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Through the Turnstiles of Time: 20 Years a Red

Through the Turnstiles of Time: 20 Years a Red

It’s been 20 years since I first stood wide-eyed on the forecourt in front of the East Stand. A bright-eyed 10 year old, buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing the mighty Manchester United play at the Theatre of Dreams. Just like this past Sunday, the sun was blazing, and the anticipation hung thick in the air.

That morning in 2005, my dad and I had travelled over from Ireland on a coach and ferry package. I can still see him handing over a wad of notes to the bus driver in exchange for an envelope containing our two match tickets. It was a simpler time, no QR codes, no app ticketing, just cold hard cash, paper tickets and pure excitement.

I was in awe from the moment I caught sight of the stadium. The sheer size of it. The crowds. The noise. I wandered the stalls outside the ground, spending my carefully saved pocket money on pin badges, little treasures I’d never seen before. Our seats that day were in Tier 2 of the North Stand (Sir Alex Ferguson Stand), towards the Stretford End side. I remember watching Keane, Scholes, Rooney, Ronaldo, and the newly signed Edwin van der Sar warming up below us. It felt like watching gladiators preparing for battle in a colosseum, with the Stretford End roaring them on to the hallowed turf.

Van Nistelrooy scored the only goal in a 1–0 win over Aston Villa that day. That was it, I was hooked. A lifelong obsession was born. I went home and threw myself into everything United: learning the chants, the culture, the ticketing system, even what to wear. It wasn’t long before I was begging my dad to bring me back. And luckily, he kept on taking me.

The first home game of the season has always carried special significance for our family. It usually falls around my dad’s birthday on August 14th, so it became tradition to attend together. One of the most memorable openers was his 50th birthday in 2019 when we hammered Chelsea 4–0 under Ole. “The good times are back,” we said walking down the steps from the upper tier of the Stretford End. How naive we were…

When I moved abroad at 21 to work as a PE teacher, first in Doha, then later in New Zealand that opening game came to mark the end of my summer, the last taste of home before boarding a plane. But no matter where I was, United always tethered me to something deeper, a shared ritual, a sense of belonging.

So, what’s changed?

Everything, and nothing.

My life’s landscape looks vastly different now than it did 20 years ago. I’m now happily married with a little red on the way. After seven years away, we moved back to Ireland in 2023. I now hold three season tickets in N2412 and regularly attend home and away games with my dad and my brothers, one of whom wasn’t even born the day I first walked into Old Trafford.

This weekend, I found myself back in Manchester for the season opener against Arsenal, but this time I was travelling with my wife and her parents, none of whom have the faintest interest in football. While they explored the city, I did what I’ve always done: linked up with my dad and brother in Deansgate, pint in hand, then took the tram toward the stadium.

The mood before matches has shifted in recent years. As a kid, we never asked if we’d win, only by how many. These days, we’re asking if we’ll even create a chance on goal. 

But what’s stayed the same?

Everything that matters.

Walking from Trafford Bar tram stop and turning onto Chester Road, that first glimpse of the iron skeleton of Old Trafford still hits me like it did when I was 10. The hum of the generators, the smell of sizzling burgers, and the familiar call of “United We Stand – new issue out today!” bring it all rushing back. The nerves, the delusion, the stubborn hope. The belief that this season could be different, no matter how many times we’ve been let down before.

When the team emerged from the tunnel to the Old Trafford roar and the Stone Roses  playing over the tannoy, I looked around and smiled. For better or worse, our emotional wellbeing is once again outsourced to 11 men in red shirts for the next nine months. Football is back. United are back.

The scoreline? 1–0, but not in our favour this time like it was 2 decades ago. And yet, I didn’t leave dejected. I’ve trudged away from too many football grounds in the past two seasons feeling empty, asking how it could go so wrong. Why are other teams so much stronger, faster and up for the fight than we are? were topics we discussed far too often. But Sunday felt different. Rubén Amorim’s side played with  an energy, aggression, and intent that we’ve sorely missed. Mbuemo and Cunha excited us and are two players I think can lead us to great things.

After the game, I said goodbye to my dad and brother as they were heading back to Dublin via Liverpool. I returned to my city centre hotel to meet my wife and in-laws. The beauty of them not understanding football? We didn’t have to talk about the result.

Twenty years on, so much has changed. But walking into Old Trafford still makes me feel like that 10 year old kid, heart racing, full of dreams.

And that, I think, is why we keep coming back.

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