A pretty good day on Moss Side
Man City 2 Burnley 2, 3rd October 1998
Hego
Matchday started off in the usual
fashion: argument with she who must be obeyed over a lift to Guildford station, Brownie
Points lost already, and then no trains at the station for good measure. Can't even moan
at Junior Hego, who has decided to get to Euston via Reading and Paddington, which
inspired decision got him there well before the more conventional route. I have begun to
believe that the Prescott geezer has got the right idea: tell everybody to travel by
public transport, then get in the chauffeur driven jaguar; much more convenient.
Greeted (?) by thirty odd London Clarets at
Euston, including some young Tottenham Hotspur Clarets, and boarded the inevitably late
train, for an uneventful train journey, broken only by the usual cash outlay to Sargent
Pepper, and the obligatory financial loss on Woody's scratchcards. Exit virtually all
London Clarets at Stockport. Did I get the wrong matchday, or season for that matter?
Anyway, into the big M for the essential visit
to the Circus Tavern, which has the smallest bar in the U.K., having forgotten that said
hostelry doesn't serve Lager for the Tottenham Junior Clarets. Thence jolly japes all
around the big M's finest Real Ale Guide entries, until next major mistake of the day.
Decide to listen to Fell Walking Pete's suggestion to catch one of the many available
(sic) taxis at Victoria Station for the ride to deepest Moss Side. Eventually caught a
vehicle of sorts, which after being involved in only one road accident, caught up with the
traffic jam leading into Moss Side. Strange, always thought people wanted to get out that
part of the big M. Sprint to ground? Well not really, as we couldn't possibly make the
kick off, could we?
For those who don't know Maine Road, and think
that this 'big club' has a smart big premier league ground, let me stamp on that illusion
straight away. There are four stands all of motley design, bearing no remote resemblance
to each other, supplemented by seats in one corner, uncovered, high up on visible
scaffolding, for the away fans of course. Very Dali, on one of his bad days. To make
matters worse, of course neither Junior Hego or myself could gain access to our supposedly
reserved seats, which judging by the number of people still standing after ten minutes of
the game was not unusual.
To the game itself. Apparently the BFC Ladies
had just beaten their City counterparts 1-0 as a prelude to the big one, which was a good
omen. Confidence, that old rascal, was present, but depended on a reasonable goalless
first half hour. As the bearded wonder had pointed out before the match, Manchester's only
real soccer team was in the division they deserved to be, by right, regardless of what the
supporters of this big club might think. Good news however: no Georgians, Pollock or
Dickov for them, and indeed no Joe Royle who is apparently in Hospital. Clarets reasonably
full strength.
Early City pressure brought a few shots, but no
real chance, until the inevitable Julian Goater goal. Always scores against us. After ten
minutes, through ball from the incredibly expensive Lee Bradbury found Matty Heywood
wanting, and Goater slotted past the advancing Ward. Confidence plummets.
Calm defending by Reid, and solid keeping by
Ward kept the ship steady, until the most controversial point of the match. The
Cooke/Payton combine was beginning to keep City's back three nobodies very busy, as the
Clarets grew in confidence. A wonderful, unexpected chest trap and 25 yard volley from
Cookey then flew past Weaver into the net, and was promptly judged offside. Subsequent
television replays showed the lino to be not even close. Totally crap decision. Justice
for the chosen few was not far off, however, when in the 35th minute Payton intercepted a
poor back pass from Fenton and poked the ball home.
Half time was chaos, just like football grounds
used to be in the 60's. Who grants safety certificates to these places?. The toilets
reminded me of those at Wimbledon's old Plough Lane ground. Yes, that bad: wellingtons
required.
Soon after the break and after some pacy Claret
attacks, Paul Smith surged down the left wing, delivered an inch perfect cross to Cookey,
who steered the ball into the net. Possibly the only competent thing Smithy did in the
match, but worth the entrance money just for that piece of skill. In front, and the
inevitable backlash to follow. The 30,000 natives finally woke up, and the Alamo was
recreated. The good guys held out against the baddies until five minutes from time when a
Vaughan cross was helped on by Horlock to the inevitable Goater, whose blocked effort was
finally nodded home by Allsop. A draw, and I suppose a fair result.
As the natives were more than a little restless,
decided to leg it pretty sharpish, just in time to see things take off near the Burnley
coaches. It's official, there is no hooliganism or trouble at football grounds these days,
at least until we get the World Cup in this country. The number of riot police in full
gear around the big M after the game was a bit of a giveaway.
Few beers and home. Not a perfect BBC type day
but good enough, apart from one London based City fan, who told us how lucky we were, how
good their team is, and how they are going to take over the Longside at the return match.
Love meeting these cretins, as it makes me feel that at least there are a few people
around who have fewer little grey cells than I have.
Team: Ward,
Scott, Armstrong, Vindheim (C Smith 71), Heywood, Reid, Little, Robertson, Cooke, Payton,
P Smith. SNU: Carr-Lawton, Maylett.
Links - Firmo's report plus the horrors of the home
game