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."