David Humphreys

Why Blue?

It’s hard to work out why any sane person would ever watch Manchester City. They tempt and tease you and then treat you with utter disdain – it’s impossible to get free. Someone should do some psychological research into what makes up a City fan (it’s been done for trainspotters after all).

Up until six years old I had no interest in the stupid sport. I was born like almost every snot-nosed Salford kid in “No Hope Hospital” and lived in sight of the docks until I got overspilled out to Little Hulton (which is even more Red than Salford).

I remember watching Bobby Moore and Charlton win the World Cup on our old black-and-white Bush TV (strange to think that’s all England has to brag about footy-wise 30 years-on). I have vague memories of Jeff Astle scoring for WBA in the Cup. My first real memories of football were when I was cornered in the play-ground by five giant 11 year olds when I was a bare junior at Lancashire Tomatoes school. The conversation went something like this:

Them> “Are you a red or a blue?” Me>   “What?” Them> “Do you support City or United?” Me>   “Who?” Them> “You know, UnitED, The Red Devils, Man U, Georgy Best and Nobby” Me>   “I don’t support anybody, I don’t even like football” Them> “Are you a puff?” Me>   “No!!! … What’s a puff?” Them> “He’s fuckin’ stupid” Me>   “I may be stupid but at least I don’t support United”

If you’ve ever noticed, the mildest of insults is guaranteed to set a United supporter off. They have no control – they don’t get potty trained until they’re into their teens. Needless to say fisticuffs were the order of the day. They’d underestimated me though. This seven year old had been dragged up in Salford and they were soft rural United supporters; no match at all (o.k. maybe I exaggerate). I remember the look of disbelief from Mr Beany, the Headmaster’s face, as I stood with the Reds in his office – all of us covered in mud and (mostly my) blood. I guess that incident made me a Blue.

Soon City won the League. My sister was born in ’68 and was brought into the house as United scored the second against Benfica. I’ve never liked her. I watched the ’69 Cup Final from behind the sofa. I had nightmares for months about Leicester’s Andy Lochead who seemed as if he was going to equalise all game long. 1970… I listened to the Cup Winners’ Cup Final on the radio in the dark.

I saw my first live game against Derby County in 1971 (my dad’s a Red so it was up to my Aunty Margaret to take me). I still remember the noise, the smell of smoke and Les Green catching everything that City belted at him. 0-1, I loved it.

As we all know, City had a great team in the early 70’s. How they lost to Wolves in the League Cup and were robbed by Derby and Leeds in the League I’ll never know. What a great day it was when Law backheeled the Reds into oblivion.

1975, Marsh was brilliant, Tueart walked on water, Bell was King. Asa was ace. 1976. That big donkey Buchan carried out the worst tackle of all time. Definitely premeditatated on our only world class player in 30 years. Even though we beat them 4-0 and the sight of Tommy Booth knifing through United’s defence as a mid-field sub. was a sight to behold, I was really unhappy after that game. I believe if Bell had stayed fit things would be very different at City today. On to Wembley, Barnes stormed and Tueart won it with an incredible piece of creativity (well not quite as he’d scored with an overhead kick about 10 times in the league that season). Mike Doyle handled MacDonald as only a rabid Blue could (keep Phelan I say).

United started to come back into the picture and of course their supporters still couldn’t take losing. They used to wreck the ‘Horse Shoe’, where I pulled pints, at least twice a month. I saw the Leeds game with the horses on the pitch and dodged the usual barrage of bricks and bottles from those ever so well behaved Yorkshire people. I could go on about various Leeds United nightmares (victories and losses) but I won’t. Going to an away game was not a safe/pleasant experience in the 70’s. If it’s still the same today you have my sympathy.

The 70’s whimpered out, the 80’s whimpered in. Alf Gray robbed us. The ’82 Cup Final games were soul-destroying. I tried not to blame Tommy Hutchinson (Corrigan had it covered). I didn’t even see Steve MacKenzie’s goal as I was watching someone trying to throw Tottenham supporters onto the tunnel netting. I thought Tueart was going to steal it when he came on. He nearly did.

I guess the last ten or so years have been a disaster, with no respite. Many hardy souls keep on coming back for more but without a smell of a derby win (except for the 5-1 of course) to keep me going I can’t bare to pay too much attention. We’re probably going to go down but at least United won’t win the European Cup next season. It did give me great pleasure to watch the Reds get hammered in the cup final. It was well worth getting up at 6:00 a.m. PST to enjoy it.

Good luck to all fellow Blues. Hopefully fortunes, and the government, will change soon. Shit! I ended this on a note of typical Blue blind-optimism.

First printed in: MCIVTA Newsletter #102 on