Just Man City Blogs

VIDEO – Nike Commercial Stuns Football Worls

EURO 2012 highlights — Fri, 18 May 2012 20:00:00 +0000

The new Nike commercial managed to stun the football world with an amazing role play which finds the most important world football players gathered on the same pitch.

Where Is Hazard Going To Go?

EURO 2012 highlights — Fri, 18 May 2012 19:00:54 +0000

The 21-year-old Belgian international attacking midfielder Eden Hazard who is currently with Lille, confirmed that he is leaving France and heading for England. He will also unveil soon where he will be playing next season.

Eden Hazard confirmed that he will move to England, but it is still unknown whether it would be Arsenal, United or City where he’s going to end up. United and champions City are both interested in him after a great season in which the attacking midfielder was named the French Player of the Year for the second season in a row. Arsenal have been tracking him for over two seasons now, but Wenger’s lack of action gave the Manchester duo time to take notice and the Gunners might miss the transfer

Hazard spoke to Sky Sports saying, “I think I have done what I wanted to do in France,” He also said, “I have to move elsewhere and show my qualities and I think I am ready for a new challenge. I have loved every minute of playing for Lille, but I want a new challenge. I have always said, I love the Premier League and that’s still the case.”

Given the reports from France, it can be said that City are favorites to land Hazard in a £35million, but United and Arsenal are still in the fight.

Arsenal Target Belhanda In No Rush To Decide Future

C.M. — Fri, 18 May 2012 17:06:11 +0000

French league leaders Montepellier’s rising star Younes Belhanda has revealed that he has no qualms over waiting till the end of season to decide whether he wishes to stay put, or seek a move away from France.

The young Moroccan has had an impressive season in midfield for the French outfit, and has been one of the reasons behind Montepellier’s rise to the top this term.

The 22-year old has been tracked by a host of top clubs with the likes of Arsenal, Manchester City and Inter Milan being strongly linked with the playmaker. Arsenal boss Arsene Wenger is believed to have heavily scouted the midfield gem, and was thought to be making a bid for him in the summer.

However, Belhanda insists that his focus now is completely on helping Montepellier get over the line and clinch the league title. Speaking to Sky Sports, he said, ”It is a great honour to be voted as the best young player in a league full of young talents,”

“I am happy, but my future is to help Montpellier win the league,”

“At the end of the season we will sit down with the president and decide what to do.”

All Together Now

tony4mcfc — Fri, 18 May 2012 13:35:00 +0000

Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, Kun Aguero.

Come on everyone, join in!

City’s Victory Will Be Backbone To Potential Dynasty

Ollie Wilson — Fri, 18 May 2012 11:45:25 +0000

Manchester City’s 2011/12 title win may be one of the most emphatic ends to a season since Michael Thomas strike home a 90^th minute league title winner against Liverpool in 1989.

It may have been too close for some City fans but the way in which Mancini’s side won the title could be the first step to winning one of football’s biggest mental battles.

The idea that “what ever happens, we’re never out of the fight.”

City Sing To Touré Brothers

Ollie Wilson — Fri, 18 May 2012 11:22:28 +0000

In the eruption of delight that swept across Manchester after last Sunday’s Premier League triumph City’s fans have added another terrace song to add to their already vast repertoire.

Caught on camera in The Banks pub on Sunday night the amassed Blue Army began to break into a remix version of the classic 90’s hit No Limit by 2 Unlimited.

Roberto Mancini: The Story Of City’s Success

Ollie Wilson — Fri, 18 May 2012 11:17:05 +0000

Manchester City’s title win has been scorned by many since their incredible victory against Queens Park Ranger last Sunday.

Some have claimed it was bought after Sheikh Mansour pumped around £900m of investment into the club since 2008.

Others have pointed a finger towards Carlos Tevez, the man who Roberto Mancini once said would never again play for City, after his absence from the team for five months as well as the questionable R.I.P Fergie banner he displayed from the top of the open-top bus.

City Don’t Need To Spend To Create Dynasty

Ollie Wilson — Thu, 17 May 2012 17:56:47 +0000

It’s been announced today that Roberto Mancini has another shopping list ready for a summer of spending.

This is nothing out of the ordinary, especially as City could do with more depth and cover in its back-four and every couple of days we hear a new murmurs from Yaya Toure that he wants to head back to Barca.

Mancini though, should pause for thought this summer before he thinks about opening the purse strings and spending big again on new players for his squad.

Barry Eyeing Further City Trophy Success

Alex Corcoran — Thu, 17 May 2012 15:37:00 +0000

The celebrations surrounding Manchester City’s Premier League title win are finally starting to slow. All eyes will now turn to the future, with midfielder, Gareth Barry, predicting more glory and more trophies to come over the next few years.

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The England midfielder joined City from Aston Villa three years ago, after 12 years at the Midlands club, during which he twice rejected Liverpool’s advances. Barry was publicly criticised for the move, as he had previously stated a desire to play in the Champions League.

He cited a desire for a “new challenge” as the impetus for joining City, but the move turned out correct for him, as, last season, he lifted the FA Cup and achieved his dream of playing in the Champions League. In 2011/12, it got even better, as the Citizens pipped their rivals, Manchester United, to win the Premier League title.

It was City’s first league title for 44 years, and Barry reckons that winning the Premier League for the first time will make everyone around the club “even hungrier” to win it again, something he predicts will happen sooner rather than later.

“I believed the people who told me this club was going places, and the type of player they were going to sign”, said the 30-year-old. I just thought it was the right decision, and that is how it has turned out. And, by the end of my contract, I am sure there will be even more trophies too."

It is likely that, despite winning the Premier League title with a squad laden with stars, Roberto Mancini will go out and spend big again during the summer.

The likes of Eden Hazard, Robin van Persie, and Zlatan Ibrahimovic have been linked with moves to the Premier League champions, and the Italian manager himself has told the BBC that City “need to improve” if they want to compete in the Premier League and Champions League.

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City 3 – 2 QPR: Scoring Chance Index

Danny Pugsley — Thu, 17 May 2012 07:00:18 +0000

The shot totals from the win over QPR show that City outshot the visitors by a huge margin of 44-3. There is a growing sense however that shot total numbers on their own are of little use and can be very misleading; evidence of this being that only 15 of City's tally of 44 were on target.

One of the areas I have looked at in recent weeks is to devise a Scoring Chance Index (SCI), essentially to define what can be considered as a scoring chance. The background to this with the full definition can be found here.

What the numbers from Sunday showed that was whilst conceding three scoring chances, City (from a total of 44 shots) had 19. Of this total it was interesting to note that 15 came in the second half, with ten over the last 20 minutes and 5 over the last ten minutes.

From an individual perspective, David Silva was the player involved in the most (12), followed by Carlos Tevez (8) and Sergio Aguero (7). With City pushing hard as the game wore on, the contributions of the substitutes was equally telling: Nigel deJong, Edin Dzeko and Mario Balotelli contributing on ten between them (click to enlarge):

And here is the rolling total covering the United, Newcastle and QPR games (click to enlarge):

I'll look forward to expanding this further next season.

Hulk’s Move To Chelsea Blocked By Porto?

andreisnoopy — Thu, 17 May 2012 06:40:52 +0000

Hulk is one of the finest strikers in Europe and recently Porto chief Pinto da Costa has clearly said that they will not sell the Brazillian international, despite Chelsea’s interest.

A few days ago, Hulk and his agent made some statements about him leaving Porto and then this news came into play. Hulk has been consistent for the club and Porto also did well in recent time, so in spite of catching the interest of big clubs like Manchester City, Chelsea and Madrid, Porto will not sell Hulk in this transfer season.

The Brazilian striker has signed a contract last year with his current club which will end in 2016, and Porto also bought 40 percent of his rights, which means that the club will control his future.

Porto chief Pinto da Costa said on Porto TV, “I say today what I said a year ago, I will do everything to keep Hulk at Porto, I am not interested in selling him.”

He also said, “Hulk has a price and we are not going to negotiate and accept an inferior price to that of his clause, our desire is for him to be in our squad next season.”

But the chief also made a statement which shows that he might be able to let Hulk leave, because he added, “Hulk’s situation also depends on a lot of business that is interconnected with other players.”

The striker is in calm and he is leaving everything in the hands of his agent, trying to focus on other aspects. Chelsea have a chance to transfer him, but it’s not going to be easy for the Blues.

3 days after

KOTK Editor — Thu, 17 May 2012 00:42:00 +0000

3 days after

Still recovering!
Watched a bit of Soccer AM and sad to report that the bloke who plays Bates in Downton Abbey is a rag, so I won’t be watching that again.
D Day dawned. Read the Observer piece which was a bit mixed up, to be honest! We got to the ground at about one ish and strolled around City square fairly relaxed. Picked up a programme and was pleased with Gary’s interview with Sue and I though the photos were a tad embarrassing, but, I suppose a true reflection!
Game on, and a nervy start before Zab put us in front. Then I hoped that we’d be able to sit back and enjoy the day like we have done so many times this season. Not to be, of course. Joleon did a ‘Vonky/Savic’ for 1-1. Joey disgraced himself, after a clash with Carlos. Vinny had an uncustomary lapse for 1-2 with half an hour to go. It was gut wrenching and you knew you had to get over it and roar the lads on though we looked to have blown it until Fred got the sweets out. The 5 minutes went up to cries of “Gillingham” and Edin and Sergio did the business to give us the title and destroy the rags in the process. Felt a bit sorry for Micah who may have been brought on if Ya Ya hadn’t been injured, and that could hamper his England chances.
Fuckinell City.
Unbelievable scenes - on the pitch then strolled round the square cryin, huggin and a kissin with family, friends and strangers, then zipped into ‘Curry mile’ for an Indian with the Woodhouses and company (Steve and Andy sell the zine)
Fergie bleated that City beat ten men and had 5 minutes of added time, so we beat them at their own game. Monday then, and after endlessly watching repeats of the game and Merson’s ‘commentary’ Channel 4 asked me if I’d go to the ground – any excuse – finished up on the pitch re-enacting Sergio’s winner and the hour long interview was shown for about 5 seconds on the news.
Home and then back to town for the parade with the family again and how great to see the throngs of Blues of all ages in the square and along Deansgate. Tears shed as the bus went past then it was back home via MacDonalds.
Bit of fuss about Carlos holding up the placard with RIP Fergie on it – in the old days they used to carry coffins round with relevant words to that effect so no big deal really. Perhaps at some point the rags are gonna stop coming out with the utter crap we’ve been subjected to over the years (mind games my arse) and in particular this season?
Incidentally, despite the poor reviews we went to see ‘Dark Shadows’ last night which was brilliant. Any film which opens with ‘Nights in White Satin’ being played is on to a winner, not to mention an Alice Cooper appearance, though with some fairly obvious comments.
Still trying to come to terms with Sunday, and how Mancini didn’t get manager of the season is beyond me. But then….
Dave

When Will Richards Get The Call?

Ollie Wilson — Wed, 16 May 2012 21:53:01 +0000

Does not starting in your clubs last five games of the season mean you can’t represent your country.

That’s the question Micah Richards will be asking himself as he watches England take on France, Ukraine and Sweden from his armchair at home this summer as, once again, the Manchester City right-back has been overlooked for an England call up, despite having arguably his best season to date.

City Challenge Chelsea For Hulk’s Signature

EURO 2012 highlights — Wed, 16 May 2012 17:15:56 +0000

Chelsea and Manchester City are decided to try everything in their power in order to secure Porto’s star Hulk’s signature in the summer transfer window.

“I do not know yet what my future will be like. I have four years left on my contract and my agent is talking to Porto. If I have to leave, I will take this club in my heart. If I stay, I will be 100 per cent committed”. The 25-years-old Brazilian footballer’s words made the English champions and the Champions League finalists get prepared to make their move for his services, as Hulk has managed to shine again this season for Porto. According to rumors, Roman Abrahmovich has already started negotiating with Porto, but it’s a matter of time for the Skyeblues to make a bid too, despite the huge price tag the Portuguese have on Hulk’s head.

However, the striker doesn’t seem to have any special preference about his future, as he says: “I try not to focus too much on a transfer, although I hear what is being said – I know there are interested clubs, but I do my best for that not to affect me.”

Hulk, who has scored 48 goals for Porto during the last two seasons, is a high quality striker with great technique, pace and strength. Which English club do you think he will chose to move to if Porto will be ready to let him go?

Hodgson’s Euro 2012 Squad

sonics097 — Wed, 16 May 2012 16:19:16 +0000

Newly appointed England manager Roy Hodgson announced his 23-man squad today for the upcoming Euros in Poland & Ukraine. The squad is as follows:

GK: Joe Hart, Robert Green, John Ruddy
DEF: Ashley Cole, Leighton Baines, John Terry, Gary Cahill, Joleon Lescott, Glen Johnson, Phil Jones
MID: Ashley Young, Steven Gerrard, Frank Lampard, Theo Walcott, Gareth Barry, Scott Parker, James Milner, Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, Stewart Downing
FOR: Jermaine Defoe, Wayne Rooney, Andy Carroll, Danny Welbeck

Obviously it is great to see Hart, Lescott, Milner, and Barry make the squad as they deserve to. However, a number of Hodgson's selections seem puzzling. As far as City goes, Micah Richards and Adam Johnson should probably be there. Stewart Downing has had a nightmare season at Anfield with 0 goals and 0 assists, and yet he's been selected. I have more faith in the Blackburn chicken to patrol the left wing than I do in Downing. 18-year-old Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain has also somehow made the team despite having no prior international experience with the senior team. Others have been calling for Rio Ferdinand, Peter Crouch, and Daniel Sturridge to be included on the list, among others.

England face France, Sweden, and Ukraine in the group stage.
Thoughts? Who do you think doesn't deserve to be on the list, and who do you think got snubbed?
(Do check out the poll after the jump)

Poll

How far do you think England will get at Euro 2012?

City Stars Picked For England

Ollie Wilson — Wed, 16 May 2012 12:54:06 +0000

Joe Hart, Joleon Lescott, Gareth Barry and James Milner will all be representing England this summer at Euro 2012 in Poland and the Ukraine.

City 3 QPR 2: Worth Every Penny

Crouchy — Wed, 16 May 2012 12:48:00 +0000

I think it was in the final minutes of the Newcastle match, as it became evident that City would head into the last week of the season knowing that three points would be enough to win the League, that I decided to embark on one of the most foolhardy, yet most amazing adventures of my life.

In truth, it was an idea that I had much earlier in the season, when City were scoring for fun and running away with the title. If we were three points clear going into the last game against Queens Park Rangers, knowing that Premier League glory was assured, I started to squirrel away some cash with the intention of ducking over for the game and revel in the celebrations of the first title in 44 years. I wanted to make sure we were assured of winning the title first of course, as this is City we're talking about, if anything could go wrong...

I'm not proud to admit that part of me was internally cheering on Newcastle during that match. A draw or loss would mean that I would escape having to make that huge decision - one that I would most certainly regret no matter what I decided.

And as celebrations continued at 1am in the pub after the match, conversations got a bit more drunken and with the bravado that only comes after having several pints too many, announced my intentions to the rest of the group.

"Don't bother, it won't be worth it" they derided. "You're crazy, you won't do it".

Taking a four-figure bank loan to fly halfway around the world and back for just over a weekend is hardly the most fiscally responsible thing to do. But if I stayed at home and we won the league, then I'd regret it for the rest of my life. Especially after a fiasco with tickets at last years' FA Cup meant I didn't enter the ground until after the final whistle.

And you know what, it probably was crazy, but it would have been crazier not to. After all, how good would it be to say that you were then we we ~~were shit~~ won the league for the first time since 1968? Sure, you could be there the next year, or the year after that. But it wouldn't quite be the same, would it?

But for forty-odd minutes of that second half, my internal monologue was something different. Standing in position at the back of 116, arms folded, feeling physically ill, too stunned to sing, there was only one thought that kept running through my head.

'You are the biggest fucking wanker that has ever lived. You've come all this way, spent all this money, and we're fucking losing. You're going to be the biggest laughing stock on the internet, your mates are going to take the piss for life. You absolute dickhead'.

I watched with fingers over my eyes as all nine QPR defenders held out resolutely, and Paddy Kenny managed to make save after blinding save. Even as Dzeko headed in at the start of injury time, no-one around me seemed to celebrate. It all seemed too little, too late. Nice goal, but ultimately futile.

And then the moment any Blue that was in the ground on Sunday will never, ever forget.

Sitting at the other end of the ground, it was hard to make out what actually happened in the scramble on the edge of the box as Balotelli got that miracle pass away. However I clearly remember time standing still as Ageuro took the ball past the final defender — like watching that extreme slow motion footage they shoot at thousands of frames per second.

The sheer wall of noise after the goal is burned into my memory. It wasn't a simple loud cheer of "yes!" like most goal celebrations are. It was a deep, guttural sound, louder than any I've heard at or watching any football game. I ended up in the row in front of me, then somehow back into the row behind where I started, between continual cries of "fucking have it" and "fucking get in", as I discovered upon video review. Unlike many around me, there were no tears — I was simply to shocked to adequately digest everything that happened. But every subsequent viewing of the goal in multiple languages on YouTube and again on Match Of The Day inevitably leads to me welling up.

Considering the amount of alcohol consumed in the hours following, it's a surprise I woke up at all, let alone with the least offensive hangover of my life, still basking in the realisation that yes, we had won the title for the first time in 44 years, and damn it I was there to see it.

But where can you possibly go from here? There may never be another goalgasm like that again — hell, there may never be another moment like that in football ever again. And no-one can ever take that memory away from those that were there on that fateful day.

It cost me an absolute packet, but was it worth every penny. An unbelievable, unforgettable four days.

IN OUR LIFETIME

Simon Curtis — Wed, 16 May 2012 12:01:00 +0000

The season that started with a rocket off the right foot of Sergio Aguero against stubborn promoted Swansea City finished with a rocket off the right foot of Sergio Aguero against stubborn promoted Queen's Park Rangers. Perfect symmetry in a 10 month period that felt anything but planned out.

What passed in between and particularly what passed in between minute 46 and minute 95 of the very last game of this never-to-be-forgotten trail of emotional carnage, will go down as simply the most heart-rending, coronary-inducing second half of professional football that even the good and battered folk of Manchester City have ever witnessed.

Letter for Mr Lost Hope of Manchester

I kept the shoes that I ruined at Wembley in 1999, ripped and stained from leaping through twelve rows of ancient wooden slatted seats and the airborne cocktail of a thousand and one drinks, as a badge of honour that I had been there the day the world went mental. That my beloved Manchester City have now outdone even those moments of tragi-comic farce is quite simply beyond belief. Through the shredder one last time, but this time a proper shredding, a proper mangling of the senses to the point that your brain, your soul, your entire crumpled body cannot take any more punishment.

This was not simply an attempt to rid ourselves of 44 years of hurt and exasperation; it was not simply a long awaited moment of glory in the sun; it wasn't just getting monkeys, little (red) devils and the inexorable weight of history off our bent shoulders: this was a battle made in Manchester, against the old enemy, an enemy who has rubbed our noses in the dirt, ridiculed us at every opportunity and, right up to the very last opportunity (for that is quite clearly what this was) written us off as a music hall joke and a bad taste in the back of the mouth. Suddenly, with a sonic bang the size of a meteorite storm, the mockery of three decades exploded in the faces of our tormentors. Just as the final ignominy of defeat in the cruelest possible way stared us all squarely in the chops, as the mockers prepared their grandest trumpeting of all, the world tipped swiftly on its axis and emptied them all into the car park at Sunderland.

How had it come to this? With an unorthodox goal from the foot of Zabaletta meant to calm the frayed nerves, our beloved City suddenly returned to its Benny Hill roots. We had seen it all so many times before, but here was a custard pie being prepared for us by Chef Fate that would drown the lot of us. We would surely cease to breathe under all that blubber and slime.

We had an unlikely equaliser (when did Lescott last do one of those?), a pantomime villain, whose shameful antics actually helped tot up the injury time that would later on come in pretty useful) and a familiar twist of the knife that transported us all back to the days of Raddy Antic in a split second. Mackie's downward header was perfect. I was back in my youth immediately, a time when anything that could go wrong at City generally did and in a way so spectacular, it was always impossible to shake it away.

Time moved on in its own comforting way. The agony would soon be over at least.

When all seemed lost in that blurred, tear stained 92nd minute with the deathly fingers of despair gripping coldly at our hearts, a twist of the giant familiar frame of Edin Dzeko brought our attention snapping back to the pitch, littered with tired and wasted bodies. Minds numb, legs turning to jelly, the confused noise of despair and anger and heartache echoing around the ground. A helicopter hovered above to take bird's eye shots of our horror (a sparkling new angle on despair) or, as Gareth Barry wondered quietly to himself, to lift the trophy off to the North East. Enter Edin Dzeko, the man ill-served by City's delightful chicken tikka taka silver service football. The man who feeds off crosses had finally been given one, served on a plate direct from the corner quadrant by that little left foot genius David Silva. In the tumult, there was no time to feel sorry for Dzeko, to wave farewell to a player possibly banging in his last meaningful action in a City shirt after a stalled sky blue career. We were all still far too busy feeling deeply sorry for ourselves. What was this last tremulous insult to our battered senses? A meaningless injury time goal just to make it even more painful when the final whistle went? One more strung out tease for us all to choke on?

Mancini, an increasingly ragged, forlorn and spent-looking figure on the touchline, waved his arms like a threshing machine. Go forward, get up, go again, move your legs even if your brains are saying "get me out of this pit of hell". He swore blindly in Italian, then in English, unsure whether he was still in control of his mind. Run one last metre for the cause. As with Kevin Horlock in 99, most of us just sat, rooted, cemented to history, locked in with our tin drum and our tattered banner reading "Manchester City: Cup For Cock-ups, winners 2012, Winners yet again. Winners For All Time.". We were set to keep the trophy this time. My mind, a confusion of wild thoughts and diminishing hope, raced from Horlock to Goater to Dickov. It seemed so long ago, yet so fresh, now that City were revisiting Pandemonium County and skipping about reacquainting themselves with the furniture of disaster. We had reveled in our Jamie Pollocks and our Jason van Blerks before kick off. Thank God, never to see the likes of that again. Gone but not forgotten.

But here they were, knocking loudly on the front door, shouting through the letter box, "Hey it's us, Jamie and Jason. Let us in! We've brought cakes and everything!"

I could hear knocking, certainly, but it turned out to be my knees, my teeth and my heart. there was no Jamie Pollock at the door. No cakes. Maybe not even custard.

Got

Meantime, the game in Sunderland had finished. Happy clappies were beginning to get down to the serious business of the biggest piss take in British football history. There was even an old man with half a teddy bear on his head. It was all happening. Ferguson meandered half clapping, half looking around, that face of disbelief at the never-dared-trust-in-it news. More out of habit than need, he tapped away at his watch, as if he might also bring a game 200 miles away to an immediate close too.

Two-two with ten man QPR, who'd have believed it possible? The team with the worst away record in the league, led by good old Sparky Hughes, leading at City, with their pristine home record. The words must have skipped through the head of Ferguson, preparing for for the sky interviews: the lack of class, the no-history, the noisy neighbours put a sock in it, the endless endless jibes about never recovering from a screw-up like this. Fergsuon it had been, who had spoken of Devon Loch and of hoping that something funny would happen.at the Etihad. Well here we were, all dressed up for a party, staring down the gullet of the biggest choke in football history. It was going to be funny but as usual not a single soul in the ground would be laughing. The joke, yet again, would be on us.

What occurred next defies proper description, but Ferguson will only have considered it funny, in the manner of strange, but not amusing. Not a chuckle will have passed those claret coloured lips, not a toot on the bordeaux-coloured hooter. Nothing. What occurred next scorched images into our subconscious that we will take to the grave with us. Every one of us, blue, red or neutral. For once the fates looked down on the heaps of pitiful, wrecked hopes, the old men staring glassy-eyed, the children blubbing, even the kid trying to dismantle his seat with a rolled up tshirt and the world tipped again. It tipped De Jong forward, dragging the legs of a man who has made a thousand and one meaty tackles to guide the ball carefully into the path of Aguero. It reached the Argentine, who had run himself into the ground, the superstar with the ego of Joe Bloggs. He touched the ball forward, backed by the primal screech of 48,000 lost souls. Once again, the wall of opposition defenders reared up in front of us like the breakwater at Devonport Docks. Ten men or twenty. It mattered little. There was and had been no way through QPR's sumptuous 15-0-0-0 formation all day long.

The ball jittered forward to Balotelli, a peripheral figure in these final excruciating weeks, but now came his moment. Like Dzeko, Balotelli now stood up to be counted. The apparently flaky, untrustworthy party boy with the penchant for bathroom barbecues, stood tall in the middle of the heaving scrum and played his part in the unfolding miracle. Falling off balance from a rugged knee to the backs of his legs, the Italian managed to prod it, staggering, back in to Aguero's path. The noise and the heat and the clamour gripped the whole place one more time. Minute 94 on the clock. Hearts not in mouths but somewhere on the floor, in the gutter, under our shoes. There was still a wall of red and white to pass. Nedum Onouha, of all people, standing firm like a brick barrier. The crowd sucked Aguero past the ex-City defender's outstretched foot, one twinkle-toed touch pressing the ball past the ends of Onouha's desperate flapping boot laces.

Time stood still. Darkness, light, darkness light, darkness, light. The very eye of the storm. The tumultuous noise was funnelled down into a vortex of tight emotion, into a tiny neat cube the size of an ant. Silence. Darkness, light, darkness, light. A trembling shadow cupping its hands over its ears and eyes. The scene blurred and flickered, as if the Gods themselves were preparing to batten down for one last seismic jump. Aguero steadied himself, looked up and unleashed an arrowing shot past Kenny's flailing left hand. And.       In.                             To.

The.

Back.                   Of.                                                                                      The.

Net.

+

Cue uproar

Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. LIGHT! White light. ferocious white heat and light engulfed us all like a fireball. Blazing, eye-piercing light, dazzling tumultuous light. A feral scream that had been building for 44 years. Floating, screeching, running, pedalling, paddling, flying, soaring, roaring incredulity. A bees nest. A time-lapse of a giant heap of ants the size of Kilimanjaro. A mosh pit, a giant heaving mosh pit of crumpled, exhausted humanity, dragging out whatever they had left inside and spluttering it, coughing it, vomiting it out. Bubbling fizzing incredulity. Bodies everywhere, on the pitch and off, in front rooms and bars, horizontal, climbing the walls, leaping, flying bodies.

How could they do this to us? Again.

The whistle went almost immediately. City's 44th goal attempt, in the 94th minute of the last game of the season to win the title on goal difference. Ahead of Them. And Him. The heroes stacked up in my flying mind: Zabaletta of all people with the first goal, his first goal of the season, a man of the old school of hit get hit dust yourself and move on; Yaya Touré, that giant galloping foreman in midfield, reduced here to a limping pedestrian and still popping the pass through for Zabaletta to score. On one bloody leg! Gareth Barry and his eternal bridesmaid's role, mopping up, mopping up, hoovering up, watching the big bird in the sky come to take his trophy away; David Silva, playing on through loss of form and shattered limbs to set up Dzeko's equaliser; Dzeko himself, discarded and ignored but bearing no grudges; Joleon Lescott breathing the biggest sigh of relief; the little thief Tevez, not at his best here, but what an impact he had made in the miraculous six-win streak that had seen us home; Clichy the unsung hero down the left engulfed in the giant safe arms of Joe Hart, that man of iron; and then the two main men: Kompany the rock at the back, strangely beaten here by Traore for the stunning second QPR goal but a fist pumping marvel all season long; and Aguero, for ever to be remembered for the goal that brought the house down, the goal that changed the course of football history just when we were resigning ourselves to More Of The Same.

And there was poor Brian Kidd. On the pitch again, just like that other time. And Mancini, the orchestrator of this grande festival of the insane, dancing into the arms of his staff like a marionette suddenly freed of its strings, wobbly legs and electric arms thrashing at the air. When he had stopped, he looked to the stands, maybe searching out his frail father, patted his heart and made a very Italian gesture, which Mancunians will translate as "I nearly shat myself there".

But it is a different world we wake up to today. One ripe with possibilities. Gone are the mocking voices, the brickbats, the music hall jokes, the pitiful droning of the Terry Christians of this world. The world has woken up to Manchester City and its wonky DNA.

It finally happened. In our lifetime and in his and its manner of deliverance has only served to make the wait all the sweeter. For those a little long in the tooth and those new to this drama alike, a cathartic moment of release from all those demons chasing us up hill and down dale.

Thank you, City, for carrying us all through such a sweet sweet hell.

Sergio approaches the Mosh Pit

The ultimate victory

Mark Wilson — Wed, 16 May 2012 08:45:00 +0000

For those who want to understand the true meaning of the events at the Etihad Stadium last Sunday, read no further than the sub-title of this blog.

Sunday’s game was the perfect microcosm of what it is to support Manchester City, the new Champions of England.

The game is now days away, but for me and I should imagine most other City fans, the unbelievable high remains.

I’ve been writing this blog since 2009, I’ve been a City fan since the day I was born in 1981, but nothing, nothing can truly describe what happened on the turf of the Etihad last Sunday.

As the game drew to a close, and as the realization dawned that defeat was, unbelievably, after all that we had done, cruelly upon us, I found myself experiencing something particularly unpleasant.

For this was a new strain of Cityitis, the debilitating disease we had all hoped had been eradicated. Now, suddenly, unexplainably, from out of nowhere, it was back, and not only that – now it was stronger than ever before and with a new, particularly cruel and virulent twist. In the past, we had always been haunted from a position of weakness. Now we were being haunted on the edge of the glory. I could see the headlines being written as the game closed in, and all hope ebbed away.

But not this time.

Just when the chains of typical City threatened to pull us back into a dungeon of despair, this City team stood up and proved they had what it took to win the title.

By now, we all know the story. 2-1 down, the clocked ticked into injury time, with United still winning at Sunderland.

Everything we tried during that second half just didn’t come off. We tried intricate passes through the middle, crosses from both flanks, shots from distance.

To their credit QPR defended brilliantly. In many ways the game reminded me of a Barcelona-Chelsea Champions League semi-final in 2009 at the Nou Camp, where Chelsea invited the Catalans onto them and just flooded the penalty area with bodies, limiting Barca to very few clear cut chances.

That was the case here. We had a massive amount of possession, crosses, shots – but hardly any of it was incisive.

And so, by the 92^nd minute, we were staring down the barrel of a gun. Enter Edin Dzeko. A corner from David Silva, so often our man of the moment this season, found the head of the Bosnian who powered it down the centre of the goal past QPR keeper Paddy Kenny.

The darkness had descended, but now, somehow, from somewhere, a glimmer of hope had reappeared. Time was still against us, but I found myself thinking: Could it be?

Mancini, normally so collected on the touchline, was raging at his troops, urging them back to the restart. The pressure was white hot. It was unreal.

It was the last attack of the season. From the restart, we wrested back control of the ball from a QPR side that until now had been so stubborn, so resolute in their defence.

But they were cracking at the base. As often happens in games where one team goes for the jugular, and another team just defends, defends and defends, one goal was all it took. The Dzeko strike was crucial. Suddenly, as the Blues swept forward, with the last chance upon our shoulders, the gaps, the angles that we had sought so incessantly throughout the match, finally started to appear.

And commeth the minute, commeth the man. A string of City passes through the heart of the QPR defence found Sergio Aguero in the area. The Argentinean skipped the first tackle, composed himself, and fired the ball past Paddy Kenny into the back of the net.

We had won the Premier League. From the pits of despair we had come back. We were Champions, in the most unbelievable fashion imaginable. As one fan put it – this was Roy of the Rovers on speed.

We had stared down the barrel of the gun, but this time, as our world closed in on us, a millisecond before the trigger was about to be pulled, we ducked, swiveled the gun around and pulled the trigger ourselves.

This was escapology of the highest order.

From desperation, from frustration, from despair, to the heights of elation, the heights of ecstasy, to the heights of our history, in minutes. No Blue will ever forget Sunday 13^th May 2012.

Some teams torture their supporters but no-one is as sadistic as City. Thirteen years ago we were staring into the abyss in the old Division 3. Today we are champions. No. No team does it like quite like City, because City are City. And no team ever will. There is no story quite like that in modern football.

We deserved this title. Having defeated our closest rivals home and away, having played some of the best football the league has witnessed, this is our time. And this is City’s year.

It is too early to turn to next season. For now, Blues will enjoy the magnitude of what happened last Sunday. And no-one can begrudge them that.

They have suffered long enough. But now, the Blue Moon that has been rising since 2008 has well and truly risen. I can only applaud the club for how it has gone about achieving this most special of trophy wins.

As one fantastic chapter closes, another exciting chapter opens as this club – Manchester City, the champions of England – continues to go from strength to strength to strength.

Just for Kicks

SufferingBruin — Tue, 15 May 2012 22:14:48 +0000

BosnianBronco's transfer post generated the usual great conversation. It triggered a couple of questions that I hereby put forth to our growing community. I do so 'just for kicks'...

1) Who would you absolutely hate to see leave and why? You can't pick someone like Aguero, Hart, Kompany, Silva or YaYa because barring a tragedy that would make the Greeks wince, those guys aren't going anywhere.

2) Our starting eleven was pretty well established during the last month of the season and by extension, so was our bench. Where does a team of Pantilimon, Kolarov, Kolo Toure, Savic, Richards, Milner, Pizarro, De Jong, Johnson, Balotelli, and Dzeko place in the EPL?