TRUE BLUE STORIES

Wayne Tidswell

It was 1964, and I was a nine year old scruffy little kid from Beswick, Manchester. My dad had bought me a City kit for Christmas, which was great although I never had a chance to see them as we had no telly back then. However I was obsessed with the club, un-be-known to my mum I would walk to Maine Road after school with my little seven year old friend and proceed to kiss & touch and pay homage to all the entrances to the ground as a ritual. Still the only news I had of the God's in Blue was through friends and through the evening news.

Finally my mum allowed me to go to the match, my first game! It was a midweek match against Everton. I remember everything so clearly, the relentless rain,as me and my little chum stood in line at the turnstile excited at the prospect of joining the chanting throng, the steaming cup of OXO that blistered my lips, and the luscious Holland's meat pie that scaleded my neck, the capacity crowd, the fighting fans, the generous away fans who threw filed down penies at us. Such memories. Needless to say City lost and I had my hand knitted scarf nicked on the way home, managed to get my head kicked-in by a couple of scousers, and had to wal honme in the rain. But for some ridiculous reason I kept going back. I have been away from the promised land for nealrly 22 years, and for the last six years I lived in the USA and still to this day have the yearning to go back to the stadium of dreams.