Stephen Tudor article...

Pep Guardiola is giving supporters the greatest team they have ever seen and it means so much to Cityzens stalwarts

LAST Tuesday was ‘York away’ day, an anniversary of the game that has come to define Manchester City’s lowest ebb. Having plummeted through the divisions into the third tier in the late nineties City were expected to dominate at this level. They didn’t, not when they faced one shake-down after another from clubs who viewed the fallen giant as their proverbial cup final. In the first half of that season, City lost to Lincoln, Macclesfield, and Wycombe. They also drew to Bristol Rovers and Northampton Town. So by the time Joe Royle’s dazed troops went to Bootham Crescent on December 19th 1998 promotion looked a fanciful notion and that was even more the case after the Minstermen won 2-1 with relative ease.


In due course, this result has taken on a legendary status. Were you at York away? It has become both a test of a fan’s true credentials – a stripe on the arm to signify that you truly were there when City was s*** - and the ultimate counter-weight to today’s footballing fantasia, brought up in conversation to remind anyone getting overly despondent at a poor performance that such concerns pale into insignificance compared to the plights of yesteryear.
At this point I’d like to hold my hands up and admit that I wasn’t there that afternoon. If I could borrow a further pair of limbs I’d raise them too and confess that I can barely recall the nadir at all.

What I do remember all too vividly however, was the following game, away at Wrexham. City won that day 1-0 courtesy of a Gerard Wiekens header but shivering on the terraces that was when a horrible realisation dawned on me as the Dragons launched endless waves of attacks and looked the better team throughout. This was our plateau now. This was who we were.

Prior to that, the humiliations and relegations had all been accompanied by some degree of perverse humour; indeed, there was almost a sense of pride to be sourced in your team being so bad that it eventually became a national punchline. It took a very special club to burn through ten managers in nine years. It took a unique capacity to self-destruct to wrongly believe a draw was sufficient to stave off relegation on the final day of the season and keep the ball by a corner flag.  If there was a cup for cock-ups, City would win it every year, so everybody said. How many City fans does it take to change a lightbulb? None, they’re all happy living in United’s shadow. All of this sliced at the heart but also felt external and like it wasn’t actually happening. Have you ever skidded having lost control of a vehicle? That strange laugh that surprises you was the soundtrack to a whole decade and more for Blues.

Anyway, it was weirdly in victory that I endured my own personal nadir. Seeing my team toil in mediocrity at the Racecourse was when the jokes became solely and only hollow.
That was Boxing Day, half of my life ago.

Since then, well no history lesson is necessary. We all know what bizarre pathways have taken the club from there to here. There was the Aguero title winner of course. And the Yaya Toure semi-final decider that defeated ‘them’. And throughout David Silva has twinkled and schemed and even seven years on you have to pinch yourself that he’s doing so with a red rose and ship on his shirt.

And yet, and here is where I finally arrive at my point 600 words in, none of this delirium compares to what is presently being afforded to a fan-base I believe to be the most loyal and self-effacing around. It’s getting to the stage where it doesn’t even come close, which is utterly staggering given that we’re only really talking about six months of football where the best is surely still to come.

Naturally, I am not for an instant diminishing the achievements from seasons past or indeed the emotions they elicited. There have been adventures experienced that words can’t get within a hundred miles of. Yet all of it, from 2008’s takeover onwards, has been a daydream realised. Admittedly it was an extreme daydream, the kind you feel a hot flush of embarrassment even for daring to conjure up, but a surreal dream come true nonetheless.

This though, these past few months, has been beyond the broad horizon of imagination. It’s too far-fetched to have even been conceived at a bus stop to whittle away the wait. So mesmerizing has been the standard of football that it’s redefined a base feeling for me in that I previously believed pride to be sedentary: you sit back and take pride in your work; you watch your niece boss her netball match and relax into your seat in familial satisfaction.
Nobody told me that such vicarious gratification could be so exhilarating; that it courses through the veins and makes you feel a full foot taller; that the joy it prompts spills across other, unrelated facets of your life.

In fact, so overwhelming has been the brilliance that at times it is difficult to relate to the wonderment or make sense of it. In isolation, let’s say while watching a Champions League away game on television alone, it can be hard to conflate this extraordinary eleven to Manchester City beyond the name on the badge and the hue of their shirts. But then you attend the next game and see the old faces and smell the old smells and roll your eyes at the familiar moaning comments, and you traipse up the spirals and take in a team executing the most stylish, arrogant, beautiful football you’ve ever seen in the flesh, and you look down and see Pep Guardiola in the technical area box-shaping his arms maniacally and your mind swims and is blown all at the same time.

The jaw-dropping performances have been analysed to death and the records they have broken have been well documented and the praise has lavished down from all quarters but that is all viewed from a step back. When immersed in a game, part of it, feeling it, as a Blue that is something else entirely and I’m sure there is a word hidden away in some obscure thesaurus that perfectly encapsulates what it’s been like but that word eludes me and probably always will.

I love this team. I love it more than I’ve ever loved a Manchester City team and I feel no betrayal when I write that towards my childhood self who idolised the players as only a child can. The individuals who are collectively creating masterpieces on a weekly basis have deep reserves of belief in a principled cause and are decent, cool-as-f*** and likeable to boot. And our leader is Pep.

This Christmas I will be watching my team and once again the realisation will dawn that this is our plateau now. This is who we are. There are few greater gifts in the world than that.

The penultimate paragraph says it all really.  We should remember that when we say so and so is playing "shit" etc.  None of them are - and collectively they are creating masterpieces.  Soak it in.  Our leader is Pep.

Good read yet again and as a fan for 52 years I can relate to what was written. I too agree with you wensdi that when so & so is playing shit it is the team that collectively gets the result & that everyone can have an off day.

One thing I have noticed recently is how together the squad is not just the 11 that go out onto the field. Why is it that rival fans & the lazy journalists of which there are many like to point out aguero is unhappy pep has dropped him blah blah blah... 

Er no Sergio  isn't unhappy, we have a number of games coming up keeping players fresh is important so rotation is a very important part of managing the team & keeping the balance.

Agree...it's a media agenda that started last summer when we bought Jesus. It's only stopped when Aguero was scoring and in the team...then starts again when he gets rested.

Pathetic, media agenda, just like the whole 'unbeaten run'...City and it's fans aren't talking about this, ONLY THE MEDIA.