If your into football, what's your team??
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http://www.mirrorfootball.co.uk/opinion ... 01611.html
Why I hope tonight's Manchester derby is tribal, fiery and controversial - just the way real fans love it
By Oliver Holt
I looked up the date in one of my old programmes. It was January 21, 1976 - 34 years ago last week - when Manchester City played Middlesbrough in the second leg of a League Cup semi-final.
A couple of hours before the game, I ran round the corner to the house where my mate, John Marshall, lived and piled into the car with his dad and his brothers.
I remember every bit of that night, parking up in a cul-de-sac in Moss Side, John’s dad giving some kids 50p to mind the car.
The magic of climbing up the steps in the North Stand at Maine Road and suddenly seeing the pitch, floodlit and waiting.
I remember the intensity of it all, the avalanche of noise roaring out of the Kippax, driving City on and on.
Peter Barnes, Asa Hartford, Joe Royle and the rest of them sweeping Middlesbrough aside with four goals and the fans singing about Wembley.
And the bloke in the row in front of us so overcome with it all when Royle buried the fourth that he flung his arms in the air and inadvertently stubbed out his cigarette on the back of John’s hand.
When we got back to the car, the kids hadn’t minded it at all. It looked like someone had been dancing on its roof.
I laughed about that night with John’s dad the last time I saw him a couple of days after Christmas.
Ian was sitting in his front room, hooked up to an oxygen machine to aid his breathing now that the cancer was attacking his lungs.
We talked about the old days when John and I were kids and big gangs of us would play football on the local park every spare minute we had.
And we talked about City. I’d just been to interview Craig Bellamy so we talked about him and how brilliant he has been this season, how the fans love him because of his spirit.
Last Friday, I went to Ian’s funeral. It was more a celebration of his life, actually, and John and his brothers were wearing City scarves over their suits. A lot of the rest of his family and friends wore sky blue ties.
Afterwards, we went back to the De Trafford Arms and talked about…well, we talked about what everyone’s talking about in Manchester at the moment: the second leg of another League Cup semi-final.
The police and the FA chose that day to issue appeals for calm at tonight’s derby showdown between City and Manchester United.
And you know what I thought when I heard those appeals? I thought ‘I don’t want calm’.
I don’t want morons throwing golf balls or darts. But I don’t want calm, either.
I don’t want polite applause. I don’t want an emasculated atmosphere. I don’t want fans or players to be silenced.
I don’t want supporters to be worried they’re going to be chucked out by a steward if they stand up to cheer on their team.
This game means a lot to a lot of people. It's part of a rich seam that runs through people's lives. Don't patronise them by telling them to calm down.
That’s all part of the reason why so many people are raging against what football in this country is becoming.
It’s not just the greed of the Premier League and the mismanagement of so many club owners. It’s the way the authorities are scared of passion in football now.
It’s true. They’re scared. They’re alarmed that this tie between City and United has ignited so many emotions. It makes them feel uncomfortable.
They want football to be airbrushed and choreographed. They want it to be a product. They don’t want anything that might hurt the brand or put off the corporates.
I don’t want that. I want tonight to be tribal and fiery and controversial. I want it to be crackling with tension and nerves and hostility. I want it to be bedlam at Old Trafford.
I hope Gary Neville and Carlos Tevez go at it again. At least they care about the game. At least they feel some of the same passion the fans feel.
We’ve got enough players who are afraid to say boo to a goose already. Enough of them who won’t say anything in case it scares off a sponsor.
What’s the problem with one man giving a mild opinion about the other’s worth and the other telling him to shut his trap?
And so what if Neville gave Tevez the finger? Is that really so bad? How prudish, how controlling and constricting some observers of the sport have become.
The city of Manchester has waited more than a generation for this rivalry to become real again.
It’s been a long time since City have been genuine challengers to United. But now the rivalry’s back, let’s not dilute it. Let’s revel in it.
This may come as an unpleasant surprise to the men in suits who have been trying for many years now to rip football away from its traditional base.
But the game in this country is still about more than how much gear you can sell in the club superstore and how high you can raise the season ticket price.
The fans that football used to belong to aren’t ready to let it go yet.
For them, it’s not a fad or a fashion. It’s with them in their living and it’s with them in their dying.
That’s why tonight is not a night to be calm. It’s a night to lose yourself in the visceral joy football can bring, the kind of joy that can stay with you for 34 years
Why I hope tonight's Manchester derby is tribal, fiery and controversial - just the way real fans love it
By Oliver Holt
I looked up the date in one of my old programmes. It was January 21, 1976 - 34 years ago last week - when Manchester City played Middlesbrough in the second leg of a League Cup semi-final.
A couple of hours before the game, I ran round the corner to the house where my mate, John Marshall, lived and piled into the car with his dad and his brothers.
I remember every bit of that night, parking up in a cul-de-sac in Moss Side, John’s dad giving some kids 50p to mind the car.
The magic of climbing up the steps in the North Stand at Maine Road and suddenly seeing the pitch, floodlit and waiting.
I remember the intensity of it all, the avalanche of noise roaring out of the Kippax, driving City on and on.
Peter Barnes, Asa Hartford, Joe Royle and the rest of them sweeping Middlesbrough aside with four goals and the fans singing about Wembley.
And the bloke in the row in front of us so overcome with it all when Royle buried the fourth that he flung his arms in the air and inadvertently stubbed out his cigarette on the back of John’s hand.
When we got back to the car, the kids hadn’t minded it at all. It looked like someone had been dancing on its roof.
I laughed about that night with John’s dad the last time I saw him a couple of days after Christmas.
Ian was sitting in his front room, hooked up to an oxygen machine to aid his breathing now that the cancer was attacking his lungs.
We talked about the old days when John and I were kids and big gangs of us would play football on the local park every spare minute we had.
And we talked about City. I’d just been to interview Craig Bellamy so we talked about him and how brilliant he has been this season, how the fans love him because of his spirit.
Last Friday, I went to Ian’s funeral. It was more a celebration of his life, actually, and John and his brothers were wearing City scarves over their suits. A lot of the rest of his family and friends wore sky blue ties.
Afterwards, we went back to the De Trafford Arms and talked about…well, we talked about what everyone’s talking about in Manchester at the moment: the second leg of another League Cup semi-final.
The police and the FA chose that day to issue appeals for calm at tonight’s derby showdown between City and Manchester United.
And you know what I thought when I heard those appeals? I thought ‘I don’t want calm’.
I don’t want morons throwing golf balls or darts. But I don’t want calm, either.
I don’t want polite applause. I don’t want an emasculated atmosphere. I don’t want fans or players to be silenced.
I don’t want supporters to be worried they’re going to be chucked out by a steward if they stand up to cheer on their team.
This game means a lot to a lot of people. It's part of a rich seam that runs through people's lives. Don't patronise them by telling them to calm down.
That’s all part of the reason why so many people are raging against what football in this country is becoming.
It’s not just the greed of the Premier League and the mismanagement of so many club owners. It’s the way the authorities are scared of passion in football now.
It’s true. They’re scared. They’re alarmed that this tie between City and United has ignited so many emotions. It makes them feel uncomfortable.
They want football to be airbrushed and choreographed. They want it to be a product. They don’t want anything that might hurt the brand or put off the corporates.
I don’t want that. I want tonight to be tribal and fiery and controversial. I want it to be crackling with tension and nerves and hostility. I want it to be bedlam at Old Trafford.
I hope Gary Neville and Carlos Tevez go at it again. At least they care about the game. At least they feel some of the same passion the fans feel.
We’ve got enough players who are afraid to say boo to a goose already. Enough of them who won’t say anything in case it scares off a sponsor.
What’s the problem with one man giving a mild opinion about the other’s worth and the other telling him to shut his trap?
And so what if Neville gave Tevez the finger? Is that really so bad? How prudish, how controlling and constricting some observers of the sport have become.
The city of Manchester has waited more than a generation for this rivalry to become real again.
It’s been a long time since City have been genuine challengers to United. But now the rivalry’s back, let’s not dilute it. Let’s revel in it.
This may come as an unpleasant surprise to the men in suits who have been trying for many years now to rip football away from its traditional base.
But the game in this country is still about more than how much gear you can sell in the club superstore and how high you can raise the season ticket price.
The fans that football used to belong to aren’t ready to let it go yet.
For them, it’s not a fad or a fashion. It’s with them in their living and it’s with them in their dying.
That’s why tonight is not a night to be calm. It’s a night to lose yourself in the visceral joy football can bring, the kind of joy that can stay with you for 34 years
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Football...
foot ball...
f o o t b a l l ...
nope, still no idea what you are all on about.
foot ball...
f o o t b a l l ...
nope, still no idea what you are all on about.
Sidster you are a gentlemen.
you paint a picture of my youth.Traveling to the match on the 44 from Northenden.Crossing Platt Fields with the floodlights looming,the smell of hot dogs from one of the 'dirty' burger vans.
The butterflies dancing in my belly as I walk up the Kippax/North stand corner, to be greeted by the green baize of an imaculate pitch.
Tha power of Maine Road will stay with me forever,as will the power and strength of the loved ones we hold dear.
cheers!
Born blue, just like you!
Respect,Al.
you paint a picture of my youth.Traveling to the match on the 44 from Northenden.Crossing Platt Fields with the floodlights looming,the smell of hot dogs from one of the 'dirty' burger vans.
The butterflies dancing in my belly as I walk up the Kippax/North stand corner, to be greeted by the green baize of an imaculate pitch.
Tha power of Maine Road will stay with me forever,as will the power and strength of the loved ones we hold dear.
cheers!
Born blue, just like you!
Respect,Al.
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al":2q1zufqu said:
you're all weird....
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Me and football fell out in 1988, that's when i first realised diving = cheating and its not punished and it's still the only sport to openly allow cheating.
So i played Rugby instead
So i played Rugby instead
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Any good riding around the Wembley area?
Yeah Maine Rd. Al.....the Drury Lane of football they call it. The olde fella worked for the Edwards family and Louis (martins father/of earlier chairman fame) had scarpered to the villa in Majorca by the time City were due to turn up for that ever so vital match. I was only very young but the old fella sat me in the chairmans seat in the directors box and he took Mrs Edwards seat next to of all people Joe Mercer. When Law scored the back heel and the little blue mob started to jumping around wildly.. the Stretford end began to chant 'your gonna get your feckin head kick-in'....i thought they meant me personally and shit me knickers. What i'll never forget is the lovely romantic United fans trying to get the game abandonned by running on the pitch to get at both the City players and fans. Both sets of players ran off the pitch with the exception of one geezer in a city shirt, the old fella nudged me and informed me with a barely hidden pride that the player was Mike Doyle and it simply was not him to run. Two United fans attacked him from behind one booting him up the arse and the other unsuccessfully trying to swing him to the dec by his hair...there may be some u-tube footage of it somewhere and it's not a great tale for the telling but he somehow got the unannounced hair puller off him and battered the pair of them before being surrounded by multiples..whereupon he pulled his sleeves up and declared he was staying for the knock-up....i knew at that moment i was City....'till i die'.
Memories....
http://www.bluemoon-mcfc.co.uk/forum/vi ... len+turner
Memories....
http://www.bluemoon-mcfc.co.uk/forum/vi ... len+turner
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