The nerves, tension of watching present-day Man Utd at Old Trafford 

MANCHESTER – From early August, I had penciled in the date of October 7 to do the Manchester United game against Brentford at Old Trafford.

It was a sheer coincidence that I was picking the same fixture as the one I attended at the GTech stadium in August last year, when Brentford put United to the sword in Erik Ten Hag’s second game as boss of the Reds. Back then, I had interested a friend who would be in London for a conference, to make the trip up north to join me for the match.

He flatly declined the request on grounds that his beloved Manchester United was playing some of the most depressing and uninspiring football he could ever recall.

“It is scandalous to pay huge money to go and watch such football,” he charged. “It doesn’t make sense at all.” Tickets were going for £350 (Shs 1.6m).

I would later insist that there was something special that would unfold in this particular game, as much as I knew absolutely nothing. I can be called many things but not a prophet. And truth be told, I was only beckoning him to accompany me to the ‘Theatre of Dreams’, as Old Trafford, the home of Manchester United, is often monikered.

Meanwhile, on arrival at Heathrow airport this time, the Border Force officer’s intonation summed up the state of affairs at the former champions of English football.

“So, what brings you to the United Kingdom?” he posed a question that is routine for every person entering the UK.
“I have flown in to watch Manchester United,” I duly responded.

“If that is the reason why you flew all the way from your country to come to England, kindly turn back and board the next flight back home,” he remarked. “No one in their right frame of mind embarks on such a long-haul flight in the skies to come to watch such rubbish.”

He was joking, of course. But he had a point. Just as he was stamping my passport to let me through, I asked which team he supported.

“Please don’t go there; let’s just say that my team is a hundred times worse than your football club.”

His last statement spoke volumes for the drug that is football. As Mujib Kasule, the Proline director, once said, you can change many things about yourself except your mother and the football club you support. Football fans will know that their team is poor. They will know that their squad is limited.

But they will always support in hope or expectation, or both. My friend and I arrived at Old Trafford at midday last Saturday and typically, the atmosphere of the trains at Manchester Piccadilly station to Old Trafford was red to the marrow. Enduring fans of all ages, dressed in the club’s colours from the vintage years of Bryan Robson and Eric Cantona to the current players Marcus Rashford and Bruno Fernandes, were descending upon the imposing stadium, highly energized.

Yet you felt that they headed for the match with more hope than expectation; such has been the shambles of the club this season. Kick-off was scheduled for 3pm (5pm Ugandan time) but tens of thousands of fans had already made it to the ground to drink and eat in the pubs and restaurants around the areas of Sir Matt Busby way.

Old Trafford is the biggest stadium in the Premier League and the rich history of the club makes trips to Manchester United a unique experience for anyone regardless of the team they support. I took my seat in the press box in the Sir Bobby Charlton stand, which is located to the right of the director’s box.

My mate was also in the South stand, a few rows behind the Man United bench. To the left is the West stand, famously known as the Stretford End, which is home to the club’s most hard-core fans. The stand directly opposite the dugouts is the Sir Alex Ferguson stand, which is the largest of the four stands with three tiers that sit 26,000 supporters.

This particular day, October 7, was a somber one because the club’s greatest-ever manager Sir Alex Ferguson had lost his wife a day before. Players wore black armbands during the match while flags flew at half-mast at Old Trafford.

During the pre-match routine, the fans passionately cheered their stars in the hope that they could come up with a performance that could potentially turn around their season. Going into Saturday, the club had lost their last two home games and were on the verge of unwanted history with a third loss looming.

When the game started, it was the archetypal support that you would expect of a capacity crowd of 75,000 fans. The fans were in full voice, but the players…not quite. Brentford were full value for their lead from a Mathias Jensen close range finish that silenced Old Trafford and threatened to turn a bad run of form at the club into a full-blown crisis.

Around Old Trafford, the banners celebrating the club’s glorious history were too conspicuous to miss. They had various messages that are hung up, running around the stadium to, among other things, highlight what makes them different from the rest. All banners are in the Man Utd colours of red, white and black.

They read: One love Stretford End, Republic of Mancunia, Red Army, Feb 6th 1958 The Flowers of Manchester, Denis Law The King of Stretford End, The Impossible Dream, Sir Alex 26 years made possible, Sir Bobby Born in Ashington, Every Single One of us loves Sir Alex Ferguson and We’ve won it all.

Yet somehow, the loudest thing at Old Trafford was the silence at half time. The fans had tried to lift their players’ spirits, but the squad was so short on confidence that errors became commonplace on the pitch.

‘Sacked in the morning,’ the Brentford fans chanted for under-pressure manager Erik Ten Hag. To the extreme right of the press box is the section of the away fans and they enjoyed taking the kick out of their hosts.

“Who are ya? Who are ya?” they shouted for 90 minutes.

By the 80th minute, a number of fans had seen enough and started making their way out of the stadium. Usually, fans leave the stadium to try and beat the traffic early but, in this case, the early departures were borne out of frustration from their club’s woeful form.

Up and until then, United was dominating possession but scarcely looked like fashioning an equalizer past the Bees goalkeeper Thomas Strakosha. The groans around Old Trafford were growing with every minute as the game petered out; a glance at Ten Hag revealed a manager who was a dead man walking.

A defeat here was in all probability going to make his position untenable, considering that the club turned into a hire-and-fire institution once Sir Alex stepped down ten years ago. When the fourth official signaled six minutes of stoppage time, there were half- hearted cheers.

Man United are a club synonymous with the phrase ‘Fergie time.’ But the club’s fall from grace today is such that fans no longer quite relate with the intensity the club used to famously apply in injury time during the good old days. Only that this time, they did.

In came Scott McTominay for Sofyan Amrabat and the substitute struck an equalizer in the 93rd minute after a spell of relentless pressure from the hosts. Suddenly, the disappointed and crestfallen fans heading for the exits developed a change of heart.

With three minutes to go in stoppage time, there was a lot of time to fashion at least one chance. Just one final chance. Fernandes flighted a ball into the area, Harry Maguire knocked it in the crowded area and McTominay rose highest to head home from close range for the most unlikely victory.

Old Trafford rose to its feet to celebrate a result that was the most inconceivable four minutes earlier. The club had resurrected from the dead in a Houdini Act that could probably be the catalyst to their season.

Suddenly, cursing and despair had turned into excitement and jubilation, and with club football taking a break for the internationals, there was a unanimous feeling that the club had pulled off the sort of result it needed to galvanize its season.

“We chose the right game,” my friend would later concede.

“I would have felt bad to be in the UK and miss a match of such drama.”

Outside the stadium, United fans chanted like they had won a trophy. Most of their chants are always directed at either Liverpool, Manchester City or both. Gerrard has never won the league was the one that stood out for me. All it takes is for one fan to lead the way and right on cue, the rest follow.

In the 97 minutes at the aptly named Theatre of Dreams, United had taken their fans through every bit of emotion. It was not an experience for the fainthearted.

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