i was a bury fan when colin bell started playing for them.when bury sold him to city i went too.i think my first game was chelsea but it did not matter i was there to watch colin who was the best footballer i have seen.

Good Friday 1966 was the day it all started. I was 9 years old. I had been asking my Mam and Dad for what seemed like a lifetime to take me to see City play. Dad worked every Saturday (no Sunday games then!). When Good Friday arrived I knew it was special, but no idea how special. This was one of the few days off my Dad had during the year because of his job. Normally we would go out for the day, Blackpoool or Southport. I got up had my breakfast and asked where we were going today. I was given a vague answer of “We haven’t decided yet”. Off I went to Gaskell Street Park in Newton Heath for a game of football with some pals. All my pals were saying City were at home today. Then it happened. My Dad appeared from nowhere. I ran to him excitedely and asked for what seemed the millioneth time “Can we go and see City?”. I can still remember his words now “What do you think I’ve got this for?” He showed me a shiny sky blue and white silk rosette my Mam had made for me. I knew the answer! Before I knew it, we were on our way to Maine Road. It was Bury at home, and City were on their way to promotion. It was the verge of the Bell, Lee and Summerbee Era. Mike Summerbee was already there, Colin Bell had just signed, and Francis Lee would sign the following year. I remember City had just signed Colin Bell from Bury which made the game extra special. My main memory is of seeing the pitch for the first time. We were in the Main Stand, at the side nearest the Scoreboard End. I could’nt believe how green and big the pitch was. I was also impressed with how many people were there (I later found out 43,000!). I also remember that City took their time coming out on the pitch. My 9 year old logic prompted me to say “I bet Colin Bell is still fastening his boot laces up!” My Dad just smiled! The game was just a blur. We won 1-0 with a goal from Mike Summerbee and my love affair with City started there and then. My Mam and Dad gave me many happy memories and treasured moments, and right amongst them was that sky blue and white rosette and my first game at City. On the way home all I could think of was my day at the game and the Easter Eggs when I got home!

To set things in context, I originally posted the story of my first City game on a message board in early 2004, a day or two after we’d been dumped out of the cup by the dark side, and a few short weeks before we subjected them to that 4-1 pounding!

The first match I ever went to was City v Southampton, 17 December, 1966. A nice symmetry – my first and last games at Maine Road against Southampton. My widowed mother had an admirer who clearly thought that one way to her heart was through her 9-year old son. Reasoning thus, and blithely disregarding the fact that my mother is a red, he turned up at our house in his Ford Anglia 1200 Super, a sky blue one with a white flash, and presented me with a City scarf – one of those knitted ones that are just sky blue and white stripes (and which was stolen from me some 5 or 6 years later in Victoria bus station by a red twice my size after a derby) and a huge sky blue wooden rattle, which I never took to a match. If I had any idea what had happened to it, it would doubtless be classed as an offensive weapon purely on the grounds of the noise it made, leaving aside the fact it weighed about the same as a house brick.

Little did I know what a defining moment that was to be. I had some passing interest in football, largely on the grounds that my schoolmates did. Born in Chingford (oh, the shame – Chingford, famous for Norman Tebbit, Ian Duncan Smith – and David Beckham) I found myself living in Crumpsall from the age of four. I had thought things through logically, consulted a road map, and calculated that the nearest team (that I had heard of) to Chingford was Spurs. Coolly, therefore, I had elected to become a Spurs supporter. Jimmy Greaves was my hero (not a bad choice at the time, he was a wonderful footballer). So, as I set off that day with Uncle Henry, I was not really that impressed with the prospect of watching Manchester City.

Uncle Henry had a seat in the Main Stand – I don’t know what block, but somewhere between the penalty box and the half-way line towards the Platt Lane, about half way back. Good seats. The anticipation before the match was spine tingling. I didn’t really have any clear idea what it was I was supposed to be anticipating, but people around me obviously did, and it was infectious.

Once the match started I couldn’t follow it – every time the ball went near the goal everybody stood up and I couldn’t see. I didn’t know who the players were (although I soon learnt). But I remember the noise – I’d never heard grown men chanting and shouting like that before. And the air of excitement every time we mounted an attack – all those grown men as caught up in the action as I would have been in a child’s game – I’d never seen adults act like that. I’d never experienced that emotion, that passion, that fervour, that desperate desire for City to excite, to score, to win, and to win well that would shortly become such a big part of my life.

For the record, we drew 1-1, but I remember nothing of the actual game, just those men in sky blue shirts on an impossibly green field – men who were nothing to me then, but who were to become heroes, 10 feet tall each one. Little did I know, little did any of us there know, that I was watching the team that was to sweep all before it over the next few years.

A couple of weeks later, I was taken with my mate Ged by his dad to Old Trafford to see United play Spurs. I had already disappointed my United supporting mother by declaring that I would be supporting Spurs in the match – as would Ged, he’d made his choice and he was blue. I suppose at that early stage it was still possible that I might have been corrupted, seduced by the dark side, but that was never to be. We stood near the half-way line, in the paddock, shouting for Spurs. It must have been a scary afternoon for Ged’s dad! It was just as noisy, I’m sure, as Maine Road had been, but somehow it was nowhere near as attractive. I wish I could explain why, but I suspect that many of you reading this will understand. United won 1-0. I was disappointed as I still had ‘feelings’ for Spurs. I wasn’t yet a fully-formed blue, perhaps, but the die had been cast and I was heading down that path.

Over the rest of that season and the next Uncle Henry took me to several more games, including an away trip to Upton Park on the train (I think that was also 1-1, but I’m not sure). I don’t really remember much about those first couple of seasons to be honest – I do know that although my all-time hero was to be (and still is) Colin Bell, my first favourite player was Alan Oakes.

I often argue to myself now that I reasoned it all out back then. I worked out that I could go to see City more often than Spurs (well, I could go to see them!). I worked out that I’d even then lived more than half my life in Manchester. I tell myself that I chose City for those reasons. But while all that is true, it isn’t really why I chose City at all. In fact, I don’t think that I did choose City – City chose me. I can work things out logically as well as the next man, but in matters of the heart – and City are a matter of the heart – then logic isn’t the tool for choosing. I think now that from the first moment I walked into Maine Road I was hooked, trapped by that unreasoning and insatiable desire that only watching City win, and win well, win with style, can truly fulfil.

That first time I went I hadn’t really known what I was letting myself in for, the second game I went to I was buzzing with anticipation, by the third I just wanted to go and watch City play at every available opportunity. And I still do.

I retained a soft spot for Spurs for many years, of which I was finally cured at Wembley on that fateful Thursday night in 1981, and although the momentous 3-4 comeback has helped to erase some of that hurt (yes, of course it still hurts) I have no sympathy now in my heart for them at all.

The rest of the story will be familiar to many – after Uncle Henry left the scene (he never stood a chance with my mother, I’ve learnt since) I sat in the Platt Lane with Ged until the North Stand was built on the old Scoreboard End terrace. We stood there for the season it was open as a terrace and then gravitated to the Kippax, where I bought my first season ticket. And it was around then that we discovered the pleasures (and dangers – this was the early 1970s) of travelling to away games. And so it goes on – and Ged and I still go to the game together.

So many memories it would be unfair to pick on some and not others – but the abiding one has to be swaying at the back of a packed Kippax, my feet barely touching the ground, all around singing at the tops of their voices, and me singing myself hoarse along with them. If you could bottle that feeling you could raise the dead.

So, 17 December, 1966 – a fateful day for this blue, a day of fragile beginnings, a day of decision. But for that day, I could have saved myself tens of thousands of pounds over the years, and oh, the heartache I could have saved myself – Wembley 1974 and 1981, the relegations, Division 2 – for sure there have been more dark times than good, and the good times are mostly long ago – City have never again approached the heights they did when I first started following them.

And yet, and yet, I watch us go 3-0 down away from home at half time in the FA Cup, on the back of an 18-game run with only one win, with our best player withdrawn through injury partway through the first half, and down to 10 men through a sending-off … and against all the odds, shockingly, impossibly, yet somehow almost predictably, we win 4-3, and I am overcome by all those emotions and passions once more – feelings that nothing else on this green earth can match. And that game sums up my relationship with City in a nutshell – that famous and oft-quoted roller coaster – from the deepest depths of despair to the ecstatic heights of rapture – over the blue moon – and all in 90 minutes. That is what I unknowingly decided to sign up for in 1966.

And now, with the memory of our last game, going down to the old enemy at Old Trafford, fresh in my mind, do I regret my decision?

Even a little?

Do I?

Do I xxxx!

I was 13 and went with my Dad and brother. My Dad was a football referee and rarely available on match days. We went to the Good Friday match, 8th April 1966, CITY v Bury.It was cold and a bit foggy and we sat in the main stand at Maine Road. I was very cold and found the noise a bit scary. I think my Dad took me along as an afterthought – me being a girl and the day was really arranged for my brother – we were getting prepared for the World Cup in the summer to come. I think we were top of the 2nd division and Colin Bell had recently been transferred from Bury (as far as I remember) and we won 1-0. No idea who scored or even who was playing it all seemed so fast! It wasn’t love at first sight for me and City although I became a huge Colin Bell fan instantly. The next season I went alternately to Manchester United one week with a boyfriend and City the next week with a group of friends. In summer of 1967 I made the decision – it was CITY for me, partly because I had more fun in the great atmosphere at Maine Road and partly because I was mad on Colin Bell. Of course we won the league the next year so I was pleased with my decision and …. despite everything we’ve been through since I haven’t regretted it once! I am the only City supporter in my whole family although we are all footy fans. I have a seasoncard and still love match days. It’s been a 42 year pleasure for me. Anne Hall

What a great year – my 8th birthday, City on the up and England won the world cup !

March 1966 my Dad took me for my 8th birthday treat to watch City. I had been City daft from first being able to read the newspaper .
I sat on the tunnel wall in the old scoreboard end of Maine Road. City -v Cardiff City

my first game was huddersfield 1st jan 1966 city won 2.0 crossan and doyle scored dont remember much about it

It was the best Christmas present ever ! I was told on Christmas Day by my Dad that he was taking me to my first game. I had been mithering him for a while to take me. My Dad took my Grandad and I,(no longer with us,God bless him !) in his Austin A40 from Glossop over the Snake Pass to Hillsborough. I was 9 years of age.When we arrived near the ground,I remember feeling overwhelmed and was so excited.I had never seen as many people in all my life. When we got in to the ground,I remember just willing the teams to take come on to the pitch. When they did City were in a all maroon strip and the Owls were in Royal Blue shirts with white sleeves. I had my first ever glimpse of my all time hero Colin Bell,whose picture was on my bedroom wall. The owls had David Ford who as I remember scored their goal,Ron Springett in goal and Don Megson,Gary’s Dad.We had Alan Ogley in goal and Bobby Kennedy,two Gentlemen I had the very pleasure of meeting recently. Johnny Crossan was our captain. When Wednesday scored I covered my ears,the noise was deafening !. Although we lost,somehow it didnt seem to matter,Id seen the team that I was going to support for all my life for the very first time.Now as a 51 year old man,I still remember the day vividly. Now I take my Dad and my two eldest Boys to every home game. When the baby is old enough he too will follow on the tradition of ”being a Blue” Some things are meant to be arn’t they ? and this one of them !

Does anybody remember that scene from the movie “Fever Pitch” (about
a fans lifelong obsession with Arsenal) when he goes to his first
football match with his Dad.
They climb the stairs to the top of the stand and reaching the top, a
wonderful scenario unfolds in front of his eyes.
A bright emerald green pitch immersed in a sea of thousands and
thousands of people and a ear shattering roar of excitement that
sounded like a steam train at full pelt speeding through a station.
The first time I saw that scene in the movie I felt a wave of
nostalgia and de-jevu and my mind went racing back to Maine Road,
Moss Side, Manchester 1967.
I was born in Salford, Manchester in 1956 (the year that City won the
FA Cup) and at eight years of age our next door neighbours in
Hattersley near Hyde had a son Tony Jackson who was training with
Manchester City at the time and very kindly had gotten tickets for my
Dad and myself to attend my first ever match.
It was exactly like the scene I described, except the steam train had
turned into thousands and thousands of the City faithful screaming
“CITY,CITY,CITY……………”
It was a life changing moment for me and still sends a shiver up my
spine now some 43 years later.
From that moment, I became a lifelong supporter of the “Sky Blues”
I don’t remember much of that first match ( I think we were playing
Wolverhampton Wanderers )
but I do remember the euphoria erupting in the stands after the final
whistle and being swept away with the unbelievable excitement of
winning a football match at Maine Road.
I soon had my favourite player sorted out (Johnny Crossan, until he
left at the end of the ‘66-’67 season) and then turned to an
inspirational player by the name of Mike Summerbee. I still have a
framed picture of him hanging in my bar.
I attended every home game that fantastic 67′-68′ season by saving my
pocket money and helping the local milkman with his rounds before
school.
I can recall proudly purchasing tickets from the local paper-shop
for my first ever Manchester derby (You could buy tickets in those
days with absolutely no hassle).
My grandmother ( God bless her soul) had bought me a brand new City
beanie hat which I was so proud of and with the excitement building
my ticket to the Kippax Street stand in my hot little hand (at this
stage I was ten years old) I got on the bus with the rest of the City
supporters and headed for Maine Road.
So began my lifelong hatred of Man Utd.
I had no sooner passed through those ancient turnstiles behind the
Kippax when a group of United supporters spotted me and came charging
down and ripped my brand new beanie from my head and went running off
up the stairs yelling and screaming as if they had just won the FA Cup.
it was a traumatic experience for a ten year old and I have never
forgotten it.
But it was not all doom and gloom.
I can say proudly that I got to see that day, some of the best
footballers that Britain has produced.
The formidable trio of Lee,Bell, and Summerbee. Doyle,Young,Pardoe
the balding head of George Heslop and also some of the United greats
Charlton, Stiles and of course Georgie Best.
Unfortunately, my brief two year encounter with Maine Road came to an
abrupt end in March 1968 when my Dad informed the family that we were
emigrating to Australia.
We were going to become £10 pommie migrants.
I hated those first few months in Melbourne.
No football as I had grown to love, only some poncey game called
“Aussie Rules” (aerial ping pong I called it) and I soon had my
Mancunian accent beaten out of me at school.
The only news you could get then about British Football was a small
snippet in the local Monday paper with the weekends results which I
devoured every week looking for any news about my beloved Man City.
Growing up in Australia my obsession with City began to wane and
during the seventies and early eighties my interests had turned to
things like cars, beer and of course Girls!
I met my beautiful Dutch girlfriend Truusje (Trish) in 1976 (the year
that City won the cup again) and in 1977 we got married.
We managed to produce four healthy children over the next six years
(three boys and girl) who all play football (soccer) for our local
team Bayswater Strikers, and I am proud to say the are all fanatical
City supporters and so are most of their mates (With a bit of
influence from yours truly)
I now have three beautiful grand daughters and last christmas they
all got City shirts from Santa.
So here we are at the start of a new season with a new owner, a new
manager and a bag full of cash to spend on new players.
Judging by the friendlies results over the past few weeks, could this
be the season where everything falls into place and Man City become
the great football club that we have always known they should be.
I for one am certainly hoping so.
If the echoes of the past can reverberate into the future we are
going to be in for one hell of a ride.
“CITY, CITY, CITY…………….”

Dave Shellard (Tox)
davetox@ozemail.com.au

C.T.I.D.

My first match was City vs Newcastle on November 5th 1966. My Dad took me (then a wide-eyed 8 year old) to Maine Road, where we stood in the Kippax. Everything seemed enormous, the stands, the pitch, floodlights and especially the noise. I’d had my first fix of the addiction that is Manchester City. I’m sure the score was one each and at some point the goalkeeper was taken off because Tony Book pulled on the green jersey and pulled off a spectacular diving penalty save. Hooked from then on and still go to every match I can despite having moved to Lincoln for work.

Don’t remember the 1st game way to long ago i was only 9 years old but remember the ballet on ice me and dad on the corner of the kippax pie and Bovril in hand those were the days. Still a season ticket holder now in Colin bell stand level 1 (126)