Category Archives: Football

Complete Control

Despite the less then startling football served up over the last few months, yet again we’re nicely placed in the title race as the season ebbs towards its conclusion. Barring a couple of mid-noughties exceptions, it’s incredible to think this has been the case for the last two decades…and it doesn’t get old. Each title win carries a special significance: 1993 after a 26 year wait, the first double, the treble year, upsetting the odds to topple Abramovich/Mourinho in 2007, beating Liverpool in 2009, ‘19’ last season…the list goes on.

This year of course, it’s all about beating City. The very thought of going toe to toe with them still seems slightly surreal for this 1970’s child – 5-1 aside, I’ve spent pretty much my entire football watching life basking in the glory of our undisputed dominance over them. Throughout the nineties (in the years they’d remembered not to be relegated) derby games were fantastic. For the most part they couldn’t get near us – and even if they’d get close, we’d routinely pull something improbable out of the hat and break their stupid hearts in the process.

This marvellous state of affairs was best illustrated by the 3-2 win at Maine Road in November 1993 – easily one of the top three games I’ve ever attended. City were revelling in our Champions League exit at the hands of Galatasary a few days earlier, as evidenced by a plethora of Turkish Delights being flung over the Kippax divide. They raced into a 2-0 lead courtesy of a pair of Niall Quinn headers but United produced a Cantona inspired, 2^nd half fightback and nicked it late on courtesy of Roy Keane’s winner. It was era defining stuff – each and every red in attendance floated out of the ground that night.

The dynamic shifted about 10 years ago. Possibly tired of doing the hapless loser thing indefinitely, City adopted a win-at-all-cost mentality and began to revel in the role of plucky underdog. Whereas previously we’d come to expect routine capitulation and surrender, from nowhere they appeared to sprout a pair of bollocks. Victories in the last derby at Maine Road and the first at Eastlands ended years of United superiority and the cue for mass Bertie celebrations.

In spite of their enduring shiteness, derbies had become evenly contested again – aided perhaps by a sense that some of our players’ efforts didn’t quite match the fervour of the blues’ revised approach to these fixtures. Put simply, our campaigns were 60+ game affairs focused on the ultimate goal of winning the league title and/or the European Cup. City meanwhile, were fixated purely on the parochial – their season was deemed a success purely on the basis of whether or not they’d managed to get a result against Man United.

It’s all changed now of course. Successive regimes (Forward with Franny, Bungling with Bernstein, Wobbling with Wardle, Shafted by Shinawatra) promised the earth but delivered nothing other than further entertainment for us amused bystanders. Whilst we still had Garry Cook as a rich source of old school Bertie buffoonery to enjoy, the Abu Dhabi takeover in 2008 proved to be the real deal finance-wise, and things would never be the same again – half a billion pounds later, they finally had a trophy in their newly procured cabinet and the 34 YEARS ticker was reset.

If watching them win an FA Cup and gain CL qualification proved unpalatable enough, the thought of them winning the title is surely the ultimate nightmare scenario for any of us unfortunate enough to come into contact with City fans on a daily basis. After witnessing the delirious reaction to their new found wealth and ensuing transfer policy (throw money at anyone who’ll come and instantly proclaim them ‘legends’) – for 2 or 3 years now we’ve been subjected to ‘tick tock’ and ‘blue moon rising’ soundbites pretty much every time one of them opens their mouths.

It didn’t take a genius to deduce they’d be serious challengers this season, indeed I reached that conclusion myself in these pages back in September. Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool and Spurs didn’t look anything like potential title winners, which only left City and us. As they smashed everyone in sight whilst we looked decidedly out of sorts and suffered injury after injury, prospects were looking pretty good for them prior to Christmas.

As a supporter, experience would have told me to keep quiet, acutely aware there was a long way to go and things can change very quickly. ‘Restraint’ isn’t a word in the Berties’ vocabulary of course. How did the City fans at my place of work greet the 6-1? Did they offer satisfied smiles and a few pisstaking comments? No chance. I walked into work on the Monday to be greeted by the sight of 4 grown men doing the Poznan. In true City fashion, the flags were up, replicas were on and one of them had brought in a cake. Yes, a cake.

Prior to winning the league in ’93, I don’t recall any United fan ever being daft enough to suggest ‘it’s in the bag’ – everything was kept as low key as possible. No one was bold enough to sing ‘We’re Gonna Win The League’ for fear of upsetting the footballing gods and cursing things. There was plenty of time for ballooning when the thing was actually won. We communicated in hushed tones and kept things on the down low – mainly for fear of looking and sounding like total twats should the unthinkable happen.

The transformation in Blues’ demeanour over the last few weeks has made for fantastic viewing. The late winner at Norwich seemed to plant the seeds of doubt and since then they’ve quickly descended into full-on wibble mode. Tears at Swansea, the Tevez SOS call, rowing on the pitch last week v’s Sunderland, Balotelli now an accepted liability as opposed to the trusted talisman…all tremendous stuff. I’m hesitant to use the word ‘meltdown’ as there are still some 7 games left at the time of writing, but fuck it…the wheels are buckling and we’ve not even reached Easter yet.

Whilst Mancini hasn’t quite reached a Dalglish state of dishevelment yet, he’s appeared more and more erratic of late. The two late goals against Sunderland should surely have been greeted as a positive? Normally, whatever his private thoughts might be, you’d expect to see a manager praise the character of his team in coming back from 3-1 down and take the opportunity to offer some sort of public rallying-call. Instead he’s there at the post-game presser with his chin on the floor, looking for all the world like a broken man. Fergie on the other hand, appears to be in cruise control. Brushing aside Vieira’s little outburst with a smile and acknowledging the travelling reds at Ewood Park with a double fist-clenched salute. Been there, seen it, done it, hasn’t he?

Consequently, there’s been very little excruciating ‘footy banter’ in our office over the last 3 weeks, texts from blue mates have ceased completely and the old bloke across the road disappears into his house rather than letting on and rushing over to tell me all about Super Mario’s latest pretend exploits. Here’s hoping we can finish the job as quickly and ruthlessly as possible so this remains the case well into the coming months. Plus, that guard-of-honour at their place sounds good…

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You Set The Scene

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The question of the declining atmosphere at OT is one that’s been done to death over the years. All seater stadia, prohibitive ticket prices, an aging fanbase, lack of unreserved seating – we all know the contributing factors. It’s got to the point now where even games like Liverpool and City can’t be relied upon to rouse the crowd either – there’s the usual expectation and hype beforehand, but all too often the games themselves have been relatively subdued affairs in comparison with past meetings. There’s more of a buzz about the place certainly, but the necessary level of frenzied (for want of a better word)…‘hatred’ doesn’t seem to be there anymore.

People often wheel out their experiences from decades previous to explain what’s missing from the modern day game. When I first started going in the early 80’s, my Dad and his cronies would regularly regale me with tales of the 60’s and 70’s to explain what a ‘real’ atmosphere was like. ‘You had be here at 1pm, otherwise you’d be locked out’ and all that kind of caper. The 80’s are held in regard as halcyon days now, but in reality they weren’t the all-singing, all-dancing, maelstrom of noise and excitement they’re remembered as – for the most part they were pretty crap.

Think back to the games you remember from that era and you’ll recall the handful (if that) of big European nights or the FA Cup QF’s v’s Everton and West Ham…or beating the scousers on occasion. No one cites the turgid 0-0’s vs West Brom or the defeats to Norwich – played out in front of perpetually frustrated, below capacity crowds. The football was mostly shite during that era and for the most part, the atmosphere at the games reflected that. It was still ace, though.

Like misty-eyed pensioners harping back to bombed out houses and rationing, what people really miss from that period is the sense of camaraderie and the collective hope that things might some day improve on the pitch. Although we once existed in relative squalor, we wouldn’t change those days for the world. Yet here we are now, stuck scratching our heads, thinking ‘what the fuck?’ in the theme park-esque utopia that is the post-promised land, modern day OT. Times have changed and there are some advantages, I don’t want to spend hours queuing up for a place on the terraces anymore. I’m quite content arriving 2 minutes before kick off and taking my usual seat, thanks very much.

Where I sit in K-Stand, there’s little evidence of this influx of middle class supporters that has supposedly invaded ‘our’ game. Sure, there are certainly more women and kids in attendance than there were once upon a time – but for the most part, I see the same faces that have been going for years. Yet K-Stand is rarely the raucous, bear-pit that it was once-upon-a-time – more often than not it’s flat and subdued. I just sense that after 20 years of watching the team clean up domestically, most just can’t really be arsed anymore. Collectively, we’ve become spoilt and lazy.

Try to recall the games at Old Trafford that were properly bouncing over the last 5 years. The last one was the League Cup SF v’s City a couple of years ago and before that you’ve got the CL Semi against Barca. Other than that, I’m genuinely struggling. A bit further back I can recall the 1-0 v’s Chelsea when Fletcher scored and better still, the 2-0 win vs Arsenal on the day we ended the ‘Invincibles’ run.

On the rare occasions the team needs a lift, the OT crowd haven’t responded in recent times. The Blackburn game on New Year’s Eve was appalling. After being 2-0 down and then pulling it back to 2-2 with 25 minutes to go, there was nothing – a brief celebration after the equaliser but then everyone settled back down and waited for the inevitable winner. The place could and should have been rocking, but we’re complacent these days – that’s what watching this team has done to us. We turn up, we expect, the team normally delivers.

The answer, according to a proposal recently sent to the club by the rodent-fronted, Stretford End Flags group is to introduce yet another singing section into the proceedings. Excuse me for not sharing much enthusiasm for this idea, but is there really any point to this other than gaining further publicity for the group itself? Designing and funding banners/mosaics is one thing, but I don’t see how shifting round a couple of thousand season tickets in the Scoreboard Paddock (East Lower) will bring about any marked improvement in the stadium noise levels.

One has to bear in mind that the last such initiative (the singing section located in ST2) achieved very little other than lead to an increase in 200mph, happy-clappy versions of ‘Take Me Home’ and ‘Build A Bonfire’. To my mind, there either is an atmosphere or there isn’t one. You can’t force these things and doing so is exactly the kind of contrived, Soccer AM style bullshit we should be attempting to steer clear of.

The most disheartening part of SEF’s blueprint for OT’s future however, is the genius proposal to shift visiting fans from their existing home in the SE corner (or L Stand as I’m going to insist on still calling it), up into the 3^rd tier of the North Stand. Word is that the club are fully behind the plan and are set to trial it at the Villa game in a few weeks time. Whilst this is undoubtedly fantastic news for the poor sods with the misfortune to hold season tickets up there, the implications for those of us residing nearer sea-level are pretty grim.

It’s obvious (check Ajax and Bilbao recently) the presence of visiting fans leads to an improved atmosphere about the place, and that most of the noise generated at pitch level currently stems from the left hand side of K-Stand – mainly due to their close-proximity to the away supporters. Surely moving the visitors from this area will only result in further life being sucked out of the ground?

Sticking visitors up in Tier 3 no doubt makes logistic sense to the club. Away fans will be easier to segregate and police, plus there’s the added bonus of being able to offload the worst seats in the house to them at a premium price. I suspect we’ll then see the existing visitors’ coach park re-located to behind the North Stand somewhere, which in turn will free up the recently pedestrianised forecourt. In place of the traditional sights of police escorts and piles of horseshit, instead we’ll see one of those godawful fanzone areas erected in which further £’s can be extracted from willing daytrippers. The club must be rubbing their hands together at the prospect.

I suppose it’s indicative of where we are now when you’ve got groups purporting to represent fans’ interests not only backing, but actually devising such nonsense. The atmosphere is shocking for the most part now, but as I’ve made clear, I’m not naïve enough to think there’s a solution readily available that will magically transport us back to a golden age that never really existed to begin with. You can’t force people to sing and generate noise, it has to happen organically for it to have any meaning. SEF would be better advised to focus on protecting the fans’ culture that still exists in the ground, not risk its further erosion by attempting to impose ill-conceived changes. Perhaps I should just be content they haven’t suggested drummers and trumpets yet?

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Doing It For The Kids II

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The culmination of my first season in charge of the local kids’ team was to be a day at the Stockport Junior Blues 6-a-side tournament. It’s an annual thing held every July with some 200 teams taking part and one of the largest events of its type in the UK. It features teams ranging in age from U7-U16, many of who’ve travelled from all over the country.

As is standard with anything connected to City these days, it’s massive – loads of pitches, bouncy castles, hot dog vans…it’s a pretty impressive set-up to be fair. After arriving, dumping my bags and locating a few of our kids, I went to the registration tent where I was greeted by my co-manager. Our first game was due to start at midday, though he’d been there since about 10am. “Just been watching a few games!” That’s what he’s like.

He scanned the fixture list with a grimace. “Some good teams here today”. “Yeah.” “I think we should do things differently.” “Like what?” “Forget the mixed teams for the day…let’s go A and B.” This had been a bone of contention for some time, my feeling being that we are generally so crap, it makes no sense to try and split our lads according to ability. He meanwhile, is of the opinion that having clearly defined A and B teams will instil some sort of hierarchy, thus providing an incentive for the poor saps dumped into team B. Faced with a long, undoubtedly stressful day ahead, I couldn’t be arsed arguing the toss. “Okay then, whatever.”

According to the phone calls and texts received the day before, we had 16 ‘definite’ and a couple of ‘he’s ill…but I’ll see how he is in the morning’s. With us having to submit 2 teams, each scheduled to play 9 (NINE!) games – we desperately needed everyone to turn up. We ended up with 12, leaving my mate and I only 6 players each. No substitutes, then. Marvellous.

So my beaming co-manager (he’s really in his element today) gets his notepad out and frantically starts scribbling out lists of names and formations. Within a minute or so I get my half-dozen kids allocated. I’ve got the B team, naturally. I cast an eye over my charges and immediately alarm bells are ringing. God bless ‘em and everything, but this really isn’t looking good. Still, ‘hope springs eternal’ and all that. I put my manager head on and try to work out what’ll be the best way to get through this with minimal loss of dignity for all concerned – myself, the kids and the already irritated (the A and B team ‘plan’ hasn’t gone unnoticed) parents.

I get the lads together and explain that because we haven’t got a keeper, they’re going to have to take it in turns. Each match is only 5 minutes long but with 10 teams involved and all fixtures to be played on a single pitch, the wait between games is going to drag. I do my usual team talk, “try and stay focused…pass the ball…when you get near goal, have a shot…first to the ball… get your tackles in…it’s a hot day…plenty of fluids…try and go for a wee before the game, not during… just do your best…enjoy yourselves.”

We did alright in the first game. A hard fought 0-0 draw – but at least we kept some sort of shape and looked like we might do okay. “Well done lads, that was good. In the next game try and attack a bit…don’t just all stay camped round your own goal.” The team took the last part of this instruction to heart and this resulted in us adopting a revolutionary 0-0-5 formation. We got beat 7-0, meaning that on average, we’d managed to concede a goal every 40 seconds.

It was now about half two and we’d only played twice. The kids were bored out of their heads, it was boiling hot and their packed lunches had long since been devoured. Parents had lost interest and were either slumped in deckchairs with dead eyed stares or dutifully queuing for ice creams. I estimated that at best, it was another 4 hours or so before we’d be finished.

Finally, as 7pm neared, we were done. Our record for the day stood at played 9, won 0, drawn 1 and lost 8. Goals scored 1, goals conceded 26. What a fantastic end to the season. My co-manager’s verdict? “That was brilliant, wasn’t it?!” Resisting the urge to scream “NO, YOU FUCKING LUNATIC – IT WAS SHITE!”, I instead opted for something more conciliatory, “It’s all an experience for them, I suppose.” I consoled myself with the fact the kids were delighted with their medals (everyone gets a medal!) and I had a few weeks break from this nonsense.

Two weeks later, he was on the phone. “How do you fancy doing the FA Coaching Badge – Level 1? I think it’ll be good for us in our development as coaches. I’ve got the dates here, the club are going to pay!” “Erm…yeah okay, book us in.” The course was to be held a month later, 2 full weekends and 2 midweek evenings – not a problem as I had nothing planned, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility we might learn something and plus, someone had to keep an eye on him.

After asking around, I learnt that the course itself was a piece of piss. Part theory and part practical, bit of first aid, child welfare element, demonstrate a couple of drills…job’s a good ‘un. What I wasn’t prepared for was the fact that having not played properly for years, participating in the drills being demonstrated was destined to prove absolutely knackering. By 10am on the first day I had given up the pretence of showing off my limited football ability, it was simply a matter of keeping my breakfast down and trying not to pass out.

There are two distinct types of people doing these courses. Firstly you’ve got the bright-eyed, athletic types – young lads doing it to augment their studies, hopeful of making a career out of coaching. Some planned to go onto university, others to go travelling and get some work out in the US. This lot are there with drive, energy, focus, shin-pads and pencil cases – not merely sucked into attending by a snowballing set of circumstances that began with them being coerced into helping out their kids’ football team.

The other group then, comprised of shell-shocked, panting men in their 30s and 40s – beer guts, receding hairlines, questionable levels of fitness, each sporting a mish-mash of vintage, ill-fitting replica football gear. People whose Sunday mornings normally involve nothing more strenuous than a lie-in, reading the papers and perhaps getting dressed at some point. People like me.

The course turned out to be a good experience. Most of it was common sense, but a few useful pointers were picked up. The main thing I gained was a fuller appreciation and understanding of the use and application of multi-coloured plastic cones and bibs in modern coaching. The FA and their appointed tutors bloody love cones and bibs, simply can’t get enough of them.

Newly qualified, I was armed with the knowledge that if I stride around the pitch with a purposeful look on my face, placing cones and bibs at regular intervals, there’s a much-improved chance I’ll create the impression that I know what I’m doing – thus guaranteeing at least a modicum of respect from kids, parents and fellow members of the coaching fraternity. Satisfied with this development, I looked forward to the start of the new season.

Doing It For The Kids – Part 1