Inside the Theatre of Dreams

When I left Nairobi last Friday with a team of sports journalists headed to the UK for an English Premier League match, there was a sense of expectation that we were about to witness history in the making.

The trip would take us to one of the most famous football cities in the world to watch what had been billed as a title decider between Manchester United and Leicester City.
The task was simple: Leicester had to beat Man United (not an improbable job as it may once have been) and become the English Premier League champions completing a fairy-tale story for a team that was battling relegation just last season. Manchester wore a carnival atmosphere as fans poured in from literally all corners of the globe. I met a Leicester City fan in the elevator who had travelled from China, another fan told us she was a season ticket holder and travels every fortnight or so from her station in Dubai just to support her team.

Never has it been easier to strike a conversation with a stranger than it was last weekend in Manchester. The city was teeming with visitors; all hotel rooms were booked.

“Sorry, ma’am, all the rooms fully taken up because of the match,” the receptionist at the hotel told a lady who was trying to extend her booking for a day.

From my room at the MacDonald Manchester Hotel, a block from the city’s Piccadilly train station, I could hear thousands of singing supporters pouring into town. The biting cold and constant rain was never going to dampen the spirits. 

On the eve of the match, a warning was posted in the elevator; “Breakfast will be busy on Sunday due to the Manchester United vs Leicester football match,” management told guests. You really couldn’t avoid the football even if you tried.

Finally, match day! The more the rain poured the louder the fans sang. In the tram to Old Trafford it seemed to be the fans in the blue of Leicester doing all the singing and chanting.

Business was brisk with traders selling half-and-half scarves bearing the colours of both clubs; the Sir Matt Busby Way leading to the stadium was lined up with food vendors and the Trafford pub was packed to the brim. Even after paying a pound to use a side entrance, there was just no way to get a drink over the heads of so many people crammed inside.

IRONY

There was a sense of irony in passing by the Old Trafford Cricket grounds, now officially known as the Emirates Old Trafford, a brand that reminds us of a certain football club from London that once enjoyed a bitter rivalry with United in the Premier League.

The Old Trafford stadium is an imposing structure. I was last at this stadium in 2012 to watch Brazil beat South Korea in the Olympics football semi-finals but nothing beats the atmosphere of an English Premier League match day, especially a match that has such high stakes riding on it. I lost count of the number of TV camera crews from different parts of the world all speaking in different languages outside the stadium. This is truly a United Nations of football.

As the statue of Alex Ferguson stares down on the stand named in his honour, there is a Leicester fan clad in the team’s jersey who is politely being told that you cannot enter the home stands wearing an away jersey. The escalators will lead all the way to the Salford Suite on the Fourth Level that is already packed with guests enjoying pre-match meals and coffee.

There is a tremendous exhilaration as we walk by the hospitality area and through the door that leads to the stadium stands. Finally, a stunning view of the famous ground in pristine condition ahead of kick off.

This is the climax of a trip that began 48 hours ago at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi. The Leicester keeper Kasper Schmeichel is already out on the pitch training with the reserves on the very ground where his father wrote his name into Man United folklore as one of the club’s all time greats. The stadium speakers are blaring out the latest single by Drake “One Dance” and the stage just seems set for a very special afternoon.

ROONEY LEADS TEAM OUT

The atmosphere reaches fever pitch when Wayne Rooney leads the home team out in their warm up routine and before long the teams emerge from that famous corner of the Main Stand for the pre-match formalities. By the time the referee blows the whistle to kick off the match, the stands are packed to the rafters with an official attendance of 75,200.

Seated next to me is a Manchester United fan who has travelled to watch the match from Norway. Its his second time at Old Trafford, he says, the last time he was here earlier in the season when United lost to West Bromwich Albion 1-0 so he’s hoping that he will get to see his team score at least a goal this time.

MORGAN EQUALISER

He doesn’t have to wait long to see this happen because when Anthony Martial plants the ball in the net as early as the eighth minute, the stadium absolutely erupts. The away supporters that had until then been out-singing the rest of the stadium are stunned into silence. The adrenalin that engulfs the stands when United scores is unlike any feeling that can adequately be described in words.

Football, just like life itself, is a roller coaster of emotions and 10 minutes later when Wes Morgan equalises for the Foxes from a set piece, the momentum is suddenly back with the away supporters who are leaping up and down on the East and South stands. With the match deadlocked, the mood amongst United supporters seated around us goes from anticipation, anytime there is a foray into the Leicester half, to anxiety when the away team makes one of their trademark lightening counter attacks. Loud insults ring out on a couple of occasions when passes go astray (Rooney is main culprit) or when a player dribbles and loses the ball in a dangerous position (step forward Marouane Fellaini).

LEICESTER CHAMPIONS

Half-time offers a brief respite thanks to the coffee and tea being served downstairs and then we are back again to experience another 45 minutes of absolute tension in the venue that United legend Bobby Charlton called the Theatre of Dreams. Despite both sets of supporters urging their teams to take control of the match, you can almost feel the sense of relief at the final whistle: a point earned is better than three dropped.

If you didn’t know it, you would think that Leicester actually won the game, judging by the celebratory mood among the supporters in blue. They all seem pretty certain that Chelsea will do them a favour on Monday night and deny their only title rivals Tottenham Hotspur the three points they require to stay in the race. As it turned out, they were right. It was to be just another 24 hours for Leicester to be confirmed as champions.

On a personal level, I was on such a high that when a man outside the stadium offered me 20 quid for my scarf with the colours of United and Leicester after the match as a souvenir for his disabled son, I was happy to hand it over to him at no cost. After all, this experience had been priceless.