James Nash

Why Blue?

It’s shocking but it’s true. I became a Blue simply to annoy my sister.

Growing up in the leafy calm of suburbia, you don’t get that much excitement. The only distinguishing brown patch on the lawn of Surrey life was the arrival of the Derby circus in Epsom once a year. The horse race itself was never much to look at but the people and atmosphere it attracted were. Everything from the anorak-clad bookies to the raucous throb of the fun-fair turned a boring stockbroker town into a cosmopolitan den of sin. Epsom has a nice clock tower and a good view of the North Downs from the racecourse, otherwise I would advise you to stay away!

By default, I should have chosen either Crystal Palace or Wimbledon as my team in 1977. I lived equi-distant from either ground; the Dons were yet to impress their stud marks across the big leagues and what’s worse, my maths teacher supported Palace so they were ruled out for starters. I seem to remember a brief flirtation with Bournemouth after I spent a wonderful (?) holiday there one year but it never lasted; a dirty weekend, if you like.

All the big boys at school supported Manchester United or Liverpool and I hated the big boys but not enough to choose City or Everton to get back at them. My big sister, however, was an ardent ‘pool fan and as much as I love her now, I hated her then! I remember thinking that she only liked them because they were successful. So, noticing that City were the team most likely to beat the scousers for the title, I plumped for them.

This decision was made purely on a short term basis to gain maximum effect. Things didn’t quite go according to plan. City cocked up the title and my sister gloated with glee. Not wanting to lose face, I had to keep up the support the following season. And the following season and the one after that and again and… and here we are now!

The first game I went to was, funnily enough, at Crystal Palace. 1978 (?) and we lost 2-1 or 2-0. Having pestered my father (an armchair Derby supporter) into finally taking me, all I can remember now is the young Palace fans taking the mickey out of me as the goals went in. I presume I sulked. But not until I was at a safe distance from those vicious little thugs 🙂 I wonder if one of them now has size 15 boot marks on his chest?

As I grew up, the years went by and City won bugger all. Time and again I would promise myself that this was it and I would never support City again; this being after the latest woeful performance or shock exit from the Cup. I never shook the habit, though.

Maybe the biggest influence on confirming my City habit was my best friend at school called James Strang (his phone was disconnected last time I tried and I’ve lost his address in Brixton so if anyone knows his whereabouts, let me know!). We shared the “outsider” factor, me being the teacher’s son and him being the Mancunian in this wanna-be posh private school. Somehow, it made perfect sense that we both supported City. He got me going to games again, all away, like Fulham, Chelsea and even as far away as Brighton once though we got severely reprimanded for getting back late. One particularly fond memory is strolling through the muddy footpaths around the South Downs hitting back under-age slugs of Merrydown cider as we heard City (rather luckily) beating Portsmouth on the radio, all but ensuring promotion.

The worst times have been when we got relegated in the ’80s. I was in the family car, coming back from shopping on a Saturday afternoon, and got my dad to put the radio on. Within seconds, the news came through from Luton that the match was 0-0. We were safe. Then on came Stuart Hall, I think, to say that a last minute goal had been scored. I swear that he first said City had scored but then the horrible truth sank in. I certainly would never have predicted that one of the players from that fateful day would end up becoming our manager. I bore a grudge against Luton after that only finally relenting when they were relegated, though I would have preferred us to have done it.

Most memorable games… losing 5-4 at Wembley to Chelsea when I had left early at 5-1. The first of the two 4-0’s over Leeds. Niall Quinn’s hat-trick against the Palace. A tedious 0-0 Cup replay against Watford when I missed my train and ended up in East Croydon forking out for a taxi back home. Drawing 3-3 at Walsall after Alex Williams (or Eric Nixon?) was carried off and Nigel Gleghorn took over. Even the 9-man win at QPR this season. Best off the pitch moment… getting rid of Swales (I started a fanzine for one issue only, called “Wigout!”. The two other contributors lurk on MCIVTA!).

My big confession is that my first home game was only in 1990. Mainly because I felt intimidated by a trip to Manchester and it’s not easy to get to Maine Road and back from Coventry or Surrey, especially for a non-driver. Well, I’ve been to plenty since then, my best average being 1 in 2 a couple of seasons ago. I know that many Mancunians may never see me as a true Blue because I don’t come from Manchester. I simply say that I’ve supported City for the best part of 20 years. And don’t be so selfish in keeping the misery all to yourselves. 🙂 Anyway, if you don’t like it, it’s your problem. Tough!

Why do I keep the faith? Answers on a postcard to my psychiatrist. Seriously, I think it’s City’s unpredictability. You never get bored with them. They sometimes play good football, which helps. There’s little of the arrogance associated with the other “big” clubs. We can always laugh at the situation, however dire. Aw heck, you try and define love!

One more thing… I was born on virtually the exact day that City started their last successful title challenge. Maybe that is good luck or bad luck. Who knows? How many other people besides me believe that if they stop supporting City, we’ll win something the next season? Come on, own up!

First printed in: MCIVTA Newsletter #47 on