It used to be the way that whenever I mentioned to someone that I was a Manchester City fan they would fix me with a look that said two things. Pity and admiration. I've seen it too many times. A recognition of a long suffering fool - Jack Lemmon in The Apartment say.
I'm a City fan because of my Dad. It's partly his fault because he'd take me to Maine Road each time he drove the match bus. I was seven the first time and we'd sit in the old Platt Lane, leaving early enough to get back in time to open the doors for the punters after the game. I didn't get to go to the cup Final in 81' but I did get my first season ticket the year before, standing in the Kippax with my mate Ronnie Jackson. So it seemed rather fitting that my Dad was the first person I called as I walked back into Manchester after the game finished.
I was born the last time we won the league, so 44 years of hurt (and my life as a City fan) were rightly encapsulated (after a brilliantly fantastic season) in a mad, crazed five minutes. The ninety minutes of pain, anguish that went before - along with a feeling that I could and might be physically sick at any time - were forgotten. Three and half minutes, from being 2-1 down to winning 3-2, taking the Premiership with the final kick in the last minute of the last match of the season. Quite simply I went from utter devastation to a strange kind of joy. As Elliot said in the pub after.."So, what the fuck was that all about?"..
It was just one of those days, one of those moments. I hugged everyone and anyone who was close. We smiled, we cried and then we were Champions.
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