Manchester must be a bit like Las Vegas, as in what happens there seems to ‘stay’ there: it took us weeks to squeeze this news out of the intrepid travellers!
Many moons ago, when on the ‘red’ side of Manchester a certain ginger midfielder was passing with aplomb and tackling with a hellacious fury, and a young winger was running like the wind and exposing his chest hair with glee (and, apparently, sneaking into his brother’s house), a then-cub reporter of ours accompanied Mr. Shay Keenan on a Junior School trip to Paris. Said cub reporter was an American and thought ‘soccer’ was for ‘girls, sissies and/or foreigners’. Said Mr. Keenan set him straight, lecturing him on the glorious history of United and its demigods. Then they both tuned in to some footie that happened to be on the television in the eh … museum: It was the 1999 Champions League Final. QED by Mr. Keenan and Gunnar Solskjaer. Sadly, this time around, for the first time in decades, Mr. Keenan missed the boat but Mr. Kilcommons did his best to fill Captain Keenan’s boots and soon the Annual Junior School Trip to Manchester settled into a familiar ‘sweets-spew-sweets’ pattern on the overnight ferry.
Mr. Kilcommons, being an Arsenal fan, is not too familiar with the Champions League, but he seemed to learn quickly . Thankfully, Mr. Sheridan was also there, and his twelves hours of consistent snoring somehow soothed the troubled stomachs and, he occasionally even joined in on the fun: the boat-trip of giddiness and nausea (but fun nausea!), the mall invasion where the Conleth’s kids adopted the spending habits (and lack of savvy) of the City director and the match itself, which honestly was a classic with action galore and some memorable (but not to be repeated in a family publication) chants!