I followed yesterday's title decider from the safety of the allotment, checking the scores intermittently on my mobile whilst putting up a fruit frame. It was only at 10 to 5, when my daughter texted me to say that United were winning and City were 2-1 down, that I ran over to the car to hear the last rites on the radio. I had so inured myself to the assurances from their fans and the media that the title was going to Eastlands, that the amazing news that in the next five minutes or so United were going to win the Premiership again sent the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Extra time was just beginning. Dzeko scored. There were three minutes left. Could 10-man QPR hold out? Then Aguero scored. Mayhem. From the council estate next door came shouts and screams of delight. I walked rather more slowly back to the gooseberry bushes. My wife and Jane stood regarding me, trying to read the body language. "He's smiling", Jane said. "I feel sorry for City", said my wife.
But of course City had won. I was smiling because I went to watch City twice when I was a boy in about 1969, and for a couple of years after that I would have said I was a City fan. But after that I was away at school in Yorkshire, and began with friends to go and watch Barnsley at weekends. They were in the old Fourth Division then, so no-one can call me a glory hunter. I don't live near Barnsley any more, and over the years kind friends have taken me to see United again and again. So when City play United I find I want the Reds to win. When United play Barnsley (it happened once or twice in about 1998) I support the Tykes. I'm not a very consistent football fan.
So I was smiling because I have a soft spot for City, but also because I was musing on the wonderful unpredictability of sport. In art, the author or composer knows the outcome. And, if we're honest, so does the audience most of the time. The baddies don't often come out on top. At the end of Lear (Spoiler Alert!), Cordelia cops it. Mind you, so do Goneril and Regan. But in sport, anything can happen; and yesterday in Manchester, it pretty much just did.
Incidentally, we now know the answer to the age old question - in case you were still wondering, money can buy happiness. City's expensively assembled team have proved it.
