PIES IN THE SKY

🥮Many 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. 

How fully we celebrated small trifles in the 80s.

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.

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. 

As City's promotion charge turned into a stumble, nerves had become more and more frayed.

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. 

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.

Shortly before half time a crunching tackle from the aptly named Gary Hoolickin brought young stand-in Jamie Hoyland's 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.

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.

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.

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.