I know I'm a bit late, but got back from Manchester yesterday morning and was absolutely knackered for the rest of the day.
Right, Friday afternoon, I go on the United website and check out tickets for the Fulham game. There’s still quite a few on sale, and some pretty well situated in the stadium. I live in Paris and it’s pretty complicated to get to Old Trafford to see a game: the weekend games are often sold out, and when they’re not, it’s often a bit of a last minute job. It’s hard to plan in advance, and with the plane tickets prices, ideally, booking in advance is necessary.
In any case, with tickets available, and my friends telling me a few weeks back they want to get me tickets for a game as an engagement/birthday present, I feel like it could be good fun. I contact my friends, ask them if they’re up for it, and on Friday at 4pm we book tickets and arrange for the flights. We go home and all have fights with our girlfriends who aren’t happy to find out the plans we’ve made for the weekend are cancelled cos of our trip to Old Trafford

(but it’s worth it!)
We meet Saturday morning, get a cab to the airport and fly over. First cultural stop in Manchester is very important: Burger King at Picadilly. A few fellow United fans sporting the Green and Gold scarves or United tops are in there too, and we’re starting to get into the feel of things. We get on the tram to Old Trafford, walk to the ground (we wanted to go into the Bishop Blaize for a drink, but we didn’t spot it, must’ve missed it), retrieve our tickets and take the compulsory tourist pictures. We have a couple of Singhas when we get in and then go to our seats.
Walking into Old Trafford, coming out of the little tunnel and seeing the pitch, the Stretford end to my right, the manager’s box across the field, was a very powerful moment for me. I’ve been supporting the team for about 15 years and have always dreamed to get to OT for a game, it was truly a dream come true.
The stadium slowly fills up, we see the players warming up, RvP and Ferdinand tekkers, De Gea’s pinpoint kicking, and are excited by the lineup. Sure SAF and Evra had been going on about how important the Cup is this year, but you never know. Seeing Giggs in the starting XI, as well as Rooney, Anderson, Carrick, Evra, some of my favourite players, is great. I see the bench, and feel that if Kagawa, Scholes and RvP all come on, the day could be absolutely perfect (got a 2/3 there!). Anyway the game starts, our left wing is just in front of us during the first half, so we get to see Evra and Giggs linking up, Giggs showing his class all through the half, his penalty, etc. I guess the game has been debriefed anyway, so I won’t go into it. I just really enjoyed finally seeing a game in the flesh, you pick up on so many things (Rooney’s workrate which is already pretty impressive on TV, Giggs’ technique), the movement of players, how Chicharito is always on the shoulder of a player… It probably wasn’t a classic game that will go down into history books, sure, but it was an enjoyable game to watch, got a few goals, some class moves and a great win.
Getting back into town was a nightmare, as expected, but we got there eventually. After a quick drink in a bar serving only cocktails with gay names (though I enjoyed sending my friend who’s built like a house to order me a “woo woo”) and some food, we set off to have a drink (or a few) in town. I’d asked for some advice on here so we walked towards Shudeshill, found a street with loads of bars, but came across a bit of a mishap: we were looking for cheap pubs and a football crowd, but this was people dressed to go out, girls wearing mini extra short skirts and bouncers telling us to feck off (a group of 4 lads with no girls dressed like plebs and wearing trainers, no chance!). We carried on wandering around, found this bar next to Café Rouge where they weren’t too annoyed by us, got some drinks and started talking to an old-ish couple who gave us some advice on other pubs to go to. Got refused again at the entrance of some place called “Revolution” and managed to get into one of the saddest places ever, a pub called Mulligan’s, I think, where they let in everyone (the old couple hadn’t lied about that!).
Anyway we spent a few hours in there, had a real good laugh and a few drinks, but were starting to get really tired by 2am and decided to head back to the airport. Our flight boarded at 5.30am so the plan was always to try to get a couple of hours of sleep before flying back. After an expensive cab ride at about 200 miles per hour, we got to the airport and my friends fell asleep straight away. I’m a bit of a pussy like that, and can’t sleep in a fecking uncomfortable chair so I just wandered around the airport. It was boring. Finally at 5am, the lads wake up, we go towards our check in, get through customs (but not before a thorough search, just felt lucky to avoid a cavity search by the time it was over) and buy a couple of magazines. In the little shop, the guy sees my friend’s Utd scarf and tells us we’re 10 minutes late: Robin van Persie had just been past 5 minutes earlier on his way to Amsterdam! Now I don’t know if the guy was fecking with us or if it was true (there was indeed a flight to Amsterdam just 15 minutes before ours, and I guess it’s not implausible that he went back to spend the day there or whatever), but I was pretty gutted. Imagine how perfect it would’ve been to top off a weekend like that with a quick hi to RvP!
Anyway, flight back to Paris, trip home and a day in a comatose state thinking about how awesome the last 24 hours had been: I’d finally had my dream come true, I’d finally been to Old Trafford to see United win a game!