Your basket is empty.
A short poem on Old Trafford, 114 years in the making.
Talk to me of the Stretford End, United Road and K-Stand.
Of the left side, the right side, the tunnel, the forecourt, and of Wonderfuel Gas.
Of the plaque, the Munich clock, and the statue of Sir Matt.
Of the Dog and Partridge, the Bishop Blaize, Macari's and Sam Platts.
The Holy Trinity: Best, Charlton and Law; and the second coming of the King.
Of Zlatan Ibrahimovic and "can you hear the scousers sing?".
Talk to me about the swagmen, talk to me about the touts.
Talk about the jibbers, and "get the Glazers out".
Of the Class of 92: Becks, Giggs, Butt, the Nevilles and Scholes.
Gordon Hill, king of the cockneys and all of Pancho's goals.
Of Denis, David, Duncan, Diego, Dolly & Daisy, and Dwight.
Of Big Jim, Gordon, Jimmy & Brian and Doc's Red Army in full flight.
Talk of United We Stand, of Red Issue and Red News.
Of "anyone got any spares?", and chasing off the blues.
Of Irish Reds and Cockney Reds and Rome and Mandalay.
Of 90th minute winners and living to fight another day.
Of Ralphie, and of Remi, and of Robbo and Roy Keane.
Of Kiddo, Kobbie, Marcus, Nobby and all the others that we've seen.
Steve Bruce's header in the 96th against Wednesday.
Of Kanchelskis on the break and how he blew city away.
Norman, Nemanja, Cristiano and Jesper, Stam, Juan and Lee Sharpe.
Ole, Paddy, Gregg and Hughsie and Ooh Aah Paul McGrath.
Let's raise a glass to Old Trafford: leaking roof and all.
Over a hundred years of glory: Matt Busby's football.
(with apologies to "St Anthony" by Mike Garry)
