It was a long ago day, back in December 1947 in fact, that I saw my first City game. Just eight years old and taken by an older brother down Oldham Road to Manchester on a No 98 bus, across the tramlines at Piccadilly (where trams could still be seen) and onto Parker Street bus station for a “football special”. City’s opponents were Liverpool, not the great team they woukl later become but still a formidable combination that had won the 1st Division Championship the season before.
The impressive edifice of the Main Stand loomed and a modest halfcrown plonked on the turnstile gained us entry. It would be nice to say I could remember every kick of the game, but I don’t. But I remember the goals. George Smith scored the first and Eddie McMorran the second as City ran out winners by 2-0.
Thus began a life time love affair with the Blues. Not an affair littered with trophies. Some half dozen cup wins. A solitary League Championship, some promotions (preceded of course by relegations) – not much in sixty years really.
Visions of idols, some greats, some less great and numerous also rans. Days of anguish, frustration with just occasional ecstasy. Finger nails bitten to the quick and all started by a trip on a bus on a murky December day sixty years ago. Best wishes for the next 60 years.
A McKenna

I’d wanted to go to a City match long before my first but my Mum wouldn’t let me! Then came a fixture that she couldn’t resist herself – City v Schalke in the European Cup Winners Cup. My Mum, Rosemarie, who was from Gelsenkirchen in Germany, found out that my Uncle Karl, who worked in a travel agency, was escorting a group of Schalke fans to the game, so even she wanted to go – just to be with him.

I was 10 years old but it seems like yesterday to me. I can still remember being overwhelmed by the smells, the noise and the colours of being at a game. I’d only seen football on a black and white TV until that day! When I walked into the stadium my emotions went into overdrive – there were my heroes in blue and white, the grass was green (it was grey on my tele!)and I could actually smell it, along with bovril, hot food and the embrocation rubbed onto the players legs.

When City scored the crowd noise was deafening – and they scored five times! When Schalke got a late goal, my Mum was the only person, near me, who jumped out of her seat and cheered. Since that day – 15th April 1970 – I’ve been to, well over, 2000 games and I’ve never lost my enthusiasm for the beautiful game. These days I’m also a big fan of Schalke – I go to see them regularly. My Mum died when I was just 17 years old and that was the only game she went with me to. It was my first game and will always be my favourite.

Ian Cheeseman – lifelong City fan and City reporter BBC Radio Manchester

I can still remember the enormity of Maine Road when I caught sight of it from the North Stand. Everything seemed massive- even the noise & applause sounded 10 times louder than anything I’d ever heard.

I thought we were winning 36-0 because the noise from simply applauding a good move or getting a throw in was so loud to my 7 year old ears!

Imagine how I nearly jumped out of my skin when we did actually score!! 3 times I’m glad to say. Went to see our 76 Wembley win at the end of that season- I thought I was well onto a winner….

…and I was.

Thanks Dad,for taking me to City and for buying me endless badges, shirts & scarves and chips from the City chippy.

We are City from Maine Road.

I’m from Salford where everyone is a red. But my dad was more interested in beer than football. I’d been to Old Trafford a couple of times with my uncle, but as an eleven year old I was desperate to go to football games.

I had a mate called Jeff Honey whose dad Harry was a lifelong City fan, and one week he asked me if I wanted to go to see the Blues play Sheffield Wednesday. I wasn’t sure. City fans in Salford were few and far between, but eventually I said yes. My mum only let me go because I said Harry was taking us and that there was a gang of us going. Part of the excitement was catching three buses, the last one being the famous 53X. Harry led our motley rag bag of ten and eleven year olds to the ground and then stopped off at one of the back street pubs near the ground. Jeff knew the way, but when we arrived at the Kippax there was a vast crowd milling around outside. I’d been so caught up in the excitement of actually going to a game that I hadn’t really noticed the fog.

It was only about twenty minutes before kick off that the game got the go ahead, by which time the queues to get in were massive, snaking back through the streets. I just followed the other lads through the throng of bodies. We were jostled, shoved and trod on but it all added to an unforgettable experience.

As kick off approached the queues surged and police horses came in to try to keep order. I was about three kids from the turnstile when a policehorse’s head came down hard on top of mine. I hadn’t a clue what was going on after that. My mates somehow shoved me through the turnstile into the ground and we made our way up the huge flight of stairs at the back of the Kippax. Being kids we had to worm our way through all the adults, dodging in and out of the legs as we made our way to one of the big white tunnels that punctuated the stand. This was Harry’s favourite spot. He arrived five minutes after kick off. I thought it was because of the fog, but I later found out this was Harry’s routine and he often missed early goals.

I can’t remember much about the match, mainly because it was difficult to see anything through the fog. Of course City being City, they contrived to lose 1-0 to Wednesday even with the great side they had at the time. But as an eleven year old I thought the whole day was a fantastic adventure. I daren’t tell my mum about the crush of the crowds, or getting hit by the police horse, or that Harry went back in the pub after and we made our own way home or it would have been my last game.

A fortnight later Jeff asked if I fancied going again. I still wasn’t too sure because that would have been tantamount to admitting I was a City fan. But I went, and the great side beat Burnley 7-0. In the next game we beat West Brom 5-1. And the Blues have had me ever since. We went on to win the cup of course that year which unbelievably is the last time we did win it. When people ask me how I became a City fan I always tell them it was all down to Harry Honey. They say you never forget your first time.

Being the son of a CITY player had it’s advantages and at the tender age of 5 years and 8 months, my first vivid memory of watching my father, Dave Watson, play for CITY was the Wembley showdown with Newcastle United in ‘76. The drive down to London was just as memorable, as once e left the M6 and joined the M1 we came across a black and white army of fans. I was instructed by my Granddad to put thumbs up to CITY fans and thumbs down to the opposition, which I carried out for the rest of the journey, receiving the same signals in return, with some fist shaking from the less hospitable of Geordies. Once we arrived at Wembley, I was overwhelmed by the amount of people, the noise and the colours! Blue and white everywhere! I could hardly see anything once we entered the stadium, I was just too small . . and when we Peter Barnes scored the first goal, I was lost under a sea of CITY fans jumping about and kissing each other. It all becomes a blur after that, just too much for my tiny mind to cope with . . I do remember that my Dad cut his face and when we met up after the game, he had stitches just above his eye (which became a near weekly event). I’ve been a Blue ever since, and even though my dad went onto play for other clubs I’ve always stayed a Blue!

I like to think of myself as a huge City fan. My dad and I have followed City for years everywhere, from Bournemouth to Belgium. But when I think of my first game I am sad to say I cannot remember it.
When I think of the early days of supporting City I just have flash backs to certain memories and feelings. I started watching City in the early to mid eighties. City were in the old second division.

One of the earliest memories I have is beating Charlton 5-1 to gain promotion back to division one. I remember being sat in the Platt Lane Stand with the long wooden benches.

If I close my eyes now I can go back there.

I can see the front of the Platt lane over flowing with people, I had been to see City before but never had I seen the ground so full or noisy. As I look to my right I can see the Kippax running the length of the massive green Maine Road pitch the sun beating down creating large shadows across the grass.
I feel the butterflies in my stomach I had that day still now. I remember Paul Simpson celebrating one of the City goals in the net in front of Platt Lane. A true blue Simo.

At the end of the game the crowd streamed on to the pitch, my dad and I included. We nicked a bit of the pitch that is still in our back garden today. Sorry Stan! (Gibson)

Little did I know that day what would lie ahead in supporting City, the affect the club would have on my life. Inflatable banana’s, fancy dress, invisible men, 10- 1 wins 8-1 defeats, relegation, promotion, Swales out – Franny in, 14 managers, Kinkladze, grasping defeat from the jaws of victory, division 3, That Dickov goal at Wembley, The fans on the hill at Blackburn, feed the goat, the last derby win at Maine Road, Eastlands, Thai owners, Arab owners, Robinho…The ride continues.

Grand National day 1972 and it rained all day long. City at home to West Ham – not only would I see Lee, Bell, Summerbee and co but also Bobby Moore and Clyde Best.

Saw the floodlight pylon as we turned past Maine Road and realised this was it: the Blues were no longer the mythical figures I saw on the TV and in Shoot! and the papers. We walked across the forecourt and through the Platt Lane turnstiles.

I bought a rosette (remember them?) from a seller on the way in and we ran down the corner tunnel. It felt a bit like going to the cinema – and of course as at the flicks the good guys will always win, right? – but then the green pitch emerged as we reached the end. Couldn’t believe the size of the place or the noise from the still-terraced North Stand.

City won 3-1 with Rodney Marsh scoring twice and (I think) Colin Bell the other – two of the Blues’ goals were in the second half when they attacked our end so it was even better. Went home happy and watched it all over again on Match of the Day that night, what could be a better introduction to attending games?

24th August 1966, Wednesday night, City promoted to Division One as Champions playing the First
Division Champions Liverpool. Only a month after England win World Cup. My uncle Ron lifts me onto the barrier in the Kippax just behind the tunnel towards the open scoreboard end. over 50,000 pack in, I had never even seen 5,000 at a game before. I am just 14 years old my first City game.

First out Roger Hunt, World Cup Winner, the place erupts City and Liverpool fans together, a noise you could only imagine, then out come City, my first ever sight of the Sky Blue shirts. It was a feeling I still find hard to describe, it was as if we were made for each other,the noise, the atmosphere, the passion I sang and screamed, swayed and tumbled, it did not matter I saw only half the game through clusters of scarf waving supporter.

I spilled my half time tea and spent the second half clinging to the barrier for dear life as the crowd swayed to the end to end action singing songs, listening to men swear one minute and cheer the next. Then it happened, ball out to Colin Bell, trademark swerve and bang, right in. The first goal I ever saw him score, City win 2-1,my team, my city,send mighty Liverpool packing.

I slept with that match prog under my pillow for months, with my “Ty-Phoo” Tea Manchester City team picture over my bed. Still probably the best Wednesday night of my life.

Once a blue always a blue, thank you Colin Bell.

North Stand swathed in hot dog smoke, the tiny turnstile entrance, the smell of the programme, the steps up and up and then that bright light and the perfect patch of summer grass, as green as you like. Nothing prepares you for that view the first time. You stand there like a rabbit in the headlight, wondering at the symmetry and beauty (or in Maine Road’s case asymmetry and beauty). What a sight. It almost didn’t need any football, any Dennis Tueart penalties or Willie Young fouls (which we got as a bonus that day). It was plenty good enough just as it was. 30 years on, that first sight inside the hallowed ground is as sharp a memory as any. A truly life-defining moment, a sensation we have all shared and never replicated, but we keep coming back for more. Next it will be these two: how do I put into words what they will feel as that view opens up, that smells hits the nostrils and the noise wafts over you? They will have to see for themselves, liek the rest of us!

I was only 8 years old and I remember somethings like they were only yesterday, I went to my fist City game in the Kippax with my father, I spent most of the game on his shoulders. We played a team in red and white stripes but I’m not sure who it was. I was totally in ore, pipe tobacco and Fiery Jack. This is your local team my father said, it’s mine and yours and Gran dads too God bless him!