Phil Lines

Why Blue?

I don’t know why I became a Blue at is not ingrained into my otherwise quite normal DNA double helix. I was born in Ashton on Mersey which is only a cock stride from Stretford (which is birthplace of my mother). I grew up in the Sale/Altrincham.(Rag strongholds, using general election parlance there for a moment). And I went to a catholic school [again which is a Rag trait due to Sir Matt being a major left footer and insisted that the babes went to church, also the City side of the metropolis was frequented more by the residents of Didsbury which of course is the Jewish area of town). Also there is the Celtic/Utd and City/Rangers link which still needs some explaining.

In all indications I should have been a regular at the Swamp, but here lies the rub.

My old man is a Brummie (B’Ham City – also the Blues). But to be quite honest my first affiliations came when I was at primary school and the choice was to join one of two rival gangs; not very politically correct but you had to join Sean Reilly’s “The Paddys” or Lioni Polli’s “The Wops”. Each break and dinner break the rival gangs played against each other with games such as Rallio, British Bulldog (the nuances of these games escape me) and Murderball (it was 1970 and was a forerunner to James Caan’s Rollerball). The racial tension as six year old between these rival factions was high but they were both Utd fans. Me and my mate Joe Timmons decided that we did not want to get injured during these ‘games’ and being neither Italian or Irish and just to be totally awkward we would become, you guessed it, City fans, with scarves, kit bags, the works.

Reilly and Poli both took their turn on me and Joe and kicked the c**p out of us right up to the eleven plus exam but we never wavered.

I still remember Reilly saying “Shout out United are Ace City are Crap, otherwise I will pin you down and spit on you” – 1 pint of spit, two gallons of bog flush water and several beatings we were still Blues. Now I understand “No Surrender” but in those days it was only spit, bruises and bog water.

I remeber the Marsh, Bell, Lee, Summerbee, Corrigan and the comedy and laughter that went with those days at Maine Road. The smart a**e comments around the ground from all the wags. Jewish wit is still one of the funniest around – Ben Elton, David Baddiel are cases in point.

Senior school was less traumatic – the Kippax was my home, enter the arena of Barnes (the flashing blade down the wing). Tueart and the overhead (sounds like a band that John Peel would have played) in those days of punkish nostalgia. Even Trevor Francis and his head butting display. All viewed with my cynical eye from the far side of the pitch.

At the age of 17 I went to the Cup Final replay – even when we went 2-1 up Spurs had so much in them, our day was the Saturday; if we didn’t do it then we were not going to do it at all – poor old Hutch sadly immortalised as an orange question in trivial persuit.

College came next, Nottingham Poly – close enough to come home for the odd game, far enough away to get up to intense mischief. Why Nottingham? I could say that the course suited my individual needs in terms of practical, theoretical electronics engineering and gave a year out industrial release but the real reason is that as a cynical, obnoxious, spotty faced City fan – I liked the idea of a town having a 5 to 1 girl to boy ratio. And the odds of getting a jump shortened dramatically. Well I had to find entertainment from somewhere; City were in Div 2, Forest were in the 1st and County in the 3rd.

Forest were an entertaining side in those days and the best memory was when Celtic came down and brought a batallion of supporters on the same week Scargill was in town trying to get the Notts miners to strike. Drinking and fighting and shouting was the order of the day.

Why do I remember college as an alcoholic daze with a bit of revision thrown in and an overdraft and a collection of Smiths singles? “Hang the Chairman, Hang the Chairman, Hang the Chairman”, as we sang at the Dell one Saturday – never caught on at the Kippax although I did try a couple of times.

USA for a year, got a job looking for oil in the Gulf of Mexico; based in Houston, Texas I supported the Oilers – they played in sky blue and were crap so I was at home at the Astrodome – only difference was the 80,000 seated stadium in air conditioned luxury with waitress service.

London for 5 years – great place to live, it takes six months to get used to cockneys and vice versa; after that good people. They are just not immediately friendly (by and large) – suspicious big city syndrome I guess. Got to see all the grounds in London, even the Den (twice). Home to the Academy at least once a month, especially the 5-1 day which was definitely better than a jump.

Now I live in Cayman where ESPN gives us a live game every Monday and the Anik 1 Canadian satellite gives us a live game every Saturday from the Premier League. Now we are in Div 1 I rely totally on the McVittee pages to liven my day and glad to hear the sarcasm, cynicism and light hearted banter is still the order of the day.

That was always the hallmark of going to away games with City, “which bar do we go to in Bournemouth”, the inflatables, “I bet 5 quid we stop at the Shepperton service station”. Nothing was taken seriously. Our lives were/are richer than what goes on on the field of play.

Present feelings about the team: we are getting kicked to pieces by the thugs in the division judging by the reports in Electronic Telegraph and mcivta. We may have to face the inevitability of selling Gio. I can just see him getting a little bout of flu two days before the 3rd Round of the Cup just so he cannot play and therefore be cup tied – sell him at the max we can get and buy some players who can deal with the rough conditions. A promotion team may be different to a Premier team. I do not think the building can be done in this division.

Then again opinions are like a**eholes. Everyone has one.

First printed in: MCIVTA Newsletter #245 on