RED LETTER DAY FOR CITY AS IT WELCOMES CONQUERING HEROES
Oh wherefore come ye forth in triumph from the North, With
your hands and your feet and your raiment all red?
- Lord Macaulay, The Battle of Naseby
Only a Rip van Winkle (or maybe a City fan) would have dared
ask the poet's question in Manchester last night, as the
city went simply red to welcome home its triple cup winners.
Balancing the fat, silver tableware on the top railing of
their double decker, Fergie and his buddies threaded a seven-
mile victory parade through cheering lines of supporters all
the way from Sale's comfy suburbs to the rebuilt bomb sites
by the cathedral.
The roars went off register when the bus suddenly left the
Manchester A-Z map on to "Sir Alex Ferguson Way", a
previously unknown street by the club's Old Trafford ground
marked with suspiciously new signs. "We had to do something
dramatic," said Danny, one of the urban guerrillas
responsible. "The other idea was to feed red food to the
police horses so we'd get celebration droppings, but that
was beyond even our powers."
The bus, marked Excursion and with the route-number 2-1 in
tribute to the stylish, scarcely credible United goals in
the final minutes against Bayern Munich, crept at walking
pace much of the way to allow as many direct grins, waves
and blown kisses as possible between players and almost
delirious fans.
Dwight Yorke waved a Churchillian cigar, and team officials,
who had earlier voiced doubts about an official welcome
because of drunken violence after last week's FA Cup
victory, were grinning from ear to ear. As well as the
universal "Sir" Alex, titles were showered on players all
the way from banners and placards - Becks for King, Prince
Schmeichel Please Stay - along with justified gloating about
a sultry north-western afternoon when you could have made a
Spanish omelette on the pavement outside Trafford town hall.
"They've brought Barcelona with them," said Peter Balmforth,
sprucing up the red hot pokers planted as the council's
contribution to Manchester's monochrome culture.
"Everything's going right for Manchester all at once."
The sense of a city on top spread well beyond the long
scarlet snake approaching half a million people and taking
the bus over two hours to pass to backwaters such as Ceylon
Street, half a terrace standing like broken red teeth off
Oldham Road.
Renee Drinkwater's inflatable FA Cup in front of her nets
and banner slung between bedroom windows had a special
significance; pointing over a wall graffiti'd with MUFCs at
a mess of lank grass, she said: "That's where the Loco Sheds
lads first played."
Nicknamed the Heathens, the Loco Sheds XI were the first Man
United, billed as the Newton Heath Lancashire and Yorkshire
Railway FC until they almost went bankrupt in 1902, and a
rescue consortium of Manchester businessmen demanded a
snappier name.
Across Oldham Road, most of the streets on the Heathfield
estate are named after Busby Babes who died in the Munich
air disaster of 1958. "The whole street was down on its
knees praying before injury time," said Mrs Drinkwater,
whose five sons were off to town, with Red Devil horns and
scarves, to join the mile-long street party filling
Deansgate from side to side.
Across the railway sidings, a plaque marks the site of the
first Man U clubhouse on the wall of Moxton Brook
comprehensive, where classes and GCSEs went ahead though
everyone was fretting to get down to town. In the city
centre, grown-up self-discipline had collapsed a lot earlier
and red shirts began to outnumber suits by 4pm.
It was not an evening of universal bliss, however, and
anyone wanting relief from crimson, carmine, magenta and the
rest only had to go to Maine Road for a dose of blue. Buying
tickets for Man City's crucial playoff at Wembley for a
first division place, Graham Hudson said: "I hate it, I hate
it."
His friend, Phil Bolton, tried to be more charitable "At
least the cups are coming to Manchester" but they roared off
anyway with blue Man City flags through their sunroof, to
annoy as many Reds fans as they could find.
your hands and your feet and your raiment all red?
- Lord Macaulay, The Battle of Naseby
Only a Rip van Winkle (or maybe a City fan) would have dared
ask the poet's question in Manchester last night, as the
city went simply red to welcome home its triple cup winners.
Balancing the fat, silver tableware on the top railing of
their double decker, Fergie and his buddies threaded a seven-
mile victory parade through cheering lines of supporters all
the way from Sale's comfy suburbs to the rebuilt bomb sites
by the cathedral.
The roars went off register when the bus suddenly left the
Manchester A-Z map on to "Sir Alex Ferguson Way", a
previously unknown street by the club's Old Trafford ground
marked with suspiciously new signs. "We had to do something
dramatic," said Danny, one of the urban guerrillas
responsible. "The other idea was to feed red food to the
police horses so we'd get celebration droppings, but that
was beyond even our powers."
The bus, marked Excursion and with the route-number 2-1 in
tribute to the stylish, scarcely credible United goals in
the final minutes against Bayern Munich, crept at walking
pace much of the way to allow as many direct grins, waves
and blown kisses as possible between players and almost
delirious fans.
Dwight Yorke waved a Churchillian cigar, and team officials,
who had earlier voiced doubts about an official welcome
because of drunken violence after last week's FA Cup
victory, were grinning from ear to ear. As well as the
universal "Sir" Alex, titles were showered on players all
the way from banners and placards - Becks for King, Prince
Schmeichel Please Stay - along with justified gloating about
a sultry north-western afternoon when you could have made a
Spanish omelette on the pavement outside Trafford town hall.
"They've brought Barcelona with them," said Peter Balmforth,
sprucing up the red hot pokers planted as the council's
contribution to Manchester's monochrome culture.
"Everything's going right for Manchester all at once."
The sense of a city on top spread well beyond the long
scarlet snake approaching half a million people and taking
the bus over two hours to pass to backwaters such as Ceylon
Street, half a terrace standing like broken red teeth off
Oldham Road.
Renee Drinkwater's inflatable FA Cup in front of her nets
and banner slung between bedroom windows had a special
significance; pointing over a wall graffiti'd with MUFCs at
a mess of lank grass, she said: "That's where the Loco Sheds
lads first played."
Nicknamed the Heathens, the Loco Sheds XI were the first Man
United, billed as the Newton Heath Lancashire and Yorkshire
Railway FC until they almost went bankrupt in 1902, and a
rescue consortium of Manchester businessmen demanded a
snappier name.
Across Oldham Road, most of the streets on the Heathfield
estate are named after Busby Babes who died in the Munich
air disaster of 1958. "The whole street was down on its
knees praying before injury time," said Mrs Drinkwater,
whose five sons were off to town, with Red Devil horns and
scarves, to join the mile-long street party filling
Deansgate from side to side.
Across the railway sidings, a plaque marks the site of the
first Man U clubhouse on the wall of Moxton Brook
comprehensive, where classes and GCSEs went ahead though
everyone was fretting to get down to town. In the city
centre, grown-up self-discipline had collapsed a lot earlier
and red shirts began to outnumber suits by 4pm.
It was not an evening of universal bliss, however, and
anyone wanting relief from crimson, carmine, magenta and the
rest only had to go to Maine Road for a dose of blue. Buying
tickets for Man City's crucial playoff at Wembley for a
first division place, Graham Hudson said: "I hate it, I hate
it."
His friend, Phil Bolton, tried to be more charitable "At
least the cups are coming to Manchester" but they roared off
anyway with blue Man City flags through their sunroof, to
annoy as many Reds fans as they could find.