What an appropriate time to reflect upon a man who is welded into our club's history.
If Harry Enfield was creating a character who ran a dysfunctional football club it is difficult to imagine him conceiving of a more absurd creation than Peter Swales. The comb-over, the Cuban Heels, the endless sackings and his Captain Ahab style pursuit of united all lend themselves to high comedy. It's just a shame that we had to endure the end product, the legacy of which we never really shook off until September 1st 2008.
Success in life is usually about recognising when your big opportunity has arrived and grabbing it with both hands and that is what Swales did when he took control of the club. I'm sure he loved us in his own way; like an abusive husband 'loves' the wife he beats every night. He mismanaged the club from top to bottom; the questionable attendance figures and the shameful treatment of Paul Lake are stand out examples of this. He was the living embodiment of a club that was transformed from a powerhouse to national joke on his watch.
I wonder what he would have made of the events of this week. He would have stood next to me in the Plaza Mayor and looked upon with mild amusement at the choir of Mary D's, many of whom were barely out of nappies when he departed this world, singing about doing something unpleasant to Lou Macari, and concluded that in an ever changing world, certain things endure for a reason. Or he could have stood among the City fans at the game, who did themselves so proud, and felt pleased for them, up to a point. The most overriding emotion he would have felt, however, was disappointment. Crushing disappointment at the sea of money now washing around the game. Not because he would have felt the game had lost its soul or that ticket prices were now beyond the reach of many traditional supporters, but disappointment for himself that he missed out on the bonanza when it came along.