Birmingham City are known
simply as ‘Blues’; not ‘The Blues’, simply ‘Blues’.
This was one of the first facts learned when I came to this city very nearly 30 years ago.
Accrington born and bred, I have had Claret and Blue blood in my veins
since I first went to the Turf as an eight year old in the early sixties. Needing a
football fix on my first weekend as an 18 year old student, I made my first visit to St
Andrews to see a Trevor Francis/Bob Latchford inspired Blues make short work of a quality
Everton side containing the likes of Howard Kendall.
This was a brief interlude of decent football for the patient locals that
saw the side reach the dizzy heights of fifth in the top flight later that season, having
put five past Man City one afternoon in January.
Of course it couldn’t last; anyone who knows the city of Birmingham
will tell you that Blues have always played second fiddle to the Villa (although
intriguingly, the era I’ve just mentioned saw Villa climb back from the (then) Third
Division).
Blues have always been the blue-collar to Villa’s white, the
working-man to the nouveau-riche. Blues fans have a permanent chip on their shoulders and
can’t understand why they are perennially second-best in the second city. (Mind you,
Albion fans will tell you Blues are actually third best.) Even their beloved anthem,
‘Keep right on to the end of the road’, de rigeur when one-nil down at
4.35pm, has a quaintly antique air about it.
Blues always did, and certainly still do, harbour misplaced illusions of
grandeur. They are a big club, potentially an even bigger one. One often hears the phrase
‘sleeping giant’ bandied about but rarely is it actually true; with Blues, it
is. A successful team would certainly pull in crowds approaching 40,000. That is of course
if the club ever completes the ground re-development promised for ever and a day to make
it hold that many. It’s certainly hugely better than it was but still lacks a new
main side.
The team referred to above that I first witnessed, contained some
top-class players: Bob Latchford, Bob Hatton, Trevor Francis and a young Kenny Burns, the
latter two shortly to win European Cup medals with Forest. There was even Gordon
‘Chunky’ Taylor (yes, he of PFA fame), although he couldn’t hold a candle
to the aforementioned.
In later years David Seaman, Frank Worthington, Mick Harford, Joe
Gallagher and Tony Coton, amongst others, were to wear the blue and white. Jumping on the
Spurs’ bandwagon of Ardiles and Villa (Ricky, that is), they even got an Argentinean
World Cup defender in Alberto Tarantini. All came and eventually departed, hardly
registering on the Richter scale of success.
Managers likewise. In no particular order, Howard Kendall, Ron Saunders,
Terry Cooper, Jim Smith and Sir Alf Ramsey tried and failed to bring success.
(Here’s a quiz question for you when bored – name as many Blues,
Villa and Albion managers as you can from the last 20 years – and then name the ones
who’ve managed all three.)
All the while, Blues fans have looked with longing eyes across the city at
Villa’s (relative) success; they at least have won the championship, the European Cup
and a couple of league cups and rebuilt Villa Park into a ground as good as any in the
land. Blues in the meantime have been taken over by David ‘Sunday Sport’
Sullivan and the Gold brothers, and having installed Francis as manager and given him the
keys to the piggy bank, are somewhat running out of patience for Premiership football.
Sullivan says he will build the last stand of the ground when our Trev
delivers them into the promised land. This may or may not be a long time coming.
Francis certainly has a vast squad of huge potential. It must be nice, for
example, to bring on an Adebola or Ndlovu when things aren’t quite going to plan
– a cut above Rocket Ronnie, it must be said. Many in the squad have top-flight
credentials and players like Lazaridis, Horsfield and Marcelo are certainly no slouches. I
hear they’ve now got Edghill on loan from City. They damn-well should be
knocking on the Premiership door. However, Trev has that indefinable, hang-dog Blues look
about him – sort of a ‘one day it definitely will all go right’ air
about him, but he never seems sure when that will be. Certainly, he can’t afford to
hang about; either Sullivan will ditch Francis or ditch the club – rumours persist
that the cheerful Cockney chappie is sniffing round Spurs – unless Trev can do the
business.
Putting up with all this, the hard-suffering Blues fans feel this is their
year. But then again, they always think that. Believe you me, their veneer of confidence
is paper-thin. They are one of the quickest crowds to turn on their own team I have ever
seen. They are positively brimming with insecurity. If you think Man City fans are
self-flagellating whingers, you ought to see this lot when they’re two goals down. If
Payton can puncture their defence first on Saturday it won’t be long before the
booing and jeering starts; and if we actually dare dream of getting two up, their fans
will be out of the ground before half-four.
One serious word of caution – visiting Clarets are well-advised not
to flaunt the Claret and Blue. Not only are they the colours of their hated enemy Villa,
but Blues fans have a disproportionately large section of nutters. Taking pride in the
street name of ‘Zulu warriors’, this was the bunch who did over the Chelsea shed
boys in the infamous riot a few years ago. The violence was appalling and still rears its
head from time to time, particularly when visiting team bring fans in numbers. I would
certainly advise against a pre-match pub drink anywhere St Andrews’ side of the city
centre.
Anyway, here’s to Stan and the lads. If we (metaphorically speaking)
get our foot in the door in the opening quarter you never know. This is the third of our
three Midlands games. We lost at Wolves (we shouldn’t have), we drew at Albion (we
should have won) – dare we hope for maximum points on Saturday?
