David Atkins

Why Blue?

I walked up Blake Street, hand in hand with my wife and five-year-old son, as we made our way towards Coors Field. With the Colorado Rockies about to take on the Philadelphia Phillies in the second of a three game baseball series, it suddenly dawned on me that I was becoming a part of the all-American family. The 50,000 sell-out crowd, the warm spring sunshine, the four-dollar hotdog, the singing of the star spangled banner and not a single thing reminded me of my afternoons on Kippax St.

But as early as the bottom of the second innings (of nine) it became clear to me that my five-year-old son was completely bored. It was then that I was reminded of City vs. Arsenal circa 1972. I have no idea of the score (0-0 I suspect). I was 11-years-old at the time. I was asleep across my dad’s seat when the guy behind him remarked that I was obviously an astute judge of football.

At the time City were a good team to watch (except against Arsenal). The great triumvirate of Lee, Bell and Summerbee was a class act. I can thank Malcolm Allison for my extensive knowledge of colourful synonyms for reproductive organs of either gender. Many of them were in use by the Maine Road faithful once Rodney Marsh was introduced with such poor timing.

Perhaps my fondest memory is of the League Cup final of 1976. My dad, a lifelong supporter, made the ultimate sacrifice allowing me and my brother to use the two tickets he had managed to procure. It’s strange to think that there was never any doubt in my mind that City would win. Tueart’s overhead bicycle kick seemed like the perfectly logical thing to do in the circumstances, and was almost no surprise. My surprise was to come years later when Pele was to repeat the effort for the combined POW team in the 4-4 draw with Germany made famous in the movie “Escape to Victory”.

I also have little or no memory of Rag fans in abundance, due, I suppose, to us living in Manchester. Also I was at Manchester Grammar School, which probably had more chess fans than football, despite its proximity to the Academy.

I couldn’t get a ticket for the ’81 final as I was working in Bournemouth at the time and hadn’t attended the Academy for quite some time. In 1982 I moved to South Africa. The next time I saw City was (I think) 1992. My wife is from Sheffield and whilst on holiday in the UK it just so happened that City visited Hillsborough. With much trepidation I parted with