My first Manchester City game was something of a mystery tour; well it wouldn’t have been if I’d been more observant. I know it was a game against Tottenham Hotspur and that we won; looking back at the stats, it must have been the game at 3:00pm on Saturday 23rd September 1978. I’d have been 7-years old.

“I’m taking you out for the day, Stephen”, my dad informed me. “Where we going dad?” “You’ll see”. But I didn’t and it became a talking point for years to come in my family. “Remember the first game I took Stephen to see…”

Living in Droylsden, we hopped on a bus on Ashton New Road and got off at Grey Mare Lane to get the connecting 52/53. I was full of wonderment about where we were going and must have been fixated with staring out of the bus window as if to look for clues. There were apparently quite a number of City supporters with colours on as we made our way towards Grey Mare Lane.

Waiting at the bus stop outside what is now Mary D’s, more Blues (apparently) were stood with us. As was legendary with the 52/53 bus back then; none arrived for ages and then 3 came at once. We got on the first.

As was usual I headed upstairs to sit at the front; I liked to pretend to drive…I did say I was only 7. This was my excuse as to why I had not noticed the hordes of Blues who had packed the bus; all wearing sky blue and red & black hats & scarves (not a yellow, silver, purple, navy blue or orange abomination to be seen in those days).

Still unaware – to the utter disbelief of my dad – of where I was going, I continued to “help” the driver navigate our way through the streets of Beswick & Longsight and to our final stop in Rusholme, which was probably my first ever visit to the future ‘Curry Mile’.

Walking through the streets of Rusholme & Moss Side I had no idea of where I was going, although I had ruled out a trip to Blackpool at this point. Probably wondering whether he should make me an appointment with the Opticians the following Monday morning, my dad couldn’t get over that I’d not guessed where we were headed, as we made our way along Claremont Road accompanied by hundreds of fellow Blues.

Then the moment came that I will never forget. We turned the corner left off Claremont Road and onto Kippax Street and I saw the awesome sight of an imposing floodlight as it stretched far, far into the September afternoon sky. Eyes widened, intake of breath and a giddy feeling like I’d never felt before; I looked at my dad and I could tell that it was a moment he’d been waiting for too – his son’s first game.

All of sudden – whether it was because my eyes were now like saucers – my visual senses became acutely aware that I was surrounded by a sky blue-clad mass of bodies; intermingled with the odd red & black.

We sat in the Platt Lane end; a dozen or so rows from the front and quite close to one of the corner flags. I recall the wooden benches and the high, high roof above my head. I don’t recall exactly being squashed in between other fans but if it was indeed the game in question; then according to statistics the attendance was 43,471. I bet the Kippax was crammed…

The only other – but very vivid – recollection that I have of the game was when Mick Channon came over to “our” corner flag to knock one into the box. As Channon approached clutching the ball, my dad, cupped-hand at the side of his mouth, bellowed out; in a way that only dads know how, “GO-ON MICKEY LAD!”

Shocked and perhaps a little embarrassed, I remember starring at Channon to see if he would react, as from where I was sat; surely the other 43,469 had heard my dad’s encouraging holler. And do you know what, sure enough Mick looked up and whether it’s my now-fading memory playing tricks on me, I’m sure he gave a little wink back in acknowledgement.

That was it; we won 2-0 and although I was a Manchester City “fan” before this pivotal day, I was hooked. My dad had done his job and I’ve been a die-hard Blue ever since.

Thanks dad…