Following Lewis Jones’ take on the final day of the season from the Britannia Stadium, the second part of our Behind Enemy Lines feature comes from Chorizo Garbanzo who was at Eastlands, but not in the right stand.
QPR were on an awful run back in March. We’d just lost to Wolves, Fulham, Blackburn and Bolton, the only point gained in between being a fairly uninspiring draw against Everton. The "new manager bounce” had failed to appear despite a run of relatively easy fixtures and now far more threatening opponents loomed up ahead.
On the Football Weekly podcast Michael Hann was predicting a maximum of two points from the remaining games and he’s a QPR fan. Long-time villain to QPR supporters Ian Wright ruled himself out of the running for the Parent of the Year award by forecasting no points at all for his son’s employers. The "bottle half empty” brigade, which I proudly count myself a member of, were doing their best Private Frazer impersonations.
So when a work colleague of my wife asked us if we wanted some free hospitality tickets for the last game of the season, I thought; "Yeah, why not. I’ll be sitting with the home fans but that’ll be no problem because by the time that match comes round, there’ll be nothing at stake for either team. We’ll be down by then and United will already be champions. It’ll be a miserable end of the season for both teams fans and I may as well console myself with some free food and beer.”
The weekend before I had planned things rather badly so instead of being at Loftus Road for the Stoke match, I was in Wales having a family holiday. In the Premier League things hadn’t really panned out the way I had expected since those dark days of March. City were just a couple of steps away from winning the league and we’d pulled off an unlikely string of home wins to give ourselves a decent chance of staying up. I spent the day at a place called Fantasy Farm ("a great family adventure in the heart of the beautiful mid-Wales countryside”) and after a four hour marathon of tractor riding, bouncy castling and livestock stroking, my two-year-old son was clearly ready for a kip so we got him in the car and went for a drive around in the company of Five Live.
Listening to the commentary, I became increasingly frustrated and several times my wife suggested putting some music on to stop me moaning. Our game was the main commentary but they were frequently cutting away to go to other grounds which gave the impression that there was not much going on at Loftus Road. Admittedly, there were plenty of other important developments in other games, not least Yaya Toure’s late goal making sure of the 3 points for the League leaders but I couldn’t understand why my team weren’t just going all out attack to get the win.
As the clock ticked down I began to lose hope completely and coverage switched to the man with the most outrageous name in sports broadcasting, Cornelius Lysaght, giving live commentary from the 1000 Guineas at Newmarket. The race was won by a horse called Homecoming Queen and the name started my mind drifting back to the 1995-1996 season, the last time we were relegated from this division. I recalled how we adopted the chorus of Daydream Believer as our fans anthem that season. Unlike other clubs who changed the words of the song to sing of "sad [insert rival team’s nickname] bastards and a shit football team”, our fans just sung the words as they were. The lyrics about cheering up, daydreaming and believing seemed to exemplify the keep-the-faith, down-but-not-defeated, spirit our fans had that season. And then, after that last game away at Forest, the song just disappeared from our repertoire never to be heard in the Loft again.
Meanwhile back in the real world, the Five Live blokes were getting very excited. QPR had only bleedin’ gone and scored hadn’t they. Oh yes. But wait, hang on, it gets better, there’s a goal at Bolton too. Our three letter acronym brethren had done us a big favour there. To say that the mood in our car improved is an understatement on a par with saying that Piers Morgan is a bit of a tool. All of which meant that the following weekend we would be going to Eastlands needing a point to be absolutely sure of safety against an in-form team full of world class players… and Gareth Barry. That’s pretty much the scenario all QPR fans had dreaded.
So one week later it’s the day of the match. On previous visits to see us play City we’d mostly done alright; I’ve seen us win a few times at Maine Road and Man of the Millennium Jamie Pollock will always be remembered with a smile. But this was our first visit to Eastlands. Even on a sunny day the stadium is in a pretty depressing part of the city and from a fan’s point of view the environment around the ground is screaming out for more pubs and takeaways. We’re not short of any of that stuff around our ground; another reason to hope that if we do ever move that it won’t be very far away. In other ways, there are definite parallels to be drawn between our club and City. In addition to their wild spending spree of the last three years they are also investing heavily in developing young players and, on the way to the ground, we saw building work going on for a vast new academy area. I’m sure our academy plans will be on a smaller scale than City’s but, even so, for a smaller club that has not produced a first team player in years we are at last making some steps in the right direction.
Inside the ground, there are at least six restaurants, presumably ranging in price from the cheapest (Liam Gallagher, Ricky Hatton) to the most exclusive (Sheik Mansour, Eddie Large). Our hospitality tickets were in none of those. The club had, understandably, sold extra hospitality for this important game and put up a marquee in which to house us. Once inside we were given a very decent three course meal. The mood was of nervous optimism. I was under strict instructions to keep my allegiances secret so I didn’t talk to many people but the ones I did speak to were very vocal about how nervous they were. ‘Wouldn’t it be typical City to mess this up?’ they said. I told them it’d be a walk in the park for City because I genuinely thought it would be.
There was some pre-match entertainment going on. Johnny Marr was sat a couple of tables away but he seemed to have forgotten his Rickenbacker so instead we got ex City players Tommy Booth and Ian Brightwell telling a few oft-repeated but still amusing stories from the old days. Tommy Booth, a key player for City the last time they had a realistic claim to be the best side in the country, was particularly passionate on the subject of how today’s game was going to go. He struck just about the right balance between confidence and complacency.
They invited questions from the fans and one bloke with a distinctly un-Mancunian accent asked a question about Rodney Marsh. Another R in the enemy trenches maybe? Whilst this was going on, various other ex-players were wandering round in blazers, working the room, posing for photos and signing autographs. I didn’t recognise all of them but I did notice Paul Lake, City’s well-liked "coulda been a contender” whose career was cut short by an unfortunate series of injuries. He does a lot of stuff for City in the community these days. But, more excitingly, I saw the familiar peanut-shaped head of Richard Edghill. I wanted to go and speak to him, thank him for the important part he played in our promotion in 2004, and ask him for his recollections of the final game at Hillsborough, but then I got distracted because my pudding turned up.
Strangely, most other people didn’t seem to be eating their food. I don’t know if that is the norm or was it because people were too nervous to eat? Most distressing of all; quite a few people left their beer glasses half full. There’s just no excuse for that at all.
Going into the ground, I discovered that our seats were about halfway up in the opposite corner to the away fans. We had a great view of the whole pitch and the home fans really going for it singing along with that punk version of Blue Moon. In an ideal world all clubs should have one song that is exclusively theirs and not shared with any other club. Like City’s Blue Moon (although Crewe have a version apparently), Palace’s Glad All Over, Liverpool’s You’ll Never Walk Alone or that Coventry "let’s all sing together” dirge. No matter how much I might really dislike other aspects of some of those clubs, I’m just a tiny bit jealous that we don’t really have our own song that other fans recognise as being ours and ours only.
Down the other end of the ground I could see the QPR fans singing and clapping but couldn’t really hear them at this time. That wasn’t the case ten minutes in when the QPR fans were all jumping up and down. I couldn’t get any scores on my mobile and neither could my wife but a couple of City fans sitting around us confirmed that Stoke were 1-0 up. This was the first time in the match when I wanted to stand up / cheer / shout but stayed seated and hid what I was really feeling.
That was all turned on its head when Paddy Kenny couldn’t stop Zabaleta’s shot from going in. The relieved City fans all did a celebratory Poznan and I had no choice but to join in with them. It would have looked very odd to be the only person on that side of the ground facing the ground while all around me turned backwards and put their arms on each others’ shoulders. Whilst I was bouncing up and down with the jubilant home fans, I kept my eyes down at the floor because I thought that somehow people would be able to see that I was only faking it.
When it all calmed down a bit, there was talk in the row behind me of a Bolton equaliser. It was all starting to get a bit worrying again but I told myself it was alright. Bolton drawing is fine, we’re still safe with that. Meanwhile, the last few minutes of the first half were making me quite angry. It was obvious from the very first minute that Mark Hughes had brought his team to defend and go for the 0-0, but now that plan had failed with City scoring so where was our plan B? We didn’t change our style after going a goal down so it seemed that plan B was "lose 1-0 and hope Bolton don’t win.”
At half time, things got worse because the tannoy man told us that Bolton were now 2-1 up. This day was becoming a nightmare. I turned into Private Frazer again. I listened in to some City fans discussing whether they wanted us or Bolton to stay up. Some wanted us to stay up so that all the fans in the stadium would be celebrating but most were hoping Bolton would stay up, partly due to regional loyalties and partly because of Fabrice Muamba. As for the game we were watching, the general opinion seemed to be that now that nerves had been settled by Zabaleta’s goal, City would start to pass the ball around with more confidence and get the win they needed. Nobody, least of all me, was predicting any kind of fightback from QPR.
But, as Greavsie used to say back in the days when ITV’s football coverage didn’t make you want to tear your ears and eyes out, "it’s a funny old game.” For my money, Joleon Lescott has been City’s best defender this season and the best English centre back for a couple of seasons now. He doesn’t make many cockups but as soon as his misdirected header came down near Djibril Cisse, I just knew it was going to be a goal. There are certain players who are very dependable in certain situations and the Lord of the Manor of Frodsham is one of them.
I’m reminded of when Paul Parker used to play as a sweeper for us. Many was the time that an opposition striker was bearing down on goal and the other team’s supporters would be on the edge of their seats expecting at least a shot from their man. Meanwhile, the QPR supporters would be calm and relaxed, metaphorically lighting up their cigars, knowing full well that Parker was going to sort it all out. As the QPR fans celebrated wildly down the other end, I bent down to the floor to pick up my bottle of diet coke, did a couple of very subtle fistpumps and sat back up staring straight ahead. Can’t read my, can’t read my, no you can’t read my poker face.
With this goal, the City fans mood darkened a bit but there was still nearly half the game to go and I got the impression that most of them were still confident of the win. The general mood seemed to be "no panic, we’re still going to win this.” There was still a fair amount of good-humoured comments and someone was shouting at Shaun Wright-Phillips to go on a mazy run and put it into his own net to help out his old compadres.
For the next major incident in the game, I had a great view because it all happened right in the corner of the pitch nearest me. I didn’t see Carlos Tevez hit Joey Barton at the time but I did have a clear view of Barton elbowing him back. As soon as that happened, a red card was inevitable.
Barton was pleading with the ref as usual. When will Barton learn that the primary school playground defence of "but he started it” is not a suitable excuse for a grown-up? What followed was just embarrassing with the needless lashing out at Sergio Aguero then descending into the kind of "come on then, I’ll take the lot of you on” idiot we all know and loathe at pub closing time. How has he got the nerve to claim on Twitter that he never lost his head? Doesn’t he realise the match was on television? I hate it that when I go into work the next day, people’s first comment is not "well done for staying up” but "what about your captain then?” Like I say, embarrassing, and the sooner this ticking timebomb is no longer associated with our club the better.
All of his failings would be slightly easier to accept if he’d actually played well in more than four or five games this season. There are loads of much better midfielders out there who don’t come with all the extra baggage you get with Barton. In the words of Joey’s beloved Smiths (a band that he pretty much discovered apparently) "so goodbye, please stay with your own kind.”
One other thing about that, a lot has been said and written about Barton’s red card but nobody seems to have mentioned that just a few minutes before it, Barton slid in on Tevez right by the corner flag to put the ball out for a throw. It was a hard tackle but it was a fair one. Tevez wasn’t happy about the tackle though and a few words were exchanged. I reckon this little incident was the spark for what followed.
Not much later, a miracle. Jamie Mackie dived to get on the end of Armand Traore’s fantastic cross and whilst the QPR fans went berserk, at my end of the ground there was just a stunned silence. I managed to repeat my trick from earlier on and just carried on looking straight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my wife sitting next to me itching to say something and our two friends sitting nearby (the only other people there who knew who I was supporting) were trying to watch my reaction as well. But just for a few seconds, I couldn’t look at any of them in case I let slip a hearty "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH! COME ON!”
Gradually, the stunned silence around me began to turn into frustration and anger. At 1-1 against ten men, I don’t think many City fans really thought that their team was going to blow it, but now the insecurities built up from a generation of supporting the nation’s best known underachievers were re-surfacing. As a long-suffering fan of another team who haven’t exactly had to build an extension to their trophy room, I couldn’t help feeling some sympathy with the home supporters.
Throughout much of the rest of the game, there were many comments from the City fans about QPR having every single player behind the ball. I can’t remember ever seeing a game quite like it when the defending team got the ball, they were content to just boot it away and let Joe Hart retrieve it, dribble unchallenged to the halfway line and pick a pass to start the next wave of attack.
Frustration grew in particular over City’s tactic of putting in crosses from wide which were being dealt with very well by Anton Ferdinand and my own superhero Clint Hill. Taye Taiwo was also throwing himself around very effectively and this was the best game I’ve seen him have for us. Paddy Kenny pulled off some truly amazing saves from Kompany, Dzeko and Balotelli.
Feeling a bit more relaxed now that QPR had a cushion, I started looking around a bit more and observe the emotions in the fans around me. Isn't it mazing how different clubs in different parts of the country and different circumstances have the same characters following them? In the row in front of me there was a girl aged about eight with her dad. I thought of my mate who I often liftshare with and his QPR fanatic son who’s about the same age. The little girl’s dad wasn’t saying much but he was spending a lot of the time with his head in his hands. His daughter was watching her dad at least as much as she was watching the match. A few seats along from them was a bloke about my age who was trying to rally the troops, saying lots of encouraging words to anyone around him that would listen: "keep the faith” and that kind of thing. I thought of another QPR mate of mine who’s always saying stuff like that, even when we’re losing and freezing our nuts off away at Stockport or when the team has yet again failed to turn up for a Cup match at MK Dons earlier this season.
City’s relentless attacking and our heart-in-mouth defending was all getting a bit much for me and when the going gets tough, the tough get going to the bog. As I made my way through the concourse, there were dozens of City fans around. Clearly I wasn’t the only one who was finding it difficult to watch. The mood was gloomy. If City blew this, then when might they get another chance to win the league as good as this one? If not now, when?
As I came back to my seat, there was another commotion down at the away end. By this time, none of the City fans were the slightest bit interested in looking up scores in other matches on their mobiles so we were just left to guess what had happened. We concluded that Stoke must have equalised and I tried and failed to get confirmation of this by phone. After this, everything started to happen very quickly.
Dzeko’s header flew in, the gloom disappeared in an instant and the momentum was all with City now. There was another burst of celebrations down in the away end. Again, we weren’t sure what it was for but we knew that either Stoke had scored again and were now winning 3-2 or else that game was over. Either way, good news for me. We were definitely safe now. Like everyone else in the ground, I was on my feet now. As soon as the ball arrived at Aguero’s feet, it was another Cisse / Paul Parker moment, I just knew he was going to score.
As football fans, we all know what it’s like to be in a crowd when your team score and all pretence of normal behaviour is thrown out of the window. Think back to Furlong’s goal in the playoff semi against Oldham. Think of the times when you’ve grabbed some random person near you and jumped around with them or screamed in their face in joy. Not the kind of thing one gets to do much in life but this is why we play silly money to go and watch football matches: for these moments of unbridled joy and wild abandon when you celebrate a goal with several thousand strangers who may only have one thing in common, but it’s a pretty bloody important one thing.
It was truly mental in the City end when that winner went in. People were quite literally climbing up the walls. The little girl in front of me had been picked up in her dad’s arms and she had tears streaming down her face. The "keep the faith” bloke was now part of a pack of other blokes, arms round each others’ shoulders, singing and bouncing together. The final whistle went and whilst the home fans invaded the pitch, I watched the QPR players. Some of them looked devastated so I wondered if they still didn’t know that we were safe.
There didn’t seem to be any empty seats around me but inevitably there will have been a few City fans who left early and missed all this. Never mind, I’m sure that years from now they will still treasure the memory of that day when they beat the traffic.
Once we’d applauded the QPR players off the pitch we had to get going because I had to get to Liverpool for an Elvis Costello gig. Getting out of the stadium was not as easy as it sounds. All the gates were locked because there were dozens of City fans outside trying to get back in. Several of them were saying that they had been in the ground and left early but I don’t buy that. I think they’d been watching the match in pubs or homes nearby and then had come down to the ground to join in. The stewards and police were having none of this and kept the gates firmly locked. Little did they know that, just around the corner, fans were helping each other climb up the walls to get in and join the party.
As soon as we got outside, I went up to a bloke with a camera to get confirmation of the QPR score and my wife and me danced a little jig of joy when he told us Bolton had drawn. Walking back to our car there was a procession of cars and pedestrians heading in the other direction towards the ground. Scarves out of the window, horns blaring, it was party time. Back at our car, we headed off in the other direction and central Manchester was like a ghost town. I guess all the reds were lying low.
Knowing that we were safe as well it would be a hard-hearted QPR fan who wasn’t cheered by the sight of all the delirious City fans around us. I’m no City lover, I don’t believe in all that "second team” rubbish which is why one of my favourite chants is that one you don’t hear that much these days, the one that we sing to the tune of "Bless ‘Em All.” I can remember City fans causing trouble in the 80s down the side of The Springbok, chucking bottles indiscriminately, not caring that there women and kids there and living in the northwest I’ve also met my fair share of City fans that are prats. But if we think we’ve got it bad having those scumbags down the road, consider the lot of the City fans who have lived the last 20 years in the shadows of the most successful and most famous British club. During that 20 year spell, they spent quite a few seasons in the second and third divisions just like we did. Their club became a byword of underachievement and a bit of, scratch that, a lot of a joke. No matter what you might think about how they’ve achieved it, it’s still hard to begrudge them this trophy. In five or six years time, when City have won a load more trophies, many of their supporters will forget their club’s recent trials. Their fans will become as arrogant as United fans are now.
As for us QPR fans, well I’ve been supporting this club for 35 years and I don’t think I’ve ever been to a game where there was so much at stake for both teams and everyone left the ground celebrating. We can consider ourselves lucky to have been a major part of the most remarkable end to a Premier League season ever. Match reports the following day barely mentioned what our club achieved that day and, as time goes by, history will gradually erase our contribution and for others the day will just be remembered for City’s amazing injury time turnaround.
When I got to Liverpool that evening, I met my mates in the pub. They were surprised to see how calm I was but being in the "wrong” end of the ground was surreal and I think I was still in shock from a truly amazing afternoon’s action.
All I wish for now, is a nice dull, boring end to next season.
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Pictures — Action Images