I don't think I've ever felt lower during a half-time interval. United have had many worse days, plenty of bad defeats, embarrassing results and so on, but the realisation that, over the next 45 minutes, we were going to watch City clinch the league against us – with a cricket score of a result - was stomach-churning. It felt a bit like that Woody Allen joke: “I’m not afraid of death – I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”
We were going to watch them try to smash us to bits, to completely eviscerate us in order to consecrate their greatest-ever day. It was like awaiting your own execution. Later, I heard tales of some Reds leaving the ground. Throwing in the towel. I've never left a game early in my life, but I couldn't blame them.
Over the stadium PA, City played Inspiral Carpets' 'This Is How It Feels', which, of course, Reds used to adapt to: 'This is how it feels to be City, this is how it feels to be small, this is how it feels when your team wins nothing at all.'
The only problem was that the game wasn't over. Many of us wished it was, no question about that. A 2-0 defeat would have been disappointing, but nowhere near as traumatic as the shelling we looked like receiving. But, still: it wasn’t over.