Well stated. Today, with super slo mo, 25 camera angles, instant lines across the pitch on offsides, etc, etc, etc...watching at home on a big 4K screen for pennies on the dollar is life changing. We used to live the entire week for the whole Saturday theatre of getting up, watching some Noel Edmunds on telly, while having some cereal, and then setting off on the bus to my Gran’s who lived on Horton Road, one street and a ginnel from the ground. There, she’d have some free Hovis butties ready, usually potted meat, and shed let us put salt and vinegar crisps on them. Grandad was the sweet merchant, so he would provide the wine gums (Lions, of course, none of that gummy shit!) and some Beech Nut chewing gum. We’d grab a piece of fruit from the sideboard, my Gran would always complain that my Mum (her daughter) had let us out of the house without enough warm clothes on, and a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the bum and we were on our way, across Thornton Road (who the fuck puts Thornton Road right next to Horton Road?!) and down the dogshit filled ginnel that ran beside the old ice cream warehouse that was the back wall of the Maine Road fancy car park. Ah, the good old days!! Some times, the lady down the street who ran some of the concessions in the Main Stand would stop by and ask us if we wanted to go early. She would walk us in (FOR FREE!! It felt like stealing and being special back then!) and we would have to do a few little odd jobs for her to “earn our keep” before she let us go over to the Platt Lane End, where we would take up our positions behind the goal (on the nice days) or up under the cover of the stand on the invariably cold wet days. Would spend the 30 minutes before the game being shunted from seat to seat as punters with tickets came by and told us we were in their seats. On big games, it was often standing at the back looking for the odd spare, hopefully on the end (ish) of a row. Then, when we thought we were big enough to be able to see, we “graduated” to the Kippax. First it was by the uncovered tunnel next to the Platt Lane End, then after the teenaged growth spurt, it was in the heart of the stand. We used to try to walk up and down the field depending on which way City were kicking, which wasn’t usually too bad as long as you were willing to stand nearer the front. Then, the new North Stand, which was brilliant for th short time it was standing, but then became all seater. Nine rows up from Helen and her bell, Block N, Row 10, seats 1 and 2. We had arrived!!! Hooligan problems were a bit bad at the time and we were right at the age to be involved, so my parents pushed the boat waaaay out for season tickets to keep us safe and happy. Saw some ridiculous football up close and I can still see Dave Watson’s header (yes, that one!) when I close my eyes! Yes, those were the days when a young kid BECAME a lifelong City fan, because it was in his blood, it was what he lived for, it was his main release after a long week of school and going to school in the dark and going home in the dark! Just the escape of the bus into town, seeing the grandparents and knowing they always had a treat for you (yes, fruit and sweets and crisp butties WERE treats!), the anticipation of seeing those heroes you never got to see in City TV videos or Instagram or Twitter every day, and the whole 38,000 people all coming together for 90 minutes...emphasis on together. Maybe I was young, naive and stupid, but those are some of the best memories I will ever have, and I’d venture the best memories many lads my age will ever have. It actually MEANT something to see a game, to EXPERIENCE a game. Today, it seems like the rare occasion that rises anywhere close to that. It is too bad the youth of today will never experience football the way many of us grew up experienced it. The loss is most definitively theirs.