Birmingham City F.C.

Once again my team are poised to be relegated from the higher reaches of the football league to a lower division, and who knows the year after that to an even lower rung on football's slippery ladder. Now this is not unusual, since I first stepped out onto the terraces of St. Andrews in 1957, we have always struggled to maintain our status in the premier division.
This is a pity because our team represents England's second city and the fans deserve better for numerous reasons. This long suffering bunch of dedicated pall bearers and their descendents, nearly all who live within a stone's throw of the venerable old ground, have shown more dedication to their team than perhaps any other supporters in the land.
Just look at the facts, founded in 1875 the club have never won a major trophy in their history and yet the unqualified support of the people of Birmingham, in large numbers, has been their's for the asking. This dedicated bunch have not only had to put up with, for the most part, mediocricy, if not downright garbage, on the pitch but equally unwholesome meat pies and highly diluted tea or bovril (sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference) to sustain them through their misery. Even to take your appointed place on the terraces at St. Andrews it has often beeen necessary to negotiate a river of urine overflowing from the brick walled enclosure that sufficed as bogs when I was a young man. Despite all of this the most enduring characteristic of generations of Blues fans remains their stoical sense of humour and their expectancy that next season all will be different and that at last it will be our turn.
And yet, and yet we have had our moments. Sometimes we have seen artistry on the pitch that transcends a mere sporting moment and remains in the memory like something Da Vinci may have created. It is these moments that bring us back again and again - too often to be depressed and disappointed by weeks, nay seasons, of struggle and pain - indeed overall Munch's tortured painting entitled, 'The Scream' may be a more approprite pictorial metaphor for a Blues fan than anything that came from Leonardo's studio.
Why has this happened? It is said that we are suffering from a gypsy's curse. Even exorcism has been tried, but alas to no avail. Our board has certainly succeeded in appointing a long line of managers whose football careers have halted or gone downhill after departing from St. Andrews simply because they were not good enough for the job. There has, for instance, never been a cerebral thinker in the post like those who dominate in most successful football clubs these days. And even when a manager has arrived and started to assemble a team with potential then the directors have cashed in on his efforts and our best talent has been sold.
I would argue that any football club is the property of its fans - they are the one constant and the fans of Birmingham City deserve better. It is their club and it should belong to them. As it is they are unable to influence events and have any say on one of the great passions of their lives.
There is already a trend, in the lower regions for clubs to belong to the fans as is demonstrated by the fans co-operatives who own Exeter and York. And for those of you who scoff and say that dubious Rusian milionaires are the answer then look no further than Barcelona whose fans own the club and elect the board. Power to the Blues people.