The Theatre of Dreams

Fanboying the most hated and the most loved football team in the world

By Anish Pathiyil

The year was 2008. My classmates and I were heading out of class for brunch on the first day of the new academic year. My school had these small, parapet stone-slabs throughout the corridors where kids could sit and have their food. My attention was fully on the thepla my best friend, Vaibhav, had brought. I casually lifted half a thepla from his lunchbox and shamelessly offered him some of my upma. In the middle of this unfair exchange, I heard another friend, Prashant, mention the name Ronaldo. “Not the bald one dude! This is the one with spikes on his head and he runs real fast,” he said.

Prashant was sad; his favourite football team, Chelsea, had lost the Champions League final. The match had happened a couple of weeks earlier, but he wanted to vent out his frustration in front of all of us. “Those fellows got lucky with the last penalty kick. Anelka is an idiot too. Never looked confident,” he lamented. I nudged Vaibhav with my forearm and asked, “Who are these ‘fellows’ he is talking about ?” “Manchester United. All of us hate them,” came the reply. In hindsight, not a surprising thing for an Arsenal fan to say.

‘Manchester United’, I went home that day and surfed, as it was described then, on Google. I had heard of Manchester before. My city, Coimbatore, was called the ‘Manchester of South India’, for its abundance of cotton and textile industries. I saw images of Cristiano Ronaldo (whom Prashant talked about), one stout, balding man called Rooney, and an old man called Sir Alex Ferguson, who was supposedly the manager. “Must be called sir cause he’s very old,” I thought to myself, oblivious to the concept of knighthood or the great man’s achievements.

The next few months, I followed their scores every weekend in the newspaper. Manchester United went to the final of the Champions League once again, this time losing to Barcelona and another much-talked about name, Messi. For the next three years my relationship with Manchester United was like the chachaji who comes from Delhi every six months and asks, “How are your studies going, beta?” There was some connection I felt with the club but not enough to follow their successes day-in-day-out in between the pressures of the toxic board exam system. I managed to catch glimpses of the 2012-13 season, Sir Alex’s last as manager, and the Robin Van Persie-inspired 13th Premier League title.

The foray into college liberated me a little more. Manchester United matches were now a weekend plan. All other activities were made secondary, including college work, much to the disappointment of my mom. The first full match I saw live, thanks to the decision to switch to set-top boxes, was the first game of the season under Louis Van Gaal’s management. The match ended in a defeat to Swansea City, the post-match feeling something I was unfortunately going to get used to. The balding, stout guy of old, Wayne Rooney, had become one of the superstars of the game, and my favourite player.

For much of the future, I spent more time researching the history of the club than following them during the present. The stories of the ‘Holy Trinity’ – Best, Law and Charlton, the tales of the ‘Busby Babes’, the devastating Munich air disaster of 1958, Eric Harrison and his ‘Class of 92’ and the ‘Treble’ of 1999 have left a lasting impact on me. The ideology of the club in developing young players through a solid academy, the support it provides to players that don’t make it to the first team, are very rare in the age of ‘spend till you win’. Manchester United might be just a cash-loaded, global brand for those viewing it superficially, but the foundations of the club will ensure that the club remains dear to its wide set of supporters.

Following the club has simultaneously improved my understanding of English culture, with special hatred in my heart for those from Liverpool, Leeds and even the blue half (less than a quarter, if rationally measured) of Manchester. It has been eight years of watching almost all Manchester United games. Managers have come and gone, players have come and gone, trophies have not come at the rate expected and the one thing we all want out—the Glazer family—have no intention of selling.

Manchester United is a part of the family now, with even my mom asking for updates every weekend and eventually having to bring me out of the depression. My dad has begun sending memes about the club with his traditional cry-laughter emoji following the content. The in-house banter in Coimbatore, thousands of kilometres away from the club, is a testament to what the club means to millions of fans all over the world.