My allegiance is red. My concern is for Manchester.

My allegiance is red. My concern is for Manchester.

I should make one thing absolutely clear: I am a diehard Manchester United supporter. Always have been, always will be.

But I also have a real affinity for Manchester City. That might sound an unusual admission from a United fan, but football loyalties and affection for people are not quite the same thing.

I live in Altrincham, surrounded by people who are passionate City supporters. I know what their club meant to them long before the wealth arrived, and long before winning trophies became an expectation.

I have always liked the idea of Manchester being at the epicentre of football: a concentration of talent, wealth, ambition and influence, with two great rivals competing at the highest level. Naturally, I want United to be the best. But I can still appreciate what both clubs mean to our city.

That is why, when I think about the recent findings against City, the feeling that keeps returning is sadness.

The independent commission’s findings in the Premier League case are serious. City disputes them and has said it will appeal, so the process is still unfolding. Rules matter, and other clubs and their supporters deserve fairness. (skysports.com)

But my thoughts keep returning to the ordinary supporter. And to explain why, I need to go back to 1999.

In the late 1990s, I worked Friday evenings and Sunday lunchtimes at restaurant called Deckers in Bowdon. It was a lovely place, the manager and deputy manager were die hard City fans and several City players would come in for Sunday lunch with their families.

One of them was Paul Dickov. My lasting memory is of a genuinely lovely man.

The Scotland international had joined City from Arsenal in 1996. He stayed with the club through its descent into the third tier and became part of City folklore through what happened at Wembley three years later. I have always admired his part in that difficult period.

City had fallen from the Premier League into Division One, then into Division Two—the third tier of English football. These were supporters who knew what it meant to follow their team when there was very little glamour attached to doing so.

On 30 May 1999, City faced Gillingham in the Division Two play-off final at Wembley. They were two goals down late in the game. Kevin Horlock pulled one back, then Dickov scored that extraordinary stoppage-time equaliser. City eventually won the penalty shoot-out and secured promotion.

I remember watching the final on television at Deckers. I was supposed to be working, although I have to admit that, at that particular moment, I was not doing very much work.

What has stayed with me is the sheer joy from the supporters as Wembley and at home.

For supporters who had followed City through those difficult years, that goal offered something beyond a result. It offered relief, belief and a way back.

My memory of that evening is that the team returned to celebrate at the Gallery in Altrincham, a bar that no longer exists. I ended up there too, having a drink and joining in the celebrations.

A United fan celebrating with City players. Perhaps that tells you something about the atmosphere that night—and about how football can occasionally reach beyond its rivalries.

I would never presume to tell City supporters which moment should mean the most to them. But I have often thought that Dickov’s goal must stand alongside Agüero’s for many who experienced both. One helped rescue the club from its lowest ebb; the other delivered the league title.

I will never forget that final day in 2012 either. For a few minutes, we United supporters thought we had won the Premier League. Then Agüero scored against QPR, and everything changed.

It hurt. Of course it did.

But looking back, it felt like City truly coming of age. Their supporters had extraordinary reasons to feel proud of their team, their club and Manchester itself.

From the red side, there was envy: of the resources, the transfers, the quality of the football and the consistency of the results. I would be pretending if I said otherwise.

Yet I also valued seeing Manchester command so much attention on the world stage.

The impact extended beyond football. City and the investment around the club have played a significant part in the transformation of east Manchester, alongside the council and other partners. That contribution belongs in the wider story too.

So where does this leave the ordinary City fan now?

Does the Agüero moment feel different? Does a shadow fall over something that once brought uncomplicated happiness? Will every discussion of those title-winning seasons become an argument about whether an asterisk belongs beside them?

I do not know. I am not a City supporter, and I cannot answer for them.

But I would hate to see their genuine joy dismissed. They celebrated with friends and family. They made memories that might include a child’s first match, someone who is no longer here, or a moment they had waited decades to experience.

Those feelings were real. The supporters did not draw up the contracts or prepare the accounts.

I think about the players, too. Their training, discipline, teamwork and determination were real. They still had to perform under pressure and grind out results.

That does not resolve whether the conditions in which they competed were fair. It does mean we should discuss their sporting effort and the financial findings with care.

Then there are the people whose names rarely appear in the headlines: the canteen assistants, secretaries, drivers, grounds staff and everyone else who helps a football club function.

Do they feel let down? Worried? Protective of a club and workplace they love? I cannot speak for them, but they deserve consideration.

My concern also reaches beyond the stadium. If the eventual consequences affect ownership or future investment, what might that mean for the businesses and communities connected to City?

A change of ownership would not automatically undo Manchester’s progress. But uncertainty about jobs, investment and opportunity worries me. For people whose livelihoods are involved, this is much more than a football argument.

Economic benefits cannot put a club above the rules. Accountability matters, as does fairness to its competitors. But we should also recognise where the consequences fall, especially on people who had no part in the decisions being examined.

Perhaps that is why my mind keeps returning to Paul Dickov, Deckers and that evening in Altrincham.

I remember a lovely man, a remarkable goal and people celebrating a club they had refused to give up on.

I will always want United to beat City. But I can still care about those supporters, and about the city we share.

My allegiance is firmly red. My concern is for Manchester.