BBC SPORT | Football | Memories of a Cockney Red



By Rob Bonnet BBC Sport

I've been watching There's Only One Manchester United, BBC One's account of the club's 100 years.

And very watchable it was too.

A celebration of achievement and talent, which made no apologies for glossing the 25 barren years that followed 1967 and the Moneybags United themes of the current era.

Which is why it will have got right up the noses of the "Stand Up if you Hate Man U" brigade.

Equally, it reminded me why I was crazy for United and not my local side Crystal Palace in the Swinging Sixties.

You've got to pay at the turnstile and not via your tv smart card to call yourself a supporter

Following Best, Law and Charlton felt like following football itself, a glorious game of excitement, glamour and unpredictability, where being present for the drama seemed just as important as the result.

Don't misunderstand. A win was good, very good. And defeat was adolescent-sulk-inducingly bad.

But while the highlight was the Wembley European Cup Final of 1968, a five-shilling ticket crumpled in my hand as extra-time delivered that win over Benfica , I didn't feel like a glory-seeker.

In truth, United could equally dismay and frustrate.

Matt Busby's simple message about "simply scoring more than the opposition" sometimes got the arithmetic wrong.

George Best in action for Manchester United
Best summed up United's attraction
There was nothing worse than four hours back down the M1 after a 5-4 defeat at Sheffield Wednesday.

And there was something tantalisingly mysterious and elusive about Manchester and United when glimpsed from the London suburbs in those days of fuzzy black-and-white tv pictures and patchy communications.

The southern editions of the newspapers rarely had reports or pictures of games at Old Trafford.

Hungry for the slightest tit-bit, I would watch Coronation Street, waiting for a guest appearance from George Best at the Rovers Return (when he was probably already up west in Tramp!).

The best I got was Ken Barlow returning from a match with a red-and-white scarf round his neck.

I'd seen United in London several times (usually beaten) before my first visit to Old Trafford for a 3-0 win over West Ham.

Manchester United manager Matt Busby displays the European Cup
The 1968 triumph was United's defining moment
The goals all came in the first half.

After the break, George Best was showboating. I swear he bounced the ball on his thigh for fully fifty yards as he moved from United's half towards the West Ham penalty area.

It didn't result in a goal, but it didn't matter. Call it entertainment, call it arrogance. It was United.

Today, I deny I'm a United fan - and not because it's a footballing sin to be a glory-seeking Cockney Red.

It's simply true. I don't go to watch them.

Rightly or wrongly, I say you've got to pay at the turnstile and not via your tv smart card to call yourself a supporter.

I love the fabulous football they can play. They remain one of the great clubs of the world.

But for those of us who remember The King as Law, not Cantona, something - strangely - was lost once Sir Matt had his hands on the European Cup.

A further nobility of purpose perhaps, replaced now by something more tangibly measured on the plc's balance sheet?

Call me an old romantic, but supporting United ain't what it used to be.

Just like nostalgia.


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