Don't Stop Believin'

"Some will win, some will lose, some were born to sing the blues. Oh, the movie never ends. It goes on, and on, and on..."

Earlier this month I launched this blog with a depressing lament. United had just won away at Blackburn sending them five points clear at the top of the table and City’s title hopes appeared to be entering the death throes.

A week later and things went from bad to worse. United’s win at home to QPR and City’s subsequent defeat at Arsenal gave the Reds a seemingly unassailable eight point lead at the top. Of course, there were still six games remaining at this point but United looked annoyingly confident and resolute and showed absolutely no signs of a forthcoming capitulation. It was over, and I was prepared to accept it.

But three weeks is a long time in football and it is quite unbelievable to think that City now find themselves just three games and three wins away from lifting the Premier League trophy when the season draws to a close on the 13^th of May.

The past few weeks have proved two things; that when it comes to title races, it’s much easier to be a chaser than a leader, and that you should never say never...ever.

If you’d told me a few weeks ago that we’d find ourselves in this situation with three games to go I’d have laughed in your face and probably had you sectioned under the Mental Health Act. But football is an unpredictable beast and City’s status as the perennial enigma means I shouldn’t be surprised.

The most surprising thing has perhaps been the way United have dealt with the pressure of being at the top. We were lead to believe that they had too much nous and experience to let City back into the title race once they streaked into the lead, but defeat at Wigan and the frankly pathetic surrender of a two-goal lead in the last 10 minutes to draw 4-4 at home to Everton at the weekend suggests otherwise.

I won’t even attempt to pinpoint where it’s all gone wrong for United in recent weeks, but one can only assume that they started to believe their own hype and let complacency creep into their game. If that is the case then it can only be described as a monumental error and one that will hopefully result in failure for them come the end of the season.

City, meanwhile, have been an absolute joy to watch of late and you almost get the sense that falling so far behind at this stage of the season was the best thing that could’ve happened to us. Without the proverbial Sword of Damocles constantly hanging over them, the players have emerged reinvigorated and the 6-1 drubbing of Norwich in particular was delightfully reminiscent of the City of a few months ago.

Next Monday, City take on United at the Etihad in what is being labelled the “biggest derby ever” and promises to be an extremely tense and nerve wracking affair. Whether Blue or Red, you’d have to be a certified psychopath to derive any enjoyment from a game like this and I’ll be glad when it’s over, whatever the result.

Having said that, I’m happy that this fixture will have the significance it deserves as it looked for a little while as though it’d simply be a meaningless obstacle en route to a demoralising end to the season for City. It now has the potential to be either a magical night in the club’s history or a living nightmare, and I’ll be amazed if I survive it without having a nervous breakdown of some sort. It was easier when we were shit, that’s a fact.

One of the most satisfying aspects of the past few days has been the apparent hibernation of the many United fans who have recently clogged up my Facebook news feed and Twitter timeline with their taunts, inane jokes and poorly Photoshopped pictures of Melbourne’s Etihad Stadium on fire. These people have set themselves up to look extremely silly should City go on to win the league this year and I expect it may well be a blow from which many of them will never recover.

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my career as a football supporter it’s that it’s always best to keep your powder dry and your emotions in check until you can be absolutely sure that your jibes won’t come back to haunt you. It is for this reason that I won’t be making any predictions between now and the end of the season, except that the team with the most points or the best goal difference at 5pm on the 13^th of May will win the league. What happens between now and then is a mystery and all we can do as fans is buckle up and enjoy the ride.

Remarkably, the most beautiful of victories is within our grasp again. Come on City, let’s fuckin’ ‘ave it!

Hope Springs Eternal

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;

Man never Is, but always To be blest:

The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,

Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

 

- Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man

I attempted to write this blog on two separate occasions earlier this week but found the whole experience too depressing to complete. Easter Sunday’s powder puff performance at Arsenal seemed to end any chance City’s title resurrection and left me resigned to misery and bereft of even the faintest glimmer of hope. To be finished would be a relief.

But just when you think you know where you are with City they go and trifle with your affections all over again.

Wednesday’s 4-0 thumping of West Brom coupled with United’s shock defeat at Wigan leaves Mancini’s men five points behind with five games remaining and there’s a possibility it could be an interesting end to the season after all.

And that’s all I’m asking for really, a morsel of hope, something to live on until May. On Wednesday I walked into the Etihad a hunched, broken man and walked out prouder than an X Factor contestant’s dead grandma.

Of course, I’m well aware that this is merely the first step on the road to salvation and I’m emotionally prepared for City to fuck it all up again when they face Norwich away on Saturday. I always find it’s best to try and live in the moment when it comes to this club. If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those lying bastards just the same, then you will be a fan, my son.

The West Brom game was heart warming for more reasons than the minor refurbishments to the league table at the close of play though. The Carlos Tevez furore appears to have finally died a death and I won’t mourn it. It was pleasing to see him start and he looked in relatively good shape, played well and fully deserved his first goal of the season. It’s almost always pointless to speculate, but it does make you wonder whether things might’ve gone differently this year had he not been acting like a waste man clown in Argentina for most of it.

The Blues’ cause was also aided by the return to form of both Sergio Aguero and David Silva and it’s wonderful to have them both back. The former has had a brilliant debut season in England and added another couple of goals to his tally on Wednesday, taking him to 19 in the league. I feel an overwhelming sense of shame when I recall myself worrying whether or not he’d settle in his first season and I literally salivate when I imagine what he’ll be like next year. He does have a slight tendency to go missing on occasion though and was unavailable thanks to a mysterious injury (don’t be fooled by the boy next door, that had sex game gone wrong written all over it) at a crucial stage of the season but if he plays well and keeps scoring until the end I’m willing to let it slide. I can’t stay mad at you, Sergio.

David Silva’s recent portrayal of the invisible man became so believable that I didn’t even notice he wasn’t playing until mid-way through the second half of the Arsenal game. It has been mystifying and upsetting to watch Dave’s post-Christmas decline and I really hope his performance and goal on Wednesday is the beginning of a majestic end to the season. Also worthy of a mention is the unsung hero of both the game and the season, Mr. Gary Barry. The man is class and I’ll fight anyone who suggests otherwise.

The obvious question now is can City carry this performance into Saturday’s game and the four games thereafter? I’m trying hard not to hope for anything but I can’t help but feel we could be back in with a shout if we don’t panic and keep picking up points. I'm cautiously optimistic at best. To paraphrase Half Man Half Biscuit, I’m well aware that the light at the end of the tunnel is so often the light of an oncoming train when City are involved.

I didn’t really expect the manager to share my scepticism though, and my initial reaction to Bobby Mancini’s post-match comments was amusement. I assumed he was just having a bit of Kenny Dalglish style “fun” with the media (only with less alcohol and more dignity) but the more I think about it the more I wonder if it could’ve been the last utterance of a dead man walking. His seemingly defeatist, verbal waving of the white flag sounded more like someone who has already started packing their bags and I worry he’s already been told his time’s up at the end of the season. I’m probably reading too much into it though, and I sincerely hope he’s given at least another crack at it next year. A loud, appreciative rendition of his song following the third goal on Wednesday suggests I’m not alone.

Wednesday night seemed like such a pointless waste of time and I was amazed anyone had bothered to turn up before kick off. It turned out to be a nice end to a depressing few weeks, however, and hopefully the beginning of one final, breathless rush for glory.

As the news of Shaun Maloney’s goal for Wigan spread around the stadium the other night, the City faithful belted out some new lyrics to a popular tune. “We’re Man City, we’ll fight 'til the end”.

We can but hope.

Over, Over

This morning, the city of Manchester awoke to the distant sound of a rotund soprano extricating her vocal chords of excess mucus in preparation for the closing libretto of one of the most intense and exciting sporting operas in decades.

(That’s a reference to a popular cliché which should not be confused with the many people of Manchester who were probably roused from their slumber this morning by the distant sound of Adele’s latest single on Capital FM.)

While most people associated with Manchester City will doubtlessly greet the familiar feelings of hopelessness and despair like they would a sudden, violent onset of venereal disease, I can’t help but feel upbeat, almost Zen, about the whole affair.

I’ve said all along that the winner of this year’s Premier League title will arguably be remembered as one of the finest teams ever to grace the competition and, though I do so begrudgingly and through teeth gritted tighter than Shaun Ryder’s following an MDMA binge with the Prime Minister, I’d like to be the first to sincerely congratulate Manchester United on their increasingly likely achievement.

Few will ever forget the astonishing ‘Demolition Derby’ at Old Trafford back in October and it is typically irritating, from a City fan’s perspective, to think that United must have used that result as their inspiration for pretty much everything they’ve done since. The occasional blemish aside, United have shown remarkable resilience and been undisputedly brilliant since that day and I, for one, salute them for that.

Though I very much doubt most would admit it, the prevailing emotion felt by those over at Old Trafford following last night’s all-over-bar-the-shouting victory at Blackburn will not be joy or triumph, but relief. Relief that they are still, for one more year at least, top dogs in this city. 

Only the most downright dishonest United supporter would refuse to acknowledge that winning this year’s title will perhaps be the sweetest of all considering it was City they had to overcome to do so. Whatever happens between now and the end of the season, United know deep down that they’ve been given the fright of their lives and this is only a preview of what's to come. City aren’t just “noisy neighbours” anymore, they are the indomitable neighbours from hell and won’t be moving out any time soon.

I’d like to think that a large section of City’s long-suffering support will reflect upon this season as progress rather than failure. The only disappointment comes from the fact that it is our bitter rivals who appear to have pipped us to the post and, though it may have gone unnoticed to many, we are still on course for our highest ever Premier League finish. If that isn’t a minor reason to be cheerful then I don’t know what is.

But perhaps one of football’s most intoxicating qualities is that there will always be an opportunity for divine retribution. August will see the dawn of a new season and City must learn from the mistakes made this time around and use them as inspiration to go again next year. For this, above all else, is the mark of a true champion; someone who remains composed and dignified in the face of their detractors, taking criticism on the chin so that they may one day shape it to their advantage.

Nevertheless, in the words of the great Afro-Jewish poet Leonard Albert Kravitz, “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over” and until the title is a mathematical impossibility I will cling on to any glimmer of hope available. Were City to achieve the improbable dream this season, there’s every chance I’d spontaneously combust but at least I’d die drenched in schadenfreude, with a smile on my face.

It is almost 44 years since City last lifted a League title, another year really won’t kill us. Be patient Blues and keep the faith, our time will come.