I'm also shite at English, so don't expect the ramblings on here (at least the one's I post) to be grammatically correct. I got an E in English GCSE when I was 15, basically for turning up, I'd like to say that even at this tender age I was a happy content person, but I wasn't, I was already pretending to be a manic depressive so that people wouldn't think it was odd when I turned into one later on.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh yes, negativity, I'm a Manchester United fan, always have been, I'm no Jonny come lately, I'm old enough to well remember the pre Ferguson era, and the fact that back then, even when we won the first ten league games of the season, we still couldn't fucking buy a league title. I was brought up by a United supporting Grandad, United supporting uncles and cousin's, and most importantly a United supporting Dad.
So intense was the religiously fierce love of United in my house, that when my younger sister came home from school one day, telling us all proudly that due to her new best friends allegiance with Leeds United, She was now a Leeds fan, my old man promptly stuck her on the front doorstep for well over an hour, half freezing the little bastard to death in the cold northern wind.
I was brought up on a Manchester United that won the odd FA cup, not the glamorous behemoth that resides in M16 these days, Liverpool were top dogs, they had been for over a decade before I made my first tentative appearance on the Stretford End (still terraced) in October 1986, which incidentally if I remember rightly (and I probably don't so don't slag me off if my hazy memory is incorrect), was against Spurs, we won 1-0, and sitting on the old crush barriers, with a better view than almost anyone in the ground, turned to my Dad and said "have we scored dad??"......."No son, that's why 50,000 people around you are going batshit crazy, you fucking numpty.........", even then my old man was a bit of a cunt.
So, Liverpool are the wasps nipples back then, and I know no different, so fast forward to 1993, past Big Ron, Fergie coming in, and almost being booted out again, an FA cup, a trip to Rotterdam for my first Euro away at the CWC final, and we are on the brink of a league title, "we wont win it", well that's what we all said isn't it? And staring into the abyss 6 or 7 minutes into injury time against Sheff Wednesday it looked like we were all right, i would have been smug if i wasn't shitting myself in K stand somewhere.
But we all know what happened next, we score twice, and famously go on to win the league, and few other pots and pans as well over the next 20-odd years.....and we all lived happily ever after. The End.
Except it isn't. I'm a moaning bastard. And I was waiting for it all to bite us on the arse. And its going to.
You see, life always bites you on the arse, usually just when you think you are safe.......so yeah OK, we can talk all day on here about shiny trophies, and glory nights in Moscow or the Nou Camp, but the minute the glory days started (officially somewhere around May 1993 according to most day trippers), Manchester United's "death clock" started ticking down, and by May 2005, as Chelsea were celebrating the Premier League title, the countdown was complete, Malcolm Glazer had taken over, and Manchester United, officially stopped giving the small fuck it had occasionally given about us mere minions, customers.......
RIP MUFC
Well one of these days Malcolm, some one, whether its the red knights, or Jeff Bloggs from Salford, someone, is gonna resuscitate our Club.......I fucking hope that day comes soon............
