Ian Fiveankles – United losing is almost the new norm

This autumn sees the first live outing for cult heroes The Exploding Heads: angry-about-everything Colin from Portsmouth and former-professional-footballer-turned-current-pundit Ian Fiveankles from comedy podcast Sports Horn. Ahead of their Lowry date, Ian gives his verdict on the north west’s clubs.

There was a time when Manchester United losing was a shock and a surprise. There was a time when Manchester City winning was a similarly baffling phenomenon. I was a player when that time was the time that was now. Which is then if you’re reading this in the modern day. And here we are, with things all turned upside down and inside out. City winning barely registers. United losing is almost the new norm. How did we get here? And how do we find our way back to the old comfy sense of usualness?

Let me offer an example from my own life. I am now happily engaged as a football pundit and loving life, but it wasn’t all a bed of roses. That bed smells nice now (because of the roses) but it used to absolutely stink and here’s why. . .

I never wanted to retire from professional football. Like many before me, I thought I could play on forever, but the harsh reality is that the Grim Reaper catches up with all of us. Just to clarify – I’m not dead, so perhaps it wasn’t the Grim Reaper himself tapping me on the shoulder, maybe it was one of his minions. The Bleak Reaper, or whatever. Anyway, my knees went, my pace slowed and one afternoon at Bolton Wanderers my Achilles snapped and recoiled all the way up into my left bum cheek like an internal elastic band. No more playing at the highest level for me.

I’m not going to lie – why would I lie? Why would I write an article full of untruths? What earthly good would that be to anyone? Seriously, if you think I’m typing away here and just inventing stuff then you need your head examined. No, I’m not going to lie… the next few years were hard. Insanely difficult as I contemplated life post-playing career. I drifted into an unhealthy obsession with a games console, and console me it did. I became addicted to a certain football simulation game, one that allowed the me to develop avatars of myself and give myself player stats that rendered me a colossus on the pitch all over again.

In order to give my life meaning and bring joy to days otherwise spent eating Curly Wurlys in my pyjamas, I decided to take on the role of virtual player coach at the club that, in real life, had given me my start. Here I was at Dover Athletic, ready to take on the world of club football and win everything (obviously setting the difficulty levels to “really easy” to guarantee success).

I loved the onfield displays of ruthlessness. Crushing Swansea City 19-0 in a Carabao Cup game in which my avatar scored seven, breaking forward from defensive midfield like some kind of god king. I enjoyed the power that my role as Player Coach gave me. I could decide who to advance and who to trash – I dropped Rod Wallace like a hot egg and sold him to Wigan Athletic. I bought Steven Gerrard and played him in goal, just because I could. These were heady times. I advanced up the league pyramid and won everything going, taking Dover into Europe and winning the Champions’ League a record 15 seasons straight.

And then I caught myself in the reflection on my television screen one Tuesday afternoon. Bits of Curly Wurly in my wildly unkempt moustache. Me breathing heavily as I contemplated a 1-1-8 formation to defeat Boca Juniors in the Super Cup. There was no consequence here. There was no jeopardy, no excitement. In real life Rod Wallace had nutmegged me three times in three minutes when I played against Leeds in the mid-90s. Steven Gerrard had refused my request for a selfie on “An Evening With” and mistaken my then-wife Denise for Peter Beardsley. This virtual grandstanding with Dover Athletic was all pathetic – Pathetic Athletic – it was a temper-tantrum reaction to a world that I had barely clung to as a player and which had now spat me out and forgotten me.

Slowly I clawed my way back into respectability by being needlessly provocative to fill airtime as a pundit. I am relevant again, like a sporting John Cleese. And now I can see with crystal clear vision what is happening at the Manchester Clubs of this world.

There is an unseen hand playing on a console set to “really easy”. City have taken the place of my beloved Dover Athletic, and they are wreaking revenge on their neighbours United, pummeling their once-successful rivals into oblivion. It has to stop. The powers that be behind both clubs need to wake up and see the Curly Wurlys in their moustaches. Otherwise nothing makes sense in football anymore.

Ian Fiveankles is currently appearing in a show called “Colin From Portsmouth” where he attempts to do “An Evening With” and reminisce about his playing career, and his rivalry with Rod Wallace. He is at The Lowry on 6 October before continuing on tour.