Horlock, Weaver, Weikens and, eerr, a couple of the young lads? Struggling at 3 tbhWould love to know the 5 that weren't
Joey Barton, Danny Mills, Ben Thatcher, Trevor Sinclair and Andrew Cole. Almost as many cunts as they had over in TraffordLooking at that picture just made me reach for a stiff drink! I'm STILL scarred! :-/
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Said it much better than I just didDo think our squads in the early days of the COMS/Etihad, before Sven came in, contained some thoroughly unlikeable characters who were either a) journeymen using our reputation as a "sleeping giant" (and desperation to become a "top six club") to line their pockets, b) "young stars" who turned up for a payday and couldn't give a fuck about the club, c) just utterly mediocre players who were hungry for nothing. And also Joey Barton.
Barton, Mills, McManaman, Cole, Samaras, the returning Dickov, Fowler, Corradi, Trabelsi, Hamann. Players who you looked at and felt nothing. By the end of Pearce's reign it wasn't even anger anymore, it was just numbness. There were players worth turning up for, of course, and in retrospect Pearce probably did make the right decision by making us play turgid negative football in a bid to keep us up, but that 06/07 season was utterly miserable.
Most weeks Joey was the only one who showed he cared.Pearce's squad for me.
It was full of old jobbers robbing us blind for a payday and had Joey Barton in it.
Closest me and my mum came to giving up our season tickets, that 06/07 season.Joey Barton, Danny Mills, Ben Thatcher, Trevor Sinclair and Andrew Cole. Almost as many cunts as they had over in Trafford
I honestly found the Pearce years more depressing than the mid-late 90s
I started following City at age 4/5, after the 99 play-off final, so I'd say I've had it pretty easy. But I've got a story that fits the bill, I suppose.
My lowest point was after losing 1-0 at home to United in 2007 to all but hand them the title, and all after not scoring a goal at home since New Year's Day. I was 12 years old, almost 13. I was one of a small handful of City fans in my year at school, so I was already dreading going in on Monday morning. A few weeks before, me and my mum had turned to each other and decided not to renew. We weren't poor, but season tickets were something we could do without. My mum had been going to City since the early 70s but we'd only started going to every home game four years earlier, when we left Maine Road and more season tickets became available, so it wasn't like we were giving up the habit of a lifetime. There was just something so dispiriting about Pearce's football that had worn us down.
We thought that a Manchester derby would be a special way to cap off our time as season ticket holders. We hadn't scored at home in five months but derbies had a habit of turning up shock results, so we thought we'd give it one last try. "Maybe Darius Vassell could score this penalty to rescue a point against United", we thought as he stepped up. But no, he couldn't. When he missed, my mum and I became convinced that there was a forcefield in front of the goal and that we'd never see City score a goal in the flesh ever again. We'd never win a trophy, we'd never have a special day or night that really meant something, we'd just trudge to the stadium, watch us lose in the rain, and then trudge back to the car. And I think, having been around since the early 70s, my mum had had just about enough disappointment of being a blue and was happy to save the cash. We'd still support City and watch games when we were on telly, but taking 4/5 hours out of our weekends just wasn't worth it anymore.
We knew it was going to be our last game as season ticket holders, so we sat in our seats for ages afterwards. I seem to remember the United fans had been locked in the ground, or held back by police, or they were just celebrating winning the title against us - but even they were mostly gone by the time we decided to get up. We went down the "hamster runs", paused a bit and looked out over the sea of sky blue shirts. The weather was bloody glorious that day. Our home shirt that year was the cheap nylon Reebok one with full white sleeves as well, so the sun was reflecting back at us. We took a breath, maybe teared up a bit because we knew what we were giving up, and trudged back to the car like we always did.
Door shut. Door shut. Seatbelt on. Seatbelt on. Silence. A long silence. "I can't do it", my mum said. "Do what?" I replied. "I'm not giving it up. We can't have that be our last game. I'm renewing as soon we get home."
It's the hope that killed us. In the 90s we had no hope, so we knew what was what, but after the Keegan era & Pearce's first season in charge, I believed we were a couple of signings away from becoming a regular mid-table PL side, instead of one constantly shitting it over whether we'd get to 40 points or not to avoid relegation.Joey Barton, Danny Mills, Ben Thatcher, Trevor Sinclair and Andrew Cole. Almost as many cunts as they had over in Trafford
I honestly found the Pearce years more depressing than the mid-late 90s
It also had Johnson, Onuoha, Richards, Weaver, Dunne, Sun, Hart, Ireland, Dickov, Reyna and Hamann. I’d say there were a few likeable characters in the squadPearce's squad for me.
It was full of old jobbers robbing us blind for a payday and had Joey Barton in it.
Honey Monster.The 1996/7 and 1997/8 squads in three and two for me. The latter, just edging it.
With that season under Stuart Pearce resolutely in first. No positive characters. Apart from Micah. Such an uninspiring group of players.
this, now like many of us blues i sampled the delights of second tier football many times watching our team & even third tier, but throughout those drab days we kept our spirit our humour our camaraderie going away to Wrexham, Macclesfield, Bristol Rovers we enjoyed the ride as best we could we stubbornly stayed in the fight, i found that copious amounts of strong continental lager helped enormously, but throughout it all the ups and the downs it was never dull, there was excitement wether on the pitch or increasingly off it, but that was all part of the experience, but the only time i ever felt a boredom, a detachment, a unconnection to our team was those horribly dull & dismal days under Pearce, Samaras upfront shagger haired pointer, the rest of the over the hill or never near the hill wastrels, wage thief’s & clock punchers with a couple of exceptions, we were in our brand new home, without the soul of maine road, the players were soulless, the atmosphere was,it was compounded by some of the worst attempts at professional football we’d experienced, hardly a single goal at home, then unbelievably lit got worse, to add insult to injury we had the inglorious sight of the manager of our club the once admired former england international Stuart “psycho” Pearce with no idea of how to improve our situation on the pitch reduced to plonking his child’s cuddly toy horse on the side of the pitch to give us inspiration? to give us a goal? it was quite frankly a ridiculous display & the horses name was “Beanie Horse” why on earth is this indignity seared onto my memory bank but i can’t recall what i had for tea 4 days back, for that nonsensical period under Pearce & how low i felt throughout the turgid nightmare and our team, we may have fell lower in the league standings two divisions to be exact but i believe our collective sense of optimism and hope never dropped as low as that whole mess of a time, thankfully it’s a distant memory that i thought i’d escaped but this thread brought back all those old feelings, thanks for that it’s been somewhat cathartic, i’ve gotten it off my chest without the expense of an expensive shrink, cheers Bluemoon, for providing this service.Do think our squads in the early days of the COMS/Etihad, before Sven came in, contained some thoroughly unlikeable characters who were either a) journeymen using our reputation as a "sleeping giant" (and desperation to become a "top six club") to line their pockets, b) "young stars" who turned up for a payday and couldn't give a fuck about the club, c) just utterly mediocre players who were hungry for nothing. And also Joey Barton.
Barton, Mills, McManaman, Cole, Samaras, the returning Dickov, Fowler, Corradi, Trabelsi, Hamann. Players who you looked at and felt nothing. By the end of Pearce's reign it wasn't even anger anymore, it was just numbness. There were players worth turning up for, of course, and in retrospect Pearce probably did make the right decision by making us play turgid negative football in a bid to keep us up, but that 06/07 season was utterly miserable.
Looks like Barton's not happy with the amount of mentions he's gettingThere has always been a clear and longitudinal correlation between length of thread title and shiteness of thread. As demonstrated perfectly herein.