My path to City took me (I am a little ashamed to say) through Old Trafford. I had moved to Manchester a couple of years earlier, with my initial football affiliation being to Aberdeen. The links to Manchester football were, I’m afraid, more to the Red half of the city, and the people I was living with were leaning that way. I went a couple of times, but never really got the atmosphere – agressive “we’re better than you” attitudes when playing Bury in the League cup etc. A new member of teh shared house was a Blue, and one day sugegsted coming to Maine Road – a match against Bolton, in October, and City had yet to win a match. I went, and was bitten. Famous self-depreciating humour: none of the aggressive attitudes, and Kinkladze lightening up the game. He was quickly becoming the dominant force in the team, directing players all round the pitch, and City won. I never looked back, despite relegation that season and the next, and when crying my eyes out at Wembley in 1999, I realised something had changed for life.