Dear Franny,
Seeing you all run out like gods from that white tunnel, which was slightly at an angle to where I stood, so I'd hear the crowd roaring before I could see you all. I'd play keepy-uppy for hours in the garden with a Frido ball, and I could never get beyond about ten or fifteen at the most. Sometimes the most impressive part of the match was seeing you guys warm up, just casually playing keepy-uppy while chatting to a team-mate, not even thinking about it, apparently able to go for dozens, maybe hundreds.
I simply couldn't understand how I was so far from you in what I could do.
You wearing that beautiful shirt, the first I bought, and still the one I love the most. The one I ponced around in in front of the mirror when I first put it on. Not ashamed to say that. You do those things, when you're thirteen or fourteen. Sky blue, white trim. Nothing whatsoever else. No logos, no sponsors. Not even the crest. It was like a cool message to the world — “We are Manchester City Football Club, we wear this, no need to identify ourselves, you all know who we are”.
You were part of the trinity, but somehow, for me, you stood out from it. Colin was the sleek Apollo, but precisely because of it, I couldn't really identify with him, he was a bit inaccessible, like a god. Buzzer was the prankster, giving backchat down the touchline, stopping the whole match once against Wolves to retie his bootlace, foot on ball, while the Wolves players just gawped and didn't move. He was the busy bee.
But you were the swashbuckler. You had the swagger that seemed to typify the City of those days when you were all at your best. For me — it's purely personal — you were City. You were, essentially, what we were all about. We were called the City Slickers by the press and media. It never really stuck. I never used it, and I never heard anyone around me on the Kippax using it. But I didn't object to it. We were slick. Once saw you score an absolutely perfectly executed training ground goal. Against West Brom, Charity Shield, summer of ’68. I didn't even cheer. I just gawped. It was like Yaya's goal against Villa in that respect. One of those goals where you don't react because you don't quite believe what you've just seen.
Franny, thanks for some of the best memories of my youth.
As Miles Davis once said — Get up with it!