Blue Moon: Down Among The Dead Men With Manchester City Read online

  Thursday, 24 September 1998

  City’s annual report showed they had made a pre-tax loss of £6.3 million for the year ending 31 May 1998. The loss on transfers was £1.9 million and the total wage bill, including players and staff, was £8.7 million, an increase of £1.5 million on the previous year. ‘Turnover is up 20 per cent to £15.3 million but we have an unacceptable level of expenses, mainly from the size of the playing staff,’ said David Bernstein.

  Nick Fenton, City’s 18-year-old central defender, signed a deal to keep him at Maine Road for the next four seasons. Fellow youngsters Gary Mason, Nicky Weaver and Leon Mike had already been made similar offers.

  When Royle arrived at City he grumbled that too many players were on long-term contracts. His own long-term signings were, however, young players, most likely on lower salaries than the experienced professionals they replaced.

  FORLORN FIGHT FOR THE BLUE CORNER IN A SWELLING SEA OF RED

  (The Times, Saturday, 26 September 1999)

  ‘City or United?’ The nurses used to ask at Booth Hall Children’s Hospital in Manchester. At one end of the room was a poster of George Best while, at the other, Colin Bell, a vision in sky blue, was pictured gliding past desperate defenders. Choose your corner, choose your team. Back then, Manchester City and Manchester United were, more or less, equals.

  The children who shuffled into Booth Hall in the 1960s, with their poorly tummies and broken arms, now have children of their own. They live in a very different city. On the playing fields and the street corners the ratio is much altered. Where it was once blue, red, blue, red, it is now red, red, blue, red. The kids are United.

  Manchester City are a club in retreat. Their older supporters, to whom success is within touching distance (an FA Cup final defeat 17 years ago is as good as it gets), are like colonialists lamenting a glorious past. They sit among the ruins, incredulous to their plight. ‘When I was a lad . . .’ they lament. Son passes dad a hankie.

  These supporters have been betrayed by the people entrusted to run their club. On the field and behind the scenes, there has been a succession of personnel to whom personal gain and self-aggrandisement has mattered more than the well-being of the club. In the absence of everything else, City supporters have been left with nothing else to celebrate except themselves.

  Their loyalty has been acclaimed throughout the country. They are acknowledged as the supporters’ supporters, the suffered of Maine Road. Within us all, however, there is the potential to martyrdom-by-football-club, and this has been fulfilled, perhaps dangerously so, at City. The defeats and the relegations have become addictive. They find themselves strengthened, emboldened by adversity. While their Stretford neighbours attract capricious lightweights, City fans are true men of steel, cut from character-building torment.

  The basis of their support is erroneous. A football club should be supported for the joy it brings, not the misery. Love and hate for your team is always intertwined, but at City the hate is institutionalised, a seed of bitterness passed down the family line. Sometimes, following City must feel like a job of work, without any fag breaks or a lunch-hour. In their defence, they are at this apogee of dissatisfaction not out of choice, but because they have been made to walk the gang-plank by the mismanagement of the club.

  At home matches, their cussedness and ardour foams like a restless sea. It makes players nervous. Perhaps, as it is at almost every other club, a natural wastage of support would have inadvertently helped their cause. The standard of football they proffer merits a crowd of, say, 10,000, not the 25,000-plus that regularly fills Maine Road. Those extra, edgy supporters tap on the shoulder of every player. A 25-yard pass is traded for a six-yard tap, a surging upfield run for a safe one-two: the City players are afraid of failure, wary of the moaning and the mocking.

  The breathless success of Manchester United has run parallel to City’s demise and it has turned warm hearts to stone. Many call United fans ‘rags’ or ‘scum’ and the hundreds who used to watch City and United on alternate weeks have drawn a metaphorical line in the sand. In return, some United fans are malevolent enough to wish the very worst on City, with plagues, boils and cup defeats by Derby County thrown in. Others, and this is perhaps a worst indictment, are completely indifferent to City; they don’t believe they count.

  Howard Wheatcroft, a United season-ticket holder and shareholder, wants the suffering to continue. ‘I want to see City go down even further. I think it is fantastic. They would slaughter us if it was the other way round. Whenever I feel depressed, I goad a City fan and it makes me feel better.’ Andy Mitten, editor of the fanzine, United We Stand, grew up in a divided city. ‘City always had a healthy support when I was at school,’ he said. ‘They are a big club. I think they have more support than Newcastle, for instance, but they are their own worst enemies. They are obsessed with United. They have always talked big, but never justified it.’ A typical example of this obsession with United is the autobiography of the film producer and City fan, Colin Shindler. The book’s title? Manchester United Ruined My Life. It had to be.

  In recent years, supporting City has had a social cachet by virtue of their association with Oasis, the rock group, and Kappa, one of the leading urban fashion houses. ‘It makes me laugh, all that,’ said Mitten. ‘City fans are shell-suit wearers from Stockport and pie-eaters from Wigan. Check them out walking to the ground on match days.’ City, remember, also boast a celebrity roll call of Eddie Large, Bernard Manning, Rick Wakeman and Kevin Kennedy – a list unlikely to interest the style gurus at The Face or GQ.

  Many United fans are not without their own sense of dissolution. The club has become too big for its gilded boots. Its traditional Manchester-based support feels alienated, annexed by the world and its wife. ‘The other week I was asked by this bloke, dressed in a United shirt, where the statue of Stanley Matthews was at Old Trafford,’ said Mitten.

  Only on derby days did Manchester feel at peace with itself in all the chanting, partisan chaos. ‘It used to be a real buzz. It was a Manchester thing. A lot of the southern-based United fans saw it as just another game, something they weren’t part of,’ said Mitten.

  City fans, it seems, are hurting because they are too much a part of it, United because they are not enough a part of it. Somewhere in between is the football supporter we all want to be.

  Saturday, 26 September 1998

  Northampton Town 2 Manchester City 2

  A goal two minutes from time by Shaun Goater earned City a draw. It was his eighth of the season and a retort to the City supporters who had booed him off the pitch after his penalty miss against Chesterfield.

  Northampton had taken the lead through Dean Peer. Paul Dickov equalised but Carlo Corazzin restored the home side’s lead before Goater struck. ‘You need to show courage to pick up points at tricky away fixtures like this one,’ said Joe Royle.

  Sunday, 27 September 1998

  Joe Royle entered hospital for a hip replacement operation which would keep him away from the club for 10 days. ‘I’ve known for a number of years I needed a new hip, but I hoped I could put off the operation until the end of the season. Unfortunately, it has deteriorated quite quickly since the summer,’ said Royle.

  Tuesday, 29 September 1998

  Millwall 1 Manchester City 1

  The match was marred by violence both on and off the pitch. Referee Matt Messias issued six yellow cards and two red as Millwall’s Paul Shaw and City’s Tony Vaughan were sent off after a mass brawl involving 18 players.

  There were several pitch invasions during the game and afterwards Millwall fans fought with police in the streets around the ground. More than 2,000 City supporters attended and were praised for their good behaviour. They had to remain in the stadium for an hour afterwards while police cleared the streets outside. ‘The violence was absolutely horrifying – the worst I have seen for a long time,’ said Chief Inspector Christopher Miles of the Metropolitan Police.

  A police officer suffered a broken
arm and there were 18 arrests, 15 of them Millwall fans and three City. ‘I cannot believe what I have seen tonight. It was a disgrace. If we had scored another goal in that atmosphere, I don’t think we would have got out alive,’ said Joe Royle.

  Neil Harris gave Millwall the lead a minute into the second half. Lee Bradbury levelled in injury time.

  Wednesday, 30 September 1998

  City ’til I Cry! ventured once more into the intriguing interior life of the club. It questioned the summer departures of Ian Niven (director), John Clay (public relations manager), Joanne Parker (match programme co-ordinator) and various members of the office staff. ‘Were these replaced because of their very close (almost intimate?) links with the previous regime?’ it asked.

  It also highlighted the growing number of ex-Oldham Athletic employees now working at City. Aside from Joe Royle and Willie Donachie, the academy/coaching staff included Jim Cassell, Terry Cale and Frankie Bunn, all formerly of Oldham. Also, Richard Jobson had been signed from Oldham on a two-year contract at the age of 34 after suffering a serious knee injury. ‘ . . . it seems odd that some of the replacements [for the various departing employees] are Joe Royle’s cronies from his Oldham days,’ pondered the fanzine.

  Three

  The Go-between

  GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

  (The Times, Saturday, 3 October 1998)

  So, finally, a parking space. Within seconds, the attendant is at my window. ‘You can’t leave it here, mate.’ He sees the despair in my eyes as I look out at all these cars, bumper to bumper. ‘I tell you what . . . ‘ he says. I sense immediately that this is a once-in-a-lifetime offer: ‘Park it over there, in one of the disabled spaces. I’ll come and get you if it needs moving.’

  Five minutes later, the longest Mercedes in the world pulls on to this same hotel car park. Its owner brings it to rest in front of the reception area, straddled across enough yellow paint to colour in the sun. He is soon on his feet, wonderfully indifferent to the chaos around him as drivers circle repeatedly, sweating in the sunshine.

  The name’s Bond, John Bond. You must remember him. He was the big-time manager before football even went big-time. He looks much the same as he did in his glory days of the 1970s: immaculate hair, Rolex watch, top-notch suit, a certain sophistication. This is the man who was big enough to take on Manchester City. He lost, of course, but it was a decent match, all blood and thunder, toil and trouble. ‘It took me three weeks to realise what a nonsense job it was at Maine Road. I knew more or less straight away what a fool I’d been in going there,’ he said.

  In the 1970s, Bond was hot property after propelling Norwich City to the top flight and a League Cup final. The soundbites were tasty, the coats large and furry, and the football wasn’t too bad either. Glamour and East Anglia were on nodding terms for the first time ever and Bond knew the best camera angles. Inevitably, ambition got the better of him and in October 1980 he broke a 10-year contract (10 years) to replace Malcolm Allison at Manchester City.

  ‘Norwich was one big happy family. Everyone got on with each other and mixed really well. At City there were so many undercurrents and such a lot of back-biting,’ he said. Back-biting is a misnomer since some directors had no qualms about attacking from the front. ‘At my first board meeting, Peter Swales asked whether the directors were in support of my appointment. This should have been a formality, but one said – and I can remember the actual words – “I’m withholding my feelings because I have not yet seen the messiah who can take over from Malcolm Allison.”’ Diplomacy 0, Antagonism 1; let the battle commence.

  Maine Road, he claims, was awash with whispers and conspiracies. ‘There were a lot of ex-players walking straight into the club, making themselves cups of tea. They were all picking the team for me, saying so-and-so should be in and someone else shouldn’t be. A football club is a very private place, people shouldn’t be able to just walk in off the street. Can you imagine something like that happening at the Arsenal?’

  In his first season in charge, City finished twelfth in the top division and were finalists in the centenary final of the FA Cup, losing to Tottenham Hotspur after a replay. In 1981–82 they were tenth but in January 1983, following a 4–0 FA Cup defeat at Brighton, Bond resigned. He accepted the manager’s job at Burnley who were themselves embroiled in boardroom upheaval. In hindsight, he feels he should have waited; he had earlier been linked with managerial vacancies at Benfica and Manchester United. Thereafter, he tumbled down the leagues and now, at 64, finds himself director of football at Witton Albion of the UniBond League.

  ‘We get an average crowd of about 300 people. I absolutely love it. I’m every bit as keen as I used to be,’ he said. He means it too, the passion for football still burns, and the charm evidently remains. The hotel staff recognise him and we are ushered through to the restaurant where tables are being prepared for lunch. The waiter looks perplexed. ‘I have to set these tables out,’ he grumbles. The manager is soon upon us with free coffee. He apologises that his staff might be disturbing us: Bond, John Bond.

  Back in his early days as manager of Bournemouth, a chance remark led to speculation that George Best was about to join the club. ‘And that’s on the record,’ was his catchphrase among journalists. Might he have been too media-friendly for the liking of Manchester City? ‘I am a person with opinions and I’m not frightened to express them. It’s all part and parcel of the game.’

  Bond is one of a long tradition of managers able to exercise authority by sheer strength of personality. The downside is that this submerges a footballing antecedence that, in his case, stretches back nearly 50 years to his days as a teenage player with West Ham United. He laments his early exit from the big-time he helped invent. ‘I do have my sad moments. I might be driving along the motorway and thoughts come into my head. They are very sad and not something I want to delve too deeply into. I do wonder what would have happened if I’d waited for a bigger club to come in for me after City.’

  Suddenly, the sheen of glamour falls from this tall, thick-set man. The suit, the watch, the hair, it is just camouflage, expensive scent thrown across the trail of another boy-man lost to the joy and cruelty of football. The waiters and the porters fall over themselves to bid him a fond farewell. He sets off for the small Cheshire town of Witton. Something doesn’t quite add up here.

  Saturday, 3 October 1998

  Manchester City 2 Burnley 2

  Shaun Goater’s ninth goal of the season gave City an early lead, but failure to capitalise on chances cost them dearly. A poor back-pass by Nick Fenton was pounced on by Andy Payton who scored the equaliser. Burnley took the lead through Andy Cooke, but City substitute Danny Allsopp equalised five minutes from time.

  Joe Royle listened to the match on the radio from his hospital bed while Willie Donachie took charge in his absence. It was City’s fourth consecutive draw and left them in eighth position.

  Monday, 5 October 1998

  Jamie Pollock went into hospital for a hernia operation. It was timed to coincide with his four-match suspension.

  Former City striker Gerry Creaney criticised the club in a newspaper interview. ‘I wouldn’t go back to Maine Road if they paid me double. The whole experience at City brought me down to a level I didn’t think I was capable of reaching,’ he said.

  Tuesday, 6 October 1998

  Nigel Clough was released from his contract with nine months still to run. City agreed to a pay-off, reportedly £250,000. A £1 million signing from Liverpool by Alan Ball in January 1996, Clough made just 38 first-team appearances. ‘It’s very sad, but the club has made the decision to go with youth and give our young players a chance,’ said Willie Donachie.

  Wednesday, 7 October 1998

  Nicky Weaver was put on stand-by for England Under-21s in their forthcoming match with Bulgaria. Weaver had played just ten league matches for City, and one for his previous club, Mansfield Town.

  MAINE MAN CALLS CITY TO ACCOUNT

  (The Times, Saturday, 1
0 October 1998)

  It was only a tiny gate, more a piece of wood really. He might have placed it to one side for an underling to deal with later on, or tossed it away angrily when it stubbornly refused to rest on its hinges. Instead, David Bernstein, Manchester City’s new chairman, tried patiently to slot it back at the entrance to the directors’ box at Maine Road. Eventually, he succeeded.

  Manchester City, until now, has been a magnet for the vainglorious. On the pitch and in the boardroom, they have talked it like they couldn’t walk it. The egos have collided with one another and piled up like flash cars rusted to a standstill. Bernstein has resolved to pick his way through the debris, bolstered by a quiet determination to reinvent a club he has supported for more than 40 years.

  ‘I am happy to keep a low profile. There have been too many statements made from this club. I want us to be realistic and absolutely honest from now on. I know the fans will be sceptical, but they are entided to be. They must be utterly pissed off with what has happened,’ he said. It is the only time he will swear during the interview.

  His rise to eminence has been discreet, the low profile he talks of has really been no-profile. He is not borne from the three distinct groups of power-brokers within the Maine Road cabal. He is neither a celebrity, ex-player or local self-made businessman. He joined the board in 1994 as financial director at the request of Francis Lee, who had usurped Peter Swales as chairman after a 21-year tenure. When fan-power forced Lee to resign, Bernstein became vice-chairman and then chairman in March of this year. He is a chartered accountant and looks the part. The dress is formal, the manner prudent and attentive. He is the man from the insurance company you would want to see the day after your house burned down.