Dreams Do Come True - Manchester United v Blackpool at Old Trafford CHAMP19NS

My second day in the UK and life goal number one already achieved. Before my arrival in the UK I organised to see the Manchester United v Blackpool game at Old Trafford, a game in which United would be presented their record-breaking 19th League Trophy. Tickets were scarce, but I was able to secure one through a local Supporters Group.

I woke up at 5am, mainly due to jetlag, but I would be wrong if I said I did not have an ounce of adrenalin running through my veins. I arrived at London Euston around 45 mins before train departure (9.20am). Here I met my friend (I will constantly refer to him as 'friend'). We had something to eat and got to know eachother. He was a bloke I had never met before, but we are all 'United' at Manchester, hence the friend reference. The last call for Manchester Piccadilly projected over the PA speaker and we made a run for the Park Ji Sung platform, platform 13.

My reserved seat 43A was occupied, so I took it as a free-for-all, taking any seat I can. Of course, two minutes before departure and a group of young English women approached me and advised that I was sitting in their seat. Being the gentleman I am, I offered my seat to the young lady who looked like she had really enjoyed her Saturday night in London. With the Stretford End at the forefront of my mind, I did not come to the realisation that I would be standing for the next two and a half hours. If somebody told me I could only go to Old Trafford to watch United lift the title for the 19th time under the condition that I had to stand, I would have done it with one leg (maybe not).

The train was saturated with red. It was still early and nobody was in any mood for banter, except for Steven and friend. For the first hour and a half, my friend and I (who was also Melburnian) reminisced about football in Australia, lifestyle, club scene and stereotype. We received blank stares from some (those British girls) and chuckles from others (United supporters). Clearly I am more fancied by a United supporter than a British girl. In the rare break of conversation, I was able to spare a moment and gaze out the window at the English country-side. For what it is worth, I could not really care about the English country-side, I just wanted to get to Old Trafford. I have plenty of time to sit back and watch Catriona Rowtree give a 'comprehensive' three-minute 'Getaway' speel about the English Country-side.

So we reached Manchester Piccadilly, walked to the square, dumped our luggage and headed back to the station to catch the train to Old Trafford. We missed the first train, and in the wait for the second, a flock of Manchester City supporters arrived on the platform to set on their short trip to the Reebok Stadium at Bolton. One 'Citeh' supporter tried to mark his territory by advising me I was on the wrong platform. It was my first experience of distaste between rival Football Clubs in the UK.

We ended up on the 3:01pm train, just under an hour away from kick-off. We arrived at Old Trafford soon after to be greeted by the stadium's perimetre.  I was immediately subsided by the colossal presence of this wonderful stadium. We wasted no time in heading towards the Stretford End (left of screen) where we were met by an insurmountable stairwell to the upper tier, well so it seemed anyway. After a vigorous climb, I rushed through the concourse to get the first momentous view of the surface that has been graced by so many of my idols. I soaked up the moment, took my seat and really thought about where I was. Around 20 minutes before kick off, I pressed record on the voice memo application on my phone to ensure I get every sound that was churned out of the Stretford End this afternoon. The stadium was still half full, although the Western Wing started to populate as the seats that spelled 'Manchester United' started to become occupied. Music was played over the PA, atmosphere building and fans started to find their voice.

3:55pm and the greatest English Club made their way on to Old Trafford from the tunnel below me. A guard of honour was set up by the Blackpool players to commend title number 19. I really could not believe what I was witnessing as the chant 'Campeones' exploded in a sudden instant. Players shook hand and took their position. The ball was played back to Paul Scholes, yes Paul Scholes, as he characteristically looked to play to the wide spaces of Old Trafford. I took a stance like many others and started singing at full voice. The chants rolled on; From 'Are you watching Merseyside?' to 'Viva Ronaldo'. My involvement was not at capacity as I still wanted to ensure I was getting all the photos and videos to prove my existence in this stadium.

Not long in and Park made it 1-0 after a clever Berbatov headed pass. There was no exclamation about the cheer. It was comparable to the cheer Park Ji Sung receives when his name is announced in the starting line up. Not long after and Charlie Adam made it 1-1. A sublime free kick which left Edwin Van Der Sar rooted to the spot. The goal was greeted by an applause from the Old Trafford faithful, who were more than happy to concede a draw if it meant Blackpool stayed up. Half time arrived and after 45 minutes of standing and singing I took my seat for a respite.I took a moment to reflect before I went through my phone and camera to ensure I had taken all the necessary footage of this great day.

Blackpool started the second half well and were rewarded with the lead thanks to Gary Taylor-Fletcher, who with this goal had put Blackpool safe from relegation. Not long after and Anderson levelled, and when Smalling's low cross was turned in by a Blackpool defender, the hopes of the Blackpool faithful in the opposite corner of the stadium slowly faded. The Stretford End were enjoying themselves and went through 10 minutes of 'old skool', starting with 'Ooh ahh Cantona', moving on to 'Keano' and fittingly ending with 'Gary Neville is a red', only days before playing his testimonial against Juventus. Michael Owen made his entrance into the arena and in typical Owen fashion he scored United's fourth as the chant 'You Scouse Bastard' went up in the Stretford End.

It was a day of celebration and no matter what the result was, the mood could not be killed on this historic day. Blackpool were to be relegated back to the Championship. On their way out, a standing ovation from United supporters was further escalated to a roar in praise of Ian Holloway, who not too dissimilar to Sir Alex Ferguson would always speak his mind in the media. Holloway acknowledged the ovation he received and headed down the tunnel. 'Campeones' and 'Que Sera Sera' rang around the stadium once again in anticipation of the United team re-appearing to collect their medals.

The team re-appeared in unison as they hopped, skipped and jumped their way to the stage. One-by-one they were announced to their cheers of the crowd. The two loudest roars came three from the end. Firstly Paul Scholes (10th title) and a quick rendition of 'He scores goals galore', then Ryan Giggs, whose 12th Premier League title had the Stretford End singing 'Giggs will tear you apart, again'. Captain Nemanja Vidic rounded off the celebrations by being the last presented, then proceeding to lift the historic 19th title, effectively knocking Liverpool 'off their perch'. 'Are you watching Merseyside?' erupted again to remind Liverpool supporters of the proceedings taking place. To add further insult, the Scousers went down 1-0 to Aston Villa.

A slow lap of honour took place as players were greeted by their family, and the Streford End gave it their all one last time for season 2010/11. Wayne Rooney provided one more highlight as he urged his son towards goal at the Stretford End with his miniature football. Kai took the ball from 6 yards and made his way to the goal line only to over-run the ball at the last attempt, which was ruthfully finished by on-coming father Wayne, much to the jubilation of the Stretford End.

The stadium emptied and I remained to get my last glimpses of the Theatre, just incase I never made it back there again. On exit I ensured I took a photo with all 19 Championship-winning teams as displayed on the walls outside Old Trafford, as well as capturing the memorials and tributes to the Munich Air Disaster of 1958. I waited outside for the players to leave, capturing glimpses of all the players, including Rooney, Rio, Fletcher, Smalling, Park, Anderson and Edwin Van Der Sar. Rio took off in his Jaguar not long after Anderson pulled the scissor doors down of his SLR McLaren. The Megastore was closed, and thankfully so as I could have remained there for quite a while. I managed to purchase three scarves, one in memory of the Munich Air Disaster, another in protest of Glazer, and the final one, the 19th Championship edition.

I promised myself to go back there again next season, and if all goes to plan, my dream of watching a Manchester United v Liverpool fixture could well be within reach.

'Watch out for the late swing' - 103 n.o on debut

So we (Elena and I) arrived at Richmond Station to be greeted by 'Cooky', who took his time getting there. I think the races were on because people were dressed up in all sorts of outfits. We jumped in Cooky's mini convertible, it was 20 degrees on this day so he had every right to have the roof down. By the way, I had no cricket gear whatsoever.

We arrived at Ham Common, the home of Ham & Petersham around 10 minutes before the first ball was to be bowled, an ideal preparation for a bloke who likes to go through the motions beforehand. I put on my makeshift whites (Thank you Tebbsy) and ventured out to the Common where I was greeted by a welcoming bunch of lads. We were bowling. For once I did not have my customary place in the field, or did I? The skipper must have heard through the grapevine (Costello-vine) that I field in gully, so I assumed the position I have made my own over the years.


We started off well taking two early wickets. A small partnership formed before more wickets fell and it looked like this match would be done by 4pm. The 10th wicket put on 50-ish, which was a testament to the wicket they were batting on, not so much their stroke play. The total set to chase was 196 off 45 overs.

Tea was at the Flower and Garden Pub, right next door to the club house. A great spread was put on by the H&P boys. After the re-fuelling I made my way back to the change rooms where I donned the pads for the first time in the Northern Hemisphere. Tebbsy lent me his Gray Nicolls, similar to my Phoenix Hayden 380, but not quite as heavy. I backed myself and decided against a helmet and a thigh pad. In this competition, the same ball is used for the entire match, so we would be facing a 45-over old ball first up. Lick my lips I did.

Chas and I waltzed to the crease in confidence. The pitch was dry and hard. Chas took his stance, I waited down the other end. For some reason I did not feel much pressure. I think I was delerious. I started slowly, working singles to fine leg and mid off. It was not until around the 11th over, where I went cover drive (4), cover drive (4), cut shot (4) until I found my groove.

I had full confidence in the pitch and was able to work singles, sometimes two's into tight gaps. The outfield was lightning, so a full blown shot was not required. I leaned on a few that pierced gaps and hit the odd boundary. Boundaries were short square of the wicket and quite long straight.

I reached 50 just before drinks and was delighted. All the pressure the Costello's had put on me was finally released. It took me a few overs to get back into it after drinks. Run rate was just about par, but I wanted to get it over and done with as jetlag was really starting to take full effect. I played some improvising shots, including some late cuts that beat 3rd man for four.

We were 0/150 off around 30 overs and it was important that Chas and I went on with it. We developed a great understanding between the wickets, turning 2's into 3's, and in one instance, an all-run 4. Mid off pushed deep for me, so I continually pushed the ball out to him and ran 2.

We needed 14 to win, Tebbsy signalled '10' with his hands, meaning I was on 90. Four through mid wicket, probably my best shot of the day. 94, 10 to win. I was sweating on a real loose one, wanting to bring up the ton in style with a 6. My first attempt at glory saw a top edge into my melon, the first time I have ever been hit in the head without a helmet. I will never not wear a helmet again. My second attempt brough a massive appeal as I swung hard and missed, the ball coming off my pad and 'something else', creating two noises. I was that delerious I was not sure that I hit it. The keeper was convinced. Chas joined in the fun, scoring a few on his own making the task of getting to the Century a little tougher.

We needed 7 to win when I stretched for a wide one through point for four. I moved to 98, 3 to win. I pushed a single to mid off on the last ball of the over, selfish of me. 2 to win, I was on 99. The first ball of the next over was wide down leg side, it ran down to the boundary, I thought it was going all the way. There were shouts of fine leg to kick it over for 4, ultimately denying me my hundred. In good sport, fine leg hurled it back in, leaving me on 99 and 1 to win due to the wide. The next ball was full and outside off, bang through the covers it went for four. Century on debut, I could not be more happier with my start to cricket in the UK. We chased the score with plenty of overs spare and 10 wickets in hand. 0/201. Chas ended up with an awesome 71 n.o, a credit to him for sticking it out after I had run him into the ground with some 2's and 3's.

A great win first up, and a knock that would put me into submission in the coming days.

Go the H&P!

'Sussing out the 'Burbs' - First full day in London

My first official day in London saw me awake at 4am, yes, I was jetlagged. In fact, I had probably slept around 9 hours in 3 days up until this point. The sun was up, which is quite annoying sometimes, especially if you are from Australia. There is about a 6 hour period of darkness between sunset and sunrise here in London, not ideal if you like your sleep.

I got up, had my first shower in a few days under a freezing water temperature, simply because I did not know how to work the hot water. Elena and I got ourselves ready and we ventured down to Oxford St, Soho (60m walk) to eat some breakfast. My first meal in London would be McDonalds breakfast. I had a sausage and egg bagel and it was mouthwatering. The McDonalds menu has a greater variety here in London.

After breakfast we ventured off to the 'burbs to get a feel for locations which we thought would be ideal to live in. First stop, Clapham Common. By the way, the London Underground rail system is just brilliant. Clapham offered parklands, Old English architecture, and a main strip with all the necessities, including some funky bars and pubs.

We moved on to Balham, which is not much further out of London than Clapham. Balham seemed like a cheap version of Clapham. It was much flatter in design and probably had half the amneties of Clapham. It still had McDonalds though.

Kensington was our next stop. We found ourselves in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea which meant strips of cafe's and restaurants, and an ultra-large Harrod's store just up the road. Property in Kensington is expensive. A good comparison would be Toorak in Melbourne. However, it is a wonderful suburb with plenty to do.

Our last stop before I had to play cricket was Fulham Broadway. Fulham presented a vibrant feel and a more attractive population. The properties are a bit more affordable than Kensington but still expensive. We had lunch at a nice little Burger place, I had a chicken satay burger.

That rounded up our first expedition of London. Now it was time to venture out to Richmond for my first game of cricket.

What was Captain Cook thinking?

In the 1800's, Captain Cook set on a voyage to discover the land we now call Australia. But seriously, what was he thinking?

After 21 hours of flying and 3 hours of transition, we reached London. That's flying though. Captain Cook sailed, but the other way. At stages we were flying into 60 km/h head winds, imagine Captain Cook sailing into a head wind? He would have to start his voyage all over again.

Anyway, after saying goodbye to the loved ones, we (Elena and I) entered the 'doors of destiny', only to be held up by a bloke too passionate about his job. All he had to do was wave us through. Not this bloke, he was too passionate about his job. After uncle Jim scared the living daylights out of him he called his boss, who with some common sense, let us through to fulfil our ambition of... Getting through customs?

I was tested for explosives, then almost lost my carry bag with all the essentials i.e. Passport, money, cards etc. I checked in on Facebook for one final time, accumulating 20+ likes (Equivalent to picking up 3 birds in one night).


The plane found its way into the air somehow. For a while I was thinking about the mechanisms of flying a plane, but it was incomprehensible. We tried to sleep for periods to no avail. The first time I checked the flight map was when we were out of Australia (flying North West). The longer you ignore the flight map, the better your psychological state. Not long before our first stop over, a lady behind us found her way into a fetal position in the aisle. Elena brought it to my attention, I thought she was dead. I think she was trying to get attention of cabin crew so she can be bumped up to first class. Good improvisation.

Kuala Lumpur was the stopover. A clean, no fuss airport with fine cuisine which included a spicy satay breakfast and an air of freshness, as well as a clever piece of transport known as the Aero Rail. A few hours later we were north of India. What did this mean? It meant that I turned to Elena and said, 'right Smell, we're about to hit 'Turban'ulence', and we did. It must have been due to a whirlwind spell from Harbhajan Singh below us that created pockets of air pressure 15,000 feet above.

We reached the mountainous regions of Afghanistan. The plane started forming a flight path similar to a Lionel Messi solo run. Zig zags, dilly dellys, Cruyff turns, the lot. I started wondering whether we were getting shot at. In fact, the pilot increased the plane's altitude by 9,000 feet, which seemed like a contingency plan for any attacks coming from the ground.

Europe beckoned. The flight path indicated that we were flying between Kiev and Donetsk, then Poznan, then all of a sudden we were nearing Berlin. By now, the baby sitting two rows infront of us had gone into its fourth straight hour of raw screaming. Further on Brussels came, and not long after, the promise land. Crossing the channel was dull, but as soon as the plane descended from the clouds, it all became a reality. The distinct architectual arch of Wembley appeared and so did the congested infrastructure of one of the world's fondest cities, the city we call London.

The flight was gruelling, but as I write this blog from the comfort (lie) of my hostel room in Soho, it was all worth it.