A Seat in the Crowd

Copyright Paul Windridge and Linda Harvey 2000

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ISBN: 978-1-4122-4121-2 (ebook)

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A SEAT IN THE CROWD

the story of the 1999-2000 season by Paul Windridge and Linda Harvey

Dedicated to the two men who made our dreams come true:

Sir Matt Busby and Sir Alex Ferguson

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

The Authors

Chapter 1

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Acknowledgments

We would like to thank the following for allowing their work to be published: Barney

Mark Southee

Mark Roberts Paul Wheeler

Editing assistance: Nigel Krohn

Photography:

Front cover player photographs: Peter Robinson Other photography: Paul Windridge

Graphic design and digital imagery:

Cover: Paul Windridge Text pages: Koo Bhangra

Special thanks to Karen for her patience. To Steve Fisher for his invaluable advice and to Andy and Barney for their encouragement.

Introduction

Back in the days when we both started watching football, a seat in the crowd was for the gentry and not the likes of the two of us. Nowadays we are all expected to sit in the crowd, although some of us still like to stand! It can get confusing when we are expected to sit down in the Stands and only stand on the terraces. But there are no more terraces in the Premiership to stand on, so we stand in the Stands in front of our seats instead-when we are allowed to that is!

A Seat in the Crowd is about travelling the length and breadth of England and Europe in order to watch Manchester United. It is about the lifelong journey of two supporters (with the help of one or two friends along the way) who have been following their club for over 40 years each. A lifetime’s support which has enjoyed a renaissance over the last decade due to the superb management of Alex Ferguson, who has taken the team, and consequently us too, to heights never before scaled.

Supporting a football club is akin to being married, and one of us, at least, has to say a big thankyou to his partner for not only putting up with his ceaseless obsession with all things Red, but positively encouraging it. An unusual woman indeed.

At the start of any season no-one can possibly know the outcome. Plenty think they do, but that is mere blind faith. It is an adventure which happens every year and these last few years have been very special to United supporters and most especially to us. Through the internet and the Manchester United mailing lists some of us have found friendship which will last the test of time. Apart from family, none of us mentioned in this book knew each other four years ago, but we are now a group of friends who have become an extended family.

A Seat in the Crowd is just as much about these people as it is about the team on the pitch. We hope you enjoy the journey as much as we have.

The Authors

For 3 years Linda Harvey and Paul Windridge have been writing match reports and editorial for the two main Manchester United email mailing lists and for the biggest Manchester United fans’ website on the internet (www.mufc.simplenet.com). The Theatre of Dreams website is run by the two webmasters, Barry Leeming and Bill McArthur, the Red Devils list is run by Dave Arnold and Sean Hennessey and the Listserve list is run by CP Cheah. We extend our special thanks to these five stalwart Reds and many others who contribute to the mailing lists and help to keep Manchester United supporters throughout the world informed. What began, via these contacts, as simple reports of the game, developed into more complex narratives, each telling the story of a day and the experience. Gradually they began to get reactions from people all over the world who craved for more because the reports did two things for them. First, they represented how fans experience football-not just at the game, but the whole experience. The pre-match routines, the meetings with mates, the travelling to away grounds, the difficulties getting tickets, the people you meet along the way, the emotions you feel. And second, for those who can’t attend matches, they took them into the world of being a supporter-thus enabling them to ‘live the life’.

Linda Harvey

I remember a while ago, I was asked to write an article about why I was a United fan and it was very hard to get past one simple statement - I was born in Salford! All those who know anything about the local area around Old Trafford will know that Salford is a Red town, just about as Red as you can get. When I was a kid, growing up in Salford in the 50’s, there was only one team in Manchester-the Busby Babes. All us kids adored the Babes, but we also had our personal favourites - mine was Eddie Colman. My grandparents lived just down the road from Eddie in Ordsall and we would go to Ordsall Park, hoping to catch a glimpse of Eddie as he strolled to Old Trafford for the game. I was 10 years old when Eddie died with the other lads at Munich, and my heart was broken on that grey February morning when Eddie’s coffin left Old Trafford for the last time to make the short journey home to Archie Street. Everything football (and United) have meant to me since has been defined to some extent by that moment

In the intervening 42 years, United have hit the highs and plummeted to the depths. There have been moments of exquisite skill and moments of high comedy. There have been many celebrations and the occasional heartbreak. And I have had other heroes-Bobby Charlton in the 60’s, Mark Hughes and now the wonderful lads who won us the Treble last season. Through that time, through all the changes in my life, good and bad, United has always been there. A place to go to forget my troubles or celebrate my triumphs. A place where I have made friends who will last a lifetime. But, probably most important, a place where I can remain a child forever. At football I can sing and dance and cry and scream and worship my heroes. I don’t have to be grown up and sensible. This is a very precious thing indeed.

During 1998-99, however, events unfurled which put my football club at risk and everything it meant to me. For some years, there had been changes at Old Trafford, as Manchester United Football Club began to change into Manchester United PLC. In the latter part of the 90’s, those changes accelerated to the point where the club was becoming almost unrecognisable and people like me were beginning to feel increasingly unwelcome down at the Theme Park that was now Old Trafford. They (being the PLC) no longer seemed to want people like us. They wanted customers, not supporters who have the club in their hearts. We were seen as a hindrance to them because we act and think like the club belongs to us, the supporters. They were too greedy to see that we could co-exist, that if they could compromise a little we would support them forever. So they contrived to sell Manchester United to someone who would move the club even further away from its roots and who cared even less about the fans, than they did. The whole thing came to a head for me at the Munich Testimonial game, when I felt I was saying a very sad goodbye, not only to the Babes and to Eric Cantona but also to Manchester United Football Club. That was a very low point for me-lower than at any other time since 1958. I was an active member of IMUSA and throughout the long, and sometimes bitter, campaign, we were told by many that we were foolish, misguided and sentimental. All seemed bleak early in 1999.

We were not to know that the year would bring triumphs beyond expectation, both off and on the pitch. First, we did what all but a few had told us was impossible. A raggedy-arsed group of fans beat one of the most powerful men in the world. The war is still continuing, but the first battle was been won in the reclaiming of our football club. Then, on the pitch the lads won a historic treble. I was there throughout that amazing 10 days in May. First, the Premiership at Old Trafford, then the FA Cup at Wembley, and finally, on Sir Matt Busby’s birthday in Barcelona, we won the European Cup in a manner that belied belief. As I wrote at the time:

It came to the full 90 minutes and the fourth official held up the board-3 minutes. It seemed impossible. Then we got a corner and the next thing I knew there was Peter in the penalty area. I whispered to Karen, ‘This is our last chance.’ There was a scramble in the goalmouth, the ball seemed to be going all over the place and then suddenly I saw the back of the net bulge. I couldn’t believe it! As the subs ran on to envelop Teddy Sheringham I looked at the linesman, ready to see a flag and feel the shattering disappointment of a disallowed goal. I still couldn’t believe it but the players were celebrating and the referee was pointing back to the centre circle. At that point I started to scream. I turned to Karen and she was screaming too. We just grabbed each other, jumped up and down and screamed incoherently. Everyone was kissing each other and hugging and shouting. As the game kicked off again, we sang ‘We shall not be moved’ and waited for the final whistle and the start of extra time. But wait a moment, we had another corner. The ball came in to Teddy who headed it wide, but Ole stretched out his foot and managed to get a touch on the ball which hit the top of the net at the same moment as 60,000 Reds exploded in delight and disbelief. I was screaming and crying and the tears were streaming down my face as I hugged and kissed everyone I could get hold of. ‘I can’t believe it, we scored!! We scored another goal! We’ve bloody won it!!’ I found myself telling everyone who would listen that we’d won-just in case they didn’t know already! Down on the pitch, Ole had disappeared under a pile of United players, coaches and officials and the German players and fans looked like someone had let all the air out of them. They were sitting on the grass, in total devastation. There was just time for one last attempt at an attack by the wiped out Bayern players, which was easily stopped by our Gazza, the final whistle blew and the celebrations began.

How can I express in words what it felt like to be there at that moment? It’s impossible, except to say that I have never felt like that, ever, and never expect to feel like that again. It was like nothing I have ever felt in my life before and it’s the reason that football becomes an addiction, because we all spend our lives looking for that buzz, for that feeling. For me, it was a mixture of relief, joy, incredulity, astonishment. In that moment, all the feelings I have ever felt in football, all the experiences I have ever had, became as one. Every disappointment became as nothing, every triumph just a step on a long road that led to this particular place, on this particular night, with this particular group of players. On this very special night, Sir Matt Busby’s 90th birthday, we were meant to win the European Cup. This, I believe was our destiny. My life will never be normal again, because I was there.

For me, what happened in Barcelona was a fairy tale. A fairy tale which had the happy ending to end all happy endings. For the whole of the summer after Barca, I was waiting to come down, for real life to kick back in again and bring me down to earth. And eventually, of course it did (although it took a long, long time). But at one level, it never has and never will. For the rest of my life, there will be some part of me forever floating above the Nou Camp, on a balmy May evening, with a big daft grin on my face, my eyes shining and my heart full to bursting.

Paul Windridge

Back in 1957 we hadn’t long bought a TV, so viewing was essential whatever the programme, but this was a very special day for me as it was the first time I had been able to watch Manchester United play. I was 8 years old and it was FA Cup Final Day. The Babes were unquestionably going to win the double when a certain Irishman in a claret and blue shirt decided to clatter into Ray Wood and the rest is history. And so is this

Growing up in a family of rugby fanatics I should never have become a football supporter, but I’ve always been a stubborn and awkward bastard so there should have been no surprise when I became enthralled with the men in red. Bearing in mind that this was pre Munich and I lived in the Midlands, having spent my first year living just outside Wolverhampton, I should really have supported Wolves, but I didn’t. I was drawn towards Manchester United as they were the ones who embodied the romantic spirit. They were young lads who played football in the way few of us could ever dream of and I wanted to be like them.

It was a time when the players played the game because they loved it and we watched because we loved them. Manchester United were my team. What better club to be part of, and who better to look up to than Matt Busby. My loyalty grew from an early age and has never wavered. Between then and now I have managed to infect my children with the dreaded Red virus and they have since become imbued with the spirit of Manchester United. I hid my passion for football at first, but that Cup Final day it became obvious that my sporting affiliation would follow a different tack from the rest of the family. I vividly remember Wood’s prostrate body lying on the turf with the huge frame of Duncan Edwards walking slowly towards MacParland-standing over him hands-on-hips. That was the moment, so soon after the start of my first game that I unquestionably knew my fate. I was hooked. But it wasn’t until the early 60’s that my addiction became known to the public at large.

I was always encouraged to go to every rugby game possible-league games, Cup games, County games, Internationals, you name it I was there, just in case there was any way I could be encouraged to follow a different path! Then one day at the County Championship Final in 1963, I was ‘outed’. I had been given a ticket sitting next to a family friend. We sat behind the posts and away from my parents who were in the main stand. There was no segregation in those days, so we were sitting directly in front of a bunch of Lancashire supporters who happened to have a transistor radio turned on and tuned in. The game coincided with the FA Cup semi final against Southampton at Villa Park and I was delighted at my surprising good fortune, spending the whole game craning my neck in order to catch the muffled commentary coming from the radio.

Warwickshire won that day and there was much local rejoicing. On the way home and reunited with the rest of the family, my Father asked how I’d enjoyed the game. Great I replied beaming all over my face. Then his friend, who had been occupying the seat next to mine piped up, I couldn’t understand it, he was very quiet all the way through and then let out this enormous shout for absolutely no reason whatsoever. A look of resignation crept over my father’s face as he asked, what was the United result? 1-0 I replied. And from that day on he knew it was useless and I was never invited to another rugby match!

In the summer of 1965 my Father’s work moved him to Preston and even though the thought of leaving friends in the Midlands was daunting, the prospect of being nearer to Old Trafford made up for it. Now I could actually get to a game, and my time was to arrive that December. United were at home to West Ham and a friend and I stood at the side of the road hitching our way to destiny. Unfortunately destiny had to wait a little longer than we expected, as we somehow ended up in Blackburn, in a snowstorm. Maybe we should have had the foresight to have studied the bloody map before we left! We eventually made it to Manchester, caught a bus from Piccadilly and were dropped off on Chester Road. We ran down Warwick Road and came ‘face to face’ with Old Trafford for the first time. We were so late that the second half had already started, but I found myself rooted to the spot just standing there staring at the place as though hypnotised. I was there at last. I was eventually wrestled from my reverie and we ran past gate after gate desperate to find one open. We ran around the main Stand and on towards the Stretford End where we eventually found the opening we craved.

The moment I entered the stadium I will remember all my life. Up the old concrete steps, I could feel the atmosphere getting closer and closer until we could reach out and touch it at the top. I looked down in awe at the swaying mass of red and white scarves and thought to myself, I have reached my spiritual home at last. The final score that day was 0-0. We were disappointed United hadn’t won, of course, but we had stood on the famous terrace at last and watched the men in red shirts play football on their home territory. We’d been there and done it-only once, but we knew we’d be back. That year United reached the semi final of the FA Cup again and tickets were impossible to come by, but not for me. I decided to use my skills as a budding artist to paint a portrait of Matt Busby and sent it to him with a request for 3 tickets to the semi against Everton at Burnden Park. They duly arrived! But, United lost 1-0 that day, our hearts were broken, and my artistic endeavours probably ended up in the bin!

The Stretford End had become my second home. It was from where I watched the trilogy of Best, Law and Charlton and the devastating loss against Partizan Belgrade in the semi final of the European Cup. I stood on that famous terrace until they pulled it down at the end of the 1992 season, but my spirit is still there-it always will be. The following season my now son-in-law, Steve, and I bought Season Tickets and took seats next to each other in K Stand. That season was to herald a new dawn in the history of our club. Suddenly we bore witness to a fantastic up-turn in Manchester United’s fortunes as a team inspired by Eric Cantona, took us to heaven and back. On the day the 26 year wait ended-that sunny Bank Holiday Monday in 1993-I forsook my seat in K Stand and went back to the Stretford End. I met my daughter and Steve under the Munich Clock where we clung on to each other with tears trickling down our faces. I gave Eliza my Season Ticket and made my pilgrimage back to the Stretty. It was like 1965 all over again-they say you never forget your first time-and they’re right.

Since that pinnacle moment there have been many others, but the one which has meant more to me (and probably every other United supporter) than any other, was on the evening of 26th May 1999. To say that as far as Manchester United watching goes that this would be first choice as a Groundhog Day would be an understatement-it’s ahead of anything else I have ever experienced in football. At the time I wrote a piece entitled A Day in the Life-a Life in a Day and, as a title, it sums up those feelings well. That night I was stood right behind the goal where a miracle was about to happen and just as Linda has done before, I too would like to return and recapture the moment:

I hadn’t realised we were already in injury time when Becks came over to our right to take the corner. There had been a series of pressure raids on the Bayern goal and we had come very very close to scoring. Ole was already on with his musical accompaniment: Who put the ball in the Scousers’ net" as we all screamed our encouragement when the lad who has become a hero this season ran over and placed the ball by the flag. Another hero came charging downfield. Peter was in the box ready and waiting and everyone’s thoughts turned to the Volgograd game. He couldn’t do it again could he?

The ball was whipped in and what happened between then and it hitting the back of the net I’ve no idea, but I did see Peter rise and I thought he got a touch. It was like slow motion with the ball hanging in the air for ages before it reached the Dane. Back and forth it went like a pinball until it nestled in the back of the net. The place immediately erupted out of control-the noise unbelievable. It wasn’t the usual noise when someone scores, it was more of a guttural roar, a deep throated release of pent up emotion. Time stood still.

As we collected ourselves for however much of the game was left I looked around and found a phone on my seat. The phone was switched on and the display lit up. I picked it up, put it to my ear and said, hello. The voice on the other end said, if you think that was good - watch this. It was a beautifully expressive Scottish voice I’d heard many times before. I turned around again, gave the phone back to it’s owner who was scrabbling around on the floor under her chair and turned back just as the lads had forced another corner. I can’t believe this I thought to myself, but there was an air of inevitability about it as the ball flew in again. This time Teddy flicked it on and there was Ole, and there was the ball in the back of the net again.

This time we really were out of control. I don’t just mean we went mad-we were completely, absolutely and totally out of bloody control. I was screaming, laughing and crying at the same time jumping up and down on my seat like a demented lunatic. The poor woman next to me got the biggest hug ever and I swear the bridge of her glasses got pushed so far into her nose she’d never have got them off again. I ended up in the next row before being catapulted back to my own seat. I looked behind me and the phone woman was screaming in my face. She just flung herself over the seat and landed in my arms. There were bodies everywhere and the noise was now breaking the sound barrier. No-one stopped to breathe. It was the most fantastic feeling. A huge collective orgasm of delight. 60,000 Reds coming together in celebration of a 31 year wait in the wilderness.

The Germans eventually kicked off and the whistle blew. It was two minutes of supernatural madness which changed the face of the earth for millions of Reds throughout the world. Two minutes that will live in my memory forever. Two minutes that even if you had to pay £20,000 to be there it would have been too little. Two absolutely priceless minutes of sheer unadulterated ecstacy.

In amongst the madness, I thought back to the phone on the seat and paid my own quiet homage to the man-happy birthday Sir Matt."

That night in Barcelona was special, but by the time I climbed into my bed on the Thursday night, I had been awake for 65 hours continuously, I had blisters on my feet after walking more miles than I care to remember and I was just a little tired! For the previous two days we had survived on pure adrenaline. Our lives will never be the same again.

What more could anyone wish for from the beautiful game. We know it will never ever be the same, but football keeps drawing us back for more. It’s an addiction that won’t go away.

Chapter 1

The Aftermath

The weeks which followed that famous day were spent in a dreamworld and talk was of little else. You may have asked if we really needed to live through 90 minutes of torture before the balls hit the back of the net. Well, maybe not, but don’t we live for these moments? Isn’t it always these brief moments we recall when we’re out chatting to our mates in the pub? Dramatic moments that are the lifeblood of sport-and it doesn’t get any more dramatic than those last two minutes on 26th May. Having the belief to persevere until the very end is what Manchester United is all about and what Manchester United supporters are all about. Steve McClaren has said, I don’t think this team ever loses - it just runs out of time. That day everybody else thought we had run out of time except those of us committed to the cause. We still believed, or why were there 60,000 or more of us there in the Nou Camp still singing, if that is not the case. And now we believe anything is possible.

We revelled in the stories about Becks spotting the Cup with the Bayern colours on and Teddy watching the Bayern players lording it with their supporters as though they’d already won and he wasn’t even on the pitch then. And what of the Hungarian who held the ball up as an offering before kissing it, muttering something only another Hungarian would understand and throwing it back just before the first goal?

Tony Banks had been called down at the end of ninety minutes to be part of the presentation committee. He went down in the lift, but by the time he reached pitch level United had scored. He was asked if he would go back to his seat as there would obviously have to be extra time and by the time he stepped out of the lift at the upper level we’d reached the Promised Land and the game was won!

But was something else going on?

For those of us who were fortunate enough to have been there, and some that weren’t, it was almost an ‘out of body’ experience, a supernatural event. Not surprising when you think of the date and the opposition. We had been playing Munich on what would have been Sir Matt’s 90th birthday. Two of his Babes died that year-Dennis Viollet and Jackie Blanchflower. Two goals were scored after the 90th minute. Was this all down to the team’s performance, was it purely co-incidence, was it supernatural, or due to the collective will of the supporters and the team? It was surely all of them combining to form our destiny. Can there now be any doubt that Manchester United is something very special indeed?

The FA Cup

A mere thirty days later and our reveries were shattered. We were abdicating from the FA Cup and going to Brazil to play in what we all thought at the time, was a tin pot tournament. We were confused and knew only one thing-we desperately wanted the lads to play in the Cup and we knew instinctively that the players would too. At the time several points were raised in a letter to the then Sports Minister, Tony Banks:

Dear Sir,

I write to register my protest at the withdrawal of Manchester United from this coming season’s FA Cup. I believe this to be the first major step in the devaluation, denigration and ultimate destruction of our national game. The FA Cup is the oldest Cup competition in the world with a massive following worldwide, culminating in a Final at Wembley which attracts a huge TV audience and is a football showpiece of which this country can be proud. The new competition is a mere glint in the eye of it’s organiser and in time will quite possibly be a desirable one for the European Champions to enter, but not yet and definitely not in preference to the FA Cup. On the FA’s website it lists reasons why England should be considered as a host for the 2006 World Cup. It states: In 1871 a ‘Challenge Cup’ was established. Today, The FA Cup continues to be the most prestigious club competition in the world. Oh the irony of that statement in the light of recent developments!

Acting Chair David Davies said, We at the FA care desperately about the FA Cup and it’s history, it’s tradition and it’s excitement. That’s our heritage. We won’t sell it short. Well obviously words come easy to Mr Davies, especially considering the statement on the FA’s website and I think you’ll find that if you asked anyone who actually cares about football whether forcing the FA Cup holders out of the competition was not sacrificing the competition itself, they would laugh in your face. It is perfectly obvious that Mr Davis does not care a jot for either the FA Cup, Manchester United or in fact, the future of football in this country and consequently, not a jot for supporters either. And because you, as Minister for Sport, have also argued in this respect I would suggest this must also apply to our elected Government. So as supporters of Manchester United we are now expected to be the latest sacrifice on the altar of personal advancement that New Labour’s politicians have become symbols for.

Keith Cooper, the FIFA Head of Communications was interviewed on Radio 5Live last week and categorically denied that it made any difference whether Manchester United entered the tournament in Brazil or not as it would have no bearing on which country gets the 2006 World Cup. So what is going on? The FA and yourself are saying that you are only asking Manchester United to make this sacrifice because it affects England’s chances of getting the World Cup and FIFA are saying that isn’t true. So which of you is telling the truth, because someone obviously isn’t? What price the world domination Blatter bandwagon now, and where do you suppose it will stop? The vague possibility of England gaining the World Cup in 2006 is no reason for the sacrifice of Europe’s leading club in order to kiss the arse of FIFA whose President seems intent on further disrupting the football calendar by pushing through the notion of a World Cup every two years. And then what will happen to our domestic game? How will our top clubs cope with an extra series of games to contend with if this ridiculous notion gets the vote?

Surely we should be thinking ahead with respect to our own country and our own football. Yes, I suppose you could say that the World Cup would benefit the country, but should Manchester United be sacrificed for the mere possibility? And what happens if you do not succeed in tempting the FIFA panel to give England the 2006 World Cup? Won’t Manchester United and their supporters feel just a little angry and won’t you look just a little foolish? Mr Davies also said, We will be discussing the future of the FA Cup ourselves because we cherish it and we are going to carry on cherishing it. Empty words yet again. If the intent is to cherish then you DO NOT sacrifice. Yes, we could lose away at Stockport and that IS the magic of the FA Cup, but can we do it ourselves please and not just think of it as a possibility.

So, exactly who IS going to gain from Manchester United toeing the ‘Party line’? Well, ultimately probably