The Obscurer

It was Halloween, appropriately enough. I was sat on the bus travelling back from the City of Manchester Stadium. We had just convincingly defeated Aston Villa 3-1 to go 4th in the Premiership. The bus was abuzz with chatter about how well we were doing, my Dad was positively beside himself revelling in a glorious season; but it was there that I first toyed with the idea of not renewing my City season ticket.

I suppose all football fans have had that “what am I doing here” feeling from time to time, but this one was different. Sat alone amongst a sea of blue plastic seats when I watched us tumble out of the League Cup to Lincoln a few years ago, beaten by a comical goal in front of a few thousand spectators, you can understand why I questioned my sanity; but in those days there seemed something to fight for and I couldn’t desert my team at such a time. But to question your loyalty when you are in the top six on merit, possibly looking at a European place, and yet you are bored witless, signified something deeper.

In part it is down to City’s circumstances. For years we City fans were treated to relegation battles and promotion scrapes on an almost annual basis. Now, (more or less) comfortable after four straight seasons in the Premiership, there seems little to fight for. I never thought we would hold onto 4th spot, and we didn’t, but nowadays that is the very top of our ambitions, and it doesn’t excite me. Outside the top clubs the very best you can hope for is to fluke a good season into the preliminary round of the Champions League, where you are unlikely to even survive as long as the last of the summer’s wasps. Fall a bit short and you could still end up in the UEFA cup. Whoo-hoo. Last time we competed in that competition it just served as an irritant, forcing us to reschedule the few remaining fixtures that hadn’t already been rescheduled by Sky. So on that Halloween night I realised that for a City fan this was about as good as it was likely to get, and I wasn’t inspired.

But it’s not just City, it is football in general. I remember in the old days you would watch a match where one side would put the other team under a bit of pressure, where the crowd would roar as your team forced corner after corner, or your side would defend valiantly against your opponents onslaught which could last for 10 or 20 minutes. That rarely seems to happen nowadays as teams act so negatively, even coming to such an anti-fortress as Eastlands deciding to pack midfield for 90 minutes and get bodies behind the ball to hopefully force a 0-0 draw. Goals and chances appear, if ever, seemingly out of nothing following a prolonged period of probing and parrying. If in days gone by teams could be said to press forward trying to inflict a knockout blow, today sides spend much of the match sparring, while I sit in the stand and daydream.

I think Jose Mourinho has had a negative influence on the game. With all the wealth at his disposal he could have built a wonderful side in whatever image he chose; but he went for a solid, dependable and relentless unit. He deserves his success, but I don’t want to watch his side. He also seems to have influenced other managers in their dealings with the press; the Wenger “I didn’t see it” has been replaced by the Mourinho “I did see it, and there was nothing wrong with it”. I am getting pretty tired of referees and their assistants making correct decisions only for the managers to defend their players antics and cry victimisation. I am not trying to pin all the blame on Mourinho, but he deserves his fair share.

This all seems a bit unfair on Stuart Pearce. Under his stewardship City are more attack minded than many other sides, and in interviews he seems almost saint-like in his reasonableness. It isn’t his fault, but that is the way it is. Since making my decision not to renew my season ticket I have seen little down at Eastlands to make me change my mind or regret my decision. Almost every game I have seen, win or lose, seems to follow the same dull and un-engaging pattern. I still intend to go to the odd game, and I will watch matches on TV (in the pub or at my parents’) and on the (ahem) internet, where it is easier to sack it if it is boring; but the sense of duty which kept me going for a while is long gone. With tonight’s 3-1 defeat to Arsenal (ironically one of the more entertaining games this season) I have watched my last match as a season ticket holder, and the overwhelming feeling is one of relief.

“Fuck off Wigan, you fucking pie eating wankers, go and fuck off back to fucking Wigan”, he quipped. I was sat on the top deck of an idling bus after yesterday’s match, waiting for the convoy of Wigan coaches to drive past. A fellow City fan was holding court with a stunning piece of oratory; his pals cackled their encouragement.

He continued “Go on you fucking pie eaters, fuck off you fucking Wigan bastards”, an allusion, if memory serves, to a statement made by Raskolnikov in a discussion with Razumikhin in Dostoevsky’s epic Crime And Punishment, echoing the redemptive theme explored within that classic text.

Our hero concluded his soliloquy with a neat encapsulation of his thesis; “Fuck of to Wigan, you fucking pie eating knobheads”. The Wigan supporters, cocooned inside their air-conditioned coaches, were oblivious to the Swiftian genius on display. The final coach passed, followed by the accompanying police motorbikes, and then our bus moved off.

So far so good, but then – too soon – it was all over. The whole bus had been rapt, hanging upon every utterance of this ingenious wordsmith, but with the passing of the Wigan fans he fell silent. My fellow passengers exchanged anxious glances. Was that it? Would we hear anymore of this inspirational rhetoric? Would we ever hear the like again?

But our luck was in. The bus’s very own Algonquin Round Table began to discuss the imminent FA Cup quarter-final between City and West Ham, and our Dorothy Parker sprang back into life.

“Yeah, we’re fucking going to Cardiff, aren’t we…fucking gonna win the FA Cup this year…fucking brilliant…yeah, we’re fucking gonna fucking dick fucking West Ham on Monday…no fucking problem…gonna fucking batter them…fucking fuck the fucks.”

I paraphrase, of course, I cannot possibly do justice to his awesome talent. His speech made my spirits soar. We are going to Cardiff! To win the FA Cup! Get in there! I knew then that I would have to write a post in praise of this poetic giant.

One tiny reservation, though; whilst I admire great wit and literary ability I can also be a tad superstitious, as I think many football supporters are. On entering the sixth round of the FA Cup I think it is impossible not to start thinking of the final, but I tried hard not to. Even when I checked my diary to see what I was up to for the semis and the final I felt I was doing too much, like I was tempting fate and jinxing us to even think that far ahead, as if just imagining reaching the final would cut short any possibility that it could happen. I am but a mere mortal, though; no such concerns for our God-like orator, for such a seer. Not only does he have an extensive vocabulary but he is also suitably and impressively fearless in predicting the future.

Of course, greatness comes at a price, and if, by chance, the sage is wrong, if it should all goes pear shaped tomorrow and we get dumped out of the cup, all the plaudits will count for nothing. Having raised my hopes I will have that bit further to fall. My superstitious head will reassert itself, and I will know exactly who to blame.

The fucker.

Update 20/3/06. The fucker!

That said, my wife and I are in New York for the semi-finals, with my parents looking after the boy. As they would have undoubtedly wanted to attend the semi-final, that would have created a problem.

So thank you, Dean Ashton, Sun Jihai and my football bus compadre, for preventing a babysitting crisis.

There are lots of things about football that must confuse non-devotees. How can you cheer a last minute equaliser more than a crushing victory? How can you come home disheartened after an unconvincing win over a poor and unfortunate opponent? How can a goalless game still be entrancing?

But most of all, how do you explain to someone who doesn’t watch the game that even when your team does force the ball into the net, that you may not celebrate instantly because you just feel that something is wrong! You suspect offside, but you’re not sure. And that the best feeling is not the ball crossing the line, but that delayed emotion you sense when the ball hits the back of the net yet you instinctively crane your head around the cheering hordes to spy the linesman, flag down, legging it full pelt back towards the halfway line.

Then, and only then, do you let rip.

e.g

“Is there any football fan in the country who doesn’t want Peter Crouch to score?” asked Adrian Chiles on Match Of The Day 2 last Sunday, while reflecting on Crouch’s missed penalty in the Liverpool – Portsmouth game. Well I don’t want him to score, not just yet, although nothing would have given me more pleasure than if he had tucked away his spot kick last weekend.

The obvious reason is that I am a Man City fan, and Crouch’s Liverpool are due to play us tomorrow, so clearly another Crouch blank would be good for us; but it is more complicated than that. The thing is, while I don’t want Crouch to score, I do expect him to; it is almost inevitable. Look at the facts: he will be playing against City, he hasn’t scored for ages…it is simply bound to happen. In fact, I’d say that the likelihood of him scoring against us has increased exponentially with every goalless game he has played in. If I were a betting man I’d place a wager; if I were a bookie I’d stop taking bets.

It was ever thus; are your team in the middle of the longest losing streak in their history? Then come to City and see your fortunes change. Perhaps you are a full back, and your only goal was against City when you last played them five seasons ago? Well, get your extended family down to the game, badger Sky to show it live (although they probably already will be doing) and get ready to savour goal number two, which will likely be a 20-yard screamer. Have you never won on your travels all season, and are due to play away at City, who are currently unbeaten at home? Just sit back and let’s enjoy both fine runs come to an end just as surely as night follows day.

It is good to know your place in life, and just like people, football clubs have their own specific roles. United’s is to be hated, and always has been, even before they started amassing silverware under Ferguson (loathing of United is not jealousy brought on by their success; it is primal); Liverpool are there to win trophies (they used to have to be the best team in England in order to do so, but have recently found that an unnecessary burden and have had continued phenomenal success despite being distinctly average these days); Arsenal’s role has changed dramatically over the years, but they still have one; from being the most boring team in the country, then going into a chrysalis stage during Bruce Rioch’s brief tenure, before finally emerging as the most beautiful evocation of balletic football I think I have ever seen. City’s place in football, however, is merely to inspire sympathy and to make others feel better about themselves. Our historic apparent inconsistency is in fact a selfless but concerted effort to provide the desired result for other teams and players. We are the counsellors of the Premiership. It is our calling, our vocation.

Case Study: Michael Owen. I have literally lost count of the number of times he has rolled up at a City fixture, low on confidence, short on goals. One 90 minute consultancy later at the Theatre of Base Comedy and he is right as rain, firing on all cylinders again, ending his goal drought with a headline grabbing hat-trick. Thank you Mr.Owen, that is the end of this session, can we arrange to see you again same time next year? Just make your appointment with the Premier League on your way out.

Most supporters I suppose curse their teams’ luck as some stage, are aware of certain little superstitions and idiosyncrasies, bemoan some typical fallibility or other. The difference with City is that we have a real and lasting claim to the title of most ridiculous club. When Crouch scores tomorrow we won’t be downhearted, we won’t winge; if the cameras cut to the City fans as David James is picking the ball out of his net you will see benignly smiling faces, understanding nods of the heads. What we have been anticipating all week will have come to pass; we will be bearing witness to and admiring a job well done.

So congratulations in advance to Peter Crouch for ending his lean spell this Saturday. Just don’t get too worked up; hitting the back of the net at the City of Manchester Stadium is the least you should be doing judging by your recent form in front of goal; it doesn’t mean a thing. However, should you not manage to score? Then City will have failed in their raison d’etre; that or you really are beyond hope.

Update 8/12/05: My thanks again to Ken Owen for choosing this post for his latest SportBlog Roundup, and to my mystery reader who nominated this post in the first place, despite my prediction turning out to be wrong. Cheers!

Congratulations are due, after a fashion, to Manchester United for beating Chelsea yesterday in the premiership. I didn’t see much of the game, being engaged for most of the day at a naming ceremony for my mate’s daughter, but the consensus of opinion seems to be that Chelsea were the better side while United dug in to get a result and just about deserved it. Rumour has it that this match was one of those rare occasions where neutrals support United; if that is the case then include me out, although as a City fan perhaps I don’t count as a neutral in the first place. However, putting my objective hat on for a moment the result does fleetingly keep the title race open for a little while longer which must be a good thing; my one hope is that if United have kept the door ajar then it is only for Arsenal to charge through and take advantage of the result.

On 6-0-6 and the like Reds fans have been understandably crowing, and quite right too; but I wonder if, like me, you have noticed an inconsistency in many of their responses. How many United fans do you think have spent the past week defending Roy Keane’s censored outburst on MUTV where he is reported to have slagged off his team mates and named names? All the fans I know have sought to justify Keane’s antics, arguing that he was just saying what every supporter has been thinking. How many Reds fans have subsequently confirmed this view by joining in with Keane to criticise most of Alex Ferguson’s recent signings, then gone on to question his current tactics and even to wonder aloud just how long he can stay in his job? Again, the United supporters I’ve surveyed have argued these very points to a man.

So it will be interesting to see just how many United fans will now concur with the current popular opinion that with the Chelsea match the Reds have turned round and answered their critics in the best possible way, proving the doubters wrong. They will mean the evil media of course, and fans of other clubs, indicating that the recent pressures on the team has been unfair, undeserved and exerted from afar; wilfully ignoring the fact that in the past week much of the insurgency has been generated from a little closer to home.

Update 9/11/05: My thanks to Ken Owen for selecting this post for his brilliant new SportBlog Roundup feature. Most kind. If you have written a post about sport then why not send it in to Ken? It looks like it is going to be a fortnightly affair; next submissions to be in by 22nd November. Just cut ‘n’ paste your sporting post’s details and send to sportblog at googlemail dot com.