MANCHESTER's glorious town hall was packed yesterday morning with the great and the good of the north west of England, to discuss rebuilding after the IRA bomb blast in June. The tone of the meeting was optimistic. The theme was that from the shattered remnants of Manchester's heart a better city will be reborn.
The night before, three miles down the road, things were considerably less cheery: Manchester City were playing at Maine Road. The Theatre of Comedies, Stuart Hall calls the place as it plays host to crisis after crisis. Unlike the centre of the town, however, the devastation and wreckage wrought on City was not delivered by some malevolent outside force. Though they may win nothing at football, when it comes to self destruction Manchester City are in a league of their own.
This week, for instance, rumour had it that the club was about to set a new record of ignominy. If Phil Neal, the man in temporary charge of team affairs, was to be believed, they were to become the first club in history to have employed five different managers in one calendar year.
Neal told the local press he was convinced that the chairman, Francis Lee, had approached Howard Wilkinson, offering the former Leeds manager Neal's job. Lee laughed it off. "Pure speculation," he said. Which is as close to confirmation as one can get in Maine Road speak.
On or off the field City are a laughing stock, a source of endless jokes like the one about Francis Lee offering to help an old lady struggling with her shopping in his local supermarket. "Can you manage?" he asks. "Look," she replies, "can't you understand that nobody's interested in your bloody job?"
Through all this, the devotion of City's following is unparalleled; 24,500 turned out last Saturday to watch their blue shirted heroes surrender meekly to Tranmere, an experience so painful, one regular said, he would have readily opted to have his fingernails removed without the benefit of anaesthetic.
So why do they come? Is Manchester simply a town with a disproportionate population of masochists? "In a word, yes," said Greg Hajwell, who was taking on pints of pre match pain killer in the Sherwood pub in Moss Side. Greg has been a regular at Maine Road since 1975, when he saw City lose 2-1 to Carlisle.
"I should have taken the hint then," he said. "I think the only reason I go is so I can say to reds at work: I'm no bandwagon jumper. I've been watching this crap since 1975. It's a badge of honour, but it's wearing thin."
Like many, Greg believed Lee was the man to reverse City's decline brought about by the disastrous years of Peter Swales. But the former City player's talismanic qualities had quickly tarnished. Lee, it became clear, was obsessed with the idea that the boys of the Sixties could solve everything: there was a Lee in the directors' box, a Summerbee on the pitch; if only Colin Bell's son was an ace accountant, all would be well.
"We used to moan like crazy, but now you look back on the Horton/Swales era with fond nostalgia," said Greg. "You watch tonight, West Brom will do what everyone does when they come here: knock us about a bit in the first 20 minutes and then sit back and wait for us to give up. I've never seen a team with less spirit than us.
Straight from the kick off, you could see his point. Football managers often say they are two players short of a good team. At Maine Road, they are two players towards a good team. And even now there is talk that one of those - Steve Lomas - is to be sold, to Leeds to finance - rebuilding. Which in that singular City way, has come to mean selling reasonable players to buy the less able at twice the price.
Colon, Hinchcliffe, Hendry, White, Flitcroft, Hughes, Quinn, Sheron: it may not be the spine of a championship winning team, but these recently departed must be better than the lot on parade on Wednesday. But then, after a few minutes aimless drift, an unexpected thing happened: Rosler trying hard not to, scored. City were 1-0 up.
The noise from the 24,200 faithful was an odd one, a mix of astonishment and pure, undiluted relief. Then they scored again Kinkladze, a player so skilful, so cunning, so effective it is widely assumed he must have been bought by mistake, walloped home a penalty. Then, amazingly, he slammed another. And despite a standing invitation to carve through their defence, City clung on through a torrid second half to win 3-2.
Those with nerves strong - enough to allow them to stay to the end applauded wildly. Afterwards, Phil Neal made the most cursory appearance at the post match press conference. After muttering a couple of platitudes he put his head down and ran for the door, thus avoiding all questions.
It was a responsibility evading technique familiar in the bowels of Maine Road: Francis Lee was at it on Thursday when he cancelled a clear the air meeting with Neal, citing business commitments. Down at his local supermarket, presumably.
They may not know who will be in charge of their destiny next week, but, in the Sherwood after the game, the faithful looked amazed City had won and United had lost, a double whammy of a night out which occurs with less frequency than a total eclipse.
"I was certain they were going to lose that, convinced of it," said Greg Harwell, wearing a smile that hurt. "Just like City to let me down."
