“A goal for Manchester United…”

Right then, it’s probably best to start from the beginning (as people tend to do). My first clear memory of sitting down to watch a live United game was a Wembley appearance in the 1992 Rumbelows Cup Final against Brian Clough’s Nottingham Forest. Whatever happened to Rumbelows? I don’t recall hearing too much of them after that day. Cue another pointless Wikipedia search.

Anyway, the great Brian “Choccy” McClair scored the only goal of the game to provide my first hit of trophy winning beatitude. To be honest though I had only turned eight a few weeks before and at that stage I was far from immersed in every second of the game. I watched my Dad and my brother James jumping around screaming and shouting at Mickey Phelan to sort his shit out, and at the time I was just content to be jumping around with them and having an excuse to scream my head off without getting a slap to the ear.

A month before the Cup Final my Dad, my brother and my Uncle Brendan took the boat from Ireland over to the mainland for their first trip to Old Trafford to see United get beat by Everton 2–0 and also see a certain Ryan Giggs make his debut.

I was upset that I wasn’t allowed to go with them. I was upset that my Dad thought I would just fall asleep during the game and be bored shitless. That I’d be happier at home throwing my sister’s Barbie convertible down the stairs (which I did thoroughly enjoy from time to time).

I didn’t want to miss out on the next trip so I made sure I was in the house on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, when all of my mates were outside setting fire to things. After the Rumbelows Cup win I sat on the living room floor and watched or listened to the final weeks of the 92 season with Dad and James.

I remember James arguing with Dad after United could only draw with soon to be relegated Luton. That the title that was in our grasp would slip away. I watched as that fear turned into reality as back to back defeats to Forest and another team with nothing to fight for West Ham, meant United needed to get a result at Anfield to keep their title hopes alive.

I remember the Liverpool game well, the intensity and nervousness around the house that day. It was different from the Forest Cup Final. My attention was different from that day too. I was starting to understand the anxiety and despair that came from every goal conceded or opportunity missed.

I recall the adrenaline rush and quick subsidence when Paul Ince fired a low shot against the post soon after Rush had put Liverpool into the lead.

I remember the sinking feeling as Walters made it 2–0 to put a final nail in the coffin to United’s title hopes. But I loved the drama of it all, and I loved being a part of it. I was hooked.

The next 28 years as a United supporter has brought me so many fantastic days and moments that I’ll never forget, and I will always be eternally grateful to the three men responsible for these memories — my Dad, my brother and of course Sir Alex Ferguson.

When Fergie retired in 2013 I was unsure how to take it. In my support for United, Ferguson was my constant. Players have come and gone, but from the Rumbelows Cup Final to the final day of the 12/13 season, I had only seen one man lead out our team.

I began to question who had I really been supporting all this time. Was it the team? or Fergie? Would it be the same anymore? Should I close out my Legends bar tab and explore the benefits of not drinking Stella at 7:30 on a Saturday morning?

But I soon realised that internally nothing had changed. We all want to belong to something, we all want to feel that bond with our father, our brother, our fellow United fan.

These past 7 years have been tough but as I now prepare for fatherhood myself I can’t wait to share my love of this club with my own son and tell him about Giggs, Scholes and Eric in the way that my Dad spoke about Best, Charlton and Robson.

If I have to wait until my son is 9 years old to share a title win with him, like my own Dad did, then so be it. But I’m hoping the glory days will return a lot sooner so I’m going to try to create a digital time capsule here of sorts, of matches and moments, for my son to look back on one day and maybe for anyone else that might stumble upon this blog to have a laugh at a father raising a child as a United fan in the 2020s.