tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45093098707712989972024-03-13T23:52:15.627-07:00DOWN THE KIPPAX STEPSCityitis. Cup for Cockups. Typical City.
Bitter, Bruised, Shaken not stirred.Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.comBlogger459125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-36440233675061346462024-03-11T03:35:00.000-07:002024-03-11T03:57:26.957-07:00ON THE WINGS OF DESIRE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9_bPjn5p-EiU959hvMMXZ_aI1dp_4PlngeaZSc5bI75tbNNdpb4NZAj60airJwKJkwqcNfcX7tqgGBvLzC_I47Horw-ZaLdGfwGHFyhNm3NqMedG3firI8Eu5QkJRrGAdjNIExFTEQXi_235Zo2RVkN5ScPAlhyphenhyphenUi4mgPPt1I9RRNPV1InIbqF-y-PA/s1920/good%20bad.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9_bPjn5p-EiU959hvMMXZ_aI1dp_4PlngeaZSc5bI75tbNNdpb4NZAj60airJwKJkwqcNfcX7tqgGBvLzC_I47Horw-ZaLdGfwGHFyhNm3NqMedG3firI8Eu5QkJRrGAdjNIExFTEQXi_235Zo2RVkN5ScPAlhyphenhyphenUi4mgPPt1I9RRNPV1InIbqF-y-PA/w640-h426/good%20bad.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>City's <i>total domination</i> of English football continues.</p><p>Those that decried the self-styled one-sided end of football, this morning whoop a three-horse title race, alive and kicking with possibilities and interest as we stagger into the final furlong.</p><p>The Manchester City juggernaut ruining football evidently has a slow puncture. There are other clubs in the Premier League after all. Join the queue of Artetulated trucks, City.</p><p>Perhaps becoming immortal wasn't all that it was fluffed up to be. City, down from the skies, want to feel what it's like to be fallible, sense the closeness of danger, breathe the fear. In Wim Wenders' seminal film <i>The Wings of Desire</i>, the theme of <i>the epic of peace </i>is developed. The shedding of immortality allows angels to feel the everyday stuff we feel: fear, longing, loneliness, self-doubt. In exploring limits, we find out about ourselves. </p><p>Seen through the prism of another white hot skirmish with history, self-doubt and hoodoo at Anfield, a point for City was not at all bad, despite the lesson in current limits it may have given us. How it came about provided us with different angles. Deservedly ahead at half time after managing to control Liverpool's occasional forays, it became clear after the break, that either side could win it once Nathan Ake's impoverished back pass and Ederson's jerky reaction to the imminent danger had brought Liverpool level. </p><p>City were at turns lucky to stay level and unlucky not to snatch a late winner, finding both bar and post in the way of Foden's involuntary attempt and Doku's precise left footer.</p><p>City have seldom hit the heights this season, at times cruising, at others obviously saving energy, but the rocket-shaped annihilations have been conspicuous by their absence and the big game trampling of rivals has not occurred. With Kevin De Bruyne and Erling Haaland having been absent and now obviously still finding their rhythm, the side has not always performed to the best of is abilities. Yesterday, with Rodri being hurried out of his stride, it took the introduction of the willing Mateo Kovacic to stem the tide and start City rolling towards the Kop. Doku too gave Liverpool's right flank something to think about late on.</p><p>While De Bruyne's passing range has temporarily deserted him and Haaland's instinctive finishing has lost its instinct, others are stepping in. Foden, although chased out of his rhythm yesterday, has been magnificent for most of the season. Walker has chased up and down with a fervour only someone trying to forget about things could manage. </p><p>With Klopp's announcement of a summer departure has come a renewed wave of effort from his players, intent on marking the end of his Anfield reign with something special. Against this kind of onslaught, City held firm, if at times with a lack of control that has become customary in many games this season. That City's levels of excellence are down on last season is hardly a surprise. How do you follow winning the Treble? How does one better being World Club Champions? The quality remains, the shapes and passing lines are still in tact, but there is at times a slight loss of intensity, of hunger and that is only to be expected.</p><p>Arsenal have that hunger. Only being on the outside looking in can foster the kind of frenzy you feel watching games at the Emirates this season. Sometimes it feels counterproductive, as if they might overexcite themselves into a jelly-like state, as happened last season. Liverpool have been given hunger by the whiff of End of Empire. </p><p>Against those two fundamentals, City must carry the fight to the end of the season. It is perhaps an even greater test than last season when all was unfolding before them. Now they must find the fight and the focus to merely hold on to what they already have. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxSk8m_HNKz4FWzr1mMoS7IyAjdI16NUPH0Bzw-iJ4e9z3M5WFRNDXCgLm7EHtdzCgIx-rm43-T0fFWEnKLlf8SFRWZ4S586W8FImss2gVDMYlvH9BK8mafQV35rT00m6B9JsuMKAd_5aFhJq6EDeeJlZpp1EOkaAC208Ur6R62rxAgs8e5p9gGdjPV0/s1240/wings%20of%20desire.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1240" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxSk8m_HNKz4FWzr1mMoS7IyAjdI16NUPH0Bzw-iJ4e9z3M5WFRNDXCgLm7EHtdzCgIx-rm43-T0fFWEnKLlf8SFRWZ4S586W8FImss2gVDMYlvH9BK8mafQV35rT00m6B9JsuMKAd_5aFhJq6EDeeJlZpp1EOkaAC208Ur6R62rxAgs8e5p9gGdjPV0/w640-h360/wings%20of%20desire.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Imagine how angels would look at us..."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-39883791147826794352024-03-01T11:03:00.000-08:002024-03-01T11:03:41.720-08:00EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY: MAN UTD 1979<p>📸 Season 1978-79</p><p>📆 Saturday 10th February 1979</p><p>🏟 Maine Road</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvQgK6yTd4YQKPESCT9FdKKoqf00ZDT6NY9kVnQsfNFSLBn3Uu3nPQ8yvN0JdbHgtDZyWtNPRL26l6i83Pf79kXtQVN98u0kAF0GPHjPe4hUw6C6y2ajYEvnPrvPwrmWytWD-mtbZLbUqmhdQgq7AUKfTawuV6G_i06f_l3UtlKbIVdwx_5eJX6yxYOY/s3036/20240301_173247.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2032" data-original-width="3036" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvQgK6yTd4YQKPESCT9FdKKoqf00ZDT6NY9kVnQsfNFSLBn3Uu3nPQ8yvN0JdbHgtDZyWtNPRL26l6i83Pf79kXtQVN98u0kAF0GPHjPe4hUw6C6y2ajYEvnPrvPwrmWytWD-mtbZLbUqmhdQgq7AUKfTawuV6G_i06f_l3UtlKbIVdwx_5eJX6yxYOY/w640-h428/20240301_173247.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>United winger Steve Coppell beats Paul Power to the ball to loft a daring right foot lob over Joe Corrigan at Maine Road on February 10th 1979. On a treacherous pitch, United had the better of the exchanges, winning 3-0 thanks to two goals from Coppell and one from Andy Ritchie. </p><p>On this occasion, nothing went right for the Blues, in the middle of a Malcolm Allison-inspired slump towards the lower reaches of the First Division. Ironically, the only thing that did function properly on this afternoon was the notoriously fickle North Stand scoreboard, which was still proclaiming -clearly and accurately for once- the time of the previous United goal when this shot was taken of coppell making it 2-0.</p><p>In the defeated City side on this occasion were Brian Kidd, ex-United, and Peter Barnes, future United player in 1985, while United's Sammy McIlroy would turn out briefly and unsuccessfully for City in 1986. </p><p>Coppell would later manage disastrously at City for less time than it took to replace the scoreboard. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jaN5VTWA_Fs?si=Lw3fOCxsBfTWreaM" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-68910062227091818182023-12-23T11:48:00.000-08:002023-12-23T11:48:58.450-08:00DESERT DISPATCH<p><span style="background-color: white;"><i><a href="https://twitter.com/MikeNumber5">Mike Hammond</a> has followed City home and away since the early 80s and made it to Jeddah to see history made. Here are his impressions of five days in the Desert Kingdom:</i></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXDifJyKY-FXfJjoyZ_C2nGLbS0u3AZgfXNewkA2Lbu0hu2fOW1cMU-DBrfhdc1SsdKmkgfYeCSg3z08zCP60iIwocBjYMZ3q-V1lrjbg3CYu3I2J6oHxVzF-0hWnM3F4B4gmeteSH6rrObRUpwYa-AGldZ-gWHFxsiVa0osdwF5iCIlf0d3q5-mSFOa8/s680/WCC%20Final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="680" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXDifJyKY-FXfJjoyZ_C2nGLbS0u3AZgfXNewkA2Lbu0hu2fOW1cMU-DBrfhdc1SsdKmkgfYeCSg3z08zCP60iIwocBjYMZ3q-V1lrjbg3CYu3I2J6oHxVzF-0hWnM3F4B4gmeteSH6rrObRUpwYa-AGldZ-gWHFxsiVa0osdwF5iCIlf0d3q5-mSFOa8/w640-h480/WCC%20Final.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I understand that we all live in our own bubble and our reality is our reality alone so this can only be my observations of Saudi Arabia. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">My reality ahead of this journey was one of utter ignorance. Obviously, like most people in the UK, I had read and heard about life in the Kingdom. The brutal Kashoggi murder, the Newcastle/<i>sportswashing</i> articles, the Jordan Henderson scorn and the awarding of the World Cup. </span><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">It’s hard to know how balanced those articles have been as I had no reality to cross check & there are very few pro-Saudi articles in the British media. Having said all that I think I broadly took the view as presented. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">If I could sum it all up it would be along the lines of the DM sent to me after last night's final that this country is a brutal dictatorship with appalling human rights suppressions. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><i>So how does one tally all of that with the experience as an individual traveller? </i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">You can’t. I’m a privileged westerner, with all the associated rights and freedoms that go along with that luxury, and I’m not a threat to the state. </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">So, in essence, I’m free to do whatever I want. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">First impressions are, of course, the airport, which is hugely impressive and efficient, in stark contrast to any in the UK. The immigration process was stress-free and we were welcomed from the start. </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">I’ll be honest: there’s almost nothing to do here. It’s not a tourist city. The number 3 thing to do on <i>TripAdvisor</i> is a <b>walk down a path</b> & number 4 is to <b>look at a flag pole</b>. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">I should say that they DO have an indoor zoo which is drawing some admiring glances on the tourist trail. Amongst its attractions are lemurs, monkeys and dogs. <i>Dogs.</i> In a zoo. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">It’s also in a state of mass rebuilding. In the day it is, to be kind, a total shithole. But at night it’s like you’ve been transported to a magical place. It looks AMAZING! You can’t see the crap and the derelict buildings and everything is beautifully spot-lit & looks shiny and new. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">Luckily for my travelling mates and me, our body clock was skewed heavily to the night. Plus, there’s no reason to wake up early unless you want to watch some PrimeMutton videos - which luckily I did. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">Normally on a ‘City away’ quite a lot of time is spent boozing. And I won’t lie, some of the great cafes we went too over here would have been mega with a gin and tonic or a pint. But it wasn’t an option so our drink of choice was an <i>Oreo Milkshake</i>. You can drink a surprising amount of these it turns out. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">The best thing about Jeddah, though, is the people. You’ll never meet a friendlier, more inquisitive, more accommodating group of people anywhere in the world. It’s truly astonishing how friendly they are. Every single person, even people you walk past in the street. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">The second best is the food. Saudi is a nation of immigration and you can get food from all over the world. Our highlight was a Bangladeshi cafe that produced the best curry I’ve ever had. We were treated like kings & after a huge lunch the bill for 5 of us was about £25 in total. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">So what else? Well when we checked in at our hotel, the concierge took one look at Liam and I and asked would we want to share one big bed or a twin room. I was genuinely flabbergasted that this was even suggested. What a few days away! </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">Public transport is non-existent so all travel is by car. Even relatively short journeys. UBERs are plentiful and cheap, which is great because it’s impossible to cross the roads here. They’re all 4 lanes each way and the driving is a joke. It made Istanbul look disciplined. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">Clothing? We were happily wandering about in shorts and t-shirts. And if you’re by the pool swimwear is, of course, fine. Bikinis absolutely fine for women as well. Again, not what I was led to believe. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">So, a World Cup in a decade. The locals were pretty sure that well before then alcohol will be allowed in the kingdom. My assumption is public transport to and from the stadiums will all be in place by then too. The stadium itself was magnificent. Beautiful on the outside and amazing on the inside. Great atmosphere, comfortable and loads of concession stands etc. and again, the people. They are football mad. Boys, girls, men and women all watching. All going mental. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">Arriving in Jeddah, I’m embarrassed to say, I genuinely thought it would be like something from the dark ages. The reality, </span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleItalicBody; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic;">my reality</span><span style="font-size: 16px;">, is of a friendly country, modernising at an incredible rate. And by modernising I don’t necessarily mean Westernising (although places like Maccies AKA ‘the office’ and Nando’s are all over), they are proud of their religion, culture and history. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"></span><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><i>And why shouldn’t they be?</i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3xki0q4Tm1LksIuiqdgHLaM4BsT1a1Hs94fpyv_SmC3eBFzMwAwBZs6tecdPw-Ugg-C4kaHcLNoLY5ZOYoQ23YmoMp80CeGQsR1T-ycUbb4vz2LvI6TOPImNW8pstJW7aWTKz2BlXINrwpii8pIZVYdczuT1BBQSzSEaDz0l8JuEHaxPpQMHZGFpr5U/s599/2023-24%20CWC%20Final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="599" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3xki0q4Tm1LksIuiqdgHLaM4BsT1a1Hs94fpyv_SmC3eBFzMwAwBZs6tecdPw-Ugg-C4kaHcLNoLY5ZOYoQ23YmoMp80CeGQsR1T-ycUbb4vz2LvI6TOPImNW8pstJW7aWTKz2BlXINrwpii8pIZVYdczuT1BBQSzSEaDz0l8JuEHaxPpQMHZGFpr5U/w640-h426/2023-24%20CWC%20Final.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span><p></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-53985223717761659962023-12-14T08:48:00.000-08:002023-12-14T15:19:39.771-08:00RUNNERS AND RIDERS<p>City go into Monday's Champions League knockout round draw with the following possible opponents (in bold <i>via Mancity.com</i>):</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0P39rNGhZ_afM2ewR-h9gEd20leRnCWcYYIBwAnPv_C3FbHKYL-ynDSaLeP51Qc1okSzQgC0hP5qMWDiWJ5ctEh0XgIPJ9TX7hIaTURUUZvbDcSy0GR2Lxe9ZQjoAp9yi7yE_2BRh6xHz8vwztMZRqSS-dQwAUF_CAscv8JseFmuD9HaZoEYAe7sxdo/s474/Euro%20draw%202024.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="322" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0P39rNGhZ_afM2ewR-h9gEd20leRnCWcYYIBwAnPv_C3FbHKYL-ynDSaLeP51Qc1okSzQgC0hP5qMWDiWJ5ctEh0XgIPJ9TX7hIaTURUUZvbDcSy0GR2Lxe9ZQjoAp9yi7yE_2BRh6xHz8vwztMZRqSS-dQwAUF_CAscv8JseFmuD9HaZoEYAe7sxdo/w434-h640/Euro%20draw%202024.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of these sides, City have played PSG the most, 7 times in all, followed by 4 each against Napoli, Porto and FC Copenhagen. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">City's first encounter with the Parisiens dates back to 2008, a meandering odyssey of a European campaign that took in the Faroe Islands, Denmark three times and a weird lop-sided 5-team group format that saw some teams played at home only, others away only. PSG were only played in Manchester that season, hence the uneven total of games played against the French champions (7). An uninspiring 0-0 draw was perhaps predictable with City's attack featuring Jo, Darius Vassell and Daniel Sturridge. PSG hit back with their own non-scoring attack of Chelsea failure Mateja <span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">Kežman</span>, with another ageing ex-Pensioner Claude <span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">Makélélé</span> prompting in midfield.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdQKp7dIdhVPqECpyq3yHQp28Ta5edDFc64p073IhV-qFIRTNABChufS1bI6mUZYMqckrYcjIOSeTchLdiERpT67VSS8J_dLMwymWtrmFA7ODGUcsy90DoR5Q5KR3i8FmcjgBxg1K2H3_yjMs2cvL9KACtDzXZHmG1MSWpNQtGwpSIGBQyPD4Ve5qCQA/s600/2008-09%20PSG%20h%20i.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="600" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdQKp7dIdhVPqECpyq3yHQp28Ta5edDFc64p073IhV-qFIRTNABChufS1bI6mUZYMqckrYcjIOSeTchLdiERpT67VSS8J_dLMwymWtrmFA7ODGUcsy90DoR5Q5KR3i8FmcjgBxg1K2H3_yjMs2cvL9KACtDzXZHmG1MSWpNQtGwpSIGBQyPD4Ve5qCQA/w640-h384/2008-09%20PSG%20h%20i.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The inevitable Jo</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Since then, City's record against the French is good (4 wins, a draw and a defeat) and there is nothing to see from this season's PSG side that would offer reasons for fear if drawn against them at this stage. They came through a tough group featuring Newcastle, Milan and Dortmund, but escaped by the skin of their teeth in a tight finish.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A tie against Napoli would have been unwanted last season, but this year's form has been soft and Inter would now provide a sterner challenge and a repeat of last year's final. Napoli were City's first-ever Champions League opponents in 2011 and the record against them is <i>Played 4, Won 2 Drawn 1 Lost 1</i>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was during the superb 4-2 win at the San Paolo in 2017 that Sergio Aguero broke the City scoring record. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdee4Ob3XMVxOAMGhrhFnVCLzFfRR9LnrRv3d_Q0SHpgvFFvZr-IW6MTucumuYn8t30QIQTv3jR3hIrZeGVFhLDV5RsOznOLKTP9h2-gzBCxeyH1WfGbF3z0jY2xj1eWMp_HbpsrA_wiYNsT0oAfFYt1dJmfoKs1D-KgzmxLOOrfT3xb4bbzLQlwXg4o/s1200/2017-18%20Napli%20a.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdee4Ob3XMVxOAMGhrhFnVCLzFfRR9LnrRv3d_Q0SHpgvFFvZr-IW6MTucumuYn8t30QIQTv3jR3hIrZeGVFhLDV5RsOznOLKTP9h2-gzBCxeyH1WfGbF3z0jY2xj1eWMp_HbpsrA_wiYNsT0oAfFYt1dJmfoKs1D-KgzmxLOOrfT3xb4bbzLQlwXg4o/w640-h426/2017-18%20Napli%20a.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aguero celebrates in the San Paolo</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Last year's final is the only time City have played Inter, while the other possible Italian opponents, Lazio, have never been faced in European competition. They did provide City's opposition for the annual Thomas Cook preseason trophy match in August 2004, however, being well beaten 3-1 by a City side for whom Nicolas Anelka scored after 30 seconds.<p></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVzomaIuxx73lwUOG5gmOPX92kuZggFjxzz99Sp25Vj-D4obc_z3-bhcXzGO2excLlaqkw56G1y3nGAs0gSID5ThkwFcUWFZbmK3o0I-CFyLinrQaHxuPGXaNy5tbBlUxcvWIWtp-HjJGZxr75gX9u9IvPM-EO_ASMJln_JcmvVOPFXaH_dc06-3acSc/s500/2004%20Lazio%20T%20C%20trophy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="305" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVzomaIuxx73lwUOG5gmOPX92kuZggFjxzz99Sp25Vj-D4obc_z3-bhcXzGO2excLlaqkw56G1y3nGAs0gSID5ThkwFcUWFZbmK3o0I-CFyLinrQaHxuPGXaNy5tbBlUxcvWIWtp-HjJGZxr75gX9u9IvPM-EO_ASMJln_JcmvVOPFXaH_dc06-3acSc/w390-h640/2004%20Lazio%20T%20C%20trophy.jpg" width="390" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anelka nets the early opener against Lazio in 2004</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>City have played Porto and Copenhagen four times each in Europe, meaning neither opponent would be an unknown quantity and neither venue a new one for travelling fans. The first trip to Porto for the 2011 Europa League round of 32 match was a memorable one for many Blues fans, taking in a wonderful sunny day by the banks of the River Douro, followed by a great City win at the Dragao. A 4-0 tonking in the return game, coupled with more recent Champions League encounters means City's balance against the Portuguese is also a positive one: <i>Played 4, won 3, drawn 1</i>.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi935c4MGuqoReHYHlFp0d9VaMkZ6x3H7U7z-jipmylL8ExVwcg94nH_n_0Lvojw3dn61cdQ2HvIlYnjgeAw2dkOOLHRbBPK47hqOVnXA6QIb2NvFAK3wHOvJ_YWg_s1vrGOPmVEQ6ZXkV9vWR9W7YLQHX4lJWSEAFHe3luZyWy_4t1WGPDTXWVgYHFqMA/s1280/2012%20Porto%20009.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi935c4MGuqoReHYHlFp0d9VaMkZ6x3H7U7z-jipmylL8ExVwcg94nH_n_0Lvojw3dn61cdQ2HvIlYnjgeAw2dkOOLHRbBPK47hqOVnXA6QIb2NvFAK3wHOvJ_YWg_s1vrGOPmVEQ6ZXkV9vWR9W7YLQHX4lJWSEAFHe3luZyWy_4t1WGPDTXWVgYHFqMA/w640-h480/2012%20Porto%20009.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City fans gather at the <i>Cais da Ribeira</i> in Porto on the day of the 2011 match (2-1)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Copenhagen provided City's opposition last season in the group stages (5-0 and 0-0) and in the same Europa League campaign that saw City face PSG for the first time (2-1 and 2-2) meaning they are one of the most scored-against City opponents in European football with a total of 9 conceded in the four matches played so far. Their manager Stale Solbakken has also gone down in history as the first to start bleating about City's finances and the club's standing in what he considered the Greater Scheme of Things. (<i>see below</i>) <p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf70iJM5aoeNbYGHhtrMm3xSoFEZ3vAzv6RUMzNc36u8NBZzwepHoEMoFojJabZLG52UxxNyKf_N0YE0tPTtysjlTr4o4aRYlMlmGQuwZfEQT68pE76B25jXFtYKybjkDallFU5RL08NUpUn-aohIohAyKNs9hqKEA8iZ-mUwlGBmqTlV90FOx_akzDrw/s3495/20231214_115052.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="3495" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf70iJM5aoeNbYGHhtrMm3xSoFEZ3vAzv6RUMzNc36u8NBZzwepHoEMoFojJabZLG52UxxNyKf_N0YE0tPTtysjlTr4o4aRYlMlmGQuwZfEQT68pE76B25jXFtYKybjkDallFU5RL08NUpUn-aohIohAyKNs9hqKEA8iZ-mUwlGBmqTlV90FOx_akzDrw/w640-h382/20231214_115052.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Extract from City in Europe</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Which leaves us with PSV Eindhoven, possibly the favourite choice amongst travelling fans, as it would be easy to get to and also represents a potential first-time opponent. PSV provided City with summer opposition during the infamous Sittard Tournament of 1993, when the Blues faced local side Fortuna, Bobby Robson's Sporting and PSV in a four-team group. The match with PSV ended 1-1 and was won by City on penalties. This correspondent missed the goal by Gary Flitcroft as the queue for chips was long and slow. <div><br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWG5WVXfP7vruFyG9pWdSz5crg3qzYMDrmFBM7N3V8o2Wiw55Wps7pjZ8MtkvNCtAZ8Y6RDoMKzpAybG8J2NAq60UjK_U25AwSPke1FDx6E6WSx2skKSYeCWH62UQMn1NTF1ES27yuwqfp8o1LCfwEzQv2tjouzUJgFZp7K-KrqcCqvk6s4u8ErMaHrI/s3467/20231214_163102.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1918" data-original-width="3467" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWG5WVXfP7vruFyG9pWdSz5crg3qzYMDrmFBM7N3V8o2Wiw55Wps7pjZ8MtkvNCtAZ8Y6RDoMKzpAybG8J2NAq60UjK_U25AwSPke1FDx6E6WSx2skKSYeCWH62UQMn1NTF1ES27yuwqfp8o1LCfwEzQv2tjouzUJgFZp7K-KrqcCqvk6s4u8ErMaHrI/w640-h354/20231214_163102.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rainy night against Copenhagen. Richard Dunne is first to the ball.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><i>You can read in detail about all of these games in City in Europe, From Allison to Guardiola, in all good bookshops now! </i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/City-Europe-Guardiola-Manchester-European/dp/1785787322/ref=sr_1_1?crid=24TMN9H5DMREJ&keywords=city+in+europe+curtis&qid=1702572376&sprefix=city+in+europe+curtis%2Caps%2C127&sr=8-1">City in Europe: From Allison to Guardiola:... by Curtis, Simon (amazon.co.uk)</a></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhAj9LuYsasWg5xmHMs1fRmvjWcMfsEhW6K_K-HqKMBRFlp6Iwyxy-Qfu0t3ePGt91ImhEw3PJz8yB5TDHF726pofFHQfKmUPzmUojUIvYJ5gnkQzWExLONxgNPQK_fTYLFfCgUHQ6GOKFKbj-t3ASkTyhBdDwy9e3NOoGoODrErLwqjJrEKqJ-IgxPo/s970/1%20%20CiE%20i.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="970" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhAj9LuYsasWg5xmHMs1fRmvjWcMfsEhW6K_K-HqKMBRFlp6Iwyxy-Qfu0t3ePGt91ImhEw3PJz8yB5TDHF726pofFHQfKmUPzmUojUIvYJ5gnkQzWExLONxgNPQK_fTYLFfCgUHQ6GOKFKbj-t3ASkTyhBdDwy9e3NOoGoODrErLwqjJrEKqJ-IgxPo/w640-h396/1%20%20CiE%20i.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-18662635305980325662023-12-09T01:37:00.000-08:002023-12-09T01:37:46.587-08:00THE WAY WE WERE: LUTON TOWN AWAY<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGCUevSNr17IfcOG6RNBsrgycsFfbszYdjsrJy-11BDh6mYpznBMBpaSiYIdwqVowqj0VqBfQZYSNUrr1x9Q-qdSuG8dKVpAUGSumqWmDkr8-iwZcpHRKCNvmpCnPfGvERwke5fGAUlNoBIK1B8FNX2fY2fh398aWJBFijbFluAXM5zNiZ4cRWpOGsbs/s3672/20231209_091058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="2084" height="959" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGCUevSNr17IfcOG6RNBsrgycsFfbszYdjsrJy-11BDh6mYpznBMBpaSiYIdwqVowqj0VqBfQZYSNUrr1x9Q-qdSuG8dKVpAUGSumqWmDkr8-iwZcpHRKCNvmpCnPfGvERwke5fGAUlNoBIK1B8FNX2fY2fh398aWJBFijbFluAXM5zNiZ4cRWpOGsbs/w544-h959/20231209_091058.jpg" width="544" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Danny Wilson's penalty sails past Andy Dibble at Kenilworth Road<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />It is the 1989-90 season and things, as was the custom in those days, are in a considerable state of flux.</p><p>Luton, with their away-fans ban and irretrievably bouncy artificial pitch are the most hated team in the league, while City, with 40 consecutive away games under the belt without a single win, are by far the league's most popular visitors. </p><p>How times change.</p><p>Two weeks after handing Nottingham Forest a win in his infamous "loss of concentration" (<i>The Gary Crosby Moment</i>, as it would go down in history), occasionally lunatic 'keeper Andy Dibble was again up to his old tricks, giving away the penalty that put the hosts 1-up.</p><p>That City also scored from the spot evened things up neatly, Clive Allen slotting a late equaliser with his accustomed sangfroid.</p><p>Allen by this time was persona non grata at Maine Road, new manager Howard Kendall seemingly unprepared to put up with any players who did not have the word "Everton" stamped on their passports. The <i>Merseyfication</i> of the side (Megson, Heath, Ward, Reid, Pointon, Harper, Clarke would all, as ex-Toffees, ship up during Kendall's short reign) grated with many City supporters but saw the club clear of relegation that season.</p><p>Kendall's arrival had brought another parallel with Luton, who had Jim Ryan in fresh charge for this game. Both clubs had recently ditched the previous incumbents of the itchy managers' chairs with utterly ridiculous excuses.</p><p>The old axe-swinger Peter Swales had shown Mel Machin the door on the grounds of having no "repartee" (sic) with the fans, while Luton had got rid of Ray Harford on the premise that he "didn't smile enough". Within six years both sides would be languishing in lower leagues, perhaps as reward for such short-sighted management. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_erg6TuQGlaEA7-fTW5AADQsMEVEUKoC6lIZ7cgunYtn0T1jVH7KIKrgZdFtpIB_Nepq2JO1D3OKapcOylCn6fT77LdRZX8LOZBUydGxnQjx7JV41rk2b_rCFZQ2OXfMzX6jLoFwDODYUsVDmQfWIY3YPOTm7vCV5SqoZkrMiy4arMGYk4thkldnS6wc/s360/1989-90%20Forest%20a,.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="310" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_erg6TuQGlaEA7-fTW5AADQsMEVEUKoC6lIZ7cgunYtn0T1jVH7KIKrgZdFtpIB_Nepq2JO1D3OKapcOylCn6fT77LdRZX8LOZBUydGxnQjx7JV41rk2b_rCFZQ2OXfMzX6jLoFwDODYUsVDmQfWIY3YPOTm7vCV5SqoZkrMiy4arMGYk4thkldnS6wc/w552-h640/1989-90%20Forest%20a,.jpg" width="552" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NYFy87ayKkBgQ_TUPoLYDtBjRITTuMYKUbfRF0DJEIXXhV9cCg6-peMqJ_9ApYiJ7rHLB_LOLKpaO2vTQBIyrvCq8eW0iYtaf_SIwP_Hktf4GeOU3FnCxtBgiPoYw-xrlpW2vHPSSyKWilisnXxhLJJm1a7QCPwPVngwdUg0hJuV6z7s622zuRLIsJA/s680/1989-90%20Forest%20a...jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="680" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NYFy87ayKkBgQ_TUPoLYDtBjRITTuMYKUbfRF0DJEIXXhV9cCg6-peMqJ_9ApYiJ7rHLB_LOLKpaO2vTQBIyrvCq8eW0iYtaf_SIwP_Hktf4GeOU3FnCxtBgiPoYw-xrlpW2vHPSSyKWilisnXxhLJJm1a7QCPwPVngwdUg0hJuV6z7s622zuRLIsJA/w640-h480/1989-90%20Forest%20a...jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-68648189761461106022023-12-07T16:30:00.000-08:002023-12-09T01:15:32.844-08:00OF UPGRADES AND DOWNTURNS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRb0pN7YN39pGCjQUqE8P0ks_EiFi0M80Q6_jfWPsfLCkrXarc2iIW3gn_lpMof6HWPIll66ohiOv1nuQKIlsR9bjgh48C9h5yPoSm2hit-YngAInbhTd2C9nLF3xZhbP6i3XjCJTzrBEZB8OezYt8aUbjTGSqA2wLWTJdUZOkT2vOd6fju5X2WNFtbYM/s1200/sinclair.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRb0pN7YN39pGCjQUqE8P0ks_EiFi0M80Q6_jfWPsfLCkrXarc2iIW3gn_lpMof6HWPIll66ohiOv1nuQKIlsR9bjgh48C9h5yPoSm2hit-YngAInbhTd2C9nLF3xZhbP6i3XjCJTzrBEZB8OezYt8aUbjTGSqA2wLWTJdUZOkT2vOd6fju5X2WNFtbYM/w640-h360/sinclair.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>In the summer of 2012, Manchester City, with Roberto Mancini still just about in tow, produced a summer spend of such prolonged ghastliness, it would eventually bring to a close the urbane Italian's reign at the Etihad. </p><p>Business that summer produced Jack Rodwell, Scott Sinclair, Matija Nastasic, Javi Garcia and the ineffable, low-flying Maicon.</p><p>As improvements on the players that had months earlier pulled in City's first league title since 1968, there was little to be said. Not one of these acquisitions raised enough energy to ignite a candle and, as the season kicked off with a wobbly 3-2 home win over Southampton, talk was of how City were to progress in their inaugural Champions League tilt with this array of new talent at their disposal.</p><p>Rodwell featured against the opening day visitors in a midfield comprising Yaya Toure, Samir Nasri and David Silva, yet only managed to make it look weaker, as former talisman Nigel de Jong prepared to be shifted out to AC Milan. De Jong it had been carrying the ball forward the previous May in the 94th minute of that sweat drenched title denouement against Queens Park Rangers, when City won the league the only way the Gods would have allowed it. Now Rodwell carried it sideways.</p><p>City had to come from behind to beat Southampton, as they had done so dramatically against QPR, and again in the second home game of the season, a 3-1 win over the self same Londoners, the champions looked vulnerable in a shaky 3-1 win. The programme cover featured "Jack the Lad" Rodwell, but, despite the smiles and the shiny new kit, all was clearly not well.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gjgoxrLe-gY488m594maT5uaNBpHbuTdfzTJJKMn3UWFSfHEby-G9E9MY2IMcbpf3TUL6-g-ebHcJq-vz5CM5nMwQ_HLv90SMXh7PJf2S24cbYwA_cWkn5MqlP0Ph427mjwtwnQo2truMHk84kILsXs0eKCv801gJrxxqcXdhbgI9-z6cv7Rg8sIihE/s300/2012-13%20QPR%20h.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="214" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gjgoxrLe-gY488m594maT5uaNBpHbuTdfzTJJKMn3UWFSfHEby-G9E9MY2IMcbpf3TUL6-g-ebHcJq-vz5CM5nMwQ_HLv90SMXh7PJf2S24cbYwA_cWkn5MqlP0Ph427mjwtwnQo2truMHk84kILsXs0eKCv801gJrxxqcXdhbgI9-z6cv7Rg8sIihE/w229-h320/2012-13%20QPR%20h.jpg" width="229" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>When it came, it would be City's worst-ever showing in the Champions League. Drawn with the champions of Spain, Germany and Holland, it was truly a Group of Death with City starting it semi-deceased and ending it comatose. The reality quickly proved to be worse than even the greatest of the ex-Kippax doom-mongers could have predicted. </p><p>This correspondent watched aghast high in the stands as the opening game away to Real ended 3-2 after City had held a 2-1 lead going into the 87th minute, provoking a delirious knee slide along the touchline from the Armani-suited Jose Mourinho. Talk about scuffing the knees unnecessarily.</p><p>New signing from Benfica Javi Garcia featured in a ponderous looking midfield alongside Gareth Barry and Yaya Toure, yet another three minutes would have seen a famous win at the Bernabeu. It was not yet clear that City's season would fall flat. In Europe this gradually became the case, however, as Dortmund and Ajax both wiped the floor with an out-of-sorts Blues side, City finishing a distant last in their group of four.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTyKM82i142i_fnClmiF1cDwRrZ658Kra8wa9iyNBqVck3N_ul4Bxyrwndjxri967RaUicT7zXKxvElbNAv3mF6BVOh0p_k8-2Z8CJgnD2_GpCCsTaQLYrfCv31GmzLuyCk1jGazIKZ6l90rvc39X4IMGzkusQtdJQe5dOcZ14pLRlyOhGCIk-hDykN7c/s320/2012-13%20Real%20Madrid%20a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTyKM82i142i_fnClmiF1cDwRrZ658Kra8wa9iyNBqVck3N_ul4Bxyrwndjxri967RaUicT7zXKxvElbNAv3mF6BVOh0p_k8-2Z8CJgnD2_GpCCsTaQLYrfCv31GmzLuyCk1jGazIKZ6l90rvc39X4IMGzkusQtdJQe5dOcZ14pLRlyOhGCIk-hDykN7c/w320-h240/2012-13%20Real%20Madrid%20a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Soon the League Cup would also be sacrificed in a home defeat to Aston Villa. It was by now dawning on many that the desired Summer upgrade was in fact an utter dud. A dreadfully listless 1-3 defeat at St Mary's where Barry's own goal sealed the win for Southampton as early as the 48th minute, meant City were languishing in the leaders' slipstream. They would cling on through the spring with some more invigorating performances to finish runners-up in the league to a rejuvenated United and would go all the way to the Cup Final, only to be sidelined by a player go-slow in the final versus Wigan Athletic, who won with a last minute Ben Watson header.</p><p>It had cost Mancini his job, although he had been on his way long before the cold May showers of Wembley. In fact, the writing had been on the wall as early as the pre-season, with the poor summer intake scuppering City's chances before a ball had even been kicked.</p><p>It is difficult to look at the 2023-24 iteration without being bombarded with technicolour flashbacks of Rodwell and company. Josco Gvardiol, a fish out of water at left back, Mateo Kovacic a willing runner but no replacement for the dearly departed Ilkay Gundogan. Matheus Nunes a tidy technician but hardly an upgrade on what went before. With Rico Lewis and Oscar Bobb clean out of the youth ranks stepping up in front of England international Kalvin Phillips, there looks to be no future at City for the ex-Leeds man either.</p><p>Everywhere you look, suddenly square pegs are sitting askew in round holes. The loss of John Stones and Kevin de Bruyne provides a chunk of the excuses, but not all. Loss of form across the board and possibly a hardly unimaginable loss of hunger too (to go with the fans <i>getting tired of constant winning </i>of course), has left the side looking as listless and rudderless as Mancini's 2013 side. The defeat at Villa did not need the statisticians to tell us City's possession game had been shot to bits and that Villa were picking up the ball from a multitude of misplaced passes that have seldom if ever been seen before on Pep Guardiola's watch. It all made for unusually grim viewing.</p><p>It is ten years since City got it so wrong in the transfer market and there have been very few bad summers on that front since, but it is indisputable that last summer's work in this area is already coming home to roost. With a trip to Saudi Arabia further clogging up the schedules and the need to perform adequately in the club's first-ever appearance at the World Club Cup, the winter transfer window suddenly looms large as a last ditch opportunity to sort out the squad before the 2023-24 season is sacrificed in the same manner as that of ten years ago. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWG7RWAqAsXLWY1AtsjyGN5uCEarpUiU2bmuPpdWf2kTy10XeAuj7f_HKM5F_9fBFTcgr0uISVzRU4jdd5rFafXJnMPIruRXCNc7LCtNAEPbcdrRiVPrK67yOl4nbxaHzLdUEui1PTF8TEcPG48ab7m1dkMsHu-HjlS8HR3gA6HuCZpfBnFYGXO0x3b_Y/s1912/club%20cup.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1912" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWG7RWAqAsXLWY1AtsjyGN5uCEarpUiU2bmuPpdWf2kTy10XeAuj7f_HKM5F_9fBFTcgr0uISVzRU4jdd5rFafXJnMPIruRXCNc7LCtNAEPbcdrRiVPrK67yOl4nbxaHzLdUEui1PTF8TEcPG48ab7m1dkMsHu-HjlS8HR3gA6HuCZpfBnFYGXO0x3b_Y/w640-h362/club%20cup.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>🔚</p><p> </p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-75097413074662277002023-10-21T14:51:00.000-07:002023-10-21T14:51:14.489-07:00200 WORDSWORTH hors-série BOBBY CHARLTON<p> <i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Bobby Charlton by <a href="https://twitter.com/mellotrono">Mark Meadowcroft</a></span></b></i></p><p><i><b><br /></b></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7yEWvGmEjTqnecWYjDAqLqRZgwgwe7tpdenXjTEiBPjLGz0dRy2TdLA9HnD1cd-64QFn2B8VROTO9tfG2Nlprs-Ka-l25VVnmnV-NsEe4pIgsknLsFJLNcGeYFOgkpvHXCikblEIrM6ZZFd4i2bg5xIEf2-PJWVYGuWdA76l3j0YotXqCGYHKL3pL1Q/s2167/20231021_224145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2167" data-original-width="1935" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7yEWvGmEjTqnecWYjDAqLqRZgwgwe7tpdenXjTEiBPjLGz0dRy2TdLA9HnD1cd-64QFn2B8VROTO9tfG2Nlprs-Ka-l25VVnmnV-NsEe4pIgsknLsFJLNcGeYFOgkpvHXCikblEIrM6ZZFd4i2bg5xIEf2-PJWVYGuWdA76l3j0YotXqCGYHKL3pL1Q/w572-h640/20231021_224145.jpg" width="572" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">This is a flex, but Sir Bobby Charlton did play for “Manchester” in Bert Trautmann’s testimonial. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">In fairness, there were 60,000 witnesses at Maine Road, he was famously pictured in a sky blue shirt, he played with Denis Law (who’s really one of us) and if we can’t bend the rules for a Knight of the Realm and a holder of the Order of Merit of the Federal Republic of Germany, then when can we?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Charlton was unquestionably world class, a serial league winner, a European Cup winner and of course a World Champion. But his role as the fulcrum of the team that survived the wreckage in Munich made him a man that transcended his club and his sport.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">What more could he have achieved with the friends he lost at Munich? Purely internationally, in 1966, Duncan Edwards and Eddie Colman would have strengthened an already excellent team. In 1962, he could also have combined with peak Jimmy Greaves and a 30 year old Tommy Taylor.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">He was also a wise Director at United. How they have missed his counsel. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">City are the next league visitors to Old Trafford. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It will be an honour to help commemorate his life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4fRE0U-86l2jPkYbMJNbRRcL4EqCsxX-CtmyaYse6XX2ObFT7IyV6FG570c0L57fXBwRgYyu58zVBX0EHouhhX8voJQVCl7NAGZnkRzWPuMAoA67_erX3QggBTH9Qz4UaZFHR4N9eQq4gj6f9y-vbiQhwcrFcT9tWQbbiAkLkxsfqL8S64JmeCDO6V48/s3586/20231021_223311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="3586" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4fRE0U-86l2jPkYbMJNbRRcL4EqCsxX-CtmyaYse6XX2ObFT7IyV6FG570c0L57fXBwRgYyu58zVBX0EHouhhX8voJQVCl7NAGZnkRzWPuMAoA67_erX3QggBTH9Qz4UaZFHR4N9eQq4gj6f9y-vbiQhwcrFcT9tWQbbiAkLkxsfqL8S64JmeCDO6V48/w640-h372/20231021_223311.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">England line up in Guadalajara, Mexico for their opening game of the World Cup finals. Both Bobby Charlton and Francis Lee, lost to the football world this week, featured in the starting line up.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><div><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div><p></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-45461129826107270682023-10-20T16:27:00.005-07:002023-10-21T02:25:02.590-07:00EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY: BRIGHTON 1979<p>📸Season 1979-80 First Division</p><p>📆25th August 1979</p><p>🏟 Maine Road</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-lk9mp9dtYFinKxd5_hvyQI1XAulzOpymsNSUtYyDqkFjwV4V91qKhl2r2RfT2COQIrfmopC3P69k5bcueEr_QVRUbRhBbODfutrhJge4q5ZyVPtbwyLk6ay1a1a_rU55N8wPT-LW2g6p0F6m3cpqfROpfI7A_hejd8qycGXYVhEZu_9UZourN7iUOzY/s4624/20231020_173737.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="4624" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-lk9mp9dtYFinKxd5_hvyQI1XAulzOpymsNSUtYyDqkFjwV4V91qKhl2r2RfT2COQIrfmopC3P69k5bcueEr_QVRUbRhBbODfutrhJge4q5ZyVPtbwyLk6ay1a1a_rU55N8wPT-LW2g6p0F6m3cpqfROpfI7A_hejd8qycGXYVhEZu_9UZourN7iUOzY/w640-h288/20231020_173737.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Early season home action between City and Brighton in a 3-2 thriller in favour of the Blues.</p><p>Image shows goalmouth action at the Brighton end, watched by a well-stocked Kippax. The goalkeeper making the acrobatic save is Eric Steele, who would go on to total 87 Brighton appearances, before moving on to Watford in time to be a part of their surge into the big time, although his appearances there were restricted by Steve Sherwood and later <a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2017/09/200-wordsworth-74-tony-coton.html">Tony Coton</a>. On retiring to run a pub, Steele set up a goalkeeping school and later resurfaced at City as goalkeepers' coach in 2007 as a replacement for the departing <a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2022/01/200-wordsworth-217-tim-flowers.html">Tim Flowers</a>.</p><p>Crumpling to the ground in front of Steele is<a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2016/09/200-wordsworth-44-michael-robinson.html"> Michael Robinson</a>, the City striker finished as top scorer this season, but with a feeble 9 goals. His 46th minute penalty past Steele put City 3-1 up in a rollercoaster game that had seen Teddy Maybank equalise <a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2016/05/200-wordsworth-27-paul-power.html">Paul Power's </a>24th minute opener. In between ex-England striker <a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2016/10/200-wordsworth-52-mike-channon.html">Mike Channon </a>(2) had already netted City's second. Robinson would move to Brighton and score freely against City, before heading for a surprise upgrade to Liverpool and a career playing for the Republic of Ireland. Channon would also head to the south coast, but in his case back to his first love Southampton, where he would also call in the <i>Law of the Ex-Player</i>, by scoring twice against City in the opening game of the 1980-81 season. </p><p>Attempting to mark Channon in this instance is future BBC pundit Mark Lawrenson, who, like Robinson, would end up at Anfield and play for the Republic and would be remembered as one of Brighton's best-ever players.</p><p>Completing the picture is no.2, John Gregory, who would go on to become a classy midfielder for QPR, Derby and Aston Villa, winning 6 England caps along the way. Curiously, he ended up managing these three clubs too, as well as Plymouth, who he had also briefly played for. Is there another individual who has both played for and managed as many as four clubs? Gregory's only tenuous link to City was that he became one of the regular names linked with the club whenever a management vacancy came up at Maine Road/the City of Manchester Stadium, but he never made it past the newspapers' gossip shortlists.</p><p>In Brighton's side on this sunny August afternoon was <a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2017/08/200-wordsworth-70-brian-horton.html">Brian Horton</a>, future City manager, as well as the recently deceased Gerry Ryan. On the City side, goalkeeping giant<a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2016/03/200-wordsworth-12-joe-corrigan.html"> Joe Corrigan </a>would play 36 games at the Goldstone Ground in 1983-84 to add to the near 500 he managed for the Blues. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">**</p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-48972032655177104052023-10-06T07:01:00.003-07:002023-10-06T07:01:58.548-07:00GALLERY: FRANCIS LEE<p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">FRANCIS LEE: 1944-2023</span></b> </p><p style="text-align: center;">Lee, one of City's all-time greats, completed a total of 320 games (1 as sub), scoring 143 goals.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvAsesjR9B8oZ-5qYZ1kcnRM_fKWhr8UeV3HkNVBlf8bhdR7ZikbRnWQfSG4p7H8nh6MYI20I2RyzR-LzTNoQ7AkdfekrXiE5k58D5Y-jUvD9IOvW5QTc_YIgIQkTQq-3rm5ziQO2mRk_b50QqYbxOV_K9aNgdHUhNEbzQBJnPSFduA-ugvu15j6NVycM/s2476/20231005_095934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQMHDPK9iF6hu07ARM2b9xKl6CsOTcrHJG0vL3RaaUP1sALAAZvH9iywqjr4bDMdxMxDdxwa9HB3k3j3JQ6ncGIPW4KUvJC4ocQNltxyGYkA2QzcqDuqBbeC9-FrsLXgKTO5mo8hBOL_G1Up1iIstqSX2USTWTcU8pQI-eF9QZlCI16A172pMYh_TOI4/s640/Lee%20RIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQMHDPK9iF6hu07ARM2b9xKl6CsOTcrHJG0vL3RaaUP1sALAAZvH9iywqjr4bDMdxMxDdxwa9HB3k3j3JQ6ncGIPW4KUvJC4ocQNltxyGYkA2QzcqDuqBbeC9-FrsLXgKTO5mo8hBOL_G1Up1iIstqSX2USTWTcU8pQI-eF9QZlCI16A172pMYh_TOI4/w640-h360/Lee%20RIP.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Make no mistake, Francis Lee was one of the true Manchester City greats, a player of such passion and devotion and a character of such forcefulness that he would have been vying with today's giants for a place in the All-Time City eleven. In my estimation, he would be in it too, with a big white number nine on his proud broad back.<div><br /></div><div>Lee was afraid of nothing and no one, hurtling into the kind of tackles in the 1970s that would make today's hard men blanche. He could dish it out too, built as he was with thighs like tree trunks and an oak barrel of a body. But he could shift, could Francis. Quick and nimble, he was deceptively agile with both feet, a good dribbler, accurate passer, deft penalty taker (and penalty winner) and packed a shot like a thunderbolt that pinged in from all angles. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I interviewed him in 2022 at his Algarve villa, he was bursting with tales of the good old days, despite recent illness. That trademark chuckle dotted the conversation, as did a row of well judged expletives. Even in his later sadly diminished state, Francis Lee was still a true giant. </div><div><br /></div><div>As one of the talismen in Joe Mercer and Malcolm Allison's thrilling late 60s City side, Lee burst onto the first division scene like a cluster bomb and took little time making a name for himself. Robust at Bolton, he became unstoppable at City, with the guile of Neil Young alongside and the combative wing skills of his lifelong friend Mike Summerbee out wide. Behind him Colin Bell provided a supply of passes and energetic back up to the front men to complete an utterly beguiling City forward line. Nobody could live with them and they knew it.</div><div><br /></div><div>But there was an edge to Franny that the others perhaps lacked. Allison, himself no stranger to stepping up to be counted, saw that in the Bolton tyro and brought him to Maine Road as quickly as he could. He knew he could build a side around the likes of Lee and Bell and Summerbee, because they were imbued with characteristics that others did not possess. One of Allison's abiding and favourite memories of Lee came during the Summer tour of the U.S. in 1968, just after City's league championship win and before they embarked on their inaugural European Cup campaign.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tiring of the slow service in their San Francisco hotel, Lee began to chew on the flower decoration in the middle of their table. Allison, ever the showman, ever the whirling pivot of everything that happened at the club, saw his onfield persona in Lee. There was a cockiness even then that the City coach knew he could harness for the good of the side. Alongside Bell's matchless stamina and Summerbee's steely nous, Lee would play the Westhoughton gunslinger role to a tee. </div><div><br /></div><div>This was the Old Elite of Manchester City and Lee was its regal centrepiece, a cosmic wrecking ball of a striker, with x-ray vision and laser accuracy. Nobody played a more central role to this initial searing burst of sunlight when Manchester turned sky blue and we thought summer would last forever. That it did not last forever was predictable enough but Lee, with his vision on and off the pitch, was one of the first to note that things were turning sour. </div><div><br /></div><div>He saw it in the arrival of Peter Swales to the City board, who he would later oust in a dramatic fight for control of the club in the 90s. He saw it in the arrival of Ron Saunders to manager characters and heroes at City that no longer wished to be treated as feeble pliant young lads. Lee had a nose for goals, a nose for fun but also a nose for looming trouble. </div><div><br /></div><div>Before that trouble could engulf him, Lee was off to Derby County. It was no desertion, however. Discarded by Swales, his heart was still with the club, as it remained to his last day. His final act was to head to the training ground to say farewell to the men and boys who had accompanied him through the highs and flights of City's remarkable trophy glut of 1967-1970. </div><div><br /></div><div>"I shook hands with the players, the guys I had grown so close to over the years and then, just as I was leaving, I turned round to them and said, 'I'll tell you what, lads. I've got some bad news for you. We've been here all these years and won all the things that has made all this money for the club and we're still training in a school yard. That shows you the kind of twats that are running this club!'"</div><div><br /></div><div>Lee's perspicacity was not confined to the football pitch.</div><div><br /></div><div>And he returned to Maine Road, as a Derby County player on the way to the league title, after Swales had thought he might be able to sell him to "some club in the 2nd division". Lee cut inside City's backtracking defence and smacked an unerring howitzer past his old mate Joe Corrigan and into the top corner for the winner and the birth of Barry Davies' most famous line of Match of the Day commentary.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Look at his face! Just look at his face!!" </div><div><br /></div><div>Well, we did look at his face, beaming from ear to ear with that mischievous grin that was his trademark. Francis Lee of Bolton. Francis Lee of England (the greatest England side, in Mexico 1970), Francis Lee of Derby County but most of all, by far most of all, <i>Francis Lee of Manchester City</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is to all these Francises we must now say goodbye. God bless you, Francis, for your service to this great club. May you rest well and in peace in the muddy goalmouth in the sky. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0l9z-e69cDGgXACKBJPhoUhUpPo4HdcAUsnT4s2joUTX7KwHHeLsPPPE575VNLJFA_6-qVNTEOSF6tZ7Z19A-UmMEFePF-CXdPZ06M0zeobz-H8gS2-EsqbTWO4rkmcnzUXaF6p-dOn7TP0vy27lTgiurwGuBO8lpKnUayeHEXrAOujaWKjE-ZRWNpQ/s232/Lee%20MR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="217" data-original-width="232" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0l9z-e69cDGgXACKBJPhoUhUpPo4HdcAUsnT4s2joUTX7KwHHeLsPPPE575VNLJFA_6-qVNTEOSF6tZ7Z19A-UmMEFePF-CXdPZ06M0zeobz-H8gS2-EsqbTWO4rkmcnzUXaF6p-dOn7TP0vy27lTgiurwGuBO8lpKnUayeHEXrAOujaWKjE-ZRWNpQ/w320-h300/Lee%20MR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-18246630732836872012023-09-29T08:43:00.000-07:002023-09-29T08:43:35.229-07:00EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY: WOLVES 1998<p>📸 Season 1997-98, Championship</p><p>📆 6th December 1997</p><p>🏟 Maine Road</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQc-Fjz0qI8Jk7zSJ_3lTnp4OTJXNwf1iwaPZ5dESjovbaE0yTdH_JwiEQd_0r6-kRrJlAcTFIcvPgT7_6SocvdAk_I4HN__USYdYAFLUaQc_3LJ9NAS5UxztnUBZjGAk7ZS35RKmEoAAkEQQpsaDqiCkKW_eVfIHzN4_OVy9TvgIF5oyT5qpobWALKk/s4351/20230928_002133.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="4351" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQc-Fjz0qI8Jk7zSJ_3lTnp4OTJXNwf1iwaPZ5dESjovbaE0yTdH_JwiEQd_0r6-kRrJlAcTFIcvPgT7_6SocvdAk_I4HN__USYdYAFLUaQc_3LJ9NAS5UxztnUBZjGAk7ZS35RKmEoAAkEQQpsaDqiCkKW_eVfIHzN4_OVy9TvgIF5oyT5qpobWALKk/w640-h306/20230928_002133.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>A one-goal defeat that saw City drop to 18th in the second division (<i>Nationwide League Division One</i>) table. The goalmouth scramble at the North Stand end features two Wolves players who had earlier worn the sky blue of City with differing levels of distinction.</p><p><b>Keith Curle (2)</b>, a £2.5m signing from Wimbledon under Peter Reid, played over 200 games in a five-year stay in Manchester, becoming captain and a semi-reliable penalty taker too. His last game for City was the relegation disaster against Liverpool, when Alan Ball ordered Steve Lomas to waste time at the corner flag when City needed to score another goal to survive. What a way/day to bow out. Curle famously netted a penalty at the Scoreboard End at Old Trafford and ended up walking back towards the centre circle with a City fan draped around his neck. Was less lucky with a penalty at Cardiff in the cup that was saved and resulted in City going out in a bearpit atmosphere in south Wales. </p><p>Curle served Wolves for a similar period after leaving City, lasting four years and making over 150 appearances up to the year 2000. Helping out in a beleaguered Wolves rearguard here is 'keeper <b>Mike Stowell (3)</b>, nearly 400 appearances for the West Midlanders standing against his 14 loan appearances for City in 1988. Stowell's inauspicious City debut came at Ewood Park, where he dropped a clanger for the home side's first goal. Stowell also played in the 4-0 mauling by Liverpool in the FA Cup 6th round, his biggest game for City. </p><p>Wolves were another of six clubs Stowell played for as a loanee from mother club Everton, before joining full-time in 1990.</p><p>This was one of three games against Wolves that<b> Paul Dickov (1) </b>played for City, all lost, at a time when Wolves were something of a bogey side (<i>curiously almost all of City's opponents in the 90s were bogey sides</i>). On this occasion Dickov would be booked and the winning goal would be scored by <b>Kit Symons (4)</b>, a defender synonymous with all that went wrong with City during this time. Leaping with Stowell and causing very little danger at all is another player whose mere mention brings City fans of a certain vintage out in the sweats: <b>Ged Brannan</b>.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-57037078999849653382023-09-26T07:00:00.003-07:002023-09-26T11:36:51.537-07:00EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY: NEWCASTLE UNITED 1976<p>📸 Season 1975-76 League Cup Final</p><p>📆 February 28th 1976</p><p>🏟 Wembley Stadium, London</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgiCvpEP97kQcKdNvjCXKfyhKPKF6F--xaTdGQ3pOn1NT-xApz_wy5TL-v5bserP3N02gT8XZROiDqEGDjoC8C46CHdHM7c89VsL8lHLvHe_r4VSBiW3dXJ6tecWfnemSF-RAJOO3Qxc26YUIi1Hn1ay9kF29jg9ID8uM3FNbNwOkU5sSzPkMKzyZjuE/s848/newcy76.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="848" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgiCvpEP97kQcKdNvjCXKfyhKPKF6F--xaTdGQ3pOn1NT-xApz_wy5TL-v5bserP3N02gT8XZROiDqEGDjoC8C46CHdHM7c89VsL8lHLvHe_r4VSBiW3dXJ6tecWfnemSF-RAJOO3Qxc26YUIi1Hn1ay9kF29jg9ID8uM3FNbNwOkU5sSzPkMKzyZjuE/w640-h446/newcy76.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>The 1976 League Cup has just been won. City are on their lap of honour, receiving gracious applause from the Newcastle supporters and a rapturous reception form Blues fans at the Tunnel End. It is City's third League Cup final of the 70s (<i>winning in 1970 v West Brom and losing in 1974 v Wolves</i>) and their first trophy since the Cup Winners' Cup and League Cup double of 1970.</p><p>Unused sub <b><a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2016/08/200-wordsworth-38-kenny-clements.html">Kenny Clements (1)</a></b>, resplendent in Adidas hoodie (<i>despite the fact City have never worn Adidas in their entire history</i>) parades with his triumphant team mates. Clements, a boyhood United fan who had been on the groundstaff at Maine Road, had made his debut in August of this season in an away defeat at Villa Park. Starting life in the Central League as a central defender, he was switched to right back for a reserve game, ironically against Newcastle, and ended up staying there. He was edged out of playing in the final in his customary full back slot by <b><a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2021/11/200-wordsworth-199-ged-keegan.html">Ged Keegan (4)</a></b>, a name to conjure with for both sets of fans in this fixture. Keegan had played excellently in the semi final second leg thrashing of Middlesbrough that saw City through to Wembley and kept his place for the final. His namesake Kevin would later play for Newcastle and manage both clubs through some of the most attractive football of their modern times. </p><p>Lifting the trophy aloft is big <b><a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2017/09/200-wordsworth-73-dave-watson.html">Dave Watson (2)</a></b>, a magnificent centre half, particularly dominant in the air. Watson, bought from Newcastle's rivals Sunderland for £275,000 would go on to be one of the finest stoppers of City's modern history and a mainstay for England for many years. Alongside him, matchwinner <b><a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2016/03/200-wordsworth-11-dennis-tueart.html">Dennis Tueart (3)</a></b> had also been bought from Sunderland, both players featuring in the second division side's heroic FA Cup final defeat of overwhelming favourites Leeds in 1973. Tueart, dubbed "<i>King of All Geordies</i>", a Newcastle fan, had just knocked the stuffing out of his boyhood team with an overhead kick in the 46th minute that would go down in the annals of great Wembley winners. Both Tueart and Watson would rival some of City's modern day heroes for a place in the <a href="https://beyondthelastman.com/2016/11/15/manchester-city-eleven/">Best Ever City Eleven</a>. </p><p><br /></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-83349885309252947752023-09-26T03:41:00.000-07:002023-09-26T03:41:53.384-07:00EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY: NEWCASTLE UNITED 2003<p><b><span style="font-family: arial;">📸 Season 2002-03</span></b></p><p><b><span style="font-family: arial;">📆 18th January 2003</span></b></p><p><b><span style="font-family: arial;">🏟 St James' Park, Newcastle</span></b></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoUAT6lnaIdItHtaSRqRvh75GZaJdK4gOQjACD_FsoVRLGaJ68cJpoXHV9cWa3QkIrZLlfMTciQ1zXBcaqFMasbYonLPcFQy0OUHKWxmN0-uTGYDGeb7PG2pq4yAQazAVFCdd221d8NYTaOT76XQv1WMoZSN-_ZbIeWqzvPcXbJhuNs23LCHO8aVVBIg/s914/newcy.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="914" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoUAT6lnaIdItHtaSRqRvh75GZaJdK4gOQjACD_FsoVRLGaJ68cJpoXHV9cWa3QkIrZLlfMTciQ1zXBcaqFMasbYonLPcFQy0OUHKWxmN0-uTGYDGeb7PG2pq4yAQazAVFCdd221d8NYTaOT76XQv1WMoZSN-_ZbIeWqzvPcXbJhuNs23LCHO8aVVBIg/w640-h330/newcy.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Newcastle go two-up through the horizontal <b>Craig Bellamy (4)</b>, after Alan Shearer's "early strike" on 10 seconds catches Carlo Nash asleep straight from kick-off. Bellamy, at this time a complete pain in the backside to City's defence, will - after an odyssey that takes him to Celtic, Liverpool, Blackburn and West Ham - ship up at City for a two-season cameo of feisty front-running under Mark Hughes. In January 2009, he will even net a neat left-footer for City <i>against</i> his former club in the fixture at the City of Manchester Stadium.</p><p>In the background is <b>Sylvain Distin (1)</b>, who has already made the journey from Tyneside to Moss Side five years ahead of Bellamy. The cultured left-footer slots perfectly into defence on the left side alongside <b>Richard Dunne (2). </b>The Irishman will play 346 first team games for the club, included amongst them 24 matches against Newcastle. As the Premier League's record red card recipient, Dunne registered one of his total of eight dismissals in this fixture. As the Premier League's own goal champion, the Irishman also netted one of his 10 career own goals against Newcastle.</p><p>In a career that took him from Nottingham Forest, to QPR, via Newcastle, Tottenham and Villa, <b>Jermaine Jenas (3)</b> first played against City for Nottingham Forest in 2001, a Championship fixture which saw City include ex-Newcastle players Darren Huckerby, Steve Howey and Stuart Pearce in the side. </p><p>* Also playing in this 2003 fixture were the self-same Steve Howey (ex-Newcastle, playing for City) and Shay Given (Newcastle's keeper, future City custodian). </p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-78082778819894615412023-06-10T16:48:00.003-07:002023-06-11T03:09:56.618-07:00HERE'S TO YOU<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJBprDvlPzbgCZigYkezBNAq04-uRbypCUV02ikY_JJjYpgOeiz-xsIJuGVhCqMM-EpmjXAodV7tE0szkEHchtnXE4eYbJV12ulQeU7Uu_VeGt0S6JRSMZo8EQ8gzb94OUE82hllF_j_LmhSBZtdZW6Dyu0ubBcLFbNPJLdGtFSq1Fp3LhC-l7Qw-/s680/FySyHqXX0AA-S53.jpeg%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="680" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJBprDvlPzbgCZigYkezBNAq04-uRbypCUV02ikY_JJjYpgOeiz-xsIJuGVhCqMM-EpmjXAodV7tE0szkEHchtnXE4eYbJV12ulQeU7Uu_VeGt0S6JRSMZo8EQ8gzb94OUE82hllF_j_LmhSBZtdZW6Dyu0ubBcLFbNPJLdGtFSq1Fp3LhC-l7Qw-/w640-h640/FySyHqXX0AA-S53.jpeg%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><b style="font-family: arial;">To all those</b><span style="font-family: arial;"> who have shared the pain, </span></p><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to all those sent half insane,</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those who'll never be quite the same<br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those swimming in champagne </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who drank it in, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who believed what they saw</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those for whom it-ll never be a chore<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who couldn't believe their eyes;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those for whom fiction flies<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that toasted with flat beer, </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those with Russian vodka raised a cheer, </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those with Sangria jugs, vinho tinto in paper cups, </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">Gordons gin with cocktail umbrellas, </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">a nice cup of tea, an amoretto or Jager bombs</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those in the Hobec throngs, </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">the Delirium Tremens and the Alpha Super Dortmunders </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those eating textbook grub,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to those trying weird stuff out of a tub<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who hugged, bumped, shuddered, cried and bruised their legs at Wembley 99, </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those who always refused to toe the line.<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who gawped at Luton when Big Andy flexed his neck; </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those for whom City has been one long <i>what the heck</i> <br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who saw the pie hit Peter Willis </span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">and the Jack Russell that nutmegged Mark Lillis </span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those in the snow of Fellows Park and the rain of Hillsborough and the howling gale at Vicarage Road</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those getting sun burnt and to those catching a cold</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those drinking cans and making bold<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who got washed out on the perimetre wall at Boundary Park when Smith missed his pen, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who swore at Lincoln they'd never come again; </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the bloke who ripped up his season ticket on the pitch v Bury,</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have resorted to the creme de menthe and the sherry</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that have run around dazed for days, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those in a trusty beer-sodden haze</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that have laughed, cajoled, persisted and wished us on from afar; </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those for whom the door is always ajar.<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">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; </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those that sang their hearts out, wrote, sympathised, phoned, emailed, messaged, reflected and thought of us when we were dead; </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the kings of the hill at Ewood Park;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to taking it serious and having a lark</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Pete the Badge all dressed in blue</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">who is all of us, me and you</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Bernardo Corradi and his air guitar</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and Tits Out Jackie who went too far</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaK4vqZZ3EFEThhPYE8lSHnqHWKpXZcPQRvcg89ZVxOJIDSB7tSkxjeQEWwFCkJSLNermfmxO4nbI3sZ6AEZ-IdLs_rLrjj3Vs5Rzxpye0eDpnQueDNCAalM_A7q_XX5gLVgX_LuEJvC-gyjhB_O65yZTpm8Oi_WbLfwOjKY9dUnHQU4gYgp-9r4gu/s2880/20230607_091328.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2880" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaK4vqZZ3EFEThhPYE8lSHnqHWKpXZcPQRvcg89ZVxOJIDSB7tSkxjeQEWwFCkJSLNermfmxO4nbI3sZ6AEZ-IdLs_rLrjj3Vs5Rzxpye0eDpnQueDNCAalM_A7q_XX5gLVgX_LuEJvC-gyjhB_O65yZTpm8Oi_WbLfwOjKY9dUnHQU4gYgp-9r4gu/w640-h640/20230607_091328.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to all those in fancy dress at the Victoria Ground</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to 10,000 inflatables and the eternal popping sound<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those refs whose eyesight we questioned</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all the linesmen we abused</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those in Sale and Brooklands, in Prestwich and Collyhurst</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those in Northenden and Altrincham, Gorton and Ancoats</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To glorious Stockport and rainy Denton</span><br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To all those Everton fans singing Blue Moon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those for whom 3 o'clock spells doom; </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who doubted, poked fun, poured scorn, cried foul; </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and </span><span style="font-family: arial;">to all who were moved to howl</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who believed, believed some more, hoped, lost sleep, threw up, fell out, jumped in; </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who waxed lyrical, shouted from the rooftops, bellowed, cried and stood firm; </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those from whose wisdom we can still learn</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to all those that went home and away; </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to all those making hay.<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those in The Parkside, The Whitestone, The Vine, </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those in The Navigation Inn, The White Hart, The Broadfield, </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to Mary D's, The Sale Hotel, to The Blarney Stone and The Green Man, </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those in the The Boardroom and Yate's, The Pumphouse; The Funzel, The Little B, </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to the Proeflokaal, The Glue Pot, The George, </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to all the landlords and landladies that we have seen </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the Abel Heywood, The Millstone and points in between.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those that propped us up, put an arm around us, bought us a drink, </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those who stationed us above a sink.</span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those who put up with our moods, ruffled our hair</span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">pretended to listen, spared us a thought and showed us some care; </span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those with oil money and no history,</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to plastic seats containing plastic fans</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to all those in the Tibb Street Tavern<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those at Millmoor when King Colin scored</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to all who lived off that moment like a lord<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who saw Bert bend his neck</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those with more than a ketchup fleck</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those in the biggest Maine Road crowd, </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the men and boys, girls and mums who shouted so loud.</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who were not really there, time and time again</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Gerry Gow and Ian Bishop</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Tommy Hutch and goals at both ends</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to Bertie Magoo and the message he sends<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sl_yk5sxhHU/XNhethpLLfI/AAAAAAAAG0s/UUg68oS0b7ULkuC1WwJcFRp1sRZXL6BJwCLcBGAs/s1600/Bishop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="961" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sl_yk5sxhHU/XNhethpLLfI/AAAAAAAAG0s/UUg68oS0b7ULkuC1WwJcFRp1sRZXL6BJwCLcBGAs/s640/Bishop.jpg" width="384" /></span></a></div><div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those at Prenton, The Den, Saltergate, Bootham Crescent; </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who tackled, blocked, saved, scored, headed, came on, came off, jumped, challenged and played out of their skins;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those going through the bins<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who sang long and hard deep into the night;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who dared to dream;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who still dream;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those with their lights on full beam </span></span><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Dickov and the Goat;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all who cheered themselves hoarse at Wrexham and Stoke;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all who ran the gauntlet at Huddersfield and Wolverhampton;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those on the pop at Meadow Lane</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">who felt the joy and felt the pain, </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those on the roof of the Trent Navigation Inn</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those downstairs living in sin</span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to the throngs that greeted Charlton out on the pitch</span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those still rolling around in some muddy ditch</span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYe6rKZBqps58EXlVwPzS74MVstL9hVjBAoky5zPBYwSgCMsfIxYqic5iLGWzsnI1XkM7dimemLUIbFISIdKYYgPyLxf6sx7p79nG_hMzPgUmOhvGRu9v6RdSrENbjMSE6K4l3PU0g43Ctc6Pk_U--GH-u922JNB7gj61l5zFpuwf2siUji3bfMqP/s1024/1984-85%20Cha%20h.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="782" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYe6rKZBqps58EXlVwPzS74MVstL9hVjBAoky5zPBYwSgCMsfIxYqic5iLGWzsnI1XkM7dimemLUIbFISIdKYYgPyLxf6sx7p79nG_hMzPgUmOhvGRu9v6RdSrENbjMSE6K4l3PU0g43Ctc6Pk_U--GH-u922JNB7gj61l5zFpuwf2siUji3bfMqP/w488-h640/1984-85%20Cha%20h.jpg" width="488" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to all those who sang louder the worse it got;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>cheering and clapping every missed shot<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who renewed for Division Three</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">when City were buried deep, all out at sea.</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the 32,134 that turned out for Blackpool; </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the fans who never were and never will be</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those on the InterCity to Newcastle;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those in the minibus to Swansea</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those hitch-hiking to Plymouth </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those on the boat to Bilbao and in the van to Enschede</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that never came back.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those who left it slack at the back<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those in Basel and Copenhagen, Liege and Santander </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those on the fishing smack to the Faroes </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those in the double decker at Lokeren;</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those enoying a Gaudino drive,</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who are dead and those mostly still alive,</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who empathise, sympathise, chastise, romanticise;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who tried to understand despite everything;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who support United, Everton, Leeds, Chelsea but put up with us still, </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to admin and directors, boardrooms and the old bill;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Rodney Marsh and to Tony Towers </span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Glauber Berti and cartel-busting Robinho</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Manuel Akanji, the rock of the Alps<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have caught the bug</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those that offered a hug;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br />to all those in ski hats, Celtic and Rangers,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those oblivious to omnipresent dangers,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to doing the Poznan and showing your back</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to shouting for Mel to get the sack.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Mike Lester and Denis Leman,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to able bodies and David Seaman.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Mark E Smith and Bernard Manning</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all the years that we are spanning</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Frank Sidebottom's head</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to things best not said</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Nicklas Jensen's unerring left foot</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and Lee Peacocks bag of soot.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Scott Carson, the eternal sub</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">if ever he plays some will blub</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the goalden days under Brian Horton</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to present day, add a nought on.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who send text messages when we lose</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have it in your hearts to say "<i>come on Blues</i>" </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">just to make us happy</span><br /><br />to all those with logic and compassion</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to those that prefer fabrication and fairy tales<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those writing, thinking, posting, tweeting;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to all those fans of asterisks and brackets</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those whose matchday grub comes out of packets<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who were there and will be there</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have watched City at Wembley</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who knees didn't go all trembly</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who wish they could be there</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those new to the throng</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to the rousing words in our song<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who can never go again</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those wizened, cracked, broken and chastened</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those for whom hope is the killer</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those for whom the midweek match is the sacred filler<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Paolo Wanchope and Kevin Horlock</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Micky Horswill and Geoff Hammond</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to Ilkay Gundogan and his magic feet</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those who juggle with the balance sheet<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the unsung heroes and the bottle washers </span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the foot soldiers and water carriers</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who find a treble bittersweet</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those that find it quite a feat</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that dare not look </span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To our captain of captains Tony Book </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Rv6tz4JOmA/XNhfPJO9FLI/AAAAAAAAG00/6ap84iQCrWIF00QUnpkIncVrv2wxNLZhgCLcBGAs/s1600/69%2BBook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1227" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Rv6tz4JOmA/XNhfPJO9FLI/AAAAAAAAG00/6ap84iQCrWIF00QUnpkIncVrv2wxNLZhgCLcBGAs/s640/69%2BBook.jpg" width="490" /></span></a></div><div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the kitmen and the carpert cleaners;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to the poets, drinkers and truth gleaners<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Sheikh Mansour and his Lamborghini</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those whose funds only stretch to a rubber dinghy<br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those prematurely thinning</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the change from losing to permanent winning </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Nigel de Jong and Mario Balotelli</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to guvnors and young guvnors</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have played like we dream</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have dreamed</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have had a nightmare</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Jamie Pollock and Neil Heaney, to Jason van Blerk and Paul Beesley</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those for whom a Blue Moon rising sends a little shivver down the spine;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those in the Maine Road ticket line</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to all those who climbed the fences at Villa Park;</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to hail Bond's heroes till after dark.<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who saw next to nothing at London Road,</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Tommy Booth for baring the load;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who watched six go into the Norwich net</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">and John Bond's fall, the dozy get;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who clapped Big Mal across the turf</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who knew Mackenzie's worth</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who sank with Ricky Villa;</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Paul Power and the Goodison mud</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those whose hearts and limbs went thud</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Bobby Mac in goals </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to David James upfront</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Neil Young and Arthur Mann, to Malcolm Allison and John Benson;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Roy Paul and Don Revie, to Genial Joe and Tommy Caton;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Whiteys nap hand, to Quinny and Lakey;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Roy the physio and Beanie the horse.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who waved a banana and sang Blue Moon;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who cheered in the rain in the Prater;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who took a punch on the nose at Barnsley</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those asked the time at Millwall</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those who shed a tear when City win</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and those carrying FA Cups made of tin<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who played on through the rain;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to Makin and Wardle and times of pain<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who watched four goals go in on Tyneside;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Stan Gibson and his pitchfork;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Bert Trautmann and the never-say-die spirit;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Buzzer, Franny and Colin the King;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the indomitable spirit of Pablo Zabaleta</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who have walked Claremont Road;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>where litter flew and wind blowed<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who have raised a glass at the City Gates;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those who've seen sixes, sevens and eights<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Kevin Reeves and Paul Sugrue;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Bill Taylor and Peter Swales;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Bernard Halford and Terry Cook;</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To all those who dared not look</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To straight-faced Ron Saunders</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to Phil Neal and his cure for constipation<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have risked food poisoning, </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who drank too much </span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those hemmed in at Valley Parade</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to last minute winners out of the shade</span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who entered enemy territory;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the guy who jumped on Keith Curle at Old Trafford;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to quiet Mel and his repartee, to football genius Alan Ball;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>who brought us swiftly to our deepest fall<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Uwe Rosler and Steffan Karl;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to our Asa.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who played bit parts;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who scored off the far post;</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those that thought we could coast</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that put 5 in the United net;</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that made it six</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that thought the sun would never shine</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br />to those whose memories are a gold mine</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that saw Dickov slide in the rain;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that stayed and those that left and those that turned back and came again</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGjudDqGlM2NTIHGtcULpP5WeSPrSlpU1E02KfX-pPagTHsvvYFgDZY6bo3kiasuBtJ4Tk-XqnI7Sh45frIFi08V9Pzjmr4tmWnGdjf7giVM-qpVQ1q65K1SEzup8wF5T_rrsAsB8l6BDjqwz1MH5FAeKZYIXPq2SLukbJJrRZ8xfBHY6eqFVRLuH/s2880/20230607_092038.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2880" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGjudDqGlM2NTIHGtcULpP5WeSPrSlpU1E02KfX-pPagTHsvvYFgDZY6bo3kiasuBtJ4Tk-XqnI7Sh45frIFi08V9Pzjmr4tmWnGdjf7giVM-qpVQ1q65K1SEzup8wF5T_rrsAsB8l6BDjqwz1MH5FAeKZYIXPq2SLukbJJrRZ8xfBHY6eqFVRLuH/w640-h640/20230607_092038.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Bondy, Jimmy Frizz and Big Billy Mac</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Georgi Kinkladze and Murtaz Shelia;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who watched Kernaghan, McNaught and Davidson and still raised a cheer;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the legendary 8,000 living in fear;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those that sank 12 pints with Bobby Mac and Gerry Gow</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>and lived to tell the tale, don't know how.<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that swayed on the Kippax, bawled in the Platt Lane, chanted in the North Stand and launched pies in the Main Stand;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all on board the Coaches from Prestwich and Whitefield </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that got on the pitch at Loftus Road</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Binman Bob and Gordon Davies</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to Wonderwall and whoever saves us<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who saw the glory of Wrexham and the Bernabeu</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Captain Kompany, here's to you</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Freddie Pye and Trumann's For Steel</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Kia Joorabchian and his dodgy deal</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Joshua Parlby and to Chris Bird</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Joey Barton, the graceless turd.<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who craned their necks, asked who it was, smiled, tutted and shook their heads;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who saw Dennis fly at Wembley;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who had a surreptitious leak;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who dared not even peek</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who wet themselves;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who hung on and have hung on until now;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who never gave up;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who came back;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who can't take anymore;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who went away;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who are there in spirit;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who will not see what happens next;</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who don’t know how long they’ve got</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have seen enough already;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who will take what comes</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who packed the boozers at West Brom and Watford, Carlisle and Nottingham;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those rubbing their hands and eyes at Gay Meadow and The Shay;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>with watery eyes from what was on display.<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those for whom Górnik Zabrze means something;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those raising the forest roof in Apeldoorn</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Peter Barnes and to Dennis Tueart; </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMJ_clSpxnk/XNhfpSrZKlI/AAAAAAAAG08/26LDOydfarcS11hzig8Ff03JEw7BNq8swCLcBGAs/s1600/Lc76%2Bden.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1164" data-original-width="1600" height="464" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMJ_clSpxnk/XNhfpSrZKlI/AAAAAAAAG08/26LDOydfarcS11hzig8Ff03JEw7BNq8swCLcBGAs/s640/Lc76%2Bden.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div align="center" style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Denis and his back-heel;</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">And to how that made you feel.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Barney Daniels; to Stuart Lee</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who like a bit of history</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Gerald Sinstadt, David Coleman and Barry Davies at the mic</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Brian Moore and Motty who took the celestial hike;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those on the quays in Porto and in the cold of Red Square </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those on Rioja in Plaza Mayor with heads still bare</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Mr Manchester City Michael Doyle;</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>who used Lou Macari as his foil<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Dom Sullivan and Gordon Dalziel</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Barry Silkman and Dave Wiffill</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those with too many blue garments;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who refuse to wear red</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to all those hiding in the shed</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Until it's over<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who refuse to remove their lucky underpants;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those with their sleeves rolled up</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those with a clenched fist</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those beginning to list<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those with a welcoming embrace</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those in their match worn gear</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to all those who walk in fear<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who don't really know how to cope,</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br />to all those hearts without a hope</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who don't understand why we do it;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who have spent their last pound on a ticket;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those at the Full Members Cup and the Auto Windscreens;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those at Darlington and York;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Edin Dzeko and galloping Kolarov</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Kevin de Bruyne, the Zico of Gent</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">and to young Jack Grealish heaven sent</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Johnny Marr and Elvis the seagull</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to things illicit and not quite legal;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to The Elephant of Bondoukou</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who fret and worry</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who take it in their stride</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to little El Mago and his pirouettes</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">and to Demichelis' tottering steps</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who keep coming rain or shine</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those drinking red wine on the Bakerloo Line</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those on the port in Coimbra</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Big Joe and to Helen and her bell</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who City have left a shell</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those Kings of the Kippax</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those with memories of Maine Road</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those in 93rd minute limbo v QPR</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those climbing the steps at the Camp Nou</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to all who took in the mighty view<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those neutrals who will us on</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who couldn't give a shit</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who can take it and those who cannot.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Bernardo Silva and Leroy Sane</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Gary Owen and Tommy Booth,</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those memories that grate and soothe</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to fedoras and ski hats</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to shellsuits and flat caps</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that prefer the simple bar scarf</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that preferred to streak</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those having a very public leak</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those on the hard shoulder</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those left in the lay-by</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those climbing lamp posts in Sittard</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those on the frikadelle in Dortmund</span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those throwing up in Gelsenkirchen</span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to the slowest bus driver in Europe all</span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">who brought us to the Altstadt after the shutters fall</span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those on the gin</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those living in sin</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who smell of curry</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who can only worry</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Ron Healy and Eric Nixon</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Kevin Ellegaard and John Burridge</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to ginger Keith and Daniel Sturridge</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to Ederson Morais and his smiley face</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those boots we're not fit to lace<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Stephen Ireland's dear old gran </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">and to Elano's blast and long range slam</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to big Richard Dunne and the year of the ton.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span>to those who Ricky Holden's pace did stun<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to clocks that run to 93:20 </span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">and to those who thought just survival was plenty.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the Brightwells, the Morleys and the Futchers</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that hang around training for a butchers</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Glyn Pardoe and Kenny Clements</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Riyad Mahrez and his twinkling feet</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Sergio and Carlitos Argentinean neat</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those who tweaked muscles, broke bones, cracked heads</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that surged forward, to those that chased back.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Fernandinho's defence, midfield and attack.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that didn't make it all the way back</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that felt rain and to those in the sun</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to basking in the Bournemouth glee, it's in the can</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to taking the hills and buildng up a tan</span><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-So1o615AtmQ/XNhiclrr9AI/AAAAAAAAG1I/O1UnlQaO-MgDNQsA86oF3WPZFmX0lk7qgCLcBGAs/s1600/1999-00%2BBlaburn%2Ba%252C.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="1200" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-So1o615AtmQ/XNhiclrr9AI/AAAAAAAAG1I/O1UnlQaO-MgDNQsA86oF3WPZFmX0lk7qgCLcBGAs/s640/1999-00%2BBlaburn%2Ba%252C.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to all those freezing on the Scottie Road</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to any prepared to bear the load</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;">to those packed in times less lean </span></div><div><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: arial; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those in space for the Autowindscreen</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all Full Members and Simod Cuppers</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all who were there when we were on our uppers.</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Richard Jobson and Spencer Prior</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that speak truth and shun the liar</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To the class and style of Roberto Mancini</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To this charming man Senor Pellegrini</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Frank Clark and his crummy guitar</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">whose flat notes did burn and char</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Jamie Paradise with his 3 out of ten</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Bennett, Dave and Thatcher, Ben</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Foden Phil of Stockport town</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Pep the king</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">Who still makes us sing</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">To his watery eyes</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">That make us sigh</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the words that galvanise and purr</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and all those loins that he does stir<br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjg6nwFsfKoZ3AFcC2Hsh6wGLB92eaElR8llfD52sPKVjY7pX6aohSuI2NXYUSf2QmvKLgj_7WKPs4KW3Ny_1n-AOAKL_ruFMEhujPcCP9CpURsbT32h0PVhPv0ssqY2HjDhAHvLOPCBdBmTdoP8JkwTPxJDRjc8vbQCUO67DSIllCwvBNmQnTk7oIO" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="320" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjg6nwFsfKoZ3AFcC2Hsh6wGLB92eaElR8llfD52sPKVjY7pX6aohSuI2NXYUSf2QmvKLgj_7WKPs4KW3Ny_1n-AOAKL_ruFMEhujPcCP9CpURsbT32h0PVhPv0ssqY2HjDhAHvLOPCBdBmTdoP8JkwTPxJDRjc8vbQCUO67DSIllCwvBNmQnTk7oIO=w640-h640" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To all those at Elland Road</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To all those whose seeds were sowed.</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Gerry Creaney and the law of averages</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Colin Viljoen and Micky Channon</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To all those shunning the Liverpool slant</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">the well worn bullshit and desperate kant</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To those that gave us credit and those that pulled the plug</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To those that can still read Alyson Rudd</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Roger Palmer and Nicolas Anelka</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Derek Potter and John Bean</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To the Lees Bradbury, Mills and Francis</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To the Summer bee and the winter wasp</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To all those that count the cost.</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To all those that can’t afford</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To those that live like a lord</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To David Phillips and Derek Parlane</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To all those that felt no shame</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Kevin Keegan's mighty men</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Berkovic and Ali, a proper gem</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Neil McNab, to Willie Donachie</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Dave Watson and Mick McCarthy</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to headers that fly</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">right into the sky<br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to the balls that soared and those that popped</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to those that fibbed and photoshopped</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Bramall Lane and Valley Parade</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Paul Stewart and the flashing blade</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to Joao Cancelo, Rony Lopes and the Benfica gang</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those that bawled and sang </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to 12 seconds of cup final stress</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and Ilkay's majesterial caress<br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To those that sniffed and those that smirked</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To those that doubted and those that hurt</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To all those that put sweat on the shirt</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Steppi Stepanovic <i>Come on You Blues</i></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><i><br /></i></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To the exhortations you choose to use</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To chicken balti and warm Lamot</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To Jesus Navas who had the lot</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To those in the sun of Seville</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To those in the rain of Vienna</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To Fiona Richmond in the bath</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To Groenendijk and having a laugh</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To Peter Reid and Clive Allen</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">to Nicky Reid and Clever Trevor</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To Trevor Morley and Raheem Sterling</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To Gareth Barry and Gareth Taylor</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To Nelly Young and Alan Oakes</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">To Liam and Noel and other blokes</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span></div>To National Express and British Rail<br /><br />To Tom Garner through the wind and hail</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgop4Cm1NXKELCu3q4cp0yMK9CQNZ5Ea-Nbkf7Rkcj2iZmYJLqLioe4PxvU3LRSYBWkmHhotVrFbGwh9lP_lNAYmodZV5ZpHk14neth5AzJhSXkfcRHJorpE90_tUG-wtGBl261VrDaSZE1vIXcKapA57jteEWi1M3ttR8aAyPhiHVjOQa0AHiCKIlv/s2880/20230607_091438.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2880" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgop4Cm1NXKELCu3q4cp0yMK9CQNZ5Ea-Nbkf7Rkcj2iZmYJLqLioe4PxvU3LRSYBWkmHhotVrFbGwh9lP_lNAYmodZV5ZpHk14neth5AzJhSXkfcRHJorpE90_tUG-wtGBl261VrDaSZE1vIXcKapA57jteEWi1M3ttR8aAyPhiHVjOQa0AHiCKIlv/w640-h640/20230607_091438.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /><br />To Jo</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">to blow<br /><br />To Kakhaber Tskhadadze and all the other letters of the alphabet</span><i></i><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Gordon Dalziel and to Arthur Mann</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Les McDowall and the Revie Plan</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">To Paula and Lucas and little Sam</span><br /><br />to Greenalls and Grunhalle</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and the difference in between</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the best bloody team we have ever seen</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Rico and Cole and those coming through</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those that ensure that the future is blue</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to McAdams and Hayes, Fagan and Sear</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to a past that led to the present so clear</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Buckley and Kelechi and Sheron and Mee</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">talents that struggled and fell from the tree</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those on the bus, the tram, the train</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">or trudging back to town in the driving rain</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Barry Silkman and Terry Park</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">whose bite failed to exceed his bark</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to that Terry Phelan</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and the Dissa Pointon</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Martin Petrov's magic left foot</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to all those that didn't make the cut</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the Octopus and the carthorse </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">that carried the weight</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Stuart Pearce and the goals that came in a spate</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those crossing the bridge</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and those up in the air</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those on their own </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and those way down there</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to dark thoughts of failure</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to emerging to light</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to long years of danger</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to a long way from fright</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those on the ferries crossing high seas</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and those on foot can do as they please</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to legs bandy, crooked and long</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those on frees or going for a song</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Sun Jihai and the times that we had</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Alf Grey and Clattenburg and everything sad</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to shaking your head and saying that's it</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to coming next week and feeling a tit</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Maine Road puddles and Etihad baize</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">where frogs did swim and GOATS graze</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the steps of the Kippax, our ancestral home</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to wherever is next that we shall roam</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Nathan Ake and all that is cheap</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Haaland and Daley for pockets more deep</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the staff that prepare and the reserves that wait</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those of us struggling not to be late</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the Kippax loos</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the scoreboard fuse</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the Main Stand roof</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to the Swales truth</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Loftus Road kebabs and Coventry baps</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the girls that ate them and to the chaps</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Julian Alvarez and Stevie Kinsey</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to scoring made easy in off the shinsy</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those that worshipped in old St Mark's church</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to those whose adulation from Gorton did lurch</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Hyde Road and beyond </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to balls that cross lines and to those that don't</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to goals that will be given and others that won't</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the long legs of John Stones</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to the skills that he hones</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Sporting Intelligence and the Talksport phones</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to drip doctors sorting poor Samir affliction</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those nursing a bit of an addiction</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Rodney and Bojinov and the parties we had</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the fireworks and the allergies that made us feel bad</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWKkfYW2HgTtS1z0iP_f9OQa7GCpYEuVoK3bt7nK9E9XmX6BU5l0ApQysZUVDvscOCvgsWcQiwKmXFY__tInKhpFT6eNybkKqDUNf1aEYr3XTWT-Cva88Q-Js2WmCxboqb1Rmoai6Kak1JvCiAbPAtIIzV4f959XqLl45YVBVD8YCzSHFcbLRpQ3c/s1620/1%20malcolm-allison.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="1620" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWKkfYW2HgTtS1z0iP_f9OQa7GCpYEuVoK3bt7nK9E9XmX6BU5l0ApQysZUVDvscOCvgsWcQiwKmXFY__tInKhpFT6eNybkKqDUNf1aEYr3XTWT-Cva88Q-Js2WmCxboqb1Rmoai6Kak1JvCiAbPAtIIzV4f959XqLl45YVBVD8YCzSHFcbLRpQ3c/w640-h360/1%20malcolm-allison.webp" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibQ7rHW1stZy989AwjU9rKx6_KEtxSWcq9YioN26wsWL67pyXBXrtQdtWgT3vQXC1g5FNZreb1t5keGe8vCJqfSy7FT3wGfrjezODve2o6IuuFlXg8bM9pSjyemQey6oEngNIeCAal1bJAB7TpLXPQhvuzzvVHtKcXGu75vp3x4psRwheYOUBFUOe/s1602/1%20pep.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1602" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibQ7rHW1stZy989AwjU9rKx6_KEtxSWcq9YioN26wsWL67pyXBXrtQdtWgT3vQXC1g5FNZreb1t5keGe8vCJqfSy7FT3wGfrjezODve2o6IuuFlXg8bM9pSjyemQey6oEngNIeCAal1bJAB7TpLXPQhvuzzvVHtKcXGu75vp3x4psRwheYOUBFUOe/w640-h360/1%20pep.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to hearing the roar as you walk down the road</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the beat of your heart that couldn't be slowed</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those driving the bus and those not on the drink</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those sipping their way over the brink</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Belmadi and Abdoun, Djamel on both counts</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Ousmane Dabo who with Joey did flounce</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those that holler and those that cry</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those that snigger and look to the sky</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to divine intervention and the lap of the Gods</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to playing time out and hating the sods</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Ken Barnes and Earl Barrett</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Beckfords and Alex and all of their kin</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">who fought their corner despite colour of skin</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the Bowyers and the Boyers</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to the original sin</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to standing and staring</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to slumped in disblief</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the scorers and the passers and the work of the thief</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to burgers and bangers and things wrapped in bread</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those who saw City about to be dead</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Wembley and Porto and places of esteem</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Vienna and Manchester, the cream of the cream</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those still here</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all going strong</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those who fear</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">the going to be long</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to W Meredith who kicked up a storm</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and big Tommy Johnson who never lost form</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Joe Mercer's aces, young and in prime</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to managers and coaches out of their time</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Redmond and Moulden and Crompton and Scott</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and the day versus Huddersfield when the goals did not stop</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those that waved bananas and didn't give a toss</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Shinton and Robinson and big David Cross</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to comb-over Swales, the merchant of gloom</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to demos and mobs and harbingers of doom </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to good days and rough days and days that end sad</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those that came despite being called mad</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those with style and those with a riposte</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the lads wearing Fred Perry and those in Lacoste </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those ripping it up and those fast asleep</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the experts that gave us not one little peep</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those at Wembley to see United fall</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all who answered the blue clarion call</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those in Turkey who are breaking the banks</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">with understanding others still owed some thanks</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to doubles and trebles and dreams in the night</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to troubles and bubbles and things that take fright</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to UEFA and CAS and those FA bigwigs</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">a <i>figo</i> for that if you like figs</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those in customs and stuck in a queue</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those that vote Brexit in spite of the view</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Alty and Sale and stops in between</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all of the places we've ever seen</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the Men in Black at Colleen's gate</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the maestro wearing the eternal number 8</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to vodka chasers and Malibu and cokes</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Georgio Kinkladze those different strokes</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Danny Hoekman and Stanley Bowles</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those sardines that still swim in shoals</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Charvet and Sibierski and all things French</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Neil Custis placing Foden on the subs bench</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those in ticket queues in the rain</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">circling the North Stand in endless pain</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6AQO3dtau0yLVCtBjorqN7R2Ogje-T7OUdLtcjfpIETZjvpAjB84LnHDIhMgrdthYgZeXcE7CN2e3mHonkCdB2_mPNvowwiD_O9Iur9zvG73QKu5H9i1sVx_l9IUBvmQ37Uigog3RUH1-P0vn4KY_Ol3UPRPWtDe29-nNc6yn9nt8LiRb1-4ascGs/s1200/11,,,.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6AQO3dtau0yLVCtBjorqN7R2Ogje-T7OUdLtcjfpIETZjvpAjB84LnHDIhMgrdthYgZeXcE7CN2e3mHonkCdB2_mPNvowwiD_O9Iur9zvG73QKu5H9i1sVx_l9IUBvmQ37Uigog3RUH1-P0vn4KY_Ol3UPRPWtDe29-nNc6yn9nt8LiRb1-4ascGs/w640-h426/11,,,.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the teams that we played when we were shite</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and the grand masters now that have to take flight</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Northampton and Gillingham where we packed out</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Bayern and Schalke where we now shout</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Peter Gardner and the Evening News</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to every scribe who gave us our dues</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all those who saw Darius score</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those that could have done with a little bit more</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Ruben Dias, whose mam and dad</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">are happy and gay and not always sad</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Steve McManaman and his pointy arm</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to all of his shots that did absolutely no harm</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Inchy Heath and Marky Ward</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to tiny people who never scored</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to chunky strikers and whispy wingers</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Gary Megson's midfield zingers</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">To Burnden Park and White Hart Lane</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the day we score at Spurs again</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Boniek and to Messi and to all in between</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the gloss and the glamour that gives sheen</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Eidos and Phillips and Brother and Saab,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to every Guardian writer who offered a barb</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those wearing blue trilbies on public roads</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to chippy teas, curries and food that explodes</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those that sing and those that moan</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to those for whom time really has flown</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the fanzine sellers and the music makers</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the go-getters, the movers, the shakers.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Thaksin and Kaldoon and men from afar</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to free chicken satay and the blessed early bar</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to Kyle Walker and the goalkeeper's glove</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to blessed Rodri, when push came to shove</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">to the Istanbul crossbar strong and stout</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">and to all those still able to shout</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">To to all those who breathe and weep</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">and live and sleep</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">Manchester City FC</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"></span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">to all those who dared believe one day the sun would shine;</span><br /><br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;">You played your part. Now all is fine </span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>【fin】<br /><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32uTY9d6lG_wEAdeDEuMJrhoS0UNWDIWxZ1rti7nn7NIy-YvOTpsgFA5XtKaMF_nw5hrunIWLaKAS5S9TXqWmEqbCx_VOademyOeHFYt23pTSvk4nDGFVlV_UGkv_C_D3RMl7Ey2fOKViQhbqV_WKWPf3AlNyEYbWXVbAILa_SpmnN1NAUP3LgNWu/s248/wino.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="248" data-original-width="203" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32uTY9d6lG_wEAdeDEuMJrhoS0UNWDIWxZ1rti7nn7NIy-YvOTpsgFA5XtKaMF_nw5hrunIWLaKAS5S9TXqWmEqbCx_VOademyOeHFYt23pTSvk4nDGFVlV_UGkv_C_D3RMl7Ey2fOKViQhbqV_WKWPf3AlNyEYbWXVbAILa_SpmnN1NAUP3LgNWu/w524-h640/wino.jpg" width="524" /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div></div></div>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-65632668473917629112023-05-08T16:09:00.008-07:002023-05-09T01:10:59.940-07:00THINKING THINGS THROUGH<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjSa206wPowbtBxnre3EmHJ0JKxOlGoqOT3Qd9L7yMDIQj0J5n_-RdnO7XBzlONMPdQ9OdtDLQLLGID_kFwycYifQGVUW3FdvPJkU_uas1oFo53z-Che5ScCHYawfeJwJkQF-vvaVSq0bgEJp-4moQR4gNtZKvGEqvzZc7-0gGZV_GXDXWMa3cvTi_/s512/control.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="334" data-original-width="512" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjSa206wPowbtBxnre3EmHJ0JKxOlGoqOT3Qd9L7yMDIQj0J5n_-RdnO7XBzlONMPdQ9OdtDLQLLGID_kFwycYifQGVUW3FdvPJkU_uas1oFo53z-Che5ScCHYawfeJwJkQF-vvaVSq0bgEJp-4moQR4gNtZKvGEqvzZc7-0gGZV_GXDXWMa3cvTi_/w640-h418/control.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />It's that time of the year again, when Pep Guardiola's brain cells begin to ricochet around inside his head. Big games are looming and, with their heavy-footed approach, the need to get things <i>just right</i>.<p></p><p>In European competition at least, this has led to some off-the-wall coaching decisions by the great man. The notion that perhaps he overthinks the big games has never quite gone away, despite a roll of honour as long as your arm. In the Champions League, at least, this is an argument that stands up to the closest scrutiny.</p><p>City have now reached three consecutive semi-finals under the Catalan, but failed to get that far in any of his first four seasons at the Etihad. This startling run of what seemed to be bad luck was not just that. It contained perplexing decisions that helped ease the club out of contention each time. There have been plenty of moments of outrageous ill fortune too, but the coach's willingness to change vital team characteristics for critical one-off games has backfired at the most inopportune occasions.</p><p><b>STUBBING YOUR TOE ON THE ROCK OF MONACO</b></p><p>In Guardiola's first season in charge the round of 16 exit to a surprisingly nimble Monaco contained no major changes. It was a period where Fernandinho had surfaced at right back a few times, but the coach made no significant changes to the line-up for the two Monaco games, rather Bernardo Silva introduced himself to Manchester as a will-o-the-wisp, all-purpose devil-maker down the right flank for the visitors, completely bamboozling the City rearguard in a magnificent first half showing in the first leg.</p><p>With City's defence at sixes and sevens, the French led 3-2. David Silva clawed back midfield supremacy in the second half and an albeit haphazard 5-3 win seemed good enough. As Daniel Taylor wrote in the Guardian, "Where do you even start with a match of this nature. It was a thrilling night full of mistakes..." </p><p>This first leg had been reffed by Antonio Lahoz, soon to build himself a magnificent reputation amongst the City faithful, for puffed-out-chest, look-at-me-on-the-tv reffing. Here he booked Sergio Aguero for diving in the box when the Argentine was clearly fouled for a penalty. The ill-fortune did not seem to matter as City wracked up five goals, but they would pay for their openness in the 2nd leg in the Principality, where simple defeat to the season's surprise team of the tournament disproved the early feeling of joie de vivre and brought Guardiola's first doubts to the fore. </p><p>The Catalan had never managed a side knocked out of the Champions League so early. Perhaps it was here, in the ashes of a goal-strewn pantomime against Monaco, that his approach to big knock-out games began to change. After all those slide rule, mathematically precise wins for Bayern and Barcelona, Carry On Manchester City was perhaps not what he had envisaged. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeytxZgC_mL3Ef8YST0Um4wKszXW6dzzYnwaDwlG043D58dqH7J6_YIrcXCoWZ0GIHhnJEu95_ENnsjd8_VdYFMpjoctyIDEszbfYrsGOmN4QC1ZbC2NWXXkAXR6rBhv-vmUyn3casMG8TU7SACYQepRxQPIJ-Pkhobwa46ipGh9DwU7dELJnT32vg/s1199/2016-17%20Monaco%20a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1199" data-original-width="952" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeytxZgC_mL3Ef8YST0Um4wKszXW6dzzYnwaDwlG043D58dqH7J6_YIrcXCoWZ0GIHhnJEu95_ENnsjd8_VdYFMpjoctyIDEszbfYrsGOmN4QC1ZbC2NWXXkAXR6rBhv-vmUyn3casMG8TU7SACYQepRxQPIJ-Pkhobwa46ipGh9DwU7dELJnT32vg/w508-h640/2016-17%20Monaco%20a.jpg" width="508" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>LAHOZ AHOY</b></p><p>In 2017-18 all was running smoothly until City drew Liverpool in the quarters. The well-trodden path of <i>what to do at Anfield</i> rose menacingly infront of City's travelling party again. Guardiola was tempted and Guardiola succumbed to the temptation. New centre-back Aymeric Laporte came in at left back and looked like a centre-back playing left back throughout a miserably uncomfortable Anfield first leg. As we would see, a number of Guardiola's odd tactical decisions have also involved Ilkay Gundogan. Here, the clever midfield schemer was stuck out on the right side, largely ineffectual in a game won down the other side by Mohammad Salah's long-slow roasting of the cross-eyed Laporte.</p><p>With Leroy Sane pretty well shackled by Trent Alexander Arnold, City collapsed to a devastating defeat that proved beyond redemption in the second leg, once again decorated by the presence of Antonio Lahoz. </p><p>2018-19: For the second consecutive season, City came up against English opposition in the quarter finals and once again fell flat on their faces, having had their legs tied together by their own coach. For the first leg in London, Guardiola "<i>rested</i>" Kevin de Bruyne of all people, left out Bernardo and gave Fabian Delph his second start of the season at left back. For the return leg, Gundogan was again handed an unfamiliar role, holding. Bad luck dominated, Aguero missing an early penalty in London and a nuclear grade second leg proving impossible to knock into shape. The 4-3 win was not enough with what had looked to be an extremely dramatic winner from Raheem Sterling ruled out with everyone curled up on the turf, emotionally drained. </p><p>Having come unstuck against Liverpool and Spurs in super-charged all-English affairs where loss of control was perhaps inevitable, going out to Lyon the year after in a one-off game in Lisbon was unforgiveable. Guardiola changed things around to combat the threat that he saw from the then 7th-placed Ligue Un side. Again bad luck played its part, with Sterling's horrendous miss at 1-2, but in the end, City's cautious set-up - both Silvas again benched - was their downfall and Lyon went through 3-1.</p><p><br /></p><blockquote><p>"Malcolm Allison's <i>Cowards of Europe</i> speech would not go away. Worse still, in a new and ironic twist, City's final effort had made <i>them</i> look like the cowards. The enigma that is Manchester City was still succeeding in confounding the very best brains the sport had to offer...." <i>from City in Europe, </i>after City's exit at the hands of Lyon.</p></blockquote><p> </p><blockquote><p> </p></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsAD3JsYRcWYStiVkggQn5yMKG6RUOjSvEXTRKHnXxVGP7W2s80V5e_rdaav2GjaD8klLgdjz6-YXjpYBU-y7dOpFhEhGQ9DJwD087K2FARc4AD985jRjJZH_1Q0BLZoZLxZNLrpFgbTMlbbfmG2BAPaNrDHQXCVZD9LUv9CQVOxQNB3lZB2GvqAF/s495/1%20EC,.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="495" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsAD3JsYRcWYStiVkggQn5yMKG6RUOjSvEXTRKHnXxVGP7W2s80V5e_rdaav2GjaD8klLgdjz6-YXjpYBU-y7dOpFhEhGQ9DJwD087K2FARc4AD985jRjJZH_1Q0BLZoZLxZNLrpFgbTMlbbfmG2BAPaNrDHQXCVZD9LUv9CQVOxQNB3lZB2GvqAF/w640-h518/1%20EC,.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /> </span></div><p>If Lyon was an unthinkable collapse, finally getting all the way to the Champions League final by studious use of Rodri and/or Fernandinho as the last man in midfield and then - for the first and only game that season - deciding to start v Chelsea with neither one nor the other was akin to a chef deciding to make a chocolate cake using only peanuts the day the king comes to dinner.</p><p>Once again, Gundogan -sitting in that massive hole left by Rodri's absence - was the man left holding the sticky spatula. On the biggest stage yet, City had sticky stuff on their chin.</p><p>Analyzing last season's semi final with Real Madrid is still likely to make anybody feel dizzy twelve months on. Loosening Real's grip on "their" trophy is akin to peeling a python off a pig. How they hung on in Manchester despite an onslaught that would have flattened most teams, is still a dark mystery. Having slunk out of the Etihad with a 4-3 defeat, Real were then two goals adrift on aggregate in Madrid with seconds remaining. No funny business from Guardiola this time, but plenty from Real, as they scored twice at the death, then finished a shell-shocked City off in extra time. </p><p>There are signs that the Catalan has put an end to the tinkering for now. The sight of John Stones steaming through central midfield spraying cultured passes is still odd, but at least has become part of the fabric. Are there more surprises to spring on us all or has Guardiola finally landed on a system that should not, surely must not, be further tampered with in the pursuit of something intangible? </p><p>We are about to find out. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDNSyJjTPUG2FT8vzmn7iltHNa7U0kdzYyI6wtBY1opOH64mEq6hS-YPZOtQ3C90tJsb9H2XzKwvIQ3dl2d3izSEIFd1YIfXeKk-Erx5ALhvzK9SBkOC81DuTvzqA4oR9bxYtXPEo5M33OaMJJThBMmH2_y8cbZjriezcL5Och6168n4XV1g2irsLF/s2880/1%20CiE%20split.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2880" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDNSyJjTPUG2FT8vzmn7iltHNa7U0kdzYyI6wtBY1opOH64mEq6hS-YPZOtQ3C90tJsb9H2XzKwvIQ3dl2d3izSEIFd1YIfXeKk-Erx5ALhvzK9SBkOC81DuTvzqA4oR9bxYtXPEo5M33OaMJJThBMmH2_y8cbZjriezcL5Och6168n4XV1g2irsLF/w640-h640/1%20CiE%20split.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the above matches are analysed in detail in City in Europe, as is the charge of over-thinking big games often levelled at Pep Guardiola. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-8725488788449704002023-05-04T14:43:00.001-07:002023-05-04T14:44:23.166-07:00PIES IN THE SKY<p><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">🥮Many</span></b> objects were thrown onto the pitch at Maine Road during its long and distinguished period as Manchester City's home. In times of despair, frustration and even celebration, it was not uncommon to launch a belonging or two towards the lush green turf. This correspondent lost his Pringle sweater in the mosh pit of the Kippax during the promotion celebrations against Charlton Athletic in 1985, although I don't remember it getting as far as the pitch on that occasion, as 47,000 went berserk at the at the time scalding denouement of promotion back to the top flight. </p><p>How fully we celebrated small trifles in the 80s.</p><p>During that promotion run-in, there had been other occasions when it felt necessary to vent the spleen. At Notts County the week before, a variety of objects had been airborne, including most of the perimetre fencing separating City's 13,000-strong away following from the pitch. That some supporters then even reached the dressing rooms that day to give Billy McNeill's droopy and non-performing squad an impromptu team talk was hardly surprising.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQO7g27XhuhDVJYaP4qetNxC25zcauS1-3O7yCIOJDqOwKUA44wZblv6QO3qfJ3WgYNBBFW2WzcsWpNmY7WAK-Mcx4aaad2rG-npzAKUcLxEAWupOcwzY-KUEWh7cTkmMRhnsYIyLEHbwotSOXoX2nmUbBZ8_9WJ5SURKVhXflvsEF4DhXiPvNAl_7/s3180/1984-85%20Old%20h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2548" data-original-width="3180" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQO7g27XhuhDVJYaP4qetNxC25zcauS1-3O7yCIOJDqOwKUA44wZblv6QO3qfJ3WgYNBBFW2WzcsWpNmY7WAK-Mcx4aaad2rG-npzAKUcLxEAWupOcwzY-KUEWh7cTkmMRhnsYIyLEHbwotSOXoX2nmUbBZ8_9WJ5SURKVhXflvsEF4DhXiPvNAl_7/w640-h512/1984-85%20Old%20h.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>There were a few things on the pitch by the end, including Notts County manager Jimmy Sirrell's loud hailer, used to inform the City support they were being thoroughly unreasonable. </p><p>As City's promotion charge turned into a stumble, nerves had become more and more frayed.</p><p>It had all started to go pear-shaped the week before the ill-fated Notts County trip. A local derby against Oldham at Maine Road, tension levels through the old corrugated tin roof, atmosphere febrile and patience running as thin as a Jacob's water biscuit. </p><p>Enter a stubborn and, on this occasion, distinctly spicy Oldham Athletic, intent on spoiling any hint of a party. City, ravaged by injuries and wracked with the usual existentialist self-doubt, set about the visitors with all they had, which in truth was Geoff Lomax and Kenny Clements.</p><p>Shortly before half time a crunching tackle from the aptly named Gary Hoolickin brought young stand-in <a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2021/08/200-wordsworth-181-jamie-hoyland.html">Jamie Hoyland's </a>afternoon (and season) to an abrupt end. With tempers rising Andy May stepped in to ask the referee, a certain Peter Willis, if he fancied taking control or not.</p><p>Take control he certainly did. Willis, an upright, balding policeman in real life, promptly sent May off for foul and abusive language and told Hoolickin he was a very bad boy and not to do that sort of thing again. As the stretcher carried Hoyland off, the Kippax erupted in a baying frenzy of anger, which had not nearly abated by the time Willis blew on his half time whistle.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qPBhQr2rSi-3KhNu9lPtKApFq6iNajfVkRyxfmsRHg2l1GYQSF3JWyCV6RY1yP-jAHjJF31dwm5EhkC181VKX5A7_FWQN_FUeLxHmTfFqNahpkrealQmFiIdAk5NO47aXpeWt17A1ERr00DiIIHkKooBWVCLyKrkQgPxbS-63Lst1S-ryXOoc3TX/s270/1984-85%20Oldham%20A%20h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="189" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qPBhQr2rSi-3KhNu9lPtKApFq6iNajfVkRyxfmsRHg2l1GYQSF3JWyCV6RY1yP-jAHjJF31dwm5EhkC181VKX5A7_FWQN_FUeLxHmTfFqNahpkrealQmFiIdAk5NO47aXpeWt17A1ERr00DiIIHkKooBWVCLyKrkQgPxbS-63Lst1S-ryXOoc3TX/w224-h320/1984-85%20Oldham%20A%20h.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>As the teams reached the touchline to enter the tunnel, a fully formed meat and potato pie, standard issue concrete crust, came hurtling out of the genteel rows of the Main Stand and clocked Willis full on the bonce, a glorious moment of historical colour that has lived long and true in the memory for all who were present that day. Willis, with no hair for the crumbs to stick to, strode beneath the Main Stand, his mind bubbling, gravy dripping from his giant policeman ears. How could he wreak revenge on this dreadful city of Manchester, with its thousands of obsessive cave dwelling thugs.</p><p>Three weeks later, 400 miles south at Wembley, Willis became the first referee to send a player off in a Cup Final, Manchester United's Kevin Moran the unlucky recipient of a familiar strain of over-excited officiating. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJDQsZ3EaPAQ1pJGPSUGNmSMvGyy9_qV-u99CLGe5Grbog6WHMb9aQD21zHXw6dGbZ22b6Pbo03EFZxaKiLPjMqIG6HqnU3hnZFmKhv2XbB242FzoKjfBVwtwRhQYzRMgno_Sg54QwYecUl6uEdB4NUGOIRbM0EKv0KefLwTyVzN8DsnblnpL-AHk/s2604/1984-85%20Oldham%20(h).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1388" data-original-width="2604" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJDQsZ3EaPAQ1pJGPSUGNmSMvGyy9_qV-u99CLGe5Grbog6WHMb9aQD21zHXw6dGbZ22b6Pbo03EFZxaKiLPjMqIG6HqnU3hnZFmKhv2XbB242FzoKjfBVwtwRhQYzRMgno_Sg54QwYecUl6uEdB4NUGOIRbM0EKv0KefLwTyVzN8DsnblnpL-AHk/w640-h342/1984-85%20Oldham%20(h).jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> </p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-39310543043430322932023-04-28T04:55:00.002-07:002023-04-28T04:55:18.500-07:00PARIS SYNDROME<p><b><i><span style="font-size: large;"></span></i></b></p><blockquote><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">"It shows in compelling fashion their remarkable strength in depth ,,, and also raises questions about how competitive this league really is..." </span></i></b></blockquote><p></p><p>These not the words of an overheating Arsenal TV member on their way out of the Etihad two hours after drawing Churchillian bluster to entice their team over the finishing line, but instead of Dan Roan, BBC Sport's Editor and the 2021 Journalist of the Year.</p><p>That we are experiencing the <i>Bundesligafication</i> of the Premier League or, as the Independent's Miguel Delaney put it, "it's just like Ligue Un".</p><p><i>Et ils ne plaisant pas</i>.*</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbnRV6Yn8DzxkvhRXWtgo1jJC35BtSASFpdtPL-657gv53p5Iijj5Iw-eV3ubgyPP6TU3KHwxq3SX_u_XJCUU12c16HIj11doW5lljsRkovlV-gnjsExWaHK0FnHaUNAcrqSRbp7rrNdwCQ7boNlpCeHranGDCxIZFbaUSd355-m7fPCzt2hBP-qY/s633/Don.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="443" data-original-width="633" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbnRV6Yn8DzxkvhRXWtgo1jJC35BtSASFpdtPL-657gv53p5Iijj5Iw-eV3ubgyPP6TU3KHwxq3SX_u_XJCUU12c16HIj11doW5lljsRkovlV-gnjsExWaHK0FnHaUNAcrqSRbp7rrNdwCQ7boNlpCeHranGDCxIZFbaUSd355-m7fPCzt2hBP-qY/w640-h448/Don.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p>Firstly, City have one of the thinnest squads in the Premier League. En route to reeling in season-long leaders Arsenal on a budget trimmed so much that City no longer feature in the top 20 net spending clubs in Europe since 2018, they have used a small but cohesive number of well drilled professionals. Well-drilled, well chosen, well tutored. When it comes to the pointy end of the season, Manchester City know what they are doing, know who they need doing it and know when they have to perform.</p><p>This kind of big match experience doesn't come easy of course. Scrolling back to 2010 and City's initial attempts to rid themselves of 40 barren years of struggling to live up to their occasionally successful past, there were plenty of occasions where experience, or a lack thereof, was the deciding factor against them. </p><p>Defeat to a still-crowing Manchester United in the semi finals of the 2009-10 League Cup over two tempestuous legs and losing out to Tottenham in the race for the final Champions League place spring readily to mind.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9G544CDW0Jof4MvyjW7SJmKkbP7Lun6wGBQ9mPm6JF2JQIb37RYPf7dHXT1j8iHFBaMlKVT-sIU5QETiakvAexVoSLu0q8dEjxw9qKryMwx1eYwIYZsaR4Jj961IMh5-thsv5shRM5bKZ4AtW-CsvWUDRDXzKEusgIP4F6kcy0cWibjZanxBpFkw6/s435/2009-10%20Utd%20a%20LCsf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="400" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9G544CDW0Jof4MvyjW7SJmKkbP7Lun6wGBQ9mPm6JF2JQIb37RYPf7dHXT1j8iHFBaMlKVT-sIU5QETiakvAexVoSLu0q8dEjxw9qKryMwx1eYwIYZsaR4Jj961IMh5-thsv5shRM5bKZ4AtW-CsvWUDRDXzKEusgIP4F6kcy0cWibjZanxBpFkw6/w588-h640/2009-10%20Utd%20a%20LCsf.jpg" width="588" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2009-10 League Cup semi final 2nd leg. dominant United deal with upstart City to progress to the final</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p>Since then, things have taken off somewhat. With a massive influx of cash from Abu Dhabi, a beginning was made to mounting an assault on the very well defended ramparts of the Top 4 (Manchester United, Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool), a group who had had it their own way almost uninterrupted for three decades. That this could only be done by spending vast amounts of money was a fact that, at the time, nobody denied. In fact there was a frisson of excitement similar to that which met Chelsea's arrival at the top table, funded at first by Mathew Harding's largesse then by the oil billions of Roman Abramovich. Upsetting the applecart was by and large seen as a good thing.</p><p>But you can of course have too much of a good thing. Fast forward a decade and we have a new status quo which is causing more pain and stress than any frisson of excitement that might have been felt in the early days of challenge. </p><p>City, to the surprise of all who said Sheikh Mansour would grow bored with his plaything, that throwing money at a project was just like the lottery winner gassed up on cheap champagne and not to worry, United would reclaim their perch from these noisy neighbour upstarts soon enough, have got stronger and stronger. Those critics were forgetting one thing and misjudging another, however. Succession problems at Old Trafford meant trying to replace the irreplaceable (an issue City themselves will face on Guardiola's departure) is nigh on impossible. The end of the cycle of domination was nigh, but what a cycle it had been (see table below).</p><p>Taking the different eras into account, it is clear that the profound worry of some at the present predicament is premature, or, if not, out of proportion. The first of the tables below show quite clearly that the domination City currently exhibit pales in comparison with that of Liverpool and United during their own much vaunted periods in the ascendency, when little was written about competitive balance, financial doping, Bundesliga woes and the strange whiff of Paris St Germain.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2exEGm56dz3wQNAzLWXp1d6aMNGik7F23QCNmBFnNDbbYAWio1Bkd5VGJfPLNAEcmp4Ne1iOfzbGFNCC1mklOaC4yQJoFiD2z9uBiPQ1Wa84QFVhb1QsAZOno6nWE844YbgAL2Sy8mpL726rjlNTU-Bc8y-wfmIfJZv8B1MJkA0HCwPs3Hgf17TcR/s1170/competitive%20balance,.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="1170" height="628" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2exEGm56dz3wQNAzLWXp1d6aMNGik7F23QCNmBFnNDbbYAWio1Bkd5VGJfPLNAEcmp4Ne1iOfzbGFNCC1mklOaC4yQJoFiD2z9uBiPQ1Wa84QFVhb1QsAZOno6nWE844YbgAL2Sy8mpL726rjlNTU-Bc8y-wfmIfJZv8B1MJkA0HCwPs3Hgf17TcR/w640-h628/competitive%20balance,.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5NvovBjWkDGvXOCP0BnF2dNrmE4lE_xNiALrn6DprAcO8a88z_S5CNg7_AclLmJjiYw7xFvh5rdguBgd33na6uFapfB0tCqT5Y6zcUbdpaTZDZqVzCIRaqXDQCRJZHmNSrILe4ZeHc_UtJ913br3NmPoPLAKbMDH2psuMW0nHe_onzkA5qN4ilyI/s720/competitive%20balance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5NvovBjWkDGvXOCP0BnF2dNrmE4lE_xNiALrn6DprAcO8a88z_S5CNg7_AclLmJjiYw7xFvh5rdguBgd33na6uFapfB0tCqT5Y6zcUbdpaTZDZqVzCIRaqXDQCRJZHmNSrILe4ZeHc_UtJ913br3NmPoPLAKbMDH2psuMW0nHe_onzkA5qN4ilyI/w640-h640/competitive%20balance.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We come to praise</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p>Misjudgement of just how professionally the long term project at City would be handled was also rife and widespread. None of the willy-nilly crash and burn politics of Chelsea or the desperate overspending of United and Liverpool on any players that shone brightly for twenty minutes. Here was a rock solid plan, well researched, properly constructed and funded, with the right people in the right places, highly tuned professionals who knew how to put coherent strategies into working order. Ed Woodward it was not.</p><p>City's development on the pitch has progressed carefully through the canny strategies of Roberto Mancini, via the exuberant poetry of Manuel Pellegrini to the arch plotter himself, Josep Guardiola. Nothing has been left to chance. Player recruitment too has been the subject of proper due diligence from day one. The <i>mala leche</i> that Johan Cruyff so desired to shake up his Barcelona pot (he brought in Stoichkov and Romario) has balanced the good solid pros. For every Tevez, a Zabaleta, for every Balotelli a Kompany, for every Bellamy a Barry and so on. Add the little recognised brilliance of David Silva (Ferguson "They thought they were buying David Villa"), Yaya Toure, Kevin de Bruyne, the 60 million pound flop, and you can see that City have seen something others have not.</p><p>It has reaped surprisingly rich rewards. City have won 17 trophies since 2010, quite the turnaround from the 1976-2010 potless abyss. 26 Wembley visits in that time speak for themselves, and to a degree the reason for an occasional lack of enthusiasm for extortionate trips down south these days.</p><p>If City manage to overhaul Arsenal in the finishing straight it will mark their 5th title in six seasons. The alarm bells that have been ringing for a while now, will ring themselves to a standstill. Those trying to persuade us that there is now a concomitant lack of competitiveness in English football will produce these bald statistics. Well, we all know what we can do with statistics to make a case.</p><p>The fact is four of City's six title have been won on the final day of the league season. That is, after ten months of infernal struggle, it has come down to the last day. and in two heart-wrenching cases, the final kicks of the season to decide who won. City have won these titles by nil, one, one and two points respectively, hardly a case of a juggernaut steaming away with only flattened Arsenals and Liverpools in their giant treadmarks. </p><p>Debunking other people's worries is one thing. Reminding the same people that the domination perpetuated by Liverpool and Manchester United in previous cycles was a lot worse, is another. In nine years of the 90s Manchester United won seven Premier League titles and were lauded to the rafters for their excellence, their haughty dominance under Roy Keane and Paul Scholes, the bargain buys Van Nistelrooy, Cole and Yorke. Their exploits became legend, their players unforgettable Premier League icons. There was not a single feather ruffled by anyone suggesting this domination might not be a good thing. people were far too busy excitedly gobbling up the spectacle of David Beckham's twirling free kicks and Ryan Giggs' extravagant jungle of chest hair. They were truly the glory days.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKREUr-Wuxh9A3b5JNscYl5IMidhTtvtOv6vUScQGiPZBDlwvcF_YTOJU6awPgzuJO2QhNUxWaRSOoPqaN_ZoiS0fGHjVuJrP6-httCarCpub1C1A_8ZQDt8vSIKteaY8D6HOEJThq21CUsFgJ8Vntg9fsfnWtCy74lvEyIFCcDPD7qG4qgV9oLHB3/s265/Liv%20Double.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="219" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKREUr-Wuxh9A3b5JNscYl5IMidhTtvtOv6vUScQGiPZBDlwvcF_YTOJU6awPgzuJO2QhNUxWaRSOoPqaN_ZoiS0fGHjVuJrP6-httCarCpub1C1A_8ZQDt8vSIKteaY8D6HOEJThq21CUsFgJ8Vntg9fsfnWtCy74lvEyIFCcDPD7qG4qgV9oLHB3/s1600/Liv%20Double.png" width="219" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Glory Years</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>City's domination of the Premier League in recent times is not nearly as iron-cast. For all their well-planned excellence, they have worthy challengers close in their wake. This year Arsenal, in recent times Liverpool, Chelsea, Leicester and others. The quest for ever-improving standards has brought the challengers into a new bracket too. In order to challenge, the likes of United and Liverpool have had to tighten their own operations and improve. This they have done or are in the process of doing, leaving us with a top level to the Premier League which is of the highest order.</p><p>That City are currently the best of the field is the cycle we are in right now. It will not last, neither will it, or does it, herald the last rites of competitiveness in the Premier League. A cursory glance at the facts will confirm this for anyone who wishes to know. </p><p>Much has also been made of the prospect of City winning three titles in a row, a kind of holy grail that only Huddersfield, back in the mists of time, Liverpool, United and Arsenal have managed. If it comes to pass, it will not be met by the same high praise City's predecessors rightly received, but by a wall of opprobrium and yet more cries that our national game is ruined. </p><p>And David May, for one, will not be hosting a barbecue.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym9Q1bjD4mLoctHUm1saDH3I2qfqoF__4ErT44GiTnK2ecJCmlcsUU1EskCWkfs3tbWsdM6qofdYx-YUGbnyLFJYq38FJIwKoC9oeYPnSJZqg6dTWpoLqDx79OLI3FmgybabMeBMLNZAR9LQIQhUdLzpIP4Oj_BpyNmXnHqkR2H8OX3Y2ZenLv6s_/s827/david%20may.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym9Q1bjD4mLoctHUm1saDH3I2qfqoF__4ErT44GiTnK2ecJCmlcsUU1EskCWkfs3tbWsdM6qofdYx-YUGbnyLFJYq38FJIwKoC9oeYPnSJZqg6dTWpoLqDx79OLI3FmgybabMeBMLNZAR9LQIQhUdLzpIP4Oj_BpyNmXnHqkR2H8OX3Y2ZenLv6s_/w580-h640/david%20may.jpg" width="580" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When City's presence was tolerable</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>* <i>they're not joking</i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-91957431361676733252023-04-21T07:17:00.004-07:002023-04-21T10:29:20.904-07:00THE WAY WE WERE: QPR (h) 1978-79<p><b><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNKWY0Qm4wu7LH8Dg0esMeoVBudJGYPQBUfhLE-T93HuW7u7Cnf0381Zicb9fTvzYFmWOF_q74r5uSCJYznO16YgZsJa25Vgd6PnahVFkdg37yNIcV-CJ-PcQotjgWE1af_oEz7U1sR3OkiiWA6S2-ix5cQPBalk4go88_GB_RKSc8UJoeFd1EIjQl/s4624/20230421_111520.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="4624" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNKWY0Qm4wu7LH8Dg0esMeoVBudJGYPQBUfhLE-T93HuW7u7Cnf0381Zicb9fTvzYFmWOF_q74r5uSCJYznO16YgZsJa25Vgd6PnahVFkdg37yNIcV-CJ-PcQotjgWE1af_oEz7U1sR3OkiiWA6S2-ix5cQPBalk4go88_GB_RKSc8UJoeFd1EIjQl/w640-h288/20230421_111520.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /><u><br /></u></span></b><p></p><p><b><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>April 21st 1979</u></span></b></p><p><b><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Season 1978-79</u></span></b></p><p><b><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Manchester City v QPR</u></span></b></p><p>Cruising, or limping, towards the end of a frustrating season of backwards progress, City took on Queens Park Rangers at Maine Road.</p><p>Following on from a disastrous, shapeless 0-2 defeat at Middlesbrough, the only surprise was that over 30,000 fans decided it was still a good place to be on a Saturday afternoon. Malcolm Allison's January return had thus far produced only bad air and disastrous transfer manoeuvring, allowing almost all of City's recognised international stars to believe their time was up with the club. </p><p style="text-align: center;">🎺</p><p style="text-align: left;">It was not all bad news, however, as Barry Silkman had arrived with a trumpet blast from his new manager. </p><p>Silkman, these days a talkative football agent, had thus far let his feet do the communicating, scoring at Ipswich on his debut and again v Wolves four days later and would score here too to help defeat a desperate QPR side. Despite this, and somewhat predictably, he was no replacement for the likes of Asa Hartford, Peter Barnes, Mike Channon et al, who were about to be shown the door in Big Mal's much lamented <i>Autumn Clearout</i>.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wNNbMYY16PTn8GAbkts1-laRkc_rM6l8YjvuwlVLuKjKDDLNGRJf_Z_7PP8w8f0Mg1UfsAQp7nsZ6LOIfZ85V_qt-ADhNOq3dy5LndWBhH3p4PjU2aFwtETHj_nIdqAmq6ACa37diKQdM9HK2DSSOO-VecSfxyZ3JakYZCESWzY-jkH-cWZg3yOb/s600/1978-79%20qpr%20h.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wNNbMYY16PTn8GAbkts1-laRkc_rM6l8YjvuwlVLuKjKDDLNGRJf_Z_7PP8w8f0Mg1UfsAQp7nsZ6LOIfZ85V_qt-ADhNOq3dy5LndWBhH3p4PjU2aFwtETHj_nIdqAmq6ACa37diKQdM9HK2DSSOO-VecSfxyZ3JakYZCESWzY-jkH-cWZg3yOb/w640-h480/1978-79%20qpr%20h.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw43Y8omqu04TYJBEHPdxiaXx98bm6SB6ADwCDH1ZsyuuIrO66Q2dsDNgxqL2SjzDnnYd4RqS5JHtQG9VDtRHPH4I782krqEoDWXpRzzCYKv_ESgd7TJ7pFpOcvJLJuWCXl7nhQ7F2dN7fcTU5aVfIYj4bta3gl7g9io9BJCTTJNnlM1LLe4ARDO8Q/s400/1979-80%20qpr%20h.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="400" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw43Y8omqu04TYJBEHPdxiaXx98bm6SB6ADwCDH1ZsyuuIrO66Q2dsDNgxqL2SjzDnnYd4RqS5JHtQG9VDtRHPH4I782krqEoDWXpRzzCYKv_ESgd7TJ7pFpOcvJLJuWCXl7nhQ7F2dN7fcTU5aVfIYj4bta3gl7g9io9BJCTTJNnlM1LLe4ARDO8Q/w640-h522/1979-80%20qpr%20h.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCjyEdokndxEjRU4RZXmYGnJg2JOUOvypP-RKXDGW9-vXgKnu6IJqN44do1b6OuBFkvb4wKH4QtSzpRo7FXZDj2bZ-ApKxMGrJEkDsKdWGKgsuTRXrKIPkcyd1vZpOwZLzOHTh2opLtYc01IcRAbrnrxmYO3daGQGIBy19NI_QxzvrnE7HsE8k7e0/s1024/1978-79%20qpr%20h,.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="822" data-original-width="1024" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCjyEdokndxEjRU4RZXmYGnJg2JOUOvypP-RKXDGW9-vXgKnu6IJqN44do1b6OuBFkvb4wKH4QtSzpRo7FXZDj2bZ-ApKxMGrJEkDsKdWGKgsuTRXrKIPkcyd1vZpOwZLzOHTh2opLtYc01IcRAbrnrxmYO3daGQGIBy19NI_QxzvrnE7HsE8k7e0/w640-h514/1978-79%20qpr%20h,.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Rangers on this occasion were supine opponents, the days of yore <a href="https://www.wsc.co.uk/the-archive/queens-park-rangers-1975-76/#:~:text=A%20hugely%20popular%20QPR%20team,Cup%20for%20the%20first%20time.">when they ran Liverpool right to the finishing line for the title in 1975-76</a> long forgotten. As Allison would do at Maine Road, Rangers under successive stopgap managers Frank Sibley and Steve Burtenshaw had started to ship out the bulk of that brilliant, swashbuckling side, Dave Thomas going to Everton, Don Givens to Birmingham, Dave Webb, Frank McLintock, Stan Bowles, John Hollins, Don Masson, 'keeper Phil Parkes and Mick Leach all sadly either departed or about to jump ship at season's end. The glory years under Gordon Jago were but a wistful memory. </p><p style="text-align: center;">👶</p><p>In their stead Rangers had promoted youngsters and reserves that would carry them back into the 2nd division at the end of the season. Those young players, including Clive Allen, Glenn Roeder and Paul Goddard, would eventually catapult them back to the top flight and more success in the early 80s, but this was the beginning of a brief dip.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6WG_3-BjjhXMhe6kIl6dUblLPIQJmc6G_dvUxLDrgaauQ7lPEHope2b_8PRxLz82KpsQ4OPJ962euMvdMLa26FIDRqBvXG-pMMOw9mvkcdGttAx_wbZSeJE3tUJRiNNJUMJYpRAt2_mNkGGgSmD6tYA6kjGJ1GVwZQjxVrq-hgPSMXRSnkE3IZTNd/s4364/20230421_111506.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4364" data-original-width="2084" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6WG_3-BjjhXMhe6kIl6dUblLPIQJmc6G_dvUxLDrgaauQ7lPEHope2b_8PRxLz82KpsQ4OPJ962euMvdMLa26FIDRqBvXG-pMMOw9mvkcdGttAx_wbZSeJE3tUJRiNNJUMJYpRAt2_mNkGGgSmD6tYA6kjGJ1GVwZQjxVrq-hgPSMXRSnkE3IZTNd/w306-h640/20230421_111506.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQbep42MNOtxC0g3qPiL_29f9HSqqDQ83N0xYJSQQcPmVPwqqTq6MndQKoRvkQM34J6dpeWaU_oiBTSBhCGOtBoHrHKbaQwYegRluD1RqYPKPcbtCLi_qUpkQOyNuf7PJs5dChm_lJ7MkiZs8BQQhMybArLUO--6IuyYxMnDFZW3RvMxoeS7vQiZ0/s3923/20230421_111513.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3923" data-original-width="2084" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQbep42MNOtxC0g3qPiL_29f9HSqqDQ83N0xYJSQQcPmVPwqqTq6MndQKoRvkQM34J6dpeWaU_oiBTSBhCGOtBoHrHKbaQwYegRluD1RqYPKPcbtCLi_qUpkQOyNuf7PJs5dChm_lJ7MkiZs8BQQhMybArLUO--6IuyYxMnDFZW3RvMxoeS7vQiZ0/w340-h640/20230421_111513.jpg" width="340" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite the malaise, City pulled in more support than the <br />Leeds v Everton clash between two sides vying for Europe.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>For City the 3-1 win heralded peace at last for supporters worried their club might be dragged deeper into the relegation skirmishes. Silkman's goal plus two from Gary Owen rubberstamped a relatively simple 3-1 victory. The following week Rangers registered a 5-1 win over Coventry to spark a flicker of hope around Shephard's Bush, but three consecutive heavy defeats against Leeds, Birmingham and Ipswich would see them relegated with Chelsea and Birmingham. City's final position of 15th did not disguise the rot setting in under Allison either. </p><p style="text-align: center;">💥</p><p>Within 18 months the Dartford Gunslinger would be gone, replaced for a brief happy interlude by John Bond, before his own exit in 1983 led to City's demotion to the second tier. By this time, QPR had contested the 1982 FA Cup final as a 2nd division side and were back among the big boys of the first division, an illustration of the cosmic swings and roundabouts of football. A year before Rangers' Cup Final appearance against Tottenham, City had also contested the centenary final with Spurs, with the same result: close defeat after a replay. </p><p>City's two spells in Division 2 (1983-84 and 1984-85 / 1987-88 and 1988-89) would not involve any games with QPR, who were once again on the rise in Division 1, achieving a 5th place finish in both 87-88 and in the Premier League's inaugural season of 1992-93, where they would be welcomed as Maine Road's first-ever Premier League visitors.</p><p style="text-align: center;">⧟</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">📌</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>CITY:</b> <i>Corrigan, Donachie, Power, Viljoen, Watson, Bell, Owen, Deyna, Silkman, Hartford, Barnes. Sub: Henry</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>QPR</b>: <i>Richardson, Clement, Gillard, Busby, Howe, Roeder, Shanks, Francis, Walsh, McGee, Goddard Sub. Allen</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Scorers: Owen (2), Silkman | Busby</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Attendance: 30,394</i></span></p><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4vtU69eTH1IBHs7LiLhVANKGSRakUItqDxr_ELiDsw9Xprp3uwDEIoP2sdymlXYCZnkaaetE3QCwe845TlhvINPW6fYsIJyTOBafWTtk1qAkYRpl_ArK0JMF8GiMrLmUYzR5K8t7liD0slmqsXsDxZa0m0Gu3rOqw10QYSipPTNYPkRsTXlKK_zW/s4089/20230421_144844.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4089" data-original-width="2084" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4vtU69eTH1IBHs7LiLhVANKGSRakUItqDxr_ELiDsw9Xprp3uwDEIoP2sdymlXYCZnkaaetE3QCwe845TlhvINPW6fYsIJyTOBafWTtk1qAkYRpl_ArK0JMF8GiMrLmUYzR5K8t7liD0slmqsXsDxZa0m0Gu3rOqw10QYSipPTNYPkRsTXlKK_zW/w326-h640/20230421_144844.jpg" width="326" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the following week, John Bean's Express column <br />suggests the end is nigh for several City big-hitters</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-9589165852160181252023-04-11T01:49:00.001-07:002023-04-11T03:53:01.800-07:00THE BAYERN WE LOVED, THE CUP WE CARED FOR<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gxkQX3xIvLs/UktLy34iTqI/AAAAAAAACs8/pWe1ZtZR5IE/s1600/breitner+2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gxkQX3xIvLs/UktLy34iTqI/AAAAAAAACs8/pWe1ZtZR5IE/s400/breitner+2.jpg" width="301" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An everyday footballer scene</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Between</b></span> 1974 and 1976 Bayern Munich won the European Cup, that useless stupidly formulated all knock-out competition for champions only that ran sometime in the grey days before close form European sparring was reinvented by Gerard Aigner and Alex Fynn with their magnetised balls and multicoloured brainwaves.<br />
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These were dark days indeed, when misfits and scallywags like St Etienne, Dynamo Tbilisi and Feyenoord could be seen strutting about European football like they owned the place.<br />
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Your Kievs and Magdeburgs, your Colognes (or worse still your Kölns) and Gothenburgs (or Göteborgs) even your bloody Dundee Uniteds, strolled this odd planet playing football and keeping up with the Joneses, Schmidts and Bertillons. God love us, even dear old East Midlands rivals Derby County and Nottingham Forest strutted their stuff against such luminaries as Dynamo Berlin, AEK Athens, Slovan Bratislava and other souls so lost these days, they might as well not even exist.<br />
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Thankfully all of that has now been stamped out and we can bask in Bayern v Real every single season, Chelsea v Barcelona every single season and pretend to be happy for FC Gloria Estefzvan when they qualify by mistake and then get absolutely murdered by European stalwarts Atletico, Liverpool and Juve. Poor old FC Gloria getting a good seeing to, but at least the prize money will be enough to help them dominate their domestic league back home and they will be back for more of the same next year.<br />
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But wait, deep down we're liking UEFA's work, aren't we? The music that makes your hair stand on end. The marvellous flash redecorating that goes on overnight in all the stadiums to rid the place of all that unnecessary local advertising: Bert Fink's Fish and Chips and Lower Sodbury Hillman Imp Spare Parts. <i>Drink Sensibly</i> that little lot out of the way, we're coming through with the blue paint brushes and the illuminated football stickers.<br />
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Still, to City fans, brought up on a solid Euro buffet of jokes and disaster, of timid trips to Lokeren and the snow covered wastes of central Poland (yes, Groclin Dyskobolia, I am talking about you), the almost customary soft shoe shuffle with Real and Napoli, with Dortmund and Ajax that seemed in the early years like Christmas had arrived, is now more or less staple fare. <div><br /></div><div>It once smelled new, like a fresh pair of Danish espadrilles. It shone and it beckoned us with its high hemline and heavy eye-shadow. Then it battered us over the head with its all-in travel packages, executive level seating and jumbo-priced Eurosnacks. Before you know it you're 3-2 down to Madrid and there's a twitchy copper looking at your forehead like he wants to practise tapping out some Flamenco on it.<br />
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Backed by the flags of Bredbury and Denton, you are beguiled by the foreign accents and the waft of strangely becoming pipe smoke. You take in the view through your giddy <i>Paulaner </i>beer spectacles and breathe in the elixir of the Champions League, the biggest <i>ever</i> thing to happen to you and your club, the all-inclusive place that makes you a little queasy at first, a little unsure whether to let yourself go completely and <i>like it</i>. Once you're in you're in, though, no questions asked. You'd better buy the travel package, the executive olives with the curious taste and belt up for the ride.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kpPjoLIHUu0/UkroY-EWBFI/AAAAAAAACr8/m2ZORWRTjNg/s1600/maier.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kpPjoLIHUu0/UkroY-EWBFI/AAAAAAAACr8/m2ZORWRTjNg/s200/maier.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maier: big gloves</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Where were we? <div><br /></div><div>Ah yes. 1974. A time of strikes, brown tank tops and one dimensional damp half time snacks. Bayern, a young team of red clad physical specimens were about to spring a surprise and take over Ajax's great European mantle. The Dutch champions, led by the irrepressible Cruyff and Neeskens and Krol, had been champions of Europe in 1971, 1972 and 1973, beating Panathinaikos, Inter and Juventus. This incredible feat was immediately equalled by imperious Bayern, knocking the stuffing out of Atletico Madrid in a replay and then getting a touch lucky against St Etienne and Leeds United in the next two finals. Leeds fans thought Bayern had got so lucky, in fact, that they dismantled the Parc des Princes as a dirty protest.<br />
<br />And now, for the seventh time in the modern era, City face these aristocrats of European football, these giants that have bestrode the continental game unchecked for 40-odd years.<br />
<br />
<b>Manchester City versus Bayern Munich.</b><br />
<br />
On the same pitch.<br />
<br />
Again.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bxvjMWU9uQ0/UktLktDrK2I/AAAAAAAACs0/lbCaddXxtnY/s1600/breitner.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bxvjMWU9uQ0/UktLktDrK2I/AAAAAAAACs0/lbCaddXxtnY/s200/breitner.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breitner: fuzzy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Let us be clear on what City face. Bayern Munich have won this thing more times than some of us have had hot <i>Zigeuner Schnitzel</i> dinners. So, here are some of those heroes in full glory. Look at them. Drink in their furrowed lines. Gaze into those eyes. Try, if you will, to copy their hair. For here is history. Here is where power shot out and grabbed what it wanted. The team that would "<i>still be in that shed on Sabena Strasse</i>" but for Gerd Muller's glorious goals, according to Kaiser Franz.<br />
<br />
<b>SEPP MAIER,</b> goalkeeper, joker, bandy-legged wearer of the biggest gloves ever seen in world football. The man was a legend between the sticks, with his toothy grin and his adhesive hands. We had never seen goalkeepers wearing gloves like him before. They were huge paddles and made him look like an alien with oar-ends sticking out of his nice Addidas top. Bayern wore the three stripes like princes. Nobody wore Adidas in English football. They looked like otherworldly knights come to dethrone us all whilst wearing top quality Teutonic sportswear.<br />
<br />
<b>PAUL BREITNER:</b> Amazingly talented full back, who - but for the most ridiculous bush of hair sat atop his great communist/Maoist bonce - would surely have been remembered as one of the very best. Smote long range winners like they were going out of fashion, quoted Mao in his spare time and fled to Madrid, where the white shirts of Real clashed terribly with his fuzzy barnet.<br />
<br />
<b>HANS GEORG SCWARZENBECK:</b> The man with the extraordinary hooter never got the recognition he deserved, as the calm rock alongside Beckenbauer in the heart of the Bayern defence, staying behind when Kaiser Franz went on one of his regular sorties. Schwarzenbeck played many years at Bayern and in the national team, winning the World Cup in 1974. Then it all went to his head and he opened a tobacconists instead.<br />
<br />
<b>FRANZ BECKENBAUER</b>: Kaiser Franz, the ultimate template for the mobile, forward-moving centre half-cum-sweeper. Beckenbauer was quite unlike anything most people had seen at that stage of the 70s. His craft, like Bobby Moore, was to stay on his feet and steal the ball away. No need to tackle and slide, when timing will do it all for you. What made Beckenbauer different was his ability to then move upfield and not lose possession. A truly majestic sight going forward, he was one of the best footballers Germany has ever produced. Reinvented himself several times as a successful manager, half-legal administrator and UEFA Football Person of Interest.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tIHtdIXdxqg/UktOLeLEYUI/AAAAAAAACtI/D6MQmY5dFzU/s1600/Schwarzenbeck.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="177" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tIHtdIXdxqg/UktOLeLEYUI/AAAAAAAACtI/D6MQmY5dFzU/s320/Schwarzenbeck.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Schwarzenbeck: unfeasibly long sideburns take attention from nose </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-llHVjm_N-9E/UktPjRoY8_I/AAAAAAAACtU/KJRSm7WORjQ/s1600/beckenbauer.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-llHVjm_N-9E/UktPjRoY8_I/AAAAAAAACtU/KJRSm7WORjQ/s320/beckenbauer.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beckenbauer: adidas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>GERD MULLER:</b> Centre of gravity so low that even a Jack Russell could not have destabilised him. Muller's tree trunk thighs and eye for goal made him an unmovable object and an unreasonable force. 487 goals in 555 games. For West Germany, as they were then, more goals (68) than games (62), an unbelievable feat. Rightly nicknamed Der Bomber, Muller was so addicted to goals that retirement from football brought real problems for him and only the kindness of the club enabled him to fight off alcoholism and make a comeback to the football industry. Will always be the yardstick alongside which all modern scoring records are compared. Take heed, Mr Haaland.<br />
<br />
<b>ULI HOENESS:</b> Hoeness has the words <i>Bayern Munich</i> inscribed in his bone marrow. The attacking midfielder or left sided striker played in all three of Bayern's European Cup triumphs and was in the victorious 72 and 74 West Germany side that carried off the European Championship in Brussels and the World Cup in Munich, of all places. Hoeness will perhaps be better remembered for missing the <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WpVQuleBW0Y/Ukva_JnL0MI/AAAAAAAACtk/iecXV8wEey0/s1600/hoeness.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="253" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WpVQuleBW0Y/Ukva_JnL0MI/AAAAAAAACtk/iecXV8wEey0/s320/hoeness.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hoeness scores against Atlético Madrid in the 1974 final</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
penalty that allowed Panenka to do an erm Panenka and win the '76 Euro final for Czechoslovakia, so he has several reasons to be put firmly in the European Hall of Fame. Later converted himself into a one club administrator at Bayern with a penchant for absolutely massive attachment to tax evasion. Still not clear whether he pays his taxes or not, but cannot be faulted for being the owner of a Nuremburg bratwurst factory. <br />
<br />
<b>FRANZ ROTH:</b> One of the less celebrated members of the team but not in Munich, where his contribution to the cause is well remembered. Scored against Leeds in 75 and St Etienne in 76, as well as a goal against Rangers in the 67 Cup Winners Cup Final. A man for the big occasion.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>KARL-HEINZ RUMMENIGGE:</b> A name to strike fear into defenders and proof readers alike, it is often thought that Rummenigge was around later than this era, but he was present in both the 75 and 76 finals and became a Bayern legend over a 310 game career for <i>die Roten</i>. Another who could not resist the temptation to ascend those lushly carpeted steps up into the boardroom for a good argument over how football should be run in the modern age. (it should be run, in case you wondered, like Bayern do it).<br />
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<br /></div></div>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-29287607446112099322023-02-27T02:47:00.001-08:002023-02-27T02:47:33.937-08:00A BRIDGE TOO FAR<p><span style="font-size: large;">⓭ </span>years ago to the day, Manchester United captain Rooney was lifting the League Cup, after a close-fought win over Aston Villa at Wembley, and City were juggling with a media profile that was threatening to unwind under the sagging pressure of a negative press. At Wembley and at Stamford Bridge, it was the pain of Wayne that was the sentiment of the day.</p><p>Plus ça change, as the Belgians say.</p><p>Two months into Roberto Mancini's tenure as City manager, there were image issues at stake for the club. The Italian had supposedly been in the stands at the Etihad during Mark Hughes' final game in charge versus Sunderland, a fact that some newspapers had jumped upon as an affront to the Welshman. More pressing on this occasion, however, was the match due to take place at Stamford Bridge, where City would be displaying their new-found structural stability under their Italian coach against a Chelsea side topping the table and packed with Premier League winning experience that would carry them to a 4th title that May under their own Italian tactician Carlo Ancelotti.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXthmn8ggqGuw4dJVlA2kUa3M-zCbdTM7-ytjokhoZ2jA-8rwk7VK9t-ZWn_XOxG4FqkoHrM2cvHDnLkCR3T0eqGchtJt3QKabTK84NtldOpPQgbKwB_SvY7LfuWTFEai87QZDkpdo5_K3PjXgQZrGA9YV3bp8jbpQnRqFsciirsn2LPZc2F8XgO6u/s2565/20230227_101455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2565" data-original-width="2080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXthmn8ggqGuw4dJVlA2kUa3M-zCbdTM7-ytjokhoZ2jA-8rwk7VK9t-ZWn_XOxG4FqkoHrM2cvHDnLkCR3T0eqGchtJt3QKabTK84NtldOpPQgbKwB_SvY7LfuWTFEai87QZDkpdo5_K3PjXgQZrGA9YV3bp8jbpQnRqFsciirsn2LPZc2F8XgO6u/w518-h640/20230227_101455.jpg" width="518" /></a></div><br /><p>City, lying just outside the Champions League places, had other things on their minds, however. A solid start under Mancini had brought them up towards the contenders and the match at Stamford Bridge represented an opportunity to get a statistical monkey off their backs while also representing for two of the game's participants the chance to make amends for a personal feud that had run its course in the public spotlight of the national newspapers.</p><p>That, by the end of an exhilarating fixture, there was as much focus on what happened during the team presentation as what ensued during 90 minutes when City laid to rest a terrible record in West London speaks volumes for the media interest in the romcom entitled Terry and Wayne.</p><p>City had not managed a win at Stamford Bridge since 1993, making the 4-2 triumph on this occasion a pleasant and rare surprise. Cajoled into an effervescent attacking display by the electric front pairing of Carlos Tevez and Craig Bellamy, City won 4-2 to the general astonishment of everyone present.</p><p>For John Terry, however, the humiliation of being captain of the league leaders dumped on their backsides by precocious visitors was only half of the public embarrassment. Ex-team mate and City left back Wayne saw to the remainder of the cringe factor at the Bridge. <i>Captain Leader Legend</i> was the banner fluttering from the stands at the Bridge, but one would have been tempted to add "<i>Philanderer</i>" after news escaped that Terry had been employed (or employed himself in fact) in a bold attacking formation against Bridge's girlfriend (or former girlfriend as she was by this time).</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk43CnivXyHQDnt9UJ9pvf91uwdw6XjTyieyGLrO3s4OYRGFBxZiUYJu-5MALvyXEukSdjdReJSW7k3V-opC9zLwQer4tplaHH4N4UyU0OA8kPT1rM_1xhh_kUm-Oi7TEMb1f19PuecS6yigD9tKmbGa1a5OEeR2ElJFXW7FlP8d_lh3kWdpX0zWeU/s3018/20230227_102815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="3018" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk43CnivXyHQDnt9UJ9pvf91uwdw6XjTyieyGLrO3s4OYRGFBxZiUYJu-5MALvyXEukSdjdReJSW7k3V-opC9zLwQer4tplaHH4N4UyU0OA8kPT1rM_1xhh_kUm-Oi7TEMb1f19PuecS6yigD9tKmbGa1a5OEeR2ElJFXW7FlP8d_lh3kWdpX0zWeU/w640-h442/20230227_102815.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mick Dennis in the Express has his say</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Terry's display, having been sounded out for a move to City the previous summer, was uncharacteristically hesitant, bringing many to the conclusion that the England captain had various other things on his mind at the time. Certainly the pre-match hand shake would have lingered on Terry's mind during the first half, as most of City's players looked the other way as they took his hand and Bridge ducked the shake altogether, giving the massed ranks of photographers the picture they wanted for the morning editions.</p><p>Bellamy's incisive attacking on the field matched his attack on Terry off it, as he was widely quoted in the papers as saying "Everyone knows what Terry is like off the field". </p><p>"People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones", came the swift reply from the Chelsea man, as clouds of green smoke issued from his flared nostrils. Bellamy had himself been accused of inappropriate behaviour towards his girlfriend involving a golf club. </p><p>It later became apparent that a change in Premier League protocol had been okeyed to avoid further embarrassment to the Chelsea captain. Refereee Mike Dean asked City skipper Shay Given to lead his team mates down the line for the handshakes, when it was usual for the home captain to "welcome" the visiting team by making the move himself. This carefully thought out change allowed Bridge to keep moving and avoid shaking hands with the man who had run off with his girlfriend.</p><p>Given the current climate of alleged rule-breaking, City fans can look back at the vaudeville of Stamford Bridge as a storm in a tea cup during a period when the media were largely onside with the idea of a new challenger to the elite cartel of United, Arsenal, Chelsea and Liverpool. 13 years on, it is City that many would like to see removed from their perch at the top of the Premier League tree so that the poor success-starved upstarts of Arsenal and United can have their turn in the limelight.</p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>| Saturday 27th February 2010 .. </b><b>Season 2009-10 |</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>| Premier League, </b><b>Stamford Bridge |</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>| Chelsea 2-4 City </b><b>(Tevez 2, Bellamy 2) </b><b>Att: 41,814 | </b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZ2WcE5r1twx-XTre5iLWiYzR2rkr31n-HgeyN2BQKaxcX0rMVPCRd2x7bOPcdl8XroC1KFt6tWcSMdvVBLTgCQWxlk_vLMLKg7iqyXgr-bhZ1_wehG_kD1Bcxe9Y6Mcqz2R_DlFpvp99xvn-JNLansnANefy_J7kk5OXtbF0pkqsMgUnsxOzY43U/s3439/20230227_102826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3439" data-original-width="1990" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZ2WcE5r1twx-XTre5iLWiYzR2rkr31n-HgeyN2BQKaxcX0rMVPCRd2x7bOPcdl8XroC1KFt6tWcSMdvVBLTgCQWxlk_vLMLKg7iqyXgr-bhZ1_wehG_kD1Bcxe9Y6Mcqz2R_DlFpvp99xvn-JNLansnANefy_J7kk5OXtbF0pkqsMgUnsxOzY43U/w370-h640/20230227_102826.jpg" width="370" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tevez scores one of his two goals</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-89108182318283388152023-02-23T10:47:00.002-08:002023-02-23T13:00:23.192-08:00"DOWN THE FLANKS AGAIN CITY HAVE PROSPERED..."<p>🎤John Motson, who died today, carried many of us from childhood through adolescence and on into cynical adulthood like a football mothership swaddled in a sheepskin overcoat. His voice will survive him, echoing around in our minds for all time, a soundtrack to our lives in sway to the great but simple sport he made his name describing.</p><p>Thrown in at the deep end to commentate on an FA Cup tie at Edgar Street between non-league Hereford and Newcastle United on 5th February 1972, his luck was to have his first game suddenly explode into the spectacle of what would become one of the competition's most talked about matches and containing, certainly, one of its most replayed goals. Ronnie Radford's strike for Hereford that brought the kids down from the trees and caused a full scale, parka-clad invasion of the muddy playing surface, has become one of <i>the </i>moments of Britain's sporting history. It was Motson's first day at work.</p><p>What an introduction. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqEkw4FNqxOMHMmj_rBEm6fNAoX2BOOUoHpgFQcRhz840qXKfua7zQhCN4KZQ4k2YQLk9pDKIu8HAlN6W3jyapWxmlfXLeMKRfGLD6Jn8WINTnioGD6s8GEMFauKS8GL2G2Wu7Q2YZvvS1PKC-CGEg0t-sbRPrlpKBsl2BcR8BjxXms8fSQ4xvh3O/s2400/motty.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2400" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqEkw4FNqxOMHMmj_rBEm6fNAoX2BOOUoHpgFQcRhz840qXKfua7zQhCN4KZQ4k2YQLk9pDKIu8HAlN6W3jyapWxmlfXLeMKRfGLD6Jn8WINTnioGD6s8GEMFauKS8GL2G2Wu7Q2YZvvS1PKC-CGEg0t-sbRPrlpKBsl2BcR8BjxXms8fSQ4xvh3O/w640-h426/motty.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ronnie Radford wheels away at Edgar Street: :"Radford again, oh what a goal, what a goal!!! Radford the scorer. The crowd are invading the pitch and it will take some time to clear the field...."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The 70s and 80s saw almost uninterrupted BBC coverage for Motson and his erudite colleague Barry Davies, as David Coleman graduated to the warmth of the studio and others picked up the pieces of the highlights games that followed Match of the Day's two main matches. Motson it was, with his earthy delivery and geeky penchant for stats before stats were a thing, that took control of every Cup Final, much to Davies' chagrin. </p><p>His voice carried us through World Cups and European Championships, a steady flow of reassuringly mispronounced foreign names in the phase immediately before the opening of the money channels to the Premier League.</p><p>It was in the early years of the Premier League that he probably sealed his City-commentating history with a piece of work to accompany the exhilarating 5-2 home win over Tottenham in 1994 that was replete with bubbling enthusiasm and gurgling joy. For Motson, this was the type of football he loved to be present at. Just like the rest of us, he could hardly contain himself, but, and this was his consummate skill, his boyish simplicity shone through in his commentary, as he pasted words and phrases to the delightful spectacle he was being paid to witness. </p><p>He leaves us the poorer for his absence and leaves the world of football commentary in an altogether different era of flat platitudes and cosy chit-chat. One of the quintessential sounds of football has fallen silent. </p><p> </p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0PkXMHpyMSQ" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-29365286182425595782022-11-19T08:48:00.001-08:002022-11-20T07:54:08.774-08:00WORLD CUP STORIES: 1978<p>🏆Argentina '78 will be remembered for the ticker tape and the passion, the Dutch getting to their second successive final only to find, for the second successive time, they would be losing to the host nation, another lone Scotland appearance on behalf of the home nations (this time <i>much</i> more embarrassing than in 1974) and an exotic, passionate backdrop that seemed as otherworldly as it was apt. This was what World Cups were supposed to be about for a young kid growing up: a new country, new players, exotic things.</p><p>Sadly, it was only apt in a footballing sense. The politics that have taken over global sporting events these days were much in focus back in 1978 too, with many baulking at the thought of FIFA putting on its grand show in a country where thousands of dissidents had <i>disappeared</i> under the Videla regime. Pre-tournament reports focussed on the gun-toting guards and rabid-looking police dogs that were part and parcel of the match-going experience down Mendoza way.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nLvohOH7WCVw7cPh-EIv9-1VRDFT1A6HmIX7_hBmzeYpM5BndWyVJZZnCOG5AyB40vUnfFzgdQSAO8fOemph80tWDE80Jh5saIoZgm_BGpn-6zm9rCQ1m-ec9dkmQk2zykCgPSmYcnBsyzGJhW50hmepUMBmeqi65nTMXRT43QhBLgZDMoeSXtP7/s696/78%20Videla.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="696" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nLvohOH7WCVw7cPh-EIv9-1VRDFT1A6HmIX7_hBmzeYpM5BndWyVJZZnCOG5AyB40vUnfFzgdQSAO8fOemph80tWDE80Jh5saIoZgm_BGpn-6zm9rCQ1m-ec9dkmQk2zykCgPSmYcnBsyzGJhW50hmepUMBmeqi65nTMXRT43QhBLgZDMoeSXtP7/w640-h640/78%20Videla.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jorge Videla, Argentina's dictator, prepares to deliver the World Cup to Daniel Passarella.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Curiously, the now-iconic World Cup logo had been modelled on an outstretched-arms gesture by Juan Peron, the ex-leader ousted by military coup, but it could not be changed so close to the start of the tournament as it would have led to a spate of expensive law-suits against the military regime headed by Videla.<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFfRCiZevC_cIsRswNm7w1683Ko_ATzmwtADbqvPOiIE3ANlqWXwwCOUaGmN0uEqTdZQOKykZiQDDbmFpHcTOElogkp5-gKGTIX2r--VuwVf9-fAhUC-J2Rj9JuzXpWpRtz2y3BAh3RPoL70d4IeoqtFOBZkhKBJhuIardnX7sZU7crQLA_rmmu2iQ/s175/78%20logo,.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="175" data-original-width="170" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFfRCiZevC_cIsRswNm7w1683Ko_ATzmwtADbqvPOiIE3ANlqWXwwCOUaGmN0uEqTdZQOKykZiQDDbmFpHcTOElogkp5-gKGTIX2r--VuwVf9-fAhUC-J2Rj9JuzXpWpRtz2y3BAh3RPoL70d4IeoqtFOBZkhKBJhuIardnX7sZU7crQLA_rmmu2iQ/s1600/78%20logo,.jpg" width="170" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZsrSRYIPWy3Wl97RHOQQzxQyXRBKVt6Fii1jKM0nJF7FF0o1MwPTK5Oaen-nBkenrZ9l6A7YsNCgKBCi2VMHkuwqTc_clP6GdoKKNPKJU2WvO6LMb0tywlnS8c0U6A8p8mDqun0Q53c6XGzGXUoRwHtL9HlOBdn32uinSDBbspCA7I67XFdI9SPT/s211/78%20logo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="211" data-original-width="200" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZsrSRYIPWy3Wl97RHOQQzxQyXRBKVt6Fii1jKM0nJF7FF0o1MwPTK5Oaen-nBkenrZ9l6A7YsNCgKBCi2VMHkuwqTc_clP6GdoKKNPKJU2WvO6LMb0tywlnS8c0U6A8p8mDqun0Q53c6XGzGXUoRwHtL9HlOBdn32uinSDBbspCA7I67XFdI9SPT/s1600/78%20logo.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p>Having turfed out Wales in a hectic game at Anfield, Scotland were once more the only representative from Britain's sceptered isle. Apparently stronger than four years earlier, when they <a href="https://downthekippaxsteps.blogspot.com/2022/11/world-cup-stories-1974.html">had slid out unbeaten in the first-round groups</a>, the squad contained two vital contributions from City. At 26 and 27 respectively, <a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2016/04/200-wordsworth-22-willie-donachie.html">Willie Donachie</a> and <a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2016/10/200-wordsworth-54-asa-hartford.html">Asa Hartford</a> were at their prime for this World Cup. Despite a wretched start, they would both feature at the pointy end of another brief but generous Scotland donation to football history. </p><p>Hartford played in all three of Scotland's games, so can be said to have had a hand in two of the country's worst-ever results plus one of the most outstanding. Donachie missed the first game against Peru, his left back slot occupied by Stuart Kennedy of Aberdeen. Kennedy's abject showing in the shock 1-3 defeat allowed manager Ally MacCleod to ease the City man back in for the second game, an equally desultory 1-1 draw with Iran. By this time the travelling fans were throwing their tam o'shantas at the team bus and Tony Gubba was working overtime getting all the cringe-inducing interviews in for BBC World Cup Grandstand. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJ4h5XHI4whp-FJLgBf16jPB_UkYURWgulylmx6SP2tAQsSR7YKpU3rTd9_xLV5loqAKXQCsv3E92_1EXWMqDpo3Us0P7X16TqOPXyJNQrAYa1rqo6c5hpxYdtp6Ss-sdl7QzLWDrlS6BLsgFbqzhMYv5MAOSJYqAOdV6rjILLteJt1tjMqSB1Ed_/s1883/78%20SCO%20PER,.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1255" data-original-width="1883" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJ4h5XHI4whp-FJLgBf16jPB_UkYURWgulylmx6SP2tAQsSR7YKpU3rTd9_xLV5loqAKXQCsv3E92_1EXWMqDpo3Us0P7X16TqOPXyJNQrAYa1rqo6c5hpxYdtp6Ss-sdl7QzLWDrlS6BLsgFbqzhMYv5MAOSJYqAOdV6rjILLteJt1tjMqSB1Ed_/w640-h426/78%20SCO%20PER,.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hartford and Willie Johnstone take on Peru in Cordoba. The West Brom winger was sent home in disgrace for doping infringements. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Hartford, tireless in midfield as ever, played through the opening disasters to form the solid midfield bond with Graeme Souness that so nearly put paid for a Dutch side swaggering towards their second consecutive final. One more Scottish goal and the Dutch would have been going home after the dust had settled on the group phase. Initially partnered with Derby's Bruce Rioch and Don Masson of QPR, Hartford's efforts against Peru and Iran were overshadowed by the chaotic preparations of the manager MacLeod, who had allowed everyone to think that Scotland only had to turn up in Argentina to be crowned world champions.</p><p>The introduction of Forest tyro Archie Gemmill and, in particular, Liverpool kingpin Souness, transformed the Scottish midfield into something that happily stood up to Johan Neeskens, Wim Jansen and the Van Der Kerkhof twins until Johnny Rep smashed in a thirty-yarder past the flailing Alan Rough (wasn't he <i>always</i> flailing?) to dull the threat.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0S7U4STpSZMztBd1m4qIFF80lDjHvF98nhyKIR0fGKdhc4w1s-gbL82wv30igd3f3UYknLmTwPCVtGMQzQo3KVGWYo9uMUnPvMRpFLuFpR4K4TrVZki_Jtd18jSBvmA2mHnwm2WY08WO74lOkZgcupFcX7xjbD73l9wv4fiAn3A7qKNRqPz5P4drx/s640/78%20SCO%20HOL.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="640" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0S7U4STpSZMztBd1m4qIFF80lDjHvF98nhyKIR0fGKdhc4w1s-gbL82wv30igd3f3UYknLmTwPCVtGMQzQo3KVGWYo9uMUnPvMRpFLuFpR4K4TrVZki_Jtd18jSBvmA2mHnwm2WY08WO74lOkZgcupFcX7xjbD73l9wv4fiAn3A7qKNRqPz5P4drx/w640-h426/78%20SCO%20HOL.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donachie comes away from Van der Kerkhof and Jansen in the epic 3-2 win over Holland</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Scotland went home but others were planning to stay longer. <a href="http://monumentcity2010.blogspot.com/2016/03/200-wordsworth-13-kazimierz-deyna.html">Kaziu Deyna</a> again graced a Polish midfield, which qualified from an opening group with West Germany, Mexico and Tunisia into a difficult 2nd round group with Brazil, Argentina and Peru. It would be Deyna that missed a critical penalty in the white-hot atmosphere of Mendoza, from which the Poles never really recovered. Argentina, meanwhile, went on to beat the Dutch in the final. It would be Deyna's last World Cup. Less than six months later, he would ship up in Manchester via a convoluted range of agreements that included fridge freezers and television sets from City chairman Peter Swales' Altrincham emporium going in the opposite direction to the Polish skipper.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64uQtIjrC4WsVGL1vqU99i6kMC6PzRXt7f3yEWFJ-uAWWZ32m_BTdgK-AWyEj3zCZuPER3Wav-CcGSvzayZcVusd9Q5hUdmx9WtJ_BezpSmAzx27JDXfqf5m8S4EDGcAAqp1yclzW8QydJ-_B0UOeLcRjNMG82Z_OsAo1UEkWaUJJDbMNdebphmbt/s1200/78%20POL%20ARG.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="1200" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64uQtIjrC4WsVGL1vqU99i6kMC6PzRXt7f3yEWFJ-uAWWZ32m_BTdgK-AWyEj3zCZuPER3Wav-CcGSvzayZcVusd9Q5hUdmx9WtJ_BezpSmAzx27JDXfqf5m8S4EDGcAAqp1yclzW8QydJ-_B0UOeLcRjNMG82Z_OsAo1UEkWaUJJDbMNdebphmbt/w640-h422/78%20POL%20ARG.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ubaldo Fillol dives to smother Kazimierz Deyna's ill-fated penalty in Mendoza: Argentina 2-0 Poland</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Deyna would never properly settle at City, despite <a href="https://downthekippaxsteps.blogspot.com/2014/10/cold-front-in-warsaw.html">firing a glorious winner against European champions Forest </a>at Maine Road, and would find himself underused and maltreated in the reserves when Malcolm Allison came back to City. Allison's successor John Bond would then sell him to San Diego Sockers, where he later died in a car crash with excess alcohol found in his blood. It was a tragic demise for a superb technician, who - had he been used properly by City - could have been part of a revival at the club at the turn of the decade instead of a demise.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Having had his penalty saved against Argentina, Deyna would start the following two group games against Peru and Brazil, but a win and a loss in these games meant Poland were out of the World Cup at the second group stage. For Deyna, the 3-1 defeat to the Brazilians would be his 97th and last cap. A matter of months later his ground-breaking move to City would finally go through. </p><p>Elsewhere in the Polish squad the successor to Deyna was also making his first tentative steps on the world stage. Zbigniew Boniek had also come to the attention of City fans before the World Cup, where he debuted as a sub in Poland's sterile first two group stage matches v West Germany (0-0) and Tunisia (1-0). He had arrived at Maine Road as a relatively unknown midfielder for Widzew Lodz as the pivot in the Poles' 2-2 draw in the 1977-78 UEFA Cup match, disturbing one fan so much, he broke onto the pitch and attacked Boniek. This incident was the catalyst for UEFA ordering City to put up fences for future European matches and <a href="https://iconbooks.com/ib-title/city-in-europe/">can be read about in full here</a>.</p><p>There were two other high-profile stars at this World Cup who could have worn the sky blue of City. On Malcolm Allison's return in 1979, a huge clear-out of talent had begun. many names were mentioned in dispatches as to who might replace the likes of Dave Watson, Mike Channon, Brian Kidd, Gary Owen and Peter Barnes and two of the most anticipated were Johan Neeskens and Herbert Prohaska. Both would pass through the first round easily with Holland and Austria respectively and would have played against each other in the second-round group game in Cordoba, had the Dutchman not been injured (he returned for the crucial win over Italy). Instead of firing City's soon-to-be-weakened midfield ranks, Neeskens enjoyed great success at Barcelona alongside Johan Cruyff and Prohaska briefly became one of Internazionale's best players of the early 80s and also alighted at Roma for a season. </p><p>On such narrow margins football fates are sealed.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilm-j1WULdivUY-BeHbWrS0L-BOn_9SjieuTC-p-XY26crR-Gi8EuzK01fo8q2WkHCyGkKjVYPYI8O85UN-Cb9ktacSivteLwAQ7sTpXyJU99XbE7StHm0TF8St7YkbZCOvun7tf7IgFGvEi6EkAcId_ZXxjqyptbcFSCocCir4KvDie8W2mm_6iQq/s2709/20221119_000724.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="2709" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilm-j1WULdivUY-BeHbWrS0L-BOn_9SjieuTC-p-XY26crR-Gi8EuzK01fo8q2WkHCyGkKjVYPYI8O85UN-Cb9ktacSivteLwAQ7sTpXyJU99XbE7StHm0TF8St7YkbZCOvun7tf7IgFGvEi6EkAcId_ZXxjqyptbcFSCocCir4KvDie8W2mm_6iQq/w640-h492/20221119_000724.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyEdnZJR1VwI-l_GKl9uLvRxwazV_rFVQS7rw_eMa_AcBiP5DSaQ-qM8yHZX9Gfqbp9sns-rPWiigpUDPkQPOqvFhBOKV3LWLcDeV8ufiol9-ckIJUhutEN6Fp_Kfvg0qnFmHkMPSseGQ8lsGWP95Uy2ydeyGi70zvh9KPbKiF5HpE9J6cg-eya4iU/s3405/20221119_001344.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3405" data-original-width="1777" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyEdnZJR1VwI-l_GKl9uLvRxwazV_rFVQS7rw_eMa_AcBiP5DSaQ-qM8yHZX9Gfqbp9sns-rPWiigpUDPkQPOqvFhBOKV3LWLcDeV8ufiol9-ckIJUhutEN6Fp_Kfvg0qnFmHkMPSseGQ8lsGWP95Uy2ydeyGi70zvh9KPbKiF5HpE9J6cg-eya4iU/w334-h640/20221119_001344.jpg" width="334" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-14616342712227388202022-11-16T06:21:00.002-08:002022-11-20T02:26:08.897-08:00WORLD CUP STORIES: 1974<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If the 1970 World Cup finals in Mexico had seen possibly the strongest England side to compete in the tournament up to then (better balanced than Alf Ramsey's wingless winners of 1966), 1974 saw no England participation at all. </div><p></p><p>While Colin Bell and Francis Lee had displayed their art in the searing heat of Guadalajara, there would be no games for England fans to savour in West Germany in the summer of '74. Rodney Marsh would miss out too, at perhaps the peak of his career. For City fans, however, there were still some areas to focus on. </p><p>Instead of England, it was to be the first of two World Cups, where Scotland were Great Britain's sole participants. This would be Denis Law's swansong. After a final season (<a href="https://norepartee.wordpress.com/2012/11/12/1973-74-birmingham-city-home/">1973-74</a>) in the sky blue of City, the ageing Law (34) was picked by Willie Ormond to travel to West Germany with the squad. With 54 caps, he was also the most-capped player in the squad, ahead of Billy Bremner (48) and the Leeds captain was also, at 31, the only other senior professional anywhere near Law's age and experience.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_uGrnFP77-toRjqNacywMglwe6ecj-e4LbFllGb7rfMtQazAcUU8Xpge3Fr37Bx3vnEChlYqYC9VXpkTOjlpKjfeew-JSN9TDV6EFkpZEYpBdOvV-bl3-WE2TTAiOsPJ6WpIsgMN6n5QNGL8OG6aMLnRbo2q2mSWnvKbGeM74UkGK39qbaVMIC4n/s562/74%20SCO%20ZAI,,.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="562" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_uGrnFP77-toRjqNacywMglwe6ecj-e4LbFllGb7rfMtQazAcUU8Xpge3Fr37Bx3vnEChlYqYC9VXpkTOjlpKjfeew-JSN9TDV6EFkpZEYpBdOvV-bl3-WE2TTAiOsPJ6WpIsgMN6n5QNGL8OG6aMLnRbo2q2mSWnvKbGeM74UkGK39qbaVMIC4n/w640-h452/74%20SCO%20ZAI,,.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Law waits for a corner to be taken in the opening game of World Cup 74 for Scotland v Zaire.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>Ormond chose Law, Kenny Dalglish, Joe Jordan and Peter Lorimer for the opening game v. Zaire, in the obvious hope that such exaggerated attacking firepower would lift Scotland's goal difference before the more critical ties with Brazil and Yugoslavia. Law, looking leggy and blunt, played a low-key part in a 2-0 win over the central Africans that did little to convince. Yugoslavia would beat Zaire 9-0 in their second game, while Scotland were putting up a much better performance against the Brazilians (0-0). </p><p>By this time, Law's international stint had stalled at 55 caps. He failed to make the pitch in either of Scotland's remaining games, which were both drawn and resulted in an early flight back to Glasgow. Unbeaten, yet eliminated, with Law at the end of his international career and a few weeks away from retiring altogether, it was the beginning of a hard luck story for the Scots that would dog them in 1978, 1982, 1986, 1990 and 1998 before they disappeared completely into modern World Cup oblivion. </p><p>City's Willie Donachie fared even worse than his teammate in West Germany, playing no part in a defence that comprised Rangers' right back Sandy Jardine and a central pairing of Manchester United's Jim Holton and John Blackley of Hibernian. with Danny McGrain of Celtic in the City man's place on the left.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwyZ8L9Q4ICekhEdRmFT_FDrwYks5JedIiVKOYQhKy3eOyuwqbtwqi4xXF7apbxETMDt6u76s_-jsip_vjOi8KuTBmUVxvx0XROe5m2vy2t9YzSAQdytIVDMAJs9Yzlr9qqeNUIuHqFeC0KHF7_dLcT8Kl64kSg344FsjAIvCsq_RxlE4tSoOYAEkq/s400/74%20cards.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwyZ8L9Q4ICekhEdRmFT_FDrwYks5JedIiVKOYQhKy3eOyuwqbtwqi4xXF7apbxETMDt6u76s_-jsip_vjOi8KuTBmUVxvx0XROe5m2vy2t9YzSAQdytIVDMAJs9Yzlr9qqeNUIuHqFeC0KHF7_dLcT8Kl64kSg344FsjAIvCsq_RxlE4tSoOYAEkq/w640-h480/74%20cards.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denis Law and Kaziu Deyna feature in a Barratt card collection for the 1974 World Cup</td></tr></tbody></table><p>In both the 2-0 win over Zaire and the ultimately unsuccessful attempt to qualify against Yugoslavia (1-1), Ormond brought on Tommy Hutchison as a substitute. The leggy Coventry winger, who would join City under John Bond in 1980, added wide attacking options as Scotland's need for goals became more acute. It was Hutchioson in fact that provided the cross for Joe Jordan's late equaliser against the Slavs, but it proved too little too late and Scotland were out.</p><p>Elsewhere, Poland, about to embark on a surprise journey to a well-deserved third place finish, were captained by the Legia Warsaw midfielder Kazimierz Deyna, who would find his way to Maine Road after the 1978 World Cup in Argentina. Deyna's casual finesse in the middle of the park belied a skillset that also involved powerful shooting from all distances, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Argentina and Italy, as they surprisingly succumbed to the Poles in a competitive Group 4. An Italian side containing many elements of the Juventus team that would knock City out of the 1976 UEFA Cup were sensationally sent packing at the group stage here thanks to the emergence of Poland and Argentina as footballing powers of the 70s.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMT37yKKfcrsK3ssvlkMxVwmJF5mwT_xK9_wGEwJayYngB6a7PtlPF4l7W5yb7SiqStynQ_cXkVmRP1SxmZZiBjAyAW0o8eKX3CBXaMy4VlN-7UjRZ6caMqw8Vmxzgvqv5ZUaUYa5mDPJ_658l_nLjpNVv_d2vj8Oq6YQee9w1WPbjZ6D7ePxzIEDO/s1359/74%20SCO%20ZAI%20,.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="921" data-original-width="1359" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMT37yKKfcrsK3ssvlkMxVwmJF5mwT_xK9_wGEwJayYngB6a7PtlPF4l7W5yb7SiqStynQ_cXkVmRP1SxmZZiBjAyAW0o8eKX3CBXaMy4VlN-7UjRZ6caMqw8Vmxzgvqv5ZUaUYa5mDPJ_658l_nLjpNVv_d2vj8Oq6YQee9w1WPbjZ6D7ePxzIEDO/w640-h434/74%20SCO%20ZAI%20,.webp" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tommy Hutchison takes on a Zaire defender after his 75th minute introduction as substitute</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Deyna was the lynchpin of a magnificent Polish side that included the skills of Robert Gadocha, the energy and organisation of Henryk Kasperczak, the goal-laden attacking of Grzegorz Lato and Andrzej Szarmach, plus the giant Jerzy Gorgon at the back and <i>The Clown</i> himself, Jan Tomaszewski, in goal. That Brian Clough had called the goalkeeper out thus before the fateful night when he almost single-handedly kept out England in the Wembley draw that saw Poland progress at England's expense was typical of the blustering Clough, who on this occasion could not have been more wrong. Tomazsewski's bronze medal from the tournament proved he had more to offer than oversized boots and a bright red nose.</p><p>The World Cup would be carried off by the host nation, victors over Deyna's Poland in a quasi-semi-final and over the tournament's outstanding team, Holland, in the Munich final. It would not be until after the following World Cup, in Argentina, that the flow of stars from the tournament would begin its slow trickle towards the shores of Albion. It would bring rich pickings for City in the shape of Deyna, but seeing him in his 1974 prime in a City shirt would have been a rare pleasure in those sweat-stained mid-70s days of push and shove.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgon-pw4-SwJ6PUUqjdYH7TpEeNuiW7VgJgBqi_Fltee_d40kFBa7nf6riGEXzRNmREK43RbiLb9Qm-Zn6WnnEZNHpuv7iKN2odv2J7tjT8JRPFSMI_DQL7dym37RGqdwfVtYgwgmjdSW6wbDbL0HlAaPWMvFiKdEwC_7Y0JT2X9wAO8UxldvYoh_WJ/s1008/1979-80%20Deyna.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="712" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgon-pw4-SwJ6PUUqjdYH7TpEeNuiW7VgJgBqi_Fltee_d40kFBa7nf6riGEXzRNmREK43RbiLb9Qm-Zn6WnnEZNHpuv7iKN2odv2J7tjT8JRPFSMI_DQL7dym37RGqdwfVtYgwgmjdSW6wbDbL0HlAaPWMvFiKdEwC_7Y0JT2X9wAO8UxldvYoh_WJ/w452-h640/1979-80%20Deyna.jpg" width="452" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> <iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ClWTkkhr0ew" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ipDw00xqS3I" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-26295476759711224372022-11-07T02:57:00.007-08:002022-11-07T02:59:18.237-08:00MEDITATIONS ON ENGLAND<p>Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius seems a strange bedfellow for eager Premier League referee Darren England, but we are sailing through odd and difficult waters. </p><p>Fatherless since childhood, Marcus Aurelius was raised by his wealthy single mother, Domitia Lucilia. In 139, she hired Fronto, a Libyan nomad who had shipped up in Rome looking for work and meaning, to teach her son and prepare him for a career in politics.</p><p>There is no striking evidence that Darren England was either fatherless or raised by African philosopher nomads, but his actions had a similarly galvanising effect on the Etihad on Saturday as the poet Aurelius' words once had on his followers in Ancient Rome. Meditations, indeed. There was scant time for that, as City's ten were moved to great deeds rather than thoughts.</p><p>City's modern-day gladiators, dressed in sky blue and without the helpful aid of either tridents or swords, tore into Fulham in a way that the visitors could hardly have been expecting, even if they knew they were on one of the toughest assignments of the league campaign. And England, as is often the case these days, was the root cause of much of their later discomfort. </p><p>Darren England had quite the weekend. Beginning in Manchester and ending in North London (or thereabouts), the Premier League referee managed to ignite not only debate, but a ferocious comeback from City that fair took the breath away. It is a feat that will have a lasting effect on this year's title race.</p><p>Stung by apparent injustice, the ferocity of City's response not only made the eyes water but also lit a bonfire under the crowd and, by the end, had the manager and coaching staff in a rare froth of fist-clenching and touchline bellowing. Pep Guardiola even managed to gurn into one of the pitchside cameras for extra effect as the emotions ran over. </p><p>Those that felt the full "lap of honour" at the end of the game was milking it slightly, underestimate what these key moments of a season do to a group set a challenge of winning the game's highest honours. There was a spirit and a ferocity of achievement on display that rarely surfaces in such an unprovoked manner and which bodes well for what this group intends to try and achieve come May.</p><p>It was only Fulham, after all. </p><p>It is no fault of the visitors that "<i>Fulham at home</i>" rarely gets the adrenaline pulsing. The away support is polite and unfussy but has often been sparse and stubbornly passive on past occasions; the games can be pleasant on the eye but nothing to write home about. What football delivers so well, however, is the unexpected. It is a sport that can suddenly take off when you least expect it to. </p><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBbcrzZGdBz0VX0M4iKDirgPIAfwW4JyM3p6yAR6BmtJrHPmmLf_hLCbj7URNHVYeXR2Mo-gps5qpRs2u-9HGxPuhczY3yOOOYxN5xmKvajmoSdV_1kBVnn_d5Zt-ten5PI7Ra1RLcWwbkdMaH9_Up_EI64joFoFLt7RXTFv8G4kBtibALwAXeLGv/s1200/ma.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="690" data-original-width="1200" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBbcrzZGdBz0VX0M4iKDirgPIAfwW4JyM3p6yAR6BmtJrHPmmLf_hLCbj7URNHVYeXR2Mo-gps5qpRs2u-9HGxPuhczY3yOOOYxN5xmKvajmoSdV_1kBVnn_d5Zt-ten5PI7Ra1RLcWwbkdMaH9_Up_EI64joFoFLt7RXTFv8G4kBtibALwAXeLGv/w679-h390/ma.webp" width="679" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p></blockquote><p>As Joao Cancelo completed the latest of a long series of uncoordinated brainwaves and cannoned into the advancing Harry Wilson, a penalty was inevitable. The strutting English, enjoying his second outing at the Etihad, duly pointed to the spot. So far, so predictable. What happened next elevated the situation to siege. Out came a red card. An unnecessary double jeopardy manoeuvre that has been highlighted many times before. </p><p>City, reduced to ten men and, a moment later, on level terms again, were incensed. With the crowd incandescent, a fightback of Herculean proportion commenced. 10 v 11 and all square with 70 minutes to play. The response was jagged and grew to an exhausting cresendo, as Guardiola threw on Foden and Haaland to try to break Fulham's resolve.</p><p>The disallowed goal further upped the ante, as the Norwegian tank was judged to be slightly offside when heading in De Bruyne's curling cross, but the Belgian by now was carrying the whole show on his shoulders in the kind of display of mighty authority only certain players can produce. Joined by the tireless midfield work of Bernardo, Rodri and Gundogan, De Bruyne dragged City forward time and again until the raging storm finally brough its reward.</p><p>It was perhaps harsh on Fulham. It was certainly hard-going on the already frayed nerves. And it would be harsh to dwell on England's part in it all. He had after all made a reasonable call in reaction to Cancelo's petulant attempt at dispossession. </p><p>Taken in isolation, the day was done. It was time to wipe the surfaces clean, tidy up and head off home. However, during the Sunday game at Tottenham, where Alexander Arnold's shove on Ryan Sessegnon went unpunished, a new scenario arrived. It was not wholly dissimilar to the foul perpetrated by Cancelo the day before, a little less reckless, but still a clear shove in the back. That it went unpunished by on-pitch referee and VAR officials alike served to highlight the grave problem of inconsistency in refereeing. </p><p>That it was a certain Darren England in charge of VAR at White Hart Lane would have left Marcus Aurelius seriously lost for words. </p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4509309870771298997.post-80524078136709636492022-10-30T02:08:00.003-07:002022-10-30T13:58:20.833-07:00BUNDESLIGAFICATION<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAK1A0GjSCyrDvpM7-UATOdhgGkpqmt3ulIaKWwKIXiVT-eN9zVZwwpAY8BBj5MXEkjsWrlxjgS4W01CAMCOU9ccOtxXdnAFk7Z4ad8sS5SWImd9MzqkLSqjavCIn9vatXnvtVkKnWcto4XR-CpZXXKGYrIXp9RsixeMKef6X3RX2IU2ttEyxlhDc/s3864/budget.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="3864" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAK1A0GjSCyrDvpM7-UATOdhgGkpqmt3ulIaKWwKIXiVT-eN9zVZwwpAY8BBj5MXEkjsWrlxjgS4W01CAMCOU9ccOtxXdnAFk7Z4ad8sS5SWImd9MzqkLSqjavCIn9vatXnvtVkKnWcto4XR-CpZXXKGYrIXp9RsixeMKef6X3RX2IU2ttEyxlhDc/w640-h426/budget.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>There is a trope that has been carried far and wide in recent times that the Premier League is as competitive as the Bundesliga, where Bayern Munich have won the title every year since the boy Jesus began to take his first faltering steps through the dusty side streets of Bethlehem.</p><p>This states that nobody can cope with City's "high ceiling" (<i>if in fact there is a ceiling at all</i>), it being a club, after all, that can spend anything they feel like spending. Generally, <i>it's just not fair</i>, we are constantly told. While some arguments carry a little more thrust than others, this is one that doesn't convince for a minute. </p><p>The weekend's results will add grist to the mill. For those convinced City are running away with it, things could hardly have gone better. Despite actually starting the day in second place, the early kick off against an incredibly supine Leicester brought a one-goal victory that hoisted City to top spot. That was quickly followed by a spectacularly loose performance by Chelsea at Brighton and a series of comic capers from Liverpool in losing at home to a hitherto harmless Leeds. To top it all off, Tottenham had the mother and father of problems dispatching Bournemouth. </p><p>Newcastle won well to keep their place in the top 4, but to include them as possible contenders will only bring gales of laughter and a wall of opprobrium about Saudi Arabian geopolitics. Mr. Klopp might also at this point want to interject to inform you of high ceilings and limitless transfer budgets, for when it comes to City and Newcastle, we all know the FFP sharks swim under the nearest rocks. <i>They can spend what they want</i>. </p><p>This is, of course, not true.</p><p>If we consider budgets, all the sides in the top six should be competing and competing hard. Throw in the biggest spenders of the lot, Manchester United, and you have -potentially- a fascinating and thrilling title race something along the lines of the early 1970s that so many people now eulogise about.</p><p>John Cross of the Mirror was quoted from a BBC interview as saying City "would finish 20 points clear at the top", a hefty slice of <i>prematurism</i> if it ever existed. Cross was simply praising City for their slick superiority, I was told, but he was also adding to the argument that nobody stands a chance, which is inaccurate. With his beloved Arsenal sitting pretty at the top of the table when he uttered the words, it all looked a little bit comical. Let's face it, if you're giving up the ghost from top position, there has to be something seriously skewed with your attitude. Since then they have dispatched Forest 5-0. </p><p>What is the point of predicting a 20-point title win when the club you are talking about is 2nd in the table? What purpose can this serve apart from solidifying the already multifarious tropes that City are ruining the competition of the Premier league? How can you ruin something from 2nd place? What purpose can there be to carry on with this argument every time City canter onto a football pitch to play football?</p><p>This is a City side that failed at Anfield, has drawn its last two Champions League games without scoring and beat Brighton and Leicester without convincing. There is nothing to suggest this side is about to crush all in its way. In a season that is about to be cleaved in two by the least anticipated World Cup in history, there will be even fewer certainties. Add City's near-obsessive glances towards the Champions League, and another destabilizing factor emerges. "Ah, but that is just one game" comes the reply. "Ah, but that is just a four-game dip" we hear again. Anything to steer away from the fact that they are beatable and that there is competition. </p><p>If this is the Bundesliga in waiting, it is worth looking east for a second. Klopp, after all, managed in the top echelons there for many years and was a serious challenger for honours at Borussia Dortmund between 2008 and 2015. Dortmund collected two titles in his time there and reached the Champions League final at Wembley. However, they also sold Mario Gotze, Robert Lewandowki and Matts Hummels to Bayern, the equivalent of Txiki Begiristain descending upon Anfield Road to buy Mo Salah, Virgil van Dijk and Thiago Alcantara. Imagine the press that little swoop would have got.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPhVF68a2bEq7VX97Gxt9flDNlgwookd-TjCRFCaA2trPWUIc50ieqo1cMJ1lk-DPqbYKM4aGxQKpByvWG0UPqbXymEuQscd51DRn2IEP9Or8zk2xCFgxfj6fYEWWKFQSewyrQ5DtfMcqlPJdvLqqzkrVAvMg-Gdp_FoHj_c47l509RBA6-RBBnFr/s262/budget,.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="262" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPhVF68a2bEq7VX97Gxt9flDNlgwookd-TjCRFCaA2trPWUIc50ieqo1cMJ1lk-DPqbYKM4aGxQKpByvWG0UPqbXymEuQscd51DRn2IEP9Or8zk2xCFgxfj6fYEWWKFQSewyrQ5DtfMcqlPJdvLqqzkrVAvMg-Gdp_FoHj_c47l509RBA6-RBBnFr/w640-h469/budget,.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Since a Klopp-inspired Dortmund carried off the title in 2011-12 (ironically the same month Roberto Mancini delivered City's first Premier League win since the launching of the ark), Bayern have been champions every single year. That is 10 consecutive titles. In the same period in England, United, Chelsea, Liverpool, Leicester and City have been top dogs. City have won five of the 10 titles on offer and, admittedly, four of the last five, offering critics the chance to say this is the fast-moving ossification process of our domestic game. Liverpool did something similar in the 70s and were feted for it...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA8T_XpdikGjttgJsG6Wn1HnRh0ofLXuu1nWgbK-8AeR3Z_Lysw6RbT9ULZCfqZ0VQtNrGpu8zr2wUHqmKLfquB4ygjgVVAP5EmqEhuFxLevo8058UTYEtSpRdRqo7w_SzNabkQiv9tkHfBPcKuZt4UxhNh40YbpmEvLu3308zRybNqBKccDYoJgDs/s3565/20221030_181126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3565" data-original-width="1824" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA8T_XpdikGjttgJsG6Wn1HnRh0ofLXuu1nWgbK-8AeR3Z_Lysw6RbT9ULZCfqZ0VQtNrGpu8zr2wUHqmKLfquB4ygjgVVAP5EmqEhuFxLevo8058UTYEtSpRdRqo7w_SzNabkQiv9tkHfBPcKuZt4UxhNh40YbpmEvLu3308zRybNqBKccDYoJgDs/w328-h640/20221030_181126.jpg" width="328" /></a></div><p>In the transfer market City have shied away from Cristiano Ronaldo, Alexis Sanchez, Lionel Messi, Kalidou Koulibaly, Marc Cucurella, Harry Kane< Jorginho and a host of others who were carrying the infamous City-surcharge of old. There is clearly no limitless budget. The blue sky and fluffy clouds that Klopp sees above the Etihad are stationed at the same height as those hovering over Anfield, Stamford Bridge and Old Trafford. That the German must call City <i>the best team in the world </i>as often as possible and claim his own side are plucky outsiders is a critical part of the image-building process that has won so many over. Surveying Liverpool's inept display against Leeds, it is tempting to ask what the then world's most expensive goalkeeper and world's most expensive defender were doing and how such an expensively and expertly constructed side can look so fallible. Is this the inability to compete or bad management, bad strategy, bad planning? Bolstering a squad that is already of the highest quality is not an afternoon picnic, as Liverpool have found. </p><p>When John W Henry, a man not exactly shackled by poverty, took over at Anfield, he insisted that his new acquisition follow the <i>Moneyball</i> philosophy constructed by Cambridge Physician Ian Graham. He had employed similar tactics at Boston Red Sox, a badly spelled baseball team also under his tutelage. It has allowed him to recruit the likes of Allison and Van Dijk and now also splash £85m on Darwin <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Núñez</span></span>, a half-honed product of two seasons' work in the Liga Portuguesa. Liverpool's spending, like that of Chelsea and Manchester United and, for that matter Arsenal, Tottenham, Everton, Aston Villa, Spurs and others has not had the look of impoverished non-starters about it. </p><p>After City's initial splurge to gain access to the higher echelons, the last five years have seen spending on players and wages broadly bottom out to meet that of their rivals. The dreaded <i>net spend</i> puts City at the bottom of a league table currently being "won" by neighbours United. Judicious spending has been the answer at the Etihad, not careless overspending. Whilst City avoided the car crashes of Sanchez and Maguire, United piled in regardless. While City avoided paying over the odds for Kane and waited for Haaland, Liverpool splurged nervously on <span style="background-color: white;">Núñez. While City offloaded the inconsistent scoring exploits of Raheem Sterling and Gabriel Jesus, they settled on Haaland to do the job. Maybe we should be asking how Liverpool, United and Chelsea can get it disastrously wrong and how City can get it right nine times out of ten spending less. </span> </p><p>Those that tell us the league is heading towards a closed shop are right in a sense, but it has been on this journey since the mid-80s when the then Big Five (rather laughably when considered from the high plains of 2022, but then including Everton) started their Machiavellian journey towards what we see today. It might not quite have worked for Everton, but the idea was sound enough: cordon off the gains, syphon off the prophets and stop others following. The infamous drawbridge since used to describe the start of the Premier League and thereafter the Champions league too. In other words, <i>Protectionism. </i></p><p>This has been alive and well for decades. The vast riches swilling around the game today just accentuate the difference between haves and have-nots in a world where Atletico Madrid and Juventus can be summarily outbid by West Ham and Fulham.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4jGzBLf9gcIvPpgfQcA4Fwf7ASurFzpex2nuzOB8pJpqtBfjSY-iuENdaN4Eu27O6Tp6fMBqwI3qe6RqihDyOXr6BPJlNkk_P9U_Fq26HUm62aV-qu3llhwRxYwi_DhyaH_5MD7pz0mv_uTCcAM1Ika5O0V0jnORzNueV54lALPohcFgujaSKvLZ/s615/budet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4jGzBLf9gcIvPpgfQcA4Fwf7ASurFzpex2nuzOB8pJpqtBfjSY-iuENdaN4Eu27O6Tp6fMBqwI3qe6RqihDyOXr6BPJlNkk_P9U_Fq26HUm62aV-qu3llhwRxYwi_DhyaH_5MD7pz0mv_uTCcAM1Ika5O0V0jnORzNueV54lALPohcFgujaSKvLZ/w640-h426/budet.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>All of this devalues the immense input of Pep Guardiola, a once-in-a-generation coaching talent, who has overseen City's final ascent towards the world game's summit. Klopp's work must not be undervalued either, despite the arguments he uses to explain the perceived gulf between the two sides. That would be to do them both a huge disservice. That City's massive wealth has been put to better use than Liverpool's massive wealth and Chelsea's massive wealth has been spent almost as willy nilly as Manchester United's massive wealth is neither City's fault nor the dastardly work of a tilted playing field, but the work of dedicated professionals at the top of their game, on and off the Etihad pitch.</p><p>If City win the title again this season the background noise will increase once more. Money will surely be the ruination of the sport. It has already done untold damage, but that damage can be traced way back to 1986, not the arrival of City in the game's corridors of power in 2008 and the money ruining it is going on players who fail not those who succeed. </p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Simon Curtishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01814416205256696455noreply@blogger.com0