THE 93:20 NEWSLETTER:- ISSUE 67

Author

Howard Hockin
October 22, 2025

Hello, and welcome to Issue 67 of the 93:20 Newsletter. This is a one-off Newsletter, inspired by a chat I had at the end of the Weekend Show last week. I think it would make a good Mailbag and Podcast too!

And it’s one I can find the time to do, because of the generosity of others who have donated. Thank you as always, it keeps me hopeful about humanity after all, at least for a few minutes until I go on Twitter.

You can donate via this link, and help the content keep flowing:

Anyway, on we go. This is called – Football: My Special Place.

I used to be something of a lurker and a voyeur. Not in the creepy way, but on football message boards. I discovered them long after many had, and they have fascinated and taken up my time ever since, and in the early days helped pass boring day after boring day at the DWP, to the extent that I almost lost my job, unaware that minimising a webpage for the day would not show one result on my internet records when the page in question auto-refreshed every two minutes. I escaped with a written warning and a 5% deduction in my wages that was never applied, I imagine because there was so little to deduct from.

I digress. I lurked for a couple of years, not one to put forward my robust opinions, though the message board in question rarely actually discussed football. Slowly I would proffer the odd thought, most notably when a World Cup of Crisps was held in the summer lull, the result of which makes me angry to this day. Slowly I became a regular, but it was all virtual, having never met a single person that I talked to all day, every day.

Others on the board were meeting though, in what was their special place - the upstairs room of the Waldorf pub in Manchester. This was where many went prior to home matches, the landlord opening up the room, and its own bar. I read about it week after week, from afar. I was not a pub-going match-goer in those days. I went to the match, had the odd pint, went home. Maybe it was time to broaden my horizons. But meeting people off the internet, some of whom I could not even identify in an ID parade? That felt risky, and out of my comfort zone.

Nevertheless, one day I decided I was going to do it, finally. And so I walked up the stairs to that room as the all-familiar waft from the downstairs toilets, known to have triggered PTSD in war heroes, wafted up to my nostrils, me displaying a level of nerves akin to an important job interview. I just don’t do things like this, I’m an introvert. Talk to strangers? This might be worse than being placed on a random table at a wedding because the bride and groom had the crazy and stupid idea to have people mingle and meet new acquaintances.

But on this occasion, I did do this thing. And within two minutes, it didn’t feel like my first time. I was greeted by many as if an old friend, which in a virtual world I guess I was. It went well, though I can’t vouch for the match. I went the next home game too. And 20 years later, I’ve been to a lot more besides. Ten or so holidays together. Turkey, Lisbon and more. European aways. Seen Sergio save my life, had more goal celebration hugs from fellow blues than I have had hot dinners, seen multiple Premier Leagues, been to Wembley more times than I can count, to Istanbul to see my team win a treble – THE Treble. Seen it all, shared it all, memories, tears, and the rest. And might not have done if I had not walked up some stairs two decades ago.

Elsewhere, a couple of years down the line, circumstances changed once more. My football-going sidekick gave up her season ticket due to pregnancy. Stuart Pearce was manager, so who could blame her? I was simply jealous at not having an excuse of my own. I was also desolate at sitting in the North Stand, and hearing the whinging, week-in, week-out, justified as it was. It felt like my match-going life was coming to an end, exacerbated by the tragic death of a friend I would bump into for a pint in the concourse before every match. It seemed likely that my journey had run its course.

I couldn’t give up though. I was one of those bores that proclaimed that this was their last season, before inevitably renewing. Going to the match was part of what defined me, it shaped my weekends, my mood, my everything. I didn’t want to be sat at home, alone, listening to the radio for updates. Oh no. It’s a goal. I had nothing better to do.

What I did know is that I was not prepared to renew my season ticket and retain my existing seat. I did not want to be a solitary match goer, whatever the future held. The message board, and all those who inhabited, avoiding work every day, provided all the answers. It would transpire that I would use the ticket of a season ticket holder who could not make matches, living away from Manchester. He collected the points, kept the ticket alive, I got to go to matches and sit with people I knew, and close to the away fans at the other end of the stadium, a better seat by far. I was fully part of the gang, unaware of the crazy journey that lay ahead. It’s been emotional.

Sometimes you have to meet your fears. I started doing podcasts to overcome my fear of public speaking. Blue Tuesday didn’t go very well, though I got to ask Uwe Roselr a question, but eventually I would do a live show, and survive it. And chat to the likes of Paul Lake, Brian Horton, David Bernstein, and some bloke called Jonny Marr, who solely out of kindness said he was a big fan of my work. The feeling’s mutual.

Podcasting has allowed me so many wonderful moments. Meeting City legends, even a place on City's trophy parade bus (number 2), hospitality, tours, and so many blues stopping to talk City because they recognise a fellow fan because he whitters on about football a few times a week. 

Now I can count forty friends I could sit with and have a pint on matchday. Not because of my magnetic personality have I accumulated such a wide circle of friends. Football accumulated them for me, because it creates 2nd families, and in this family there are no black sheep, all are welcome. Not all the football crowd were met through that message board, but they were met because of it. I think about how poorer my life would be right now. Not financially, I’d be much better off, and many kilograms lighter, but in every other aspect. Deciding to go to the Waldorf was the greatest decision I ever made.

I could have put many other places, apart from the Etihad. The Smithfield Pub, the pre-match pub of choice for an Irk Street pale ale. Sureshot Brewery after the match, for a diet of Scampi Fries and Monster Munch, and little football chat, whatever the result. The world’s favourite bouncer on the door, always there to greet us with a beaming smile, and Olivia behind the bar, one of life’s decent United fans – they do exist, honest (hi Dad).

So I salute you, the upstairs room of the Waldorf. A special place I was reminded of on the Weekend Show last week, resulting in this Newsletter, when guest Dom Farrell mentioned that the launch party for his new City book will be in the same room, next week. Work permitting, hopefully I shall return next week and reminisce, about where so much began. A dusty upstairs room that holds a lot of memories, and changed everything. Times change – the landlord has gone, the redeveloped pub is a very different one to 15 years ago, where it was also a special place for those watching the QPR match, and celebrating afterwards. My favourite Sureshot Brewery barmaid pulled her last pint on Saturday before travelling the world. Circumstances change, time is fleeting, but never forget the moments that change your path.
I have never been one to say yes to opportunities, but when I have, it has almost always turned out for the best. I should do it more often.

That’s enough waffle from me. Because I would love to know what your football-related special place is, away from the Etihad, perhaps too obvious a choice. So if you want to send me your thoughts, I will collate into a separate newsletter. Message me on Twitter or Bluesky for more details.

And if you want to hear Dom Farrell talk about his new book at the Waldorf next week, you can get tickets here: