Scaring Europe to Death
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 31 Oct 2014
- Messages
- 5,117
Dad was a big City fan and attended to the 1956 FA Cup Final.
He took me to my first ever game in April 1971, and thanks to his encouragement, I’ve since experienced every possible emotion, from the dark days of our lowest-ever League position at York (yes I was there), to European adventures in Russia, Romania, and the Czech Republic.
Sadly, Dad contracted a vicious strain of dementia, and made his last sliding tackle during an International Break in October 2011.
I didn’t really have the stomach for football, but just a few days after his funeral, I summoned enough energy for the Old Trafford derby.
We all know the outcome, but for many rags, it was their first experience of total humiliation in their own backyard, and they’re not exactly renowned for gallows humour.
It was total carnage, so after bobbing and weaving through the swaying masses, I jumped on a bus at the cricket ground.
Nobody spoke, and the bloke next to me was hunched with his head in his hands. I recognised his pain, so respectfully pretended to be equally distressed, whilst inwardly enjoying the pleasures of football karma.
Eventually, he rose from his slumber at Deansgate before confiding in a broad Belfast accent:
“Jesus. I’ve been coming here since 1979, and I’ve never seen us concede 5 before?”
I was just about to make his trauma worse, but the bloke in front had overhead.
“What? Did City get a 5th?
So, there I was, just a few days after the worst day of my life, now sitting in smug silence, after witnessing the funniest, most bizarre moment in more than 1400 games of professional football.
I looked to the heavens and smiled.
At times like that, you believe in God!
He took me to my first ever game in April 1971, and thanks to his encouragement, I’ve since experienced every possible emotion, from the dark days of our lowest-ever League position at York (yes I was there), to European adventures in Russia, Romania, and the Czech Republic.
Sadly, Dad contracted a vicious strain of dementia, and made his last sliding tackle during an International Break in October 2011.
I didn’t really have the stomach for football, but just a few days after his funeral, I summoned enough energy for the Old Trafford derby.
We all know the outcome, but for many rags, it was their first experience of total humiliation in their own backyard, and they’re not exactly renowned for gallows humour.
It was total carnage, so after bobbing and weaving through the swaying masses, I jumped on a bus at the cricket ground.
Nobody spoke, and the bloke next to me was hunched with his head in his hands. I recognised his pain, so respectfully pretended to be equally distressed, whilst inwardly enjoying the pleasures of football karma.
Eventually, he rose from his slumber at Deansgate before confiding in a broad Belfast accent:
“Jesus. I’ve been coming here since 1979, and I’ve never seen us concede 5 before?”
I was just about to make his trauma worse, but the bloke in front had overhead.
“What? Did City get a 5th?
So, there I was, just a few days after the worst day of my life, now sitting in smug silence, after witnessing the funniest, most bizarre moment in more than 1400 games of professional football.
I looked to the heavens and smiled.
At times like that, you believe in God!