True Faith: The Epitomising 96 Minutes of How it Feels to be City

How the Blues became Premier League Champions in the most astonishing two minutes of football drama you may ever see.

If you pinch me I’d still swear it wasn’t true. After countless reruns, inhaling every single inch of newspaper coverage and drinking pints of champagne, it’s still difficult to comprehend the events of Sunday May 13. Already recognised as the most dramatic finish to a Premier League season ever, sky blue and white ribbons adorn the title trophy after City pulled off the most astounding Houdini act ever. 

I’d personally started the day off reasonably calm and optimistic, albeit incredibly excited. I’d been at the penultimate game in Newcastle a week previous and thought the atmosphere and events of that day in Tyneside would take some beating.  As City fans it’s never an option to take anything for granted: pundits, opposition fans and realists thought that on paper, the game against relegation-haunted QPR was a given. Fans of Roberto Mancini’s blue army didn’t dare to dream too soon; a history of following the side through the previously rare ups and more frequent downs paid testament to that theory. All it needed was a win. Three more points and the finish line would be crossed in glorious style. The Alex Ferguson-anointed ‘Noisy Neighbours’ would be Champions.

Attempting to settle the butterflies with a drink or two in Piccadilly

A visit to Kro bar in Piccadilly to meet up with the match-day gang provided beverages but little solace to quell the queasiest of stomachs. The venue was full of City fans collectively mulling over what could possibly unfold over the next few hours. Everybody sensed it was going to be a life-changing day for the club, a defining moment in the history and progression of the much-publicised new era of City. It had the potential to be the end of an era and the dawn of a new beginning, the farewell to ‘typical City’ once and for all. 

Why not? The Blues no longer had Bob Taylor, Tony Vaughan and Jamie Pollock on their team-sheet; they had been replaced by world-beaters who had vast experience of knowing how to win silverware. These players have played in a World Cup final, in a Champions League final and FA Cup finals. Nigel De Jong, Yaya Toure and Sergio Aguero. David Silva, Joe Hart and Vincent Kompany. After trailing United by eight points in April, five wins later our fate was back in our own hands. We’d earned the right to define our own destiny, could we make history and cross the finish line as Champions?

Soaking up the atmosphere in City Square

City Square was heaving with fans all decked out in their finest blue attire ready for the 90 minutes ahead. The expectation and apprehension was palpable, the Manchester rivalry was at boiling point, level on points at the summit with City having the goal difference advantage. QPR fans had one eye on events at the Britannia Stadium, knowing Bolton’s must-win game against Stoke could have a detrimental effect on their Premier League future. It was all to play for. We headed inside the ground for beers and more what-if discussions before kick-off was upon us. The moment had arrived: the Etihad Stadium crackled with an electric atmosphere under a clear blue sky, drenched in sunshine and full to capacity. Both teams took to the pitch with a roar of anticipation and hope. Nobody could have been ridiculous enough to have written the script to accompany the events that lay ahead.

Old faithful: Chris, Spenny, Brock, me and Simon

The story that unfolded was nothing short of remarkable. QPR fans cheering when nothing had happened on the pitch meant that Stoke had taken the lead, only for Bolton to pull level and gain the advantage themselves. A goal from Wayne Rooney at United’s game away in Sunderland meant a tense first half unfolded, with City dominating possession but struggling to definitively break former Blues’ manager Mark Hughes’ current side down. 39 minutes gone and with Yaya Toure, the  hero from the 2-0 win in Newcastle limping, Pablo Zabaleta skipped through the Rangers’ defence and clipped the ball over goalkeeper Paddy Kenny. The goal gave City a 1-0 lead and eased tension inside the stadium as delirious fans celebrated. As long as United were winning in Wearside, only three points would make City champions. Anything else and the Blues would be second best. At that point with Bolton winning, QPR needed the three points to prevent relegation to the Championship. 

Half time: Winning 1-0 but knowing at that point QPR would be relegated so expecting them to come out fighting

Half time came and went in a haze and the final 45 minutes of the season opened with an equaliser from Djibril Cisse. The home contingency looked on aghast, my heart sunk into the pit of my stomach. With ‘Plan B’ Yaya Toure off the pitch, could the title be slipping away from our grasp? (This is the first time I’ve ever broken down writing an article, struggling to see through tears as I type every word). But City continued to push forward to probe, seek and regain the lead. Moments of madness that epitomised Joey Barton resulted in the former City midfielder receiving a red card and causing all manner of chaos as he elbowed Carlos Tevez, kicked Aguero and attempted to head-butt Kompany. QPR now had 10 men, surely the Rangers’ captain had just made City’s job easier?

Expecting the unexpected: City fans are used to the sublime and bizarre but this was something else

That was until the unthinkable. Jamie Mackie gave the visitors the lead. QPR were winning 2-1 with 24 minutes to go. It had to be a win. We needed to find two goals. The crowd was stunned into silence, heads dropped into hands. There was that feeling we thought we’d never feel again. It was typical City, whether you wanted to believe it or not. But the feeling I felt was the feeling I had at Wembley back in 1999 at the play-off final against Gillingham after Carl Asaba and Robert Taylor had scored. When we were 2-0 down and needed a draw to take it to extra time. There was no way I was going to let my head drop; I stood up and urged the crowd to get behind the team. It wasn’t impossible. If we could do it then we could certainly do it now, 13 years later.

But the fans around me stayed hushed, rocked into a disbelieving state of horror. I shouted and screamed my encouragement to the team, the gentleman in front of me told me to ‘give it a rest’. Resting wasn’t in my plans, not when we’d come so far and had the Premier League title at stake. The minutes ticked by, time was running out as City desperately searched for an equaliser. ‘Come on City’ I yelped. 85 minutes gone and somebody told our row of fans that Sunderland had equalised at the Stadium of Light. Everybody around me got to their feet and collectively hurled encouragement towards the warriors on the pitch. Just one goal, that’s what we thought we needed. One goal. Then somebody else said it was now 2-2 in Sunderland. 1-0, 1-1, 2-2... we had no idea what the real score was but the information revitalised the fans around me. Supporters were pleading the goal into the net, begging and crying. 

The fourth official held the board up- five minutes. Hope. Belief. A corner and there it was! Substitute Edin Dzeko rose to head the equaliser in as the City team ran back to the centre spot. We went berserk but still knew that the draw may not be enough. Another goal would clinch it. Three minutes left to play and just one solitary goal would make Manchester City Champions. The tension was too much to bear. The encouragement and wails as Mario Balotelli pushed the ball through to Aguero. Aguero found space on the right- and the back of the net. Sergio Aguero had done it. City had done it. We had done it. I broke down into flood of tears and hugged my fiancé, Chris. He picked me up and swung me round like a rag doll as fans wept, crying tears of joy. With only seconds to play, City had turned a 2-1 deficit into a 3-2 advantage, bringing the title to the blue half of Manchester. 

Simon, Chris and I coming to terms with what we've just witnessed

Referee Mike Dean blew the final whistle to make it official. It had been the most miraculous conclusion to not only a match, but the Premier League, ever. City crowned Barclays Premier League Champions after scoring two goals in extra time. From staring defeat and ultimate disappointment in the face to banishing the ‘typical City’ tag into the annals of history, along with the 44-year wait. QPR enjoyed the party too- they had survived after Bolton only managed to draw with Stoke. In fact QPR celebrated Aguero’s last-gasp winner with almost as much gusto as the home fans. The Etihad Stadium was hosting the most cataclysmic party the likes of which had almost been improbable mere minutes beforehand. Captain Fantastic Kompany lifted the trophy to an almighty roar from the emotionally-drained Blues.

Manchester City: Barclays Premier League Champions 2012

The years of ridicule, of being poked fun at, laughed at, mocked and put down all because of being a City fan were vindicated. City had deserved it: beating the former Champions home and away, the latter in the most emphatic of styles and clocking up formidable victories with goal-heavy scores. Playing with flair and creativity, at times virtually unplayable, with consistent performances across the board from such talent it made it almost impossible to pick an individual player of the season. But noticeably playing with belief and as a team, demonstrating the desire and together spirit most media critics had thought impossible from ‘heartless mercenaries’. The doubters had been silenced; it was time to accept the changing of the guard, but not without putting fans through the most excruciating array of emotions. Champions of England, Manchester City Football Club.

Celebrating the Champions

Since Sunday I’ve been floating on cloud nine along with every other blue. I want this feeling to last forever; I never thought I’d see it in my lifetime. I’m not sure what to do with myself at the moment, the feeling of euphoria is such that I’ve barely ate, limiting myself to a champagne diet until the bubbles run dry. Where do we go from here? Life is the same but everything’s so different now. Champions of England. No matter how many times I say it out loud it still doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t. You can watch other teams win it every year but when it happens to the club you support, it’s difficult to put into words just what it means. It’s the world and so much more.

My brother Simon and I celebrating. He's going to be a Dad this year, another City fan in the making but this time born into a whole new blue world

This summer will undoubtedly last forever. It will feel like an eternity before the Premier League returns. Perhaps by then I’ll have come to terms with the fact that I support the Champions. I’ve never felt more like singing the Blues.

Notes from the Editor

HOLDING BACK THE YEARS: MY FAREWELL TO LIFE AS A TWENTYSOMETHING (PART TWO)

It’s safe to say that a lot has happened in the past 29 years; world events have forever changed the landscape that we live in, dearest family members close to me have passed away and I’ve been lucky enough to travel to some of the most beautiful and interesting countries on the planet.

Building sandcastles in the Bahamas

I watched the Berlin wall being knocked down on television, the Gulf war, the Challenger space shuttle explode into pieces, the IRA bombs in England and Ireland, two planes smash into the World Trade Centre, along with a third into the Pentagon and a fourth crash in Pennsylvania and suicide bombers on public transport in London. The devastating might of Mother Nature, with events like Hurricane Katrina, the Boxing Day tsunami in 2004 and the earthquake in Haiti. I think 9/11 had the most substantial affect on me: I wasn't in Manhattan at the time and I didn't know anybody who was involved. I was at work when I learned of the news; I still lived at home at the time but Mum and Dad were in Bali. They said they had been sat at the beach bar when footage of the events were being shown live on the news. Holidaymakers quickly realised that it wasn't a film being played, it was real life, and rushing to their rooms to contact loved ones. It was an act so incomprehensible that I struggle to believe it happened even today. I forever have nightmares after watching documentaries about the day, so many poor souls lost their lives and for what exactly? So many families without their loved ones. The most tragic of tragedies, one that will constantly resonate with me.

9/11. An event so horrific it's still so difficult to comprehend

On a distinctly more positive note I’ve also been quite lucky along the way during the past 29 years. I went to a celebratory meal with the ‘City team of 1989’, the players who featured during the Blues’ famous 5-1 victory over rivals Manchester United in 1989 and interviewed them all. I’ve gone deep sea fishing in Mauritius with the company of humpback whales surrounding us. I’ve stroked tigers in Kanchanaburi in Thailand. I’ve had afternoon tea and stayed at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York. I visited Yugoslavia while it still existed. I’ve climbed Dunns River Falls (google it) in Jamaica and played beach football with Premier League footballers in Barbados. I’ve skied in Canada and parasailed in Antigua. I was at Wembley to see my beloved football club win a trophy, the FA Cup. I watched my parents get re-married in a tiny church in Mauritius for their 25^th anniversary. I met Mickey and Minnie Mouse at the Magic Kingdom in Florida. I’ve interviewed every member of the City squad that won the FA Cup in 2011.

Up close and personal with my favourite animal in Thailand

This life hasn't always been so wonderful though. Far from it. I got in a bit of a pickle when I was 19 and had an abortion, a terrible but necessary choice to make at a time in my life when I simply wasn’t ready and able for that responsibility. After being brought up by the most loving of parents, Mr and Mrs Brobyn divorced in 2006. I don’t want to discuss the reasons, but their love and support together as a unit had been all I’d ever known and it threw me through a massive loop. Some people say it should’ve been easier because I was older (I was 23 when they split), but nothing could’ve ever prepared me for that. It was far from easy and it influences my life on a daily basis. My Dad now lives thousands of miles from the UK while my Mum still lives in our family home, both situations difficult for many reasons. I never thought that would be me, with a broken family after being surrounded by so much love.

Mr and Mrs Brobyn renewing their vows in Mauritius, now but a memory

I’ve also dealt with bullying and bouts of severe depression; cries for help met by ambulance crews when I was growing up and encountering terrific highs and horrific lows. A particularly bitter ex created a horrendous Facebook group mocking my looks, on a day which I had a vital exam at university, forcing me to beg the faculty to let me re-sit it due to being so distraught and humiliated. I also lost a child during a trip to Antigua two years ago, which was simply one of the worst things a woman can go through and that I’ve ever been through. The choice of having a child that I so desperately wanted was ironically taken away from me after the decision I'd made so many years before.

The day we discovered our baby didn't have a heartbeat. I just sat and watched the sea roll in and out for hours. The most bittersweet of my holidays to Antigua.

My grandparents have all passed away, all incredible people and all whom I miss daily. I’ve lost touch with friends who I care about but reconnected with friends from my past. Sometimes life does get in the way, but we shouldn’t let it, should we? I’ve learned a lot of life lessons and taught a few too. I’ve achieved a lot and still have a substantial amount I’d like to discover. This birthday, my 30th, will be the springboard and the catalyst for new beginnings and new ventures.

Reconnecting with old friends, my former Schuh colleagues Claire and Kerry

On reflection and after talking to a few people, I’ve decided the best way to deal with my 30^th is to embrace it and everything it has to offer. So that’s what I’m going to do: it may be but a number but I’m going to make it a positive milestone and a cause for celebration. I’m writing a ‘bucket list’; yes it’s a little bit ‘Karl Pilkington An Idiot Abroad’, but I figured it’s a genuine way of listing everything that I haven’t done and always wanted to- and then ticking each selection off as and when. I’m going on a ‘childhood’ day out; exactly what it says on the tin, going somewhere that I used to go for days out as a child for a bit of a reminisce. I’m going to have a lovely celebratory lunch with my mum; after all, it is her ‘I gave birth to you’ day too, and I’ll go for an evening meal with my man. Lastly, I’m going on a fun ‘party’ night out and will get so drunk that I won’t be able to remember my age. That’s what it’s all about after all, isn’t it?

I no longer fear the third decade of my life- I'm going to celebrate it instead. Celebrate and be thankful the past and embrace the future.

Notes from the Editor

HOLDING BACK THE YEARS: MY FAREWELL TO LIFE AS A TWENTYSOMETHING (PART ONE)

Birthdays can be tricky things. I’ve had 29 of them so far during my existence, each of them different and much-celebrated. But as of yet, none of them have been so daunting and have been met with so much dread than my upcoming birthday. The birthday I will have to deal with when it arrives on Monday 16th April. My 30^th birthday.

Okay, so it’s not 40, or 50, or 60, but to me turning 30 and opening the decade of birthdays which are ‘the thirties’ is a potentially gruesome life event. A milestone if you like. The age of 30 suggests to me consistency, maturity and well, growing old. The thirties usually signal marriage, babies, mortgage and, even more depressingly, more funerals to go to. No wonder Rachel Green on the television show Friends was so reluctant to celebrate her 30th. I now share her pain.

This may well be fine with the majority of people, or people may have already ticked all of these boxes during their twenties, but it’s something I’m personally quite terrified of facing. My outlook on life so far has been very ‘Peter Pan-esque’; wanting and trying to be forever young while achieving my life goals.

I lived a delightful and content childhood. After I shot out on the hospital trolley at 12:35pm on 16^th April 1982 while my mum was being transferred from her ward to the delivery room, I joined my then-three year-old brother Simon as the two children of Glynis and Peter Brobyn. Peter was a furniture shop manager and Glynis a house-wife, but then Mum and Dad decided to open their own furniture shop together. My parents were always very loving towards each other; they got married in June 1977 and had forever been constantly entwined in each other, frequently embarrassing my friends when they came round with their passionate displays of hugs and kisses. We were a really close family unit who celebrated events like birthdays in typical over-the-top fashion and enjoyed regular meetings with our huge extended family of aunties, uncles and cousins. Family has always been precious to me.

Rocking a Demi Moore 'Ghost' hairdo with the family at Dunns River Falls in Jamaica in 1992

Initially we lived in Woolston, near Warrington, but moved to a village called Lowton when I was only a couple of years old. I attended the local primary school, where I met a variety of friends. My parents were too busy for football and weren’t that interested: they would travel a lot sourcing furniture for their shop, leaving us with babysitters frequently, so it was (as I’ve written about before) a combination of Simon and my Uncle Bob who actually brainwashed me into watching the game and more importantly, supporting Manchester City. Although I’ve always been a girly girl, I was a bit of a tomboy growing up and was always climbing trees and going on crazy bike rides with my friends. I had Barbies and loved playing with them but I’d always be watching Simon and played with his Lego, on his Nintendo and would sit and watch the football with him. Simon was my hero; my strapping big brother who’d bully me but build forts and dens with me at the same time.

Me and my shadow: my older brother, Simon

As time went on and my television choices went from Thundercats, Dungeons and Dragons (the cartoon) to Byker Grove, Saved by the Bell and Sweet Valley High, I began to reach the dreaded era of life known as puberty. For about 10 years I had a love/hate relationship with my parents. I tried my best to rebel and brought home my first boyfriend, to the absolute horror of my Dad. We enjoyed a typically ‘first’ relationship: it was true love, passionate and all very much puppy love. He ‘proposed’ to me during a holiday in the Dominican Republic, but after almost three years I simply grew up and realised it wasn’t love, more of an experiment with my tumultuous raging hormones. He was naturally my first and we learned a lot from each other (he's now married and become a father for the first time).

By this time I was 18 years old and discovering the joys of boys, alcohol and having a good time. I’d been to high school and college, but didn’t really have an idea of what I wanted to do with my life at this point. I enjoyed English and creative writing, and was writing for the City fanzine ‘King of the Kippax’ in my spare time. I started working for a bakery on a Saturday, my first paid employment, before moving onto work for my Dad doing administration work at one of his furniture stores. I worked in ‘Schuh’, a retail store in the Trafford Centre for a number of years, where I met some amazing friends and partied nearly every single night in Manchester with them (Sports Bar and Teasers, anyone?) After that I moved onto work at the now-defunct fashion store, Morgan, and continued to work in retail before mum suggested to me the prospect of going to university to study sports journalism. I’d always kept up my writing ventures but never really considered it to be a career choice. My background was admin and retail; although I had good GCSEs I didn’t have the best grades from college. I filled out the UCAS form with a faint hope- and was overwhelmed when I was accepted. I was 24 years old and off to university, it was surreal.

Celebrating my 22nd birthday with the Schuhbees at Alton Towers

I had no real idea of what to expect from uni. I met some special people, some absolute idiots and went through a lot. I learned a lot from my three years living in student halls in Preston; boys are really smelly and messy when they haven’t got their mum to cook up after them, girls can be really bitchy and two-faced if you let them (don’t let them be!) and shots of Sambuca mixed with double vodka lemonades will give you the worst hangover ever. But I obviously learned everything I needed to apply myself in the industry. I’ve always had ambition and passion, those kind of things you can never teach, and I’ve always been able to write. Whenever I was given assignments I always aimed for a high standard and to interview relevant personalities, people who I've always admired and looked up to.

Adding more sex to the City at university

I could write a book on the three years of my life at uni: there’s a beginning, a middle and an end filled with so much hilarity, obscenity and indecency. Hard to believed that when I first arrived at uni I was quite shy and serious, I quickly discovered that something had to change and that something was in fact me. I made friends for life there, I met immature lads and had dalliances with quite a few of them and I became a bit of a downright shameless party girl. I suppose that’s excusable given the environment. But I kept up with my studies and was really sad when the three years came to an end and I was wearing the cap and gown. I did it all for my parents, particularly my mum. I wanted to make them proud, I wanted to rack up some form of achievement and I did it all whilst having the absolute time of my life.

Making parents proud

Since uni I’ve achieved my dream: working for the football club I love and support. I’ve met the most wonderful man who dropped down on one knee last year and put a ring on it. I’ve interviewed some of the biggest names in world football, and some of the not-so-big. I’ve worked on a ratings-winning BBC radio show. I’ve become ‘mum’ to my very first pets: Bert, Ernie and Cookie our pet chameleons. I’m being made an aunty in July thanks to Simon and his wife, Liz. Hard to believe that my big brother who once drew all over my dolls is now going to be a Dad himself. Only last month I visited Hong Kong, China and Thailand with my Dad, a completely spontaneous trip that changed my mind-set on life yet again. It’s not a bad life, but you do get out of it what you put in.

'Quuen of interactivity' on BBC Radio Manchester's Blue Tuesday show

I’ve no idea what the future holds but I know one thing. Age is but a number, but this number is the beginning of the middle-ages and a whole new chapter of my life that I can only write and define myself.

It's not all doom and gloom as part two sprinkles optimism on waving goodbye to my twentysomethings, hurrah!

JEFF STELLING EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: THE FINALE

“By about 1pm the boys will all be starving so Matt Le Tissier will have a huge mountain of chips in front of him but out of sight. He’s like an industrial hoover.”

He's the man who brings you minute-by-minute updates and action throughout the busiest days of the football calendar- and he does it in his own incomparable way. In the final part of an exclusive three-part interview, Football Pundette chats to the ultimate football anchorman, the enigmatic Hartlepool fanatic, Sky Sports' Jeff Stelling.

So far, I've spoken to Sky Sports' presenter Jeff Stelling about his tips for the trophies this season, his favourite on-air moments, his route into the media and well...I've generally chewed his ear off. Now the Soccer Saturday frontman shares what really goes on behind the scenes on the show, his proudest moments and pledges his support to X Factor finallists Little Mix.

“My Saturday routine at Sky isn’t really that exciting as most of the work is done before the day. Saturday is our bonus day, that’s the day I look forward to. Thursdays and Fridays are the big working days: getting all the preparation done, going to the meetings, going through every website and newspaper and finding out every stat that you can get hold of. On Saturday I amble in at 9am and the other boys will arrive at about 11am. My Saturday is really spent reading through the morning papers just to make sure we haven’t missed anything.

“Once that is done I’ll then choose my time for the accumulator; we all pick one team each and have a wager on it. We also have a sweep so I’ll pick my matches out for that, it’s 10 matches and the winner takes the £100 that’s in the pot, just to make the afternoon even more interesting. Then it’s off to make-up and I’ll arrive in the studio at 11:45am. There isn’t really any rehearsal as such- we just sit down and get on with it. By then we’ll know who is covering which game so I’ll have an idea of which direction I want the conversation to go but that doesn’t always go as planned.

“I’m always looking for the first time I can wind Thommo (Phil Thompson) up, I want to get my dig in before he gets his first dig in. By about 1pm the boys will all be starving so Matt Le Tissier will have a huge mountain of chips in front of him but out of sight. He is like an industrial hoover. You’ve never soon anybody put food away like he does. They’ll all be chomping away but I tend not to bother."

“Come 6pm I’ll then drive home and either collapse in a darkened room or watch The X Factor. I wouldn’t mind Little Mix winning.”

“The time flies past. You’ll normally find that we always play a piece of VT at around 2:45pm because that’s the last chance we get to have a toilet break before the programme finishes. We then reach 3pm and then all the games are kicking off. It sounds strange but those three hours are never long enough to cover everything and to talk about all the events that go on in the games. Once the games all start it’s mayhem until 6pm.

“Come 6pm I’ll then drive home and either collapse in a darkened room or watch The X Factor. That programme is a total shambles this year. Most years there’s somebody you really want to win but there doesn’t seem to be a stand-out favourite this year. I wouldn’t mind Little Mix winning. They seem a nice bunch of girls. I think it’s been a chaotic series to say the least."

“Losing my voice would be my worst nightmare but probably everybody else’s idea of heaven.”

“I’ve never been completely left without a voice after my manic Saturdays. Sometimes I can be pretty hoarse but I’ve got to save something because both of my boys play football on a Sunday. I need something left to shout with on Sunday mornings and afternoons. Once or twice there have been occasions where I’ve been aware that my voice has been really, really struggling but touch wood it’s always survived. That would be my worst nightmare but probably everybody else’s idea of heaven."

“I know I’m biased, but nobody does sport quite like Sky Sports do.”

“I’ve had a few proud moments during my career. Presenting the Champions League Final for Sky last season was a highlight for me. I’ve covered the Olympic games for the BBC in 1984 and 1988 and I’ve won the Sports Journalist Association’s Sports Broadcaster of the Year award for five years in a row so I was chuffed with that. There have been a lot of highlights. I’ve just lucky in the sense that I’ve got the best job in the world. If it wasn’t for everybody who works like crazy around me without getting half the financial awards or the plaudits I’d be absolutely nowhere. Simply proving that I could host Countdown was pretty satisfying as well.

“I could have gone to ITV a few years ago to front their World Cup coverage and I think the day I turned that day was probably the day I realised I was going to be at Sky until the bitter end. Sky has been a fantastic company for me and it’s given me so many opportunities. I’m biased, but nobody does sport quite like them."

“I’m hoping I’ll get to watch Hartlepool a bit more this season.”

“I don’t get to watch Hartlepool much these days, but I’m hoping that will change. Last season was the first season I can remember that I didn’t watch them at all. I normally manage a couple of games a season. But over the past three years with Countdown as well I’ve been struggling. I’m stopping doing Countdown now, I’ve filmed the final one and it’s going out in December, so I’m hoping that will free up some of my time and I will get to see them a bit more this season. Although the way they’re playing at the moment I’m not too sure that I want to!

“One of my proudest things is that my 13 year-old son growing up thought he was a Chelsea supporter, but when he goes training for his local football team now he always wears his Hartlepool shirt. I’m very proud because every other player is wearing Arsenal and Chelsea shirts but I’ve finally managed to win him round."

“We’re all great friends but a bit far spread. Thommo’s in Liverpool, Merson’s underneath the arches of Waterloo Bridge or whatever...”

“Do I ever socialise with any of the Soccer Saturday crew outside of work? No I can’t stand them (laughs). Yes I do really. We’re all really good friends and we meet up on Friday nights for a start. Normally three or four of us have a couple of drinks and chew over what’s happened during the week and what we may be talking about the next day. From time to time we’ll all go out together. We’re a bit far spread, that’s the only problem: Thommo’s in Liverpool, Charlie’s in Glasgow, Le Tissier’s down on the south coast, Merson’s underneath the arches of Waterloo Bridge or whatever (laughs). One of the things about being on the panel to be brutally honest is that you have to get on with the other guys on every level. They are all good mates of mine."

“If you get your foot through the door even at the lowest level, there’s still a way of reaching the top.”

“Any people who have aspirations of being a sports journalist or presenter should never give up. It’s just a fantastic career. A friend used to say to me, ‘if you stand in the middle of the motorway for long enough, eventually a car will hit you.’ That was his view. He would send barrages of emails and letters to television companies, radio companies and he would never be discouraged. Don’t expect the world too quickly. There’s a lot of people who work at Sky who have come through university having studied the relevant courses and they do have to start with the most menial jobs.

“There was a guy who was 15 years old and who would come into Sky and work for free every weekend on the sports desk and he’d do it religiously every weekend. He now produces the Champions League coverage on Sky. There is still a way up: if you get your foot through the door, even at the lowest level, there’s still a way of reaching the top."