AN INSIGHT INTO THE LIFE OF A BITTER, BITTER DIV

“United’s support was built on sympathy after the Munich
disaster. If you go to Old Trafford you don’t see that many
people from Manchester. I’ll never understand why you get
these knobheads coming up on coaches from places like
Torquay to support them. I went to one game and all I heard
was Irish accents, hundreds of them.”

Then he descends into Alan Partridge territory:

“I was round at the Late Shop as soon as it opened. I’d
drink two litre-bottles of whisky a day. My son, Grant, had
to hide bottles from me. I wasn’t staggering all over the
place. It was more a case of wanting to be asleep.

“We’ve weathered the storm and stuck two fingers up at the
petty bastards who would have taken great delight in seeing
me attempt to destroy myself and watch my family fall apart.
I just get on with life. I couldn’t give two hoots what
people say about me.”

He describes one set of his enemies thus:

“They’re ten-bob millionaires who are fuelled by jealousy
and pettiness. They ’re back-stabbing no-marks with no lives
of any substance.”

All that is missing from that drivel is “needless to say I
had the last laugh”. Truly a shining example of City fans in
all their glory. Obsessed with United, bitter and leading
sad, sad lives. Isn’t it great to be a red?