to Wembley to see City. Yes, that's right. I'm 40 years old and I've never seen them at Wembley. In fact, I waited so long to see them play there they have demolished and rebuilt it in the meantime.

In 1981, I was too young to go to the FA Cup final against Tottenham without parental supervision. My Dad is a United fan though like the rest of my United supporting family, he doesn't go to matches, so watching City was never going to happen either. I watched the centenary cup final on the TV and along with the mental scars, I still have the programme a mate brought back for me from the game.

In 1999, despite watching every single game home and away that season, my first wife insisted on going on an expensive, previously booked holiday to Cuba. To say that decision caused some tension would be like saying Gary Neville was not necessarily my favourite football player. The game against Gillingham entailed listening to the drama unfold through a mobile phone at a cost that still makes me wince to this very day. In  no small part due to the fact I missed watching the literal phoenix rise from the proverbial flames, we divorced almost immediately afterwards.

So at 6am tomorrow, we will head off for the weekend to the biggest Manchester Derby in my lifetime. It feels like we say that every time we play each other but for me tomorrow is unquestionably the biggest yet. It represents a chance to really prove that we are changing the mentality of our club and that we represent a new force in English football that will consistently challenge for honours and in doing so beat the very best.

The hype is understandably at fever pitch and for once I think it's merited. I've never been to a derby game where there have been 35,000 of each set of fans. Normally in the league the away team usually receives 5,000 tickets or so, making away fans noisy yet outnumbered . Tomorrow I suspect you will not be able to hear yourself think inside the stadium. Add to that the fact that the early evening kick off means a good percentage of the people in the stadium will have been drinking for most of the day and so the atmosphere should be electric. I intend to be fairly electric myself.

Injuries and suspensions have made the game even more interesting and I genuinely think this game is far more evenly poised than some of the media have made out over the course of the last few days. A common view prevails in the press and radio and TV media that United have more experience of big games and their aspiration to achieve a double or a treble will see their quality overcome their noisy neighbours.

Unsurprisingly, I'm not convinced. I think there are a number of City's squad that have a point to prove, especially after Mondays inept performance against Liverpool. They have faced accusation that they are overly, if not wholly reliant on the injured Carlos Tevez and certainly the statistics support the fact that we are far more successful with him than without him. However, it seems to me that we are overdue a real team performance capped by some outstanding individual performances and providing Mancini plays him, I expect one of those to come from Mario Balotelli. He of the gloved hat.

Much has been written and reported about him. His petulance bordering on stupidity, his inability to come to terms with simple training garments, his seemingly endless capacity to self-destruct. Tomorrow will be his opportunity to prove that these are just the foibles of youth and that they are far outweighed by the force of  his prodigious talent. He is as exciting a prospect as I have ever seen, he just needs to prove himself on a big stage and there really aren't many bigger than tomorrow.

We're staying over  in nearby Harrow so tomorrow night I'll either be celebrating a famous victory in London somewhere or sulking in my hotel room. My feeling is that City will be victorious by either 2 or 3 goals to a solitary reply from United. Of course as a City fan, I fully expect us to lose the final in four weeks time but one day a Manchester City team will prove my inert pessimism outdated and I'll go and tear down that banner at Old Trafford myself.

Maybe, this is the one........

Never meet your heroes....

Someone once said 'never meet your heroes' and last week I did. We were fortunate enough (thanks to my pal Pauls wife Sallys donation to charity) to secure two tickets, access all areas with hospitality in the players lounge for the Manchester snoozefest Derby last Wednesday night. Once we had collected the tickets we descended into the bowels of the Eastlands stadium and after four security checks and various corridors and stairs, we found ourselves staring out at the pitch from the tunnel with the dressing rooms to our left, the managers office to our right and the players lounge just off to one side.

We bumped into Mancini in the corridor returning from an interview and our new £25m striker Balotelli dressed like something out of a Spike Lee film. On entering the players lounge we were surrounded by various players, mainly the ones who had not been selected. On various tables were the friends and families of the players. The room itself was hardly luxurious, more functional and a cold buffet and some hot food were laid on. It took barely seconds to realise that there was absolutely no alcohol in sight, reflecting Mancini's sensible policy of keeping alcohol away from players whilst on his watch.

I have never watched a Manchester Derby sober and we were not about to start now, so we went for a wander. We ascended in the players lift to the middle tier and went into one of the corporate lounges. We were immediately stopped by some prim and proper 'lounge manageress' who insisted that our VIP tickets did not allow us to order drinks from her bar. However, with a quick shimmy we avoided her and went to the other side of the bar and ordered drinks. Noel Gallagher and Mike Pickering (DJ and founder of M People) were entertaining a table full of City fans and the atmosphere was buoyant as the City fans contemplated the first derby in many years where we were favourites to win . After a couple of flagons we descended once more back to the players lounge which by now had filled with various injured or out of favour players.

We could hear the atmosphere start to build and we went to our seats to take in the pre-match banter and soon enough the game kicked off. Despite the initial cauldron of passion the atmosphere soon flattened as the game played out in a very docile manner, both teams cancelling each other out, afraid to make a mistake and sacrificing adventure for safety.

After a fairly dour 90 minutes we descended once more to the players lounge and were by this point surrounded by players past and present, all talking about the match and swigging from complimentary bottles of water or diet coke. Having no interest in carbonated beverages or curled up sandwiches and having little to say to those around us, most foreign and with a feint grasp of english we made an executive decision to retire to the pub over the road. It had been a fantastic experience and we both felt really privileged to have witnessed the heartbeat of our club but I'm not sure I would repeat it again. I felt slightly awkward, knowing that I did not really fit amongst these people. Being a fan is entirely different to being part of the fabric of the club and I was in danger of saying something embarrassing to one of the players so we left it at that and hoofed it to the pub.

On the way to the boozer, we were stopped by a man waving a microphone and his cameraman from some Arabic TV station or other.

"What do you think about Manchester Derby?"

"errr....yeah it was alright mate, bit boring"

"Why you like Manchester Derby?"

"ummmm....don't know really, it's just a big occasion filled with passion and ermmmm hatred. gets the blood flowing"

"....and what you think about American owners?"

"sorry?......"

"The American owners, the Glazers?"

"Oh right, yeah they're good lads. Hope they stay for a long time and continue to spend what they haven't got"

*bemusement*

"so... you like them? I thought everyone hated them and wanted them out"

"no mate....we love them...we'd love them to stay and ruin Man United even further"

"ahhh.....You are Manchester City fans"

"Yeah, me, him and all these people and all the people in that pub. Oh and all the people around you and most of the people inside the ground"

With that they scurried off in search of a better understanding of English football and presumably some United fans to interview.

A weird end to a strange night. A unique experience wrapped around a non-event of a football match.

Sheikhing all over..................

As the more avid (or awake) of you will have noticed, there has been no blog. Work has been a full on whir and my feet have barely touched the ground and as that is not a very interesting topic for a blog so I thought I'd spare you.

Today is a very special day. Today is the start of the football season.

It feels like a little lightswitch has been flicked on, a switch that has not been working for three months (though it did flicker during the world cup). However, I always find it difficult to get overly animated about watching England.  I'm as patriotic as the next man, but Club football is what sets my pulse racing. It doesn't help that the national team are serially disappointing but in truth it's because I like to reserve my tribalism for Manchester City.



As the old joke would have it, I have stuck with Manchester City through thin and thin. I have suffered the highs and lows over 30+ years, the highs never quite scaling the summit and the lows delivering regular low blows on an almost annual basis.

I used to support a football club run by a TV & Hi Fi salesman and then subsequently a manufacturer of toilet paper. Boardroom unrest was a constant and bad decisions were habitual. We had a ground with four unmatched stands, each reflecting a period of optimism for future success that was never quite delivered. Calamity and Pathos was embedded into the fabric our club and I often wondered whether I supported them because of  that or despite it.

Now I know that is despite it, because the tragicomedy that was my football club has gone replaced by a new era. Owners with seemingly bottomless pockets, a professional well run club, a genuinely world class squad, proposed expansion plans that extend beyond football and a future that stretches out in front of us like a route to football greatness.

With Manchester City having spent over £100m for the second summer in a row everybody's expectations are high and the stage is set for a statement as to what's to come this season. These days it's different, we've gone from being everybody's second favourite team to being the genuine envy of every other football club expressed through resentment and hypocrisy. Our new team will need to bed in quickly and show a complete disregard and disrespect for the top four and the nonsense that surround them. City have the players to worry anyone in the premiership, the big question now is whether Mancini can get them to function as a successful team.

Being a Manchester City fan however, I already have my defence and story straight should we deliver a damp squib of a performance and Redknapps Tottenham lay the proverbial banana skin in front of the fledgling City team. It will take time, just not too much I hope.

Regardless, it's nice to have proper football back. Tonight we are at a family barbecue where somebody has made the mistake of hiring a karaoke machine. In sobriety, I claim to hate karaoke machines and show disdain for them generally. However, after just a few units of alcohol my sneering attitude is replaced by an attitude of please get off I think you'll find it's my turn again.

Tonight will either be a rousing chorus of 'Blue Moon' or a miserable rendition of "I guess that's why they call it the Blues". Stay tuned to find out.

You can't buy History......

My blog today is I suppose football related. I'll make no apology for that but in reality my comments could apply to a number of people and situations. Allow me to set the scene....

From time to time phrases enter the public consciousness and become everyday parlance. Often they are phrases borrowed from comedy shows, TV adverts, or American sitcoms or similar. They often raise a very gentle laugh through the nostril on first hearing but quickly become tiresome and eventually inspire pathological hatred in me towards the guilty cliche monger. A really good example is "Simples!" from the Insurance ad, which was not even funny in the first place but this phrase is now the staple preserve of the moronic, internet poster.

In football, the phenomena is even more pronounced. Very little is ever said in football that is not a cliche of one form or another. At the end of the day, we're all sick as a parrot or over the moon and all credit to the lads we just have to take each day as it comes. You get the picture.

But there is one particular phrase that I keep hearing in relation to my beloved Manchester City and whilst I do try and just accept that we are in the public eye for various reasons, I'm afraid I'm going to have to call this one out. That phrase is "You can't buy history". I know where this started, it came from United fans alarmed that their long suffering neighbours may have finally awoken and had suddenly become "noisy" neighbours. (there's another one). It has since been adopted by anyone for who City's new wealth does not sit comfortably.

I have a few problems with this phrase. Firstly. it's not true. You can buy History. Chelsea have spent hundreds of millions and won trophies that will be recorded in the history books and will live long in the minds of their supporters. Blackburn even did it in the 90's, even though it did not last long, their premiership winning season is more than just a footnote in the football almanacs. Man United spent big in the 1990's and in doing so created the most successful period in their history.

The second problem with this phrase is that we already have plenty of history. Here is a list of our honours :-

Domestic
Football League First Division (first tier)
Winners (2): 1936–37, 1967–68
Runners-up (3): 1903–04, 1920–21, 1976–77

Football League Second Division / Football League First Division (second tier)
Winners (7, record): 1898–99, 1902–03, 1909–10, 1927–28, 1946–47, 1965–66, 2001–02
Runners-up (4): 1895–96, 1950–51, 1936–37, 1999–2000

Football League Second Division (third tier)
Play-off winners: 1998–99

FA Cup
Winners (4): 1904, 1934, 1956, 1969
Runners-up (4): 1926, 1933, 1955, 1981

League Cup
Winners (2): 1970, 1976
Runners-up (1): 1974

Charity Shield
Winners (3): 1937, 1968, 1972
Runners-up (4): 1934, 1956, 1969, 1973

Full Members Cup
Runners-up (1): 1986

European
European Cup Winners' Cup
Winners (1): 1970

It may not be the longest list in football and it certainly lacks recent entries but nevertheless it puts most football clubs to shame.

But the biggest problem I have with this phrase is that it seems to have been adopted by foreign football players when ruling themselves out of transfers that were never going to happen in the first place. This weekend Mascherano and the hapless Dirk Kuyt have both used it in interviews.

Kuyt (pictured below) who is possibly the worst and least prolific striker ever to have graced the premiership was particularly vociferous in the papers today.

"City can't buy history and I would always go for Liverpool's history, rather than City's money" said the useless, waste of DNA.

If they carry on signing and playing players like Kuyt, Liverpool may just find that their history becomes a distant memory and their rejection of City's money is particularly ironic given their mounting debt situation.  Funniest of all Kuyt actually seems to think that playing for City might be an option that he would be in a position to reject. He really is living in his own fantasy world.

Steeped in tradition

Yesterday was our annual December boys trip to watch the football. This ritual has existed for twenty years now. My friend Paul and I, are usually joined by some other long suffering Manchester City fans that we have known for years, however this year proved too difficult to organise so just the two of us met. (The more astute amongst you will have noticed that it is not yet December - this is a mere technicality arising from life getting in the way of it actually being on a Saturday in December). The ritual used to be a fortnightly event, when football was played on a Saturday and we were young and flush enough to get away with it. Now it’s an annual event due to being grown up and slightly more sensible.

The format is devastatingly simple. We meet on a Saturday in December when City are at home and at 11am start drinking our way towards the stadium. Having arrived at the ground, at least a couple more pints are consumed prior to enduring a tortuously frustrating football match. After the game, more drinks are consumed before the entire game is drunkenly dissected, minute-by-minute in an Indian restaurant over a hot spicy curry.

I was a little worried this year that all the money that City have spent (£200m in 18 months) might spoil our tradition by proving to be entertaining and rewarding which has never happened before. I was worried it might take something away from the day, that our new found wealth might erode another footballing tradition.

However, I need not have worried. The game was as the pundits would say “really crap” and despite going a goal up in the first half we succumbed to a sucker punch penalty late into the second half. I’m always at my happiest when I’m either totally relaxed and serene (like when I’m fishing) or when I’m incandescent with rage after an abominable refereeing decision (like yesterday). By the time he blew his full time whistle, I was positively neanderthal.

There was much to discuss after the game and we worked really hard to ensure that no positives were allowed to venture into our post match analysis. The curry house (Darbar – on the famous Rusholme curry mile) served the most amazing Indian food I have ever eaten to the point where I really struggled to maintain my grumpiness. The condiments were of course used to highlight formations and strategies and at one point my naan bread was used as a makeshift pie chart used to illustrate our ongoing plight. My team have now drawn their last seven games, which is a source of huge disappointment after such a strong start to the season. This necessitated more lager as we just couldn’t get to the bottom of our tactical challenges.

I called Mel to collect me at 9pm and managed to establish on the short drive home that she wasn’t really interested in discussing the merits of a 4-3-3 versus a 4-4-2 formation. She was however interested in discussing her sister Penny’s new dog which is a Bichon Frise and had been collected from the breeder that afternoon. I was taken to meet the new little girl which is called Saffron or Saffy as I am instructed to call her. On the basis of hearing her name, I was expecting her to be a golden yellow colour but not so, she is in fact white.

She didn’t seem too concerned by my staggering although she did seem quite keen on checking my face for any residue curry so maybe Saffron is the right name for her. After a brief introduction I was whisked home on health and safety grounds, in case I sat on Saffy which in my state was a distinct possibility.

The Christmas party season starts this week and my bah humbug senses have already started to tingle. Mel is a huge Christmas fan and for her sake I will try and enter into some form of Christmas Spirit.

International, bright young things.....

Off to see my beloved Manchester City in an hour or so and couldnt be more excited. With a vast array of international footballing talent on display, a full house of 47,000 fans in attendance and the new Mark II Chicken Balti pies being on offer things could not be more perfectly poised.

We even have premiership new boys Wolves to play against so in theory we have all the ingredients for a rousing victory and we will then really start to build momentum. However, the inner city fan in me wont let me get carried away and there is a small part of my brain that is shouting in my ear that a 0-0 draw or freak defeat is just as likely.

Tonight we are off to a 50th birthday party for someone I dont even know very well. In attendance will be many of my industry competitors so I expect to see a lot of posturing and childishness on display. Personally, I couldnt give a shit. It's a job not a religous vocation and I am merely an employee not some evangelical egomaniac. So I shall keep my drinking to a minimum in case of any shenanigans.

I am currently drinking strong coffee, recovering from the gym this morning and watching the Ashes on a dreadful quality internet stream. Perfect.

Hollands Pies and Manchester City - A marriage made in heaven?

A letter sent this morning to Leanne Holcroft. Brand Manager at Hollands Pies, in response to a grave situation at my beloved Manchester City.

Leanne,

Like any right minded pie fan, I was delighted to hear that Hollands have now become the pie purveyor of choice at my beloved Manchester City. I am originally a Rossendale lad and therefore approx 50% of my diet growing up, came from your Baxenden factory. In fact Leanne, the conundrum in our house was not whether to have a pie every day but which flavour to have.

I have also been a Manchester City season ticket holder for over 25 years and have always felt that putting the two things together would be a marriage made in heaven. It appears that all my dreams have now come true........

except.......

There is one very big cloud on the horizon though and I thought it best to give you early notice as to a very grave situation that will inevitably develop. You see, the pie vacuum created by the absence of Hollands Pies at Manchester City has been filled for many years by a very worthy substitute - the Chicken Balti Pie. The version that has been sold at Manchester City has seen us through several crises, umpteen managers, some very sorry relegations and some very worthy promotions. It has become somewhat of a pie-celebre and a Manchester institution. The Chicken Balti Pie and its natural bed fellow the packet of Rennie has been a staple part of the Matchday experience and for some, like me has become almost a reason for going to watch City in itself. (less so now there is decent football to watch but under Alan Ball, I almost cancelled my season ticket until I thought about the pie related consequences)

Therefore, when I heard that Hollands had been appointed as Official Pie makers to Gods own football team I was at first delighted, naturally. However, my delight Leanne was peppered with concern. What about the Chicken Balti pies Leanne? What would happen to our preferred pie? It began to claw away at me and in truth put me off this years transfer window. It's all well and good signing £100m+ worth of football talent but if it meant doing without a Chicken Balti pie then is it worth it Leanne?

In an effort to ease my rising panic, I logged onto your website to seek some re-assurance and lo and behold, amongst your stadia pies (including the extraordinary football emblazoned meat and potato pie) was a version of the Chicken Balti pie. I attended the pre-season friendly against Celtic with a slight spring in my step, my concern having dissipated and it felt like the clouds had parted and the sun was shining. Well actually the clouds had parted and the sun was shining both actually and metaphorically.

Anyway Leanne, I'll cut to the chase. I raced to the concourse and cut a swathe through the queues to obtain one of your comparison Chicken Balti pies. I bit into my savoury delight only to find something terribly amiss. It appeared that somebody had mistakenly placed a sultana in my pie. I removed the said item from my mouth and took another bite. Another one! Now, everyone likes sultanas Leanne, but not in a savoury pie. Worse, the pie was flaccid and distinctly lacking in spice and heat. For the first time in my life, I failed to finish a Hollands Pie.

Now, happily I can pick one of your other pies for the time being. I've tried the new Peppered steak variety and indeed they are a pie of innovation and beauty. The meat pie, Cheese and Onion Pie and even the humble Meat and Potato pie are solid dependable pies that will never let you down. However, not every City fan is as forgiving as me Leanne and there will inevitably be an outcry and howls of protest from the Chicken Balti faithful. I fear for your reputation and I think you must act with haste to fend this one off.

Fortunately Leanne, I'm not just bringing you problems, I'm bringing you solutions. My strong reccomendation is that you immediately acquire the manufacturer of the previous Balti pie. They did other kinds too but forget about them, just swap their Balti pie for yours. If you act quickly Leanne, nobody will notice and the rumour that your Chicken Balti has sultanas in will be go down as another urban myth. I mean seriously, who would believe that anyway?

I know that times are tight and buying companies in the current climate is no simple task. If you are struggling with the business case then ask the good Sheikh Mansour bin Zayed Al Nahyan to help out. I understand he is partial to the odd pie himself and god forbid he finds a sultana in one. I'm sure he will be only too pleased to help you with your pie acquisition project as he wants every little detail of his football club to be perfect, even pie wise.

I thought I'd better flag this with you Leanne. My advice comes free and if you need any more feedback, you simply must let me know.

Thanks & Best Regards

Alan

You have to start somewhere.........

.........and actually I started somewhere else. I am a regular blogger (Sundays only) at www.Limousinliving.com/blogs where I try to describe our gradual transition to a life in France.

We acquired a property there in 2007 that we are in the process of rennovating. If you remember the 1970's detective series Petrocelli, you will remember how the common thread across the series was him building his own house. Each week, after solving the latest case, he would add one more brick. Our project is like that only without the murder cases.....

What was to have been a 3 year project now looks increasingly like a 5 year one, though - as I keep telling myself - its a marathon not a sprint. Our eventual plan is to live there managing a couple of holiday lets and doing whatever else it takes to earn enough money to sustain a simple lifestyle. Think of the Good life but with really bad French language skills.

For now (and the foreseeable future) I work in IT, selling outsourcing and professional services.

There are numerous things in life that hold my attention and get me up in the morning.

• My wife Melanie, my best friend and soul mate.
• My passion for fishing, particularly Carp and Barbel which was what first led me to the Limousin region.
• I am consumed by music of all kinds, I used to play in a band but these days just listen to others.
• I am an avid reader with strong pretensions of being a writer.
• My love for Manchester City. Having stuck with them through thin and thin, I await our imminent dominance of world football.
• After leading a hedonistic life in my twenties, I now look after myself and keep fit by playing squash and swimming though I occasionally lapse into mild binge drinking.
• My love of comedy and my desperate and often childish attempts to find humor in any situation.

This blog will be sporadically updated with whatever occurs to me at a given point in time. It is intended to supplement the other blog though for simplicity I will post my Sunday blogs here too.

Thank you for visiting, I look forward (with some nervousness) to your feedback.

Alan