From Maine Road to China

A draft from "Where's The Money Gone - One Fan's Football Finance Odyssey"

Sergio Aguero leans back with a huge grin as a he takes a selfie, against the background of Manchester City’s gleaming new Academy stadium – a ground for youth players that would put many in the Football League to shame.

As players warm up on the green turf behind him, the then UK Prime Minister David Cameron edges into shot over his left shoulder, beaming like a cheeky photo bomber.

On Aguero’s right hand side, and looking rather more composed, is China’s President Xi Jinping.

It’s October 23, 2015 and Xi is in town to visit the sprawling Etihad campus which has turned acres of bedraggled suburban wasteland into prime football real estate.

Five weeks later, Chinese consortium CMC would announce a £265million investment in Manchester City’s parent company, the City Football Group, which also owns clubs in New York and Melbourne, as well as having a stake in a Japanese team Yokohama F Marinos.

For supporters of my age, it’s almost impossible to comprehend the notion that City are at the centre of a global franchise.

Their old stadium at Maine Road was nestled in the bosom of a working-class inner-city estate, whose terraced houses formed a fiercely protective ring around their local club.

In the late 70’s, that made it an intimidating place.  My first visit there was to see Albion in an FA Cup 3rd Round tie in January 1977.

Rather than being allocated a traditional away ‘end’, Baggies supporters were given our own designated ‘pen’ at the back of The Kippax, a huge terrace which, like Birmingham City’s Kop, ran down one entire side of the pitch.

Me and my schoolmate Rob Crawford arrived not long after the turnstiles opened and quickly realised there were City fans standing directly in front of our section and down both sides too.

We were surrounded on three sides.  All that separated us from our rivals was a line of thin metal railings.

We made our way to the front of our area where a City fan was waiting by the fence to welcome us.  He peered through the bars, narrowed his eyes and said in a slow Manc drawl, “You’re gonna diiiiiieeeee”.

We swiftly retreated towards the safety of the back wall, and watched an entertaining game which finished 1-1 (Willie Johnston for the Baggies, Brian Kidd for City). Phew! We didn’t win. Less chance of getting our heads kicked in.

I suggested we leave three or four minutes before full time. 

“To avoid any trouble” as I explained to Rob.

As we funnelled through the exit doors amongst a throng of departing Albion fans, we were jolted by the sound of shattering glass, angry shouting and the pounding of feet running off in all directions.  We had walked into an ambush of bricks and bottles.

In the melee that followed, I saw one Baggies supporter staggering down the street with blood pouring from a gash to his forehead. 

Rob and I were separated and as I roamed the backstreets of Moss Side, a City youth asked me if I knew the time. This was the traditional way of sussing out your accent to discover if you were a local. 

If you weren’t, you might well be in for a beating.

Fortunately, I’d been schooled by my encounter in the stadium, and copying the broad Manc accent – and attitude – I’d heard earlier, I looked the kid in the eye and drawled “Nah. I haven’t got a fookin’ watch have ah?”

I doubt if he was fooled by my accent, but obviously thought my acting was worthy of a free pass and let me go on my way.

Four decades on, football – and City – had moved on. Violence in and around our grounds hasn’t been entirely eliminated, but football has become a relatively safe environment, where away fans can generally show their colours without fear of a beating.

And great clubs like Manchester City have become spokes in the wheel of international conglomerates seeking either to make money or sportswash the reputations of grubby oil states. Sometimes both.

The visit of President Xi to the Etihad campus marked the high tide of Chinese involvement English sporting life.