I was invited to my first city match by a friend of my Dad’s. The match in question was a Saturday in September ‘88 I think, v Walsall, the match after Oldham had thumped us 4-1 at the start of what proved to be an unforgettable promotion season.

I recall vividly pulling up along one of the terraced streets behind a huge shed known simply as the ‘Kippax’. Despite the relative gloom surrounding football and City at the time, I could sense the tangible excitement drifting on a breeze of fried onions and barely edible burgers from the many independent food vans.

I recall my Dad’s mate paying about £3 for me to enter the perimeter wall and advising me on how to carefully manouver through the heavy turnstiles. Finally I was in. At last!

As I was led through the huge tunnel I can clearly remember the awesome sight of the barrelled roof over the Maine Stand, before gazing down onto the most magnificent green I had ever seen. With each descending step towards the perimieter fence, the green became brighter, the heroes warming up became larger, more recognisible, from Lake to McNabb and Moulden.

I stood holding onto the cold metal railings for the whole match, inbetween celebrating a couple of city goals in a 2-2 draw (I think).
As the whistle blew for fulltime I knew Saturdays (Sundays, Wednesdays and subsequently Monday nights) would never be the same again. I knew I had found a new home. Maine Road RIP