Well, it's a strange one, because I have the programme from it, still – that's a real period piece in itself, the graphics, the journalism, everything, just another millenium! – but no memory of the actual match whatsoever. Us against Coventry, 9th March 1968. I sometimes think that what happened was that someone went to the match and gave me the programme. Not sure.The family had moved from north London to Manchester that winter, because my stepfather had been appointed to run Culver's Car Mart, just down the road in Rusholme. Manchester was another world, for a southerner like me. I'd never actually seen tripe and onions before (and didn't much like it when I tried it).
So the first really clear memory would have to be the derby, 17 August of the same year. I think that's my one and only time I sat in the Platt Lane stand, and unless my memory's playing tricks on me, there were still the wooden benches, not proper seats. I distinctly remember looking across to the Kippax and thinking what a fuck load of red and white scarves you could see on it. In those days, of course, all terraces were completely mixed. There was nothing to stop you going on the Kop wearing your blue, white and maroon scarf if you felt like it (and didn't set a particularly high value on your life…)
Hang on, I tell a lie! Us against West Brom in the Charity Shield, of course, a couple of weeks before. That was still, to this day, the slickest dead ball goal I've ever seen scored, I think. Franny finished it off. I was astounded. No wonder one of our nicknames was the City slickers at the time.
Good times, and I never looked back. I got into football as a result of 1966 – no-one in my family was a football fan, let alone a City fan, and to be honest I hadn't paid much attention to footy or sport in general until then – and I'd fished around, going to matches on my own, mainly supporting Chelsea at the time (the best pure ball player that I've ever seen, by the way, and yes, that includes Best: Charlie Cook). The absolute first league match that I ever went to was Tottenham vs Liverpool. That would have been in 67. Dark winter afternoon, the floodlights came on, the rain was drifting down, the beautiful contrast of the red and white kits, and I remember just thinking that the experience of being at a football match was the most magical thing I'd experienced.
