To me it was the day the worm turned. An FA cup semi final against the old enemy and though none of that team is around today, they and their manager Roberto Mancini will always have a place in the hearts of every City fan.
The Stretford Enders at Old Trafford were finally made to eat their words and their wretched banner, the door was finally closed on 35 trophy less years. That was 10 years ago and apart from one blip City have finished above United in every season since.
Right now it’s almost one full year since crowds have been allowed into the nations football stadia. Locked out and locked down, socially distanced and subjected to all kinds of other draconian measures supposed to fight a global pandemic. Enough said.
City went to Goodison Park to play a very against a well organised parked bus and took until the 84th minute before Ilkay Gundogan scored the breakthrough goal. Six minutes later as they entered time added on Kevin DeBruyne made it 2 and killed off Everton’s hopes. It meant another semi-final, this time again Chelsea in April. City were already booked to go to Wembley in April to meet the Spurs in the Carabou Cup Final and it looks like the Premier League is all but sewn up with them being 14 points clear with 8 games to go. A Champions League Quarter Final Borussia Dortmund is the next step on the road to a possible(almost impossible) quadruple but see of us are beginning to dream.
BLUE MOON GOES DOWN A TREAT AT LUNCH…THEN RISES AT TEATIME SEMI.
It was 17th April 2011 when I first posted the following.
Henry’s Wine Bar on Piccadilly was a great place to gather our strength for the big match. We had taken Shanks’s Pony round the Streets of London. Grace had never been to the big, big city before so we had to see the Eye, a Captain Jack Sparrow look-a-like and some guy stood up a ladder escaping from chains and padlocks. Then we crossed the bridge to get a closer look at the seat of government, and the big clock and we were thinking about going into Westminster Abbey but the queue was too long and they wanted 16 quid a head. Clearly no-one has told them that my Fathers House is not to be made a place of merchandise?
So what was left but to sit outside Henry’s, enjoy a very pleasant steak club sandwich and down the Blue Moon. It was cloudy to look at but tasted like nectar. To be fair it would not have mattered what it tasted like. It just seemed to be the right thing to do on the day the other blue moon was due to rise over Wembley Stadium.
The best team in the land, and the only football team to come from Manchester were about to end the treble hopes of the London Reds. “This city is yours, this city is yours, we’re going home now, this city is yours”, rang round that half of the national stadium that was dressed in sky blue as the defeated red army scurried hastily away. Someone pointed out the fact that they are not good losers but that’s probably because they have not had as much practice at it as us.
I think that victory marks the point in history where we will look back and say the worm turned. For twenty minutes it looked like the trophyless misery might continue for another year but when the Silva Spaniard picked up the game by the scruff of its neck hope began to rise in the hearts of the blue clad tribe. The half ended all square and a different team came out after the tea break. They took their time. I thought they weren’t coming but when they did appear all those good things we expect and hope for were more apparent. Like commitment, drive, passion, precision passing and the vital ingredient from Toure Yaya. The GOAL.
The girls were so excited. “I hate this game” one of them said as she hoped we would desperately hang on to the end, and then the extra 5 minutes that’s customary when Fergie is in attendance, even if he is banned from the touchline and conducting his orchestra electronically from the stands. Unusually for me there were no nerves at all at that point. I could see they were a spent force. Scholes had left in disgrace after trying to emulate former Kung Fu heroes. All they had left to do was spit their dummies out because Super Mario flashed his badge toward the stand long vacated by the now distraught red army. Calm down Mr Anderson. Never mind Rio, go home and tweet, it’ll make you feel better. But get used to this. The Blue Moon is rising.