Squad Numbers

30th September 2023, Manchester United 0-1 Crystal Palace. A euphoric day built on the overwhelming resignment that there could be very little chance of any kind of result from the game. The trip wasn’t much about the result, or even the match, more about the experience of watching your humble little team take on what was one of the grandest entities in all of world football. 

Arriving in Manchester that day all felt very normal. It was just another industrial built up city. Shops everywhere you look, people going about their business doing all sorts of random activities. A 45 minute walk from our car park to the ground which could have been a Saturday morning trip out. Much of this was along a canal, which whilst not looking the most attractive water, did provide a reassuring sense of peace. 

The closer we got to the ground the more the normality started to dissipate. Whilst the usual gradual increase in volume of football kits was all to familiar, the sheer volume of which was astonishing. Selhurst Park, the home of Crystal Palace, of which I am more accustomed to, holds around 25,000 people. Whereas Old Trafford holds triple that. The usual enjoyment you get from seeing someone in your own colours around the city wasn’t there, the sheer volume of home fans made it almost to impossible to pick out any of your own people. 

All of this was incredibly revealing. Despite the sheer volumes of United fans, there were very few Manchester accents to be heard. It was clear that there were mass amounts of tourism. The amount of pop up shops were astonishing, all of them seemingly selling different iterations of the same scarf, which all followed the same format: the players name in big bold letters followed by a slogan which was meant to represent them. For example, one which sticks in my mind to this day is “Martinez, the butcher of Manchester.” I am going to keep this next sentence brief because if i don’t i will go on a rant which could potentially double the length of this blog: They were also selling split scarves, why? Why? Just why? 

This was a different animal to anything I had experienced before in football. This team, this club, this institution that was Manchester United was much more than just a community where people come together to enjoy their Saturdays. It was a money making machine. Understandably, for such a big entity, security was intense, line after line of security men in high viz jackets, with many wide expansive queues separated by metal fences. Ironically, this all funnelled down into the old fashioned style, tiny and claustrophobic turnstiles. 

That’s the thing about Old Trafford and the arena itself, which in my eyes sets it apart from their domestic rivals Manchester City (Low expectations, frustration and uncontrolled jubilation: Manchester City 2-2 Crystal Palace, from the away end.) Despite both of them being huge, grand arenas, Old Trafford felt more organic, less corporate than the Etihad. I mean, the names of the stadiums say it all really. Whilst at the Etihad, the toilets were squeaky clean, and everything felt so well polished, the toilets at the Old Trafford had the fashionable stink to them that you come to expect from football grounds. Despite this, Old Trafford still implemented safe standing in the away end, something that The Etihad doesn’t have. I find it absolutely ludicrous that there is a widespread perception that Old Trafford needs to be knocked down and they need to be build a “Wembley of the North”. Yes, it is true that the scenes the other week following their loss against Arsenal were pretty appalling, but that doesn’t mean the stadium should be knocked down, it needs renovation to fix the maintenance issues with it, not a rebuild. Unlike their first team. 

The context around the match is important to understand the true beauty of that day. 3 days earlier, Palace had been beaten 3-0 by United in the Carabao Cup, on a Wednesday night, 8pm kick off, meaning that some palace fans would be making 2 incredibly long journeys in 3 days, seemingly to no avail in terms of results. Now I didn’t attend both games, but I did attend the drab 0-0 draw against Fulham 7 days earlier and for these two games I travelled game straight from my school (which finished at 3:45pm on the friday) on an island just off the west coast of Scotland. So all in all, it was a long shift for all attendance to get to, which made the end result all the sweeter. 

There was something in the air that day. Before kick off Ebere Eze came and stood on the penalty spot for a minute or two, pretty much stationary, presumably visualising himself taking a pen in the game. Around the same time, Ray Lewington (shorts on) came out, shook hand with a few Manchester United staff members, before sitting in his seat in the dugout for around 5 minutes. It felt different from other games, something was brewing.

From minute one, Palace played refreshing football. Engaging United high up the pitch, not sitting off them and showing them too much respect as we had done in the game 3 days earlier, and for most of the season. This gave the fans something to cheer about, and of course, the ever loud Palace fans were galvanised, and it felt as if the team and fans were unified. The players drove the fans on and vice versa. Then, in the 25th minute, Palace won a free kick on the right hand side, near the corner right in front of us, the travelling support. Eze whipped the ball in, seemingly a poor delivery, low and behind all of Palace’s runners into the box. Yet somehow, out of the melee, Joachim Andersen, the great Dane appeared, and wrapped his foot around the ball majestically, firing a sweet volley into the opposite top corner.

It was pure ecstasy. A day which nothing was expected of our team in terms of result, or even performance. It was merely a day out, or so we thought. 3000 people. 3000 people shattered from days of travelling, and weeks of the thing that is meant to bring them such joy only to serve up despair. 3000 people outnumbered by 70,000 others who want to see them fail. 3000 people suddenly released from it all. A pure outburst of joy, a moment which I personally don’t think can be replicated in any other walk of life. The feeling of being together, with your band of people that live very different lives to you, but are bound together by this common interest, well, not interest, passion. Putting it simply, there is nothing else in life that causes you to jump up and down with your arms in the air, shouting at the top of your lungs like a madman, with 3000 other people doing the same thing at the same time.

Now, I am a pessimistic person, and usually, when my team takes the lead or even does anything remotely positive in a game, my first thought after the initial celebration is “Well the opposition are definitely going to score”. However, something felt different that day. It seemed as if every ball that came into Palace’s box was headed away with ease, mostly by Joachim Andersen who was a colossus all game. At half time, with the score 0-1, I felt incredibly positive about getting a result.

In the second half, the front footed, aggressive football played by Palace disappeared, and gave way to a more defensive style, sitting in a low block. United barraged Palace’s defence with attack after attack, each of which seemed probable that it would result in a goal. However, somehow, like magic, the Palace defence was never breached. The woodwork was hit multiple times, and “Super” Sam Johnstone in goal made a plethora of saves. It felt as if there was some kind of outer power stopping the ball from hitting the back of the net. The same outer power that gave me some unrealistic optimism before the game.

Football fans are simple people. They don’t need to see their team winning 5-0 every game, all they want is to see a team with resilience, that fight for the shirt and the fans in every moment. That day, Palace had an abundance of that, and the fans rallied behind it. In the last 10 minutes of the game, United continued to pump cross after cross, shot after shot into Palace’s box, but the staunch Palace defence did not waver. It was beautiful really. Every clearance, header, interception, tackle and save made by a Palace player was cheered like it was a goal. It was at that point, that I knew, we actually were going to do it. When the final whistle went, there actually wasn’t a massive outburst of emotion, more a continuation of the joy which had been present from the 25th minute onwards. It was a result and performance to be proud of.

It was one of those days that you love as a football fan, as you really see the connection that the players have with you, and you realise that they really do care as much as you do. At the end of the game, all of the players, and the staff came over to the away end and clapped, celebrating. Sam Johnstone sprinted over to us as soon as the whistle went, with a victorious shout and a hand in the air. Joachim Andersen gave one of the most passionate fist pumps you’ll see. Once all the players started to walk off, club captain Joel Ward stayed behind,and demonstrated his own immense fist pump.

This wasn’t just a celebration, it was passion. A point to prove, on the pitch, in the stands:The players needing to show to the world that they are not a walkover, as they had seemed 3 days earlier and the fans desperate to demonstrate the siege mentality, against a fanbase who outnumbered them 20 to 1.

Until the goal in the 25th minute, the Manchester United fans didn’t seem to recognise that Palace existed up to that point, it felt as if they thought it was a forgone conclusion that they would brush aside the small insect that was Palace. So it was made all the more satisfying to hear the chants of “See the Palace, now **** off home” amid all the other usual chants aimed at incensing the opposition fans such as “Is this a library” Whilst some were more profound than others, that’s all part of the experience. Whilst for the United fans that day was an embarrassing defeat, for the Palace faithful it was a day that will never be forgotten. (Until of course, Palace beat United 4-0 at Selhurst a few months later-not being there for that game is one of my biggest regrets).

Walking out of the ground, past all the pop up shops and back along the canal, the typical Manchester rain teemed down, but it was beautiful. I didn’t have a jacket on at the time, but I did not care. I was soaking it all in-both literally and figuratively. It’s amazing what football can do to someone’s mental health. For all the United fans, they would have been walking home, soaked to the bone, in a state of depression over what was a terrible day for them and their team, no solace to take whatsoever. Whereas the Palace fans walked to their cars or trains, soaked the bone, absolutely buzzing, having experienced something which will have given them a lift for the rest of their week.

In their life, every person has problems. Whether that’s personal, social or economic or anything in between. I know that I do, and I know that you, the reader do too. The effect that football can have on these problems is incredible. For 3PM onwards, and the entirety of that day onwards, all of my problems dissipated, I was in a state of pure ecstasy. It was that feeling which pushed me on for the next few days and even weeks. This is why I would encourage anyone to get into football, find a team, and really get into it, let it take over your life, allow yourself to become obsessed, because it is that obsession which grants you this feeling of pure unconfined joy.

Often, this question is asked: Can money buy happiness? No, no it can’t. But Crystal Palace beating Manchester United 0-1 can.