Being a Manchester City fan.

I knew what would happen tonight. I just knew. Even about a week ago I knew what the result was going to be. As soon as Manchester City were paired up with Chesterfield in the "Whatever Name We Are Giving the League Cup This Season" Cup, I just knew that we would lose. It is what you come to expect after over 30 years as a fan.

I am not from Manchester and have only visited the City on a few occasions in my life, but I became a true blue fan in the early 70's from watching such genius' like Colin Bell, Francis Lee, Mike Sumerbee, Neil Young, Joe Corrigan and so many other legends of the game performing for the Sky Blues and actually winning silverware. Since 1976 the Mancester City trophy cabinet has been as empty as a hermit's address book. But still I follow, still I hope, still I yearn that one day we will rise again to the dizzy heights enjoyed by Joe Mercer and Malcolm Allison's reign as Manager and Coach. But nights, like tonight, really stretch your loyalty to it's very limits.

I think what pisses me off more than anything else is the crushing inevitability of it all. We were so obviously going to lose to Chesterfield this evening that we might has well have sent a telegram to the management of Chesterfield FC and just said something like "clearly you are going to stuff us, so we won't bother popping over this evening, we'll just sit in and have a cup of cocoa and an early night."

I personally have nothing against Stuart Pearce as a human being and as a footballer. One of the greatest left backs this country has ever produced and one of the hardest men ever to have played professiona football. But a manager...? I am beginning to have my doubts. After his initial honeymoon period, when City won a few games and people even began talking him up as a possible future England manager, things have gone from bad, to worse, to awful, to fucking dreadful. The one game we have won this season, at home to Arsenal, was the luckiest win you have ever seen. They pulverised us! They should have stuck about seven past us. But with Arsenal seemingly intent on actually walking the ball into our net, we rode our luck and got away with it. But not since. We needed someone like Martin O'Neill in charge. About the only bright spot of last season's woeful campaign was the early season goalscoring of the evergreen Andy Cole. Now, I know he was an ex-rag and almost due to draw his pension, but he had guile and he knew where the back of the net was. So why did we let him go off to Harry Redknapp's south coast pensioners club where all he is going to do there is warm the bench every week? Who have we got up front now? Paul Dickov. For Christ's sake. Paul Dickov used to struggle to score for us when we were in the old Second Division, why have we got him now when he is clearly past whatever peak he might have had, and couldn't hit the backside of a cow with a banjo? Darius Vassell? Darius "toe-poke-Tom" Vassell, quick, direct, unaware of anyone around him and stupid. Bernardo Corradi? Has failed to score or set the world alight wherever he has played, so he should fit in a treat at Eastlands. Georgios Samaras. I have a grudging respect for Samaras, not particularly for his footballing skills, but anyone prepared to walk around Manchester with that sort of hair cut must be a tough man.

We need some things urgently:

1. A defender. The last decent commanding central defender we had was Daniel van Buyten, but Kevin Keegan elected to let him go back to Hamburg and replaced him with...? Ben Thatcher. Enough said really.
2. A creative midfielder. We haven't had someone who can unlock an opposing team's defence since Ali Benarbia took his walking frame and false teeth off to the footballer's graveyard of Qatar.
3. A striker. Someone like Andy Cole. Someone who knows where the back of the net is and has more than one brain cell.
4. Another manager. Sorry Stuart. You are a lovely lovely man, but you are out of your depth and sinking fast.

One of my favourite stories involving a City fan and the depths to which we are taken by this club, was of some years back, when City were skulking in the depths of the old 2nd Dvision. We played Stockport County at Maine Road and were getting caned 2-0. A third Stockport goal finished the match and there was a minor pitch invasion by disgruntled City fans. One man, throughly sickened by what he was watching, marched across the pitch, stood in front of the Directors box, took his season ticket from his pocket, tore it up in a very theatrical way and threw it to the turf, before storming out the ground vowing never to return. Two days later, through the post an anonymous letter arrives at this City fan's house. Inside is his season ticket, lovingly selotaped back together with a note attached reading: "If we have to suffer it, so do you!"

I am thoroughly sick and tired of supporting Manchester City and I would like them confined to Room 101 so I can get on with my life and support another team that might do well for a change. Like fucking Chesterfield.