Sunday, May 12, 2019

TO ALL THOSE WHO...


To all those who have shared the pain, 

to all those sent insane,

to those, who drank it in,  

to all those who believed what they saw

to all those who couldn't believe their eyes;

to those that toasted with champagne, flat beer, stale ale, Russian vodka, Spanish sherry, Portuguese wine, prize gin, a nice cup of tea or a glass of grappa.

to those on the Hobec, the Delirium and the Alpha Super Dortmunder  

to those who hugged, bumped, shuddered, cried and bruised their legs at Wembley 99, 

to those who gaped at Oldham when Big Andy flexed his neck; 

to those who saw the pie hit Peter Willis 

to he who launched it

to those in the snow of Walsall and the rain of Hillsborough and the howling gale at Vicarage Road

to those getting sun burnt and to those catching a cold

to those who got washed out on the perimetre wall at Boundary Park when Smith missed his pen, 

to those who swore at Lincoln they'd never come again; 

to the bloke who ripped up his season ticket book on the pitch v Bury,

to all those who have resorted to the creme de menthe and pastis 

to those that have run around dazed for days, 

to those in a beer-sodden haze

to those that have laughed, cajoled, persisted and wished us on from afar; 

to all those that supported us, put up with us, slapped our backs, kept us sane, avoided eye contact, didn't say what they were thinking, left things unsaid; 

to all those that sang their hearts out, wrote, sympathised, phoned, emailed, messaged, reflected and thought of us; 

to all those in the Oscar Wilde in Berlin when City played Blackburn and the Lord smiled on us;




to all those in fancy dress at the Victoria Ground

to all those refs who we questioned

to all the linesmen we abused

to all those parents of refs who we doubted existed

to all those in Sale and Brooklands, in Cheadle and Prestwich, Collyhurst and Stalybridge

to those in Moston and Altrincham, Gorton and Ancoats

To glorious Stockport and rainy Denton

To all those Everton fans singing Blue Moon

to all those left behind in Amsterdam, in Alkmaar, in Dusseldorf, in Luzern, in Ballasalla, in Valencia, in Barcelona, in Lisbon, in Gonçal Bocas, in Alicante, in The Hague, in Porto, in Clermont Ferrand, in Haarlem, in Ponsacco, in Baltimore and Denver; 

to all those sharing a moment at 3 o'clock every Saturday; 

to all those who doubted, poked fun, poured scorn, cried foul; 

to all those who believed, believed some more, hoped, lost sleep, threw up, fell out, jumped in; 

to all those who waxed lyrical, shouted from the rooftops, bellowed, cried and stood firm; 

to all those that went home and away; 

to all those in The Comfy Cushion, The Parkside, The Whitestone, The Vine, The Navigation Inn, The White Hart, The Broadfield, Terry Neil’s, Mary D's, The Sale Hotel, The Blarney Stone, The Green Man, The Boardroom, Yate's, The Pumphouse; The Funzel, The Little B, The Proeflokaal, The Glue Pot, The George Hotel and The Lancashire.

to all those that propped us up, put an arm around us, bought us a drink, put up with our moods, pretended to listen, spared us a thought; ruffled our hair; bought us a consolation pint of Terribly Bitter

to all those with oil money and no history,

to plastic seats and plastic fans

to those who were at Rotherham when King Colin scored

to those who saw Bert bend his neck

to those in the biggest Maine Road crowds, the men and boys, girls and mums who really existed, but never count

to those who were not really there, time and time again

To Gerry Gow and Ian Bishop

To Tommy Hutch and goals at both ends







to all those at Ewood Park, The Den, Saltergate, Bootham Crescent; 

to all those who tackled, blocked, saved, scored, headed, came on, came off, jumped, challenged and played out of their skins;

to all those who sang long and hard deep into the night;

to all those who dared to dream;

to all those who still dream;

to Dickov and the Goat;

to all who cheered themselves hoarse at Wrexham and Stoke;

to all who ran the gauntlet at Huddersfield and Wolverhampton;

to all those on the pop at Meadow Lane

who felt the joy and felt the pain, 

to all those who sang louder the worse it got;

to all those who renewed for Division Three

when City were buried beneath a tree

to the 30,000 that turned out for Blackpool; 

to the fans who never were and never will be

to all those on the InterCity to Newcastle;

to all those in the minibus to Swansea

to all those hitch-hiking to Plymouth 

to all those on the boat to Bilbao and in a van to Enschede

to those that never came back.

to all those in Gelsenkirchen and Copenhagen, Liege and Santander 

to all those on the fishing smack to the Faroes 

to all those in the double decker at Lokeren;

to all those enoying a Gaudino drive,

to all those dead and alive,

to all those who empathise, sympathise, chastise, romanticise;

to all those who tried to understand despite everything;

to all those who support United, Everton, Leeds, Chelsea but put up with us as mates on non-match days;

to Rodney Marsh and to Tony Towers 

to Glauber Berti and Robinho

to all those who support MSV, Schalke, Sporting, Napoli, Benfica, Juve, AZ, Ajax, Belenenses, Valencia but now support City a little bit too;

to all those who have caught the bug

to all those that offered a hug;

to all those who send text messages when we lose

to all those who have it in your hearts to say "come on Blues" just to make us happy

to John Aldridge and Phil Thompson

to all those with logic and compassion

to all those writing, thinking, posting, tweeting;

to all those who were there and will be there

to all those who have watched our boys at Wembley

to all those who knees didn't go all trembly

to all those who wish they could be there

to all those new to the throng

to all those who can never go again

to all those wizened, cracked, broken and chastened

to all those for whom hope is the killer

to Paolo Wanchope and Kevin Horlock

to Micky Horswill and Geoff Hammond

to the unsung heroes and the bottle washers 

to all those who find a treble bittersweet

to all those that find that quite a feat

to those that dare not look 

To all the captains and to Tony Book 





to the kitmen and the carpert cleaners;

to all those driving Lamborghinis

to all those prematurely thinning

to the change from losing to winning  

to Nigel de Jong and Mario Balotelli

to guvnors and young guvnors

to all those who have played like we dream

to all those who have dreamed

to all those who have had a nightmare

to Jamie Pollock and Neil Heaney, to Jason van Blerk and the boy Beesley

to all those for whom a Blue Moon rising sends a little shivver down the spine;

to all those who climbed the fences at Villa Park;

to all those who saw next to nothing at London Road;

to all those who watched six go into the Norwich net;

to all those who clapped Big Mal across the turf

to all those who flew with Steve Mackenzie;

to all those who sank with Ricky Villa;

to Paul Power and the Goodison mud

to all those whose limbs went thud

to Bobby Mac in goals 

to David James upfront

to Neil Young and Arthur Mann, to Malcolm Allison and John Benson;

to Roy Paul and Don Revie, to Genial Joe and Tommy Caton;

to Whiteys two, Quinny and Lakey;

to Roy the physio and Beanie the horse.

to all those who waved a banana and sang Blue Moon;

to all those who cheered in the rain in the Prater;

to all those who took a punch on the nose at Barnsley

to all those asked the time at Millwall

to all those who played on through the pain;

to all those who watched four goals go in on Tyneside;

to Stan Gibson and his pitchfork;

to Bert Trautmann and the never-say-die spirit;

to Buzzer, Franny and Colin the King;

to the indomitable spirit of Pablo Zabaleta

to those who have walked Claremont Road;

to those who have raised a glass at the City Gates;

to Kevin Reeves and Paul Sugrue;

to Bill Taylor and Peter Swales;

to Bernard John Halford and Terry Cook;

To all those who dare not look

To straight-faced Ron Saunders

to all those who have risked food poisoning, drank too much and never regretted a moment;

to all those hemmed in at Bradford, on the hill at Blackburn, behind the wire at Wednesday, in the sheeting rain at Huddersfield

to all those who entered enemy territory;

to the guy who jumped on Keith Curle at Old Trafford;

to quiet Mel and out of his depth John, to squeaky Alan and confused Phil;

to Uwe Rosler and Steffan Karl;

to our Asa.

to all those who played bit parts;

to all those who scored off the far post;

to all those that thought we could coast

to those that put 5 in the United net;

to those that made it six

to those that thought the sun would never shine

to those that saw Dickov slide in the rain;

to those that stayed and those that left and those that turned back and came again

to Bondy, Jimmy Frizz and Big Billy Mac

to Georgi Kinkladze and Murtaz Shelia;

to all those who watched Kernaghan, McNaught and Davidson and still raised a cheer;

to the legendary 8,000;

to all those that sank 12 pints with Bobby Mac and Gerry Gow

to those that swayed on the Kippax, bawled in the Platt Lane, chanted in the North Stand and launched pies in the Main Stand;

to those Chaos Coaches from Prestwich and Whitefield 

to those that got on the pitch at Loftus Road

to Binman Bob

to Mark Lillis' shorts and Gordon Davies' dance steps 

to all those who saw the glory of Wrexham and Real Madrid

to Captain Vinny, here's to you

to Freddie Pye and Trumann's steel

to all those who craned their necks, asked who it was, smiled, tutted and shook their heads;

to all those who saw Dennis fly at Wembley;

to those who had a surreptitious leak;

to those who wet themselves;

to those who hung on and have hung on until now;

to those who never gave up;

to those who came back;

to those who can't take anymore;

to those who went away;

to those who are there in spirit;

to all those who will not see what happens next;

to those who don’t know how long they’ve got

to all those who have seen enough already;

to those who will take what comes

to all those who packed the boozers at West Brom and Watford, Carlisle and Nottingham;

to those rubbing their hands and eyes at Gay Meadow and The Shay;

to all those for whom Górnik Zabrze means something;

to all those raising the forest roof in Apeldoorn

to Peter Barnes and to Dennis Tueart; 




to Denis and his back-heel;

And to how that made you feel.

to Barney Daniels; to Stuart Lee

to all those that like history

to Gerald Sinstadt, David Coleman, Barry Davies, John Motson, Brian Moore and those who have put silken words to our deeds;

to all those on the quays in Porto and shivering in Red Square 

to those drinking sherry in the Mercado San Miguel

to Captain of Captains Mike Doyle;

to Dom Sullivan and Gordon Dalziel

to Barry Silkman and Dave Wiffill

to all those with too many blue garments;

to all those who refuse to wear red

to all those who refuse to remove their lucky underpants;

to those with their sleeves rolled up

to those with a clenched fist

to those with a welcoming hug

to all those in their match gear

to all those who don't really know how to cope,

to all those who don't understand why we do it;

to all those who have spent their last pound on a ticket;

to all those at the Full Members Cup and the Auto Windscreens;

to all those at Darlington and York;

to Edin Dzeko and Kolarov

to Kevin de Bruyne and Demichelis 

to Pete the Badge and Elvis the seagull

to those who love not knowing what comes next;

to The Elephant of Bondoukou

to all those who fret and worry

to those who take it in their stride

to little El Mago and his pirouettes

to all those who keep on coming

to all those drinking red wine on the Bakerloo Line

to all those on the port in Porto

to Big Joe and to Helen and her bell

to the Kings of the Kippax

to those with memories of Maine Road

to all those in the 93rd minute v QPR

to all those climbing the steps at the Nou Camp

to those neutrals who will us on

to those who couldn't give a shit

to those who can take it and those who cannot.

to Bernardo Silva and Leroy Sane

to Gary Owen and Tommy Booth,

to all those memories that grate and soothe

to fedoras and ski hats

to shellsuits and flat caps

to those that prefer the simple bar scarf

to those that preferred to streak

to those having a very public leak

to those on the hard shoulder

to those left in the lay-by

to those on the pub roof in Nottingham

to those climbing lamp posts in Sittard

to those on the gin

to those living in sin

to those who smell of curry

to those who can only worry

to Ron Healy and Perry Suckling

to Kevin Ellegaard and flexible John Burridge

to ginger Keith and Daniel Sturridge

to Stephen Ireland's gran and Elano's slam

to big Richard Dunne and the year of the ton.

to clocks that run to 93:20 and to those who thought survival was plenty.

to the Brightwells, the Morleys and the Futchers

to those that hang around training for a butchers

to Glyn Pardoe and Kenny Clements

to Riyad Mahrez and his twinkling feet

to Sergio and Carlos Argentina neat

to those who tweaked muscles, broke bones, cracked heads

to those that surged forward, to those that chased back.

to Fernandinho, to Ilkay and to all out attack.

to those that didn't make it and to those that will come

to those that felt rain and to those in the sun

to basking at Stoke and v Bournemouth only to lose out

to leaping at Ewood and shouting the good shout


to all those freezing on the Scottie Road

to those in the throbbing mass at Villa Park 

to those in plenty of space at the Autowindscreens

to all Full Members and Simod Cuppers

to all who were there when we were on our uppers.

to Richard Jobson and Spencer Prior

to those that speak truth and not to the liar

To the class and style of Roberto Mancini

To the charm and guile of Manuel Pellegrini

To Frank Clark and his guitar

To those watching from afar

To Jamie Paradise with his 3 out of ten

To Bennett, Dave and Thatcher, Ben

To Foden Phil of Stockport town

To Pep the king

Who makes us sing

To all those at Elland Road

To all those who bear the load.

To Gerry Creaney and the law of averages

To Colin Viljoen and Micky Channon

To all those who gave the Liverpool slant

To those that offered bullshit and kant

To those that gave us credit and those that pulled the plug

To those that read Alyson Rudd

To Roger Palmer and Nicolas Anelka

To Derek Potter and John Bean

To the Lees Bradbury, Mills and Francis

To the Summerbee and the winter wasp

To all those that count the cost.

To all those that can’t afford

To those that live like a lord

To John Aldridge and his ceremonial sword

To David Phillips and Derek Parlane

To all those that felt no shame

To Kevin Keegan's might men

to Berkovic and Little Ali a proper gem

To Neil McNab, to Willie Donachie

To Dave Watson and big Mick McCarthy

to the balls that flew and those that popped

to those that lied and photoshopped

To Bramall Lane and Valley Parade

To Paul Stewart and the flashing blade

to Bernardo Silva, Rony Lopes and the Benfica gang

to all those that bawled and sang 

To those that sniffed and those that smirked

To those that doubted and those that hurt

To all those that put sweat on the shirt

To Steppi Stepanovic Come on You Blues

To the exhortations you choose to use

To chicken balti and warm Lamot

To Jesus Navas who's got the lot

To those in the sun of Seville

To those in the rain of Vienna

To Fiona Richmond in the bath

To Groenendijk and having a laugh

To Peter Reid and Clive Allen

to Nicky Reid and Clever Trevor

To Trevor Morley and Raheem Sterling

To the Gareths Barry and Taylor

To Nelly Young and Alan Oakes

To Liam and Noel and other blokes

To National Express and British Rail

To Tom Garner through the wind and hail

To Jo

To Kakhaber Tskhadadze

To all the other letters of the alphabet

To Gordon Dalziel and to Arthur Mann

To Les McDowall and the Revie Plan

To Paula and Lucas and little Sam

To to all those who breathe and weep

and live and sleep

Manchester City.

to all those who dared believe one day we would come out into the summer sun;

You played your part, City have won.



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