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.