John Joyce

Why Blue?

“This is for me the essence of true romance
Sharing the things we know and love
With those of our kind
Libations, sensations
That stagger the mind.”

(Deacon Blues by Steely Dan, 1980.)

1968. In the late summer, my dad took me to Maine Road for the first time. The ground was full (wasn’t it always?) for the visit of Bury. It was a pre-season friendly, and the trophy paraded beforehand was the League Championship. I hadn’t taken much notice of footie before that, and my main memory of the day was 60-odd thousand people cheering and laughing when an overweight middle-aged bloke came on as sub. He was Malcolm Allison. He really brought the house down when he rattled the crossbar from midway inside the Bury half. To be honest, although the massive crowd was impressive, I still wasn’t convinced.

1969. This was the year I began to take notice. In May we watched the Cup Final, at my grandparents’ flat in New Moston. I don’t know why, grandad was a Red (and still is, at 95). The difference was, grandad was first and foremost a Manc, and wanted City to win the Cup just as he’d wanted his beloved United to win the European Cup at Wembley a year earlier. My main memory of the day is dad’s reaction when Neil Young smacked home the Cup-winning goal past a young Peter Shilton. He was just jumping up and down and yelling at the top of his voice. I’d never seen him (or anyone else for that matter) behaving in such a manner, and it was actually a bit scary, but intoxicating at the same time. If the game could make a thirty-six year old father-of-three carry on like that, there had to be something in it.

After that, I went on and on and on at my dad to take me again. He finally relented that November, City vs. United. The attendance that day was 63,013. Poor dad was queuing up outside with me when the gates opened at 1pm. At my insistence, we went to the very front of the Kippax, and he sat me on the front wall, where I watched the crowd grow over the next couple of hours. You could tell this was a very different atmosphere from that Bury game. Even at 10, I could smell the hatred. At about five to three, a bloke asked my dad if he could put his little lad on the wall next to me. “No, b*gger off” said dad, none of this ‘all Mancs together’ b*****ks for him (Incidentally, can you believe we had sixty-odd thousand unsegregated people at a Manchester derby?).

We were one-nil up at half-time, and actually had one disallowed because a Franny Lee piledriver was judged to have still been on its way towards the top corner when ref Gordon Hill (didn’t he later play for United?) blew the half-time whistle. It didn’t matter much in the scheme of things, ’cause we went on to win 4-0, but two more were disallowed. I told all the Reds at school on Monday that we’d really beaten them 7-0. I was well and truly hooked. Winning derbies 4-0 was a fantastic feeling, and I couldn’t wait for the next time.

1970-1974. I started secondary school, and the Blues won the League Cup and the European Cup-Winners’ Cup. Always 60-odd thousand at the games, and the likes of Colin Bell, Mike Doyle, Mike Summerbee, Franny Lee and Tony Book every week. I remember Rodney Marsh being blamed for us finishing 4th in 1972. We were several points clear at the top when he joined in the spring, but things didn’t work out, and we blew it.

I was always a Marshy fan though. I was taken to Old Trafford for the derby in late ’72. Big Mal (Malcolm Allison for younger readers) had a habit of walking down to the Stretford End and holding up four fingers to indicate his prediction of how many City would score. The furious Reds would throw coins at him, and Malcolm pocketed each and every one of them with a beaming smile. Might be classed as bringing the game into disrepute nowadays. Anyway, Rodney came on as sub with us 3-1 up. United players stood helpless as he performed the full range of tricks. Poor old Martin Buchan, their skipper, had the ball kicked off his shins for successive corners as the great man took the p***.

In 1974 my grandad took me to Wembley to watch us play Wolves in the League cup Final. Our forward line that day: Mike Summerbee, Colin Bell, Francis Lee, Denis Law, Rodney Marsh. We were bloody awful and lost 2-1. It’s a long road, that M1, isn’t it? Just a few weeks later, I was back at Old Trafford. My parents would have killed me if they’d known I was in the Stretford End, having got separated from my mates much earlier. This was the legendary day that Denis Law backheeled the Reds into (temporary) oblivion. Trouble is, I cheered. I just couldn’t help myself, and I stifled it quickly, but the damage was done. I somehow pushed thousands of silent, stony-faced people out of my way, and then I ran and ran and ran. Several minutes later I stopped, too exhausted to avoid my inevitable fate any longer. I nearly cried when I saw that I was completely alone (to be on the safe side, I’ve never gone back there, and I never will)!

1975-1977. Phil Adamson, Tim Keogh and I never missed a game at Maine Road. It was a topsy-turvy time. A great Dennis Tueart goal to win the League Cup on my second trip to Wembley. A couple of good UEFA Cup runs, I saw us beat Juventus and AC Milan. But by and large we were on the slide. We used to joke about whose turn it was to stand behind the pillar for the restricted view.

1977-1981. Big Mal came back, not a good idea. Kaziu Deyna, Trevor Francis, Steve Daley, Kevin Reeves, the mighty Dragoslav Stepanovic. I was now studying in Leeds. I remember sharing a minibus with some scouse mates and coming down for the day to see us lose at home to Liverpool, about 5-0. To almost add injury to insult, the scousers nearly got us all battered when the bus got stuck in the crowds, with them singing “You’ll Never Walk Alone” in the back. In ’79, I came back with Andy Buxton, a mad Blue who was also studying in Leeds, for the derby at Maine Road. I was sharing a house with two Reds, and Andy and I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing their smug faces if and when they beat us, so we decided to stay in Manchester for the weekend with my folks, and come back late on Sunday. Before the game, Andy stood outside trying to flog a spare ticket. A Red offered him £10, a lot of money then, and was flabbergasted to see Andy give it away to a City fan instead. I like to think I’d have done the same. Anyway, Michael Robinson hadn’t read the script, and he scored one of the goals in a 2-0 win. All of a sudden, the perfect plan came together. Instead of staying in Manchester, we would go back to Leeds and arrive at the house just as Match of The Day was starting. The look on the Reds’ faces would be priceless. It meant an evening of drinking in pubs we’d never been to (didn’t want to spoil the surprise by seeing them!) but we managed it and opened the front door just as the familiar theme tune began. Emmy and Gregg were apoplectic with rage as we took our seats alongside them to cheer the victory all over again.

Big Mal finally went, to Crystal Palace, at the end of 1980, to be replaced by John Bond. And who did we get in round 3 of the Cup? Yep Crystal Palace. The return of Mal split the crowd. Half of them seemed intent on showing more support for him than for our own manager (not unusual at City, I remember one ‘Blue’ being angry when we got a late equaliser against Birmingham, because the goal was scored by Mick Channon, his most hated City player!). Anyway, John Bond won the battle of the managers, 4-0. We then beat his son Kevin’s Norwich 6-0 in round 4, and you could sense something in the air, especially when we drew Peterborough in round 5. A 1-0 win, Everton away in the quarter-finals. 2-2, then a 3-1 win in the home replay. I’d just got myself a job in Spain, so I couldn’t stick around for the semi-final and final. Thanks City, great timing! Spanish telly showed the first match against Tottenham, but not the replay, which we tried to follow on the World Service. I’ve still not seen that match!

1982. My best Andy Buxton moment (even better than writing off his dad’s car en route to Everton and being more worried about missing the game) was the Nou Camp, Barcelona, a pre-season tournament in 1982 featuring City, Barça, FC Cologne and Vasco de Gama. Andy had come to visit, so naturally we went to the game. We got there before the ground filled up (Barcelona was the second match) and I grudgingly agreed to go and call the City boys over from their warm-up. I was 22, but still very shy about talking to my heroes. Eventually Paul Power saw our scarves and came over with Tommy Caton (RIP).

PP: Bluddyell lads, what are you doing here (tt was unusual to see away fans at pre-season games in Europe.)?
JJ: Well I’m working here, and Andy’s on holiday. We’re both Blues, so we’ve come to give you a cheer.
PP: Brilliant. Well, we’ll go out there and see what we can do for you.
AB: Well, I hope it’s better than last season. I had a season ticket, and talk about a waste of money. When are we going to sort out the midfield, etc, etc?
I caught PP waving and turning away. I think I might have fainted out of embarrassment after that (I know you’re wondering, we beat Cologne on penalties).

1983 was my first experience of relegation – sitting helplessly in a Spanish bar as the World Service vultures gave us the full commentary. ’85 saw us beat Charlton 5-1 and again I celebrated with ex-pat Blues on the Costa del Sol. In 1986, I was back in the UK and managing a pub in London. My brothers sorted out tickets for the Full Members’ Cup Final, my third visit to Wembley, and a 5-4 defeat to Chelsea. ’87 I was at Upton Park when a 2-0 defeat relegated us once again. Six months later at Maine Road, I saw 3 City hat-tricks as we beat Huddersfield 10-1 (naturally, we lost the away game 1-0). ’89 not only promotion, but a 5-1 win against our Salford enemy. A sweet, sweet day as Andy Hinchcliffe gave the big ‘High Five’ to the Rags.

Mel Machin, Howard Kendall, Peter Reid, Brian Horton, Alan Bloody Ball what other team would play keep-ball at 2-2 against Liverpool when needing 3 points to stay up? So relegation again in ’96. Should have been getting used to it by then, but it still hurt. Not only that, but in 1998 our lowest point ever. Division Two fixtures against the likes of Macclesfield Town and York City (where I believe we lost 1-0). Living in Sussex meant live games were harder to get to, but I was there at Wembley for that play-off final against Gillingham.

My own thirty years of hurt had left me far from confident, but at 2-0 down I turned to my brother and said “We’ll get one now just you watch.” We did, and I deliberately sat through it, head in hands. I didn’t even stand up when the roar went up again well, not for the first nano-second. I swallowed my pride and jumped up just in time to see Paul Dickov rattle the back of the Gills’ net, and send us into extra-time. What a party, what a night. City are back!

Shortly afterwards, I discovered The Witch, and have found a growing band of Blues based down here. Meanwhile, we beat Blackburn under Joe Royle to return to the Premiership, went down again, came up again under KK in fantastic style, and have made a fist of it in the top flight, beating the Reds 3-1 and 4-1 along the way. Maine Road is no more, but our new home is gorgeous, and only lacks tradition, that will come. The Mid-Sussex Blues are up and running, and here I am writing this at 6am on derby day. Talk about an obsession.

My dad had no idea what he was starting for me and my two brothers 37 years ago. The extreme highs and lows have been simply amazing. We’ve had heroes (Bell, Lee, Marsh,Tueart, Rösler, Kinkladze, Benarbia, Anelka, SWP) and villains (too numerous to mention). If a woman (or a man, ladies) treated you that way, you’d leave them. But this is City, a lifelong infatuation, an unconditional love affair, and you just can’t do that. After all, the good times are just round the corner.

First printed in: MCIVTA Newsletter #1112 on