It’s every football fan’s dream to get close to the players of the club they support. CRAIG JONES got to make this a reality when he was the ‘DJ’ at the launch of Manchester City’s new club shop. . .
I’M sitting in the office on a drizzly Thursday morning with a million and one things to do.
It’s fair to say I’m in need of a pick-me-up. So, I do what anyone in my position would do – waste away the hours on Facebook. Flicking through the endless cringeworthy statuses (that I am all too guilty of writing myself) which included the usual ‘I can’t wait to finish work’, ‘I love my boyfriend sooooooo much’ and ‘I’m just off out for a loaf of bread’, all very intriguing stuff, I stumble across something of potential interest.
The official Manchester City page beckons me. It says: “Budding DJs wanted to cover the launch of our new club shop tonight.”
This is a calling. Being a City fan, I’m wobbling with excitement and, given the fact I consider myself something of a music buff, I decide to give it a go.
The rules are quite simple. All I have to do is submit three songs that I’d like to play. After much deliberation my choices are made – New Order’s Blue Monday, Julian Casablanca’s 11th Dimension and Editors’ Papillon. I’m convinced that a blend of a synthy Eighties alternative sound will be ideal for a shindig with Roberto Mancini and his boys.
A phone call comes and incredibly I’ve been selected to DJ the launch, I’m brimming with a smile that even the Cheshire Cat would be envious of. I then walk from desk to desk bragging to anyone who’ll listen what I’ll be doing this evening.
My friend Alexandra asks if she could accompany me to this glamorous event in the hope that she could snag herself a footballer husband.
She asks: “So Craig, who are the hottest players?”
Given my love for Carlos Tevez, I instantly blurt out the little Argentine bulldog’s name. Alex gives me a stern headshake of disapproval, of which Simon Cowell would be proud, and says: “Oh no Craig! Isn’t he the one with the massive scar?”
Obviously we look for different things in a man – I look for a goal scorer, and I dread to think what she looks for.
We arrive at the new CityStore on Market St, in the old HMV site across from Boots, startled by the view of a large blue moon rising.
We’re ushered to the entrance while having our snaps taken by photographers, who I hope believe me to be a footballer at the club. Given my ever-growing beer belly and the club’s alleged booze culture, maybe I could fit the bill perfectly.
Entering the store, there’s a space age parting of the ways when the moon splits in two allowing us to enter. I feel like we’re being taken on David Bowie’s space oddity and I begin to wonder if we’ll bump into Major Tom.
As we walk into the unknown, our entrance is greeted by rousing cheers from the Tannoy. I have to admit being cheered walking through a door is a fair old ego-boost and it eased my growing nerves before the impending DJ set.
The shop looks great – a bit like something from the film Tron. Lit in dark blue and full of mod-cons, we’re greeted by the event organiser who drags me from pillar to post.
Revealing that I’ll only be playing the three songs which I submitted (to be honest, I don’t mind as it gives me more time to schmooze with the City bigwigs), there then comes a trio of shocking bombshells.
The first is quite nice – all the drinks are complementary (not a bad start), secondly, the scarfed one, Roberto Mancini, will not be in attendance as he’s coming down tomorrow to officially open the store instead.
My heart is slightly broken at this point as I will admit I have a slight man-crush on the Italian stallion, who has an eye for knitwear.
But my spirits are raised by the fact Shaun Wright-Phillips and Micah Richards will be coming down later on.
The final revelation leaves me flabbergasted just as I’m told to jump behind the decks and get on with it.
The organiser says: “Just have a fiddle with the buttons – we are playing all the songs out of the main speakers anyway, so you don’t have to do anything, all you have to do is look convincing.”
It’s claimed, rather understandably, that the club couldn’t take a risk on whether I could DJ or not. Externally I’m nodding in agreement, but on the inside I’m having a diva-like strop.
Do they not know who I am? Do they not know of the ‘acclaimed’ radio show I did at uni or the many sets I’ve done in some of Manchester’s finest indie nightclubs?
My reputation didn’t precede me. In my head this is the biggest musical scandal since Milli Vanilli lip-synched or Cheryl’s latest mime on X Factor.
I jump behind the decks to begin a wooden acting master class that even Arnold Schwarzenegger would be embarrassed by. But as the sound of Bernard Sumner asking ‘How does it feel?’ rumbles around the shop’s basement floor I revel in my surroundings.
To my left I see the rather sophisticated shirt printing area that wouldn’t look out of place at a Kraftwerk gig and then directly in front of me I spy City’s Ambassador, the legendary Mike Summerbee, having a little dance to New Order.
At this point I start to amuse myself by switching the decks on and off wondering if anything will happen. Nothing does.
At the end of my set, Alex and I go grab a quick word with secret New Order fan Mike Summerbee. He speaks with great pride about the shop and says: “The store looks fresh, smart and modern; I think it epitomises the direction that the club is going.
“It just shows how Manchester City are growing as a force.”
We then get chatting about City’s current form and as an armchair fan I question the need of playing three holding midfielders at home. Summerbee, ever the gentleman, listens to my ramblings, which he’s probably heard a million times before. It becomes evident he’s keen to change the subject and he introduces us to the club’s CEO Gary Cook.
As we chat I’m desperate to ask about the infamous ‘bottler’ remark he aimed at Kaka when City expressed an interest in signing the Brazilian playmaker a few years back but don’t want to risk being frogmarched out of the joint.
The celebs keep rolling in and as we spot Micah Richards alone in the corner, we quickly hatch a plan, which is basically to use the girl as bait – Alex will ask for a photo and I’ll grab a few quotes about the football.
The plan goes perfectly. Alex gets a snapshot with a potential suitor and I have a chit chat with a man who I spent a few boozy nights with in Portland this summer when I inadvertently bumped into the squad during the club’s pre-season tour of America.
Richards recognises me, so there was actually no need for our convert 007-style plan. We chat about the good old days for a while before we get his thoughts on the new shop.
He raves: “It’s great, I’ve been to the old store in the Arndale Centre and this is a big improvement, I can’t believe how big it is. I think the fans will love it, they deserve the best on and off the field.”
I’m happy to get the quotes but as a fan I’m eager to get some juicy gossip about the club, I gently probe about the reported bust-ups between Mancini and the players but Richards leaps to the Italian’s defence. He explains: “I know a lot has been made about the recent results and our style of play, but I think people need to take a reality check and see that we are actually still fourth in the table.
“Everybody is saying we’re in decline and much has been said about the manager but he’s genuinely doing a good job and it is obvious the club is going in the right direction.”
The free alcohol must be running low as we’re now only being given halves of lager. Richards is called to the decks to join team-mate Shaun Wright-Phillips in providing the music. I jealously notice they get to actually DJ, no miming for millionaires, but at this point my attention has turned to other things.
After supping a fair bit, conversation between myself and Alex becomes very disjointed (I have the dictaphone recordings to prove it). She’s insistent on finding a waitress so she can grab another glass of wine while I realise that I don’t have this year’s kit and consider sneaking out with one of the jerseys displayed on the racks. I try to justify my intended actions by thinking, ‘The guys who own us are billionaires, they aren’t going to miss a shirt’.
At this point, I’d like to clarify I didn’t steal anything, what a horrible faux pas that would have been, but we consider this a good point to head towards the exits for the after show-party at The Living Room where City fans, Doves, would be performing. Before leaving I get a quick photo on the stage with Shauny, he has no option in the matter, as the little man is basically propping me up I’m in such an inebriated state. Although from the picture Shaun looks a little worse for wear, too.
We leave, the night has been amazing and I just can’t believe my luck that I got to be part of such a big event with the club I love. I have the sound of Andy Gray in my ears rumbling out the old footballing cliché: ‘you can’t win a raffle if you don’t buy a ticket’. Too true Andy, take a bow son.
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