It was to be our day of destiny but I was always the
doubter. Mind you once we got the Zabaleta goal I was pretty convinced that we would go on and win our first League title in 44 years, the year before I started supporting Manchester City. The first 45 minutes of the second half then went the way of the last 43 years. Somehow the best team in England contrived to find themselves 2-1 down to one of the relegation possibilities. It was awful. QPR ten men, because they were actually down to ten men after Joey Barton got sent off, behind the ball and City’s crosses and shots being
blocked time after time. With five minutes to go we had about 40 shots and 1 goal. I had had enough and left, put my City jacket on and headed for the garden where I stood against the wall thinking...
For nine minutes I stood in deep depression. I had had
no idea how much this meant to me. Forty three years of hurt and disappointment and being laughed at by the red side of Manchester was too much to bear. This was heartache. This was stupid. It is only football. I even said, “God, you know I don’t pray about this sort of thing but just once...” I was looking into the abyss. I was thinking of how long we had been laughed at... and now there was even more laughter to come. I had written my concession of the title to
United fans on this blog way back in March for a moment such as this. Yet, here I was standing in the rain, staring at the ground feeling so utterly desolated. Actually there was a raging sense of injustice. They had won it so many times. We were the best team this season... by far. Here we were way beyond a rational way to lose it. Injustice and the thought that if we didn’t win it today then we might never. The thought that this was it; our empty depressing fate.
A huge cheer broke my silent self imposed isolation. Thinking it came from a few doors down I assumed there were United fans already
starting to gloat. As I made my way towards the kitchen my wife appears laughing. Women just don’t get it, I thought. Then behind her with a beaming face stands my pal through thin and even thinner, Monty. “WE DID IT! WE DID IT!” Time stood still as I tried to take in the insanity of this surreal moment. I uttered something how we couldn’t have but as I did my mind was sharp enough to
tell my heart that if we hadn’t Monty wouldn’t be standing here laughing and joking. He is always more depressed than me. By this time I am starting to believe the impossible and rushing into the lounge where Boyd is on his feet, my daughter is sitting wide eyed and QPR are kicking off. Fifteen seconds later and we are League Champions. Oh my word! Champagne corks are popped and Calvin’s
Institutes are being blessed. Boyd, Monty and a shell shocked self are to say the very least happy boys! Incredible!
When the fuss had died down... a little bit... on the way to Church my daughter asked me as she often does, “Why is football so important Daddy?” I think it is the first time she has asked knowing that it was important. She’d just seen something she’ll never forget. Grown men crying and jumping around her house, their wives in tears for them. Suddenly as a grappled for an answer I realised, that though it sounds crazy and I have preached about its unimportance, it is actually vitally important for those of us nurtured and conditioned under its hypnotic pull. That is why I was in the garden. This was part of me. It has a huge chunk of my heart. I had dismissed this for so long but could deny it no more. As Janet Morris, in Church, asked
us to clear our minds of what was taking our attention I simply laughed and for a few reflective moments in our Quiet Service thanked God for the events and feelings of that afternoon. I did dare in the garden to say, “God I don’t believe in praying about this stuff but please, just this once!” I am not going to get into the theology that asks why God would answer a seemingly stupid sporting prayer and not some that I would see much more important but hey!
Maybe!
In footballing terms this is a major breakthrough. In the zone that United win trophies, City won. When we usually throw it away as
we nearly did, we didn’t. We believed until Aguero’s last kick, after Balotelli stretched beyond himself to just nudge it on. We were hungry. We are Champions. As Boyd texted today, I don’t think any feeling will beat the feeling of that 94th minute goal. Everytime I see it I cry. I am sorry to tell United fans but until you’ve been starved for 44 years you really have no clue what that feeling was. It is why I’m glad I changed to support City in 1969. To misquote CS Lewis, “the pain then is the joy now.” And what joy. What joy! I fancy more. Now that the monkey is off our backs I will have the faith to stay in the room the next time. “Fergie time” has become “Noisy Neighbours” time. After it all calmed down I realised that it hadn’t been the neighbours I heard in the garden, celebrating their chance to laugh on, it was my mates Monty and Boyd, celebrating the fact the laughing was over. The world is transformed!