Malcolm Clarkson

Why Blue?

I’ve been meaning to write this for so long and here, at last, it is. The number of times other Why Blues or other MCIVTA articles have sent a shiver down my spine, the number of times I’ve thought: “Right, I’ll write it tonight”… excuses, excuses, whatever. I must say that the catalyst for my finally getting round to it is Andreas Larsson (MCIVTA 695), whose plea that other City fans don’t take him less seriously just because he has no connection with Manchester really hit home. My only Manchester connections are cousins and an ex-girlfriend, I don’t have a Manchester accent, I’ve only been to Maine Road about twenty times (away games triple that) but I can quite easily say that no one, that’s right, no one (Manchester born and bred season ticket holders included) has suffered more than me over the years, nor been more ecstatically happy either (once or twice…).

It all started way back in 1969 when I was 9. I’d just started to develop an interest in footie and felt I needed a team to support. I remember the moment vividly: I was sat on my gran’s floor with a book that had all the (then) First Division teams’ team photos in colour – one team, one page. Flicking through the pages I was left totally uninspired by the Arsenals, Chelseas and Evertons. I then came across manchester united. “Hmm – I’ve got cousins there… Nah, can’t support them – EVERYONE supports them…” (yes, kids, things haven’t changed that much). Turn the page… “Oh, yes! Manchester team, LOVE the sky blue, don’t know anyone round here who supports them, just look at those trophies!” (1969 team photo: Tony Book crouched behind the FA Cup, League Championship trophy, Charity Shield trophy). Rushed through to the front room where my dad was and proudly announced: “Dad, I support Man. City!” “Oh, yeah?” was the reply, obviously thinking I’d have chosen someone else a week later. How wrong he was!

My first ever City game was away to Southampton either that year or the next. Don’t remember the score but do remember seeing my first ever skinheads – City fans, a group of about 10 chanting something or other on their way to the ground. Memories are sketchy. Total frustration at having to sit through, I think it was a Cup replay, while we were winning the Cup Winners’ Cup. Getting my scarf nicked by a Newcastle fan around 70/71 and me and my dad pretending to chase him after it (token gesture but he was a big f#cker). Being in the away end at Leeds in a Cup match 73/74 when loads of other City fans ran onto the pitch and away up to the City fans at the other end – didn’t have the guts to follow them – I was only 13/14. My first ever trip to Maine Road was around this time but all I remember is the goosebumps at seeing the ground, walking into the Kippax and looking round me awe-struck. Trevor Francis’ début – t#at got sent off after 10 minutes or something. Being in a near comotose state in a student flat watching the Cup Final, then again for the replay and going to bed straight afterwards and staying there till the next morning crying my eyes out. Went to live in London and saw City play all the London clubs including the Charlton 5-0 Andreas mentioned.

Came to Spain soon after and have only been able to get to about a dozen matches since, relying for years on the World Service: can you believe that The play-off wasn’t on and the first I heard was at the end of 90 minutes with just the commentary of the goals! After their second I was very tempted to turn it off but I’m City through and through and waited… 2-1! … into injury time, the commentator’s still going, there’s another goal – please let it be us… Yes! 2-2! Wild celebrations! Then had to sit glued to my radio until “From our own correspondent” or something finished to wait for the final score! God, have I suffered.

Since I got connected and found out about MCIVTA and the rest and discovering that I wasn’t suffering alone, well, thanks guys, you’re brill. Got back last summer to see the friendly vs. Everton – went with my sister who saw the light several years ago. Remember clearly one of the chants from the Everton fans was: “Going down…” and we replied back quick as a flash: “So are you…”. Could be nearer the mark than we thought. Still, wherever we are we’ll still be City. Over 30 years and I’m still here along with the rest of you. Every Saturday glued to the PC listening to the commentary, my Colin Bell minature statue (paint flaking off) having been kissed, left foot or leg over right if we’re playing at home, vice versa if away. Keep the faith whatever happens. We’re special – it’s official. I’m City till I die. Oh yes.

First printed in: MCIVTA Newsletter #696 on