I used to live as close to old trafford as you can get, the amount of coaches from all corners of the country clogging up Chester road was unreal. Then there are the day tripping bell ends that would arrive hours before a game thinking they owned the fucking place, just so they could get in the mega store or buy some shit souvenir scarf. All shuffling around with an unmistakable smugness and sense of achievement as they had chosen to attach themselves to a successful club, you'd think they were the 30 goals a season striker, from this they gain their identity and to fuck with any connections to the club.They're welcome to each other, thank fuck I'm a blue.