Hugh Doyle: My thirteen-year-old son was sobbing uncontrollably and I was trying to hold back my tears (unsuccessfully) as we watched the match in the Dover Castle pub in Cheetham Hill. This is one of the unique pubs whose landlady is red and landlord is blue with the walls adorned with photos of both teams. The red contingent were in the bar playing pool and mocking the boys in the lounge glued to the big screen. It was unbearable for the blues until Nicky Weaver pulled off that penalty save and made me feel 10 feet tall with my heart pounding, tears of joy streaming down my face and my son spilling my beer as he jumped around like a Tasmanian devil, knocking into tables left, right and Chelsea. I truly believe that this will act as the catalyst to enable the phoenix to rise and once again soar with the eagles. Oh! I forgot to say, I just love, love, love our club with all my heart.
Phil Heally: What a result. I wanted to leave the pub after that Gills goal, then even more so after the second, but thanks to my stubborn southern girlfriend who wouldn’t drink up for some unknown reason, we were still there to witness that miracle. So I’d just like to say that Joe should be given a big thanks as he called the club ‘We’ from the very first press conference announcing his arrival with true pride and a definite show of love for the club.
John Howes: I was on holiday in Cornwall – booked 12 months before. I could not get it on TV, but I heard it on radio – sort of. Anyone who has been to the Cornwall coast knows how undulating it is. At the top of the cliffs, radio reception is great. At the bottom of the valley, there is no reception. At the top of the valley, it was 0–0 with 15 minutes to play. Down in the valley – no reception. At the top of the next valley we were 2–0 down. By the next valley it was full-time. I was in a foul mood. I would not watch TV or buy a paper. The following day was my birthday. That evening, it was only a chance remark from someone across the room that indicated that we had won on the day. Of course I didn’t believe it and it was not until someone showed me a paper with the match report that I would accept it. I must have read the report about 30 times.
Tony Hulme: For all those who were not there, for all those who left early – don’t feel bad. I was there, I did not leave, but I did not see one of our goals. When we were 2–0 down, I buried my head into my hands, held my crucifix and prayed. I prayed to God, I prayed to my mother (she had died several months earlier). I prayed so hard that my hands had the imprint of my cross. I did not see any of the goals until later that night (thanks, Paul, aka ChinnorBLU for tapping it). My mum came through again! She must have sneaked onto the pitch and turned off the ref’s watch (so that’s where the five minutes came from). The letters from people telling how they had gone to the game with their father/mother/ brothers/sisters all touched me, because I was there with the two people I love more than anyone, my girlfriend and my mum. What more can a blue boy want!
Ian Pilkington: These things stick vividly in my mind . . . the eruption of noise at Dickov’s goal, the applause given to Edghill as he strode forward to take a penalty (the only City player to receive such a clap), the noise (absolutely deafening) as Gillingham players approached for penalties, the rendition of ‘Blue Moon’ at the end. To the pub afterwards, more singing and dancing around restaurants and bars in West Hampstead, a conga in Trafalgar Square at 3 a.m. and back to the hotel for the first editions of Monday’s newspapers. Best achievement of the weekend has to be the confirmation that my nephew will be the fourth generation of Blues in the family. Still reeling from the shock of it all . . . bring on Blackburn, Stockport and all. I know I am, I’m sure I am, I’m City till I die.
David Gordon: All I can add is that I will never, ever forget that moment when we equalised. If I live to be 90, I’m sure I’ll be shouting, ‘Paul Dickov’ at the wall in my nursing home. What I can say is that City fans deserved the victory. The supporters I met at Wembley were among the nicest people I have ever come across. I know it sounds strange, but I feel we earned that day and that it somehow made the last few years worthwhile. This is what football is all about. There is no comparison with what United fans went through with the Bayern match. They only needed one goal to get back into it and they also had the small matter of a domestic double as consolation. We were dead and buried and we had absolutely nothing to fall back on – and we still came back. You have to experience real lows to reach the heights we did at Wembley. No one but City fans will ever know what it felt like.
Steve Nolan: I was one of those City fans who watched the wonder of Wembley from the Gillingham end. Apart from the obvious disadvantages of not being able to muster much of a chorus for ‘Blue Moon’, it was not as bad as I thought it would be. Most of the Gillingham fans had never been to a match before so the atmosphere was fairly light-hearted among the grannies, very young kids with colouring books on their laps and French exchange students based in Kent. I actually knew more of the Gills players than most of the people around me. Many thanks to the players for spotting us at the wrong end of the ground and coming up there to show off the trophy on the lap of honour.
Malcolm Plaiter: As an old campaigner, with three minutes remaining, I left. Years of experience taught me to ignore the consolation goal which was scored as I was on my way out of the door. Successive disappointments failed to convince me to return to the ground when I knew we had equalised. I draw consolation from knowing that I was the jinx and City triumphed because of my absence, so you can all thank me.
John Stewart: Being a City fan is all about tradition, birthright, tears of torment and joy. A feeling of belonging to something you can’t just join because they’ve won something. Total commitment through thick and thin.
Carol Darvill: The emotion was definitely getting to me. Up came Butters – I think it was – and Nick saved again. I burst into tears, I am not ashamed to say I sobbed my heart out on Maggie’s shoulder. I know I vowed after Halifax in ’79 I would never cry at a football match again, but sod it! Sunday was a one-off roller-coaster ride of emotions and I don’t think for one moment that I was the only one in tears at the end. More hugging and kissing took place, although the looks of disbelief on people’s faces will stick with me for years to come. My husband picked me up from Maine Road at the end of the night and we drove home. It was my birthday on the 25th and he’d put a bottle of champagne in the fridge which we didn’t get round to drinking, but the bottle was opened at midnight and we celebrated in style! Thanks for the birthday present boys! Monday I wore my laser blue shirt whilst driving around (the citrus was finally in the wash!!) and more horns were honked and people waved at me!
Pat Poynton: Things I will never forget about Wembley 30 May 1999 – the little boy two rows behind us sobbing uncontrollably; grown men sitting staring into space with tears in their eyes; my poor 15-year-old daughter Allegra, saying bitterly and tearfully, ‘Why did you make me support such a horrible football team?’ – within a few minutes, she had her answer; the muted cheer which accompanied Horlock’s goal; then, unbelievably, the roar from inside; Weaver’s celebrations (surely one of the maddest, craziest in Wembley history – at one point a steward tried to rugby tackle him, perhaps thinking he was a supporter); the tannoy shutting up for once to allow an unaccompanied, spine-tingling chorus of ‘Blue Moon’; the tiny bands of brave City fans left exposed in the Gills end, getting their own visit from the players; the strange, unfamiliar feeling of having seen perhaps a new Manchester City, a team that doesn’t keel over and die when someone scores against them, a team that other teams might actually be afraid of, a team that actually wants to live up to its supporters hopes and expectations instead of being intimidated by them, and perhaps, as Churchill once said in a different context, the end of the beginning.
David Kilroy: The last week has driven home to me the reason why I’ll always be blue. Only people who have truly lived through such awful times can actually share more true emotion at finishing third in Division Two than was shown by those winning the treble.
David Buxton: Horlock’s well-struck shot raised a wan smile, bu
t Dickov’s excellent equaliser had me leaping at least two feet into the air, arms outstretched and a yell echoing round New Moston. Behaviour that was repeated seven times during the penalty shoot-out (eight times, if I’m honest, as I thought Dickov’s penalty was in!). I’m sure I caught my mother-in-law giving me some strange looks during the rest of our stay, and suspect that things will never be quite the same again. On the other hand, I might well go there to watch next season’s play-offs . . .
Jim Parson: I was on a plane the whole bloody time. I’d asked Emma (my wife) to leave a message on the mobile for when I landed in Beirut. As soon as I got a signal, there was the message icon. I got through and rather than hearing her voice telling me the score all I could hear was Radio Five Live saying it had gone to penalties. For the next ten minutes the whole of the baggage hall and customs at Beirut airport was able to witness a stange Englishman with a mobile clutched to his head going through the agony and the ecstasy of the whole thing via the commentary! Suprisingly I wasn’t strip searched or even stopped by customs despite the peculiar behaviour.
Elaine Clegg: Having spent three days away from home, the first thing I did when I got back (even before I unloaded the car) was to put on the video of the game and revel in the sheer blissfulness that overwhelms me when I watch it – this is surely better than taking drugs and I’m truly addicted!
Jo Lakeland: All I can say, Joe Royle, is get your bleeding act together and win these games earlier in the season, then my life can be smoother and I can come off the Valium.
Ken Corfield: Around 2 p.m. on Sunday at the top of Wembley Way you might have noticed a big white sign that said ‘Came from New York – Tickets Needed’ with the ‘needed’ replaced by ‘GOT!’ Hope it made you smile. It made a lot of Gillingham fans laugh. Daft sods aren’t laughing now!
Andrea Hanlon: We met Gerard Wiekens’s father-in-law and his fellow travellers on the tube after the match. He couldn’t speak a word of English but got his City bobble-hat out of his pocket when we got on our laser blue and smiled and smiled – hilarious.
Martin Farmer: Forget United, this was the real thing. Grit, determination and a will to succeed. The players could see how much we as fans needed that victory, and I only see things getting better and better. We should not worry about many teams in Division One if we never say die like that.
Chris Cobb: Why do women hate footballers? They do nothing for 90 minutes, put it in twice and think they’re the best in the world.
Sue Wallace: Nine months, and then off to Wembley to deliver our new ‘baby’ – promotion. Our neighbour had just had triplets (the treble), with every assistance that money could bribe, er, buy. The bitch paraded her offspring like no one’s ever had one before! Well I have, but they’re grown up now, and I’ve been down on my luck.
A difficult pregnancy – I almost lost it around Christmas time – followed by a long labour, making little progress. Then Gillingham scored. ‘Your baby’s distressed – you must push harder,’ implored the midwife. Gillingham scored again. Such agony, but I could hear my husband calling, ‘Come on City!’ One more big push, I didn’t care if it killed me – Horlock’s goal! Gulping the gas and air I rode the pain for another desperate effort. Dickov’s goal! ‘I can see the head!’ cried the midwife and, through my tears, the sound of my old man’s voice gave me the strength to continue, ‘Come on City!’
The penalty shoot-out. Push. Push. HEAVE! WE’VE DONE IT!!!! Baby’s first cry (the roar of the City faithful); everyone hugging each other; and Manchester City, smiling, the pain forgotten. We left Wembley in joyful silence.
John Wallace: I have watched City, man and boy, at Wembley, in Europe, in relegation and promotion battles, but I have never experienced such tension at a football match as I did against Gillingham. The magnitude of the game was lost on no one. At 2–0 down, the tension finally got to me. My 25 years of following the Blues suddenly seemed to make no sense and for the first time ever I began to question my unconditional love for the club. Despite the sheer unadulterated joy of what followed in injury time and penalties, something inside me changed that day. Maybe it was the football equivalent of ‘coming of age’, who can say. All I know is that as a result, football, and Manchester City, seem just that little bit less important than they used to.
Blue Moon: Down Among The Dead Men With Manchester City Page 23