I have been lucky enough to visit some great places whilst following City, and although it couldn’t match the dizzying sights and smells of say Gillingham or Middlesbrough, Porto really stole my heart on this trip. Football has provided me with a unique opportunity to travel to destinations I wouldn’t otherwise dream of visiting with the kids in tow (Poznan isn’t high on the family summer holiday wish list).

Arriving on the Wednesday lunchtime, I was immediately surprised by how temperate it was, the warmth clinging to you like a favourite cashmere jumper. But it was the spirit of Porto that enveloped me the most, from the old women sweeping the pavement outside their “casas”, to the bakery shopkeepers & bar tenders, the “tripeiros“ are a proud and welcoming host.

Portugal’s second city and capital of the north lies astride the mighty Douro river on the Atlantic coast. Most City fans congregated in the Ribeira area – Porto’s waterfront – and we were surrounded by small houses, restaurants, bars, refurbished dockside warehouses and port wine lodges. Upon raising our glasses to our good fortune in briefly escaping the UK weather, and above the froth of the Super Bock the skyline is dominated by a huge army barracks, and the famous Gustav Eiffel designed Maria Pia bridge.

When I’m planning my European jaunts I’m often greeted with quizzical looks when I say that the result is the least important part of the trip. For those at home, working during the day, then settling in front of the television 5 minutes before kick-off, the match and the score are the be all and the end all. It’s the focal point to the week and is how success or failure is judged. When you are there though, especially if you are privileged enough to spend a few days abroad, the game is but a brief (if important) deviation from the business of exploring, meeting new people, trying new experiences (more of that in part 2) and getting hammered on the local drop.

We’re having a party at the top of the stairs

The American travel writer Tim Cahill wrote “A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” Meeting fellow blues is always a pleasure, and when there are over a 1000 to mingle with, its easy to spend the day moving from group to group, beer in hand, chatting City and getting slowly but pleasantly leathered. The day before the game was a little quieter – those on the day trip’s would be arriving on the Thursday, but the smaller numbers were more than made up for by the great atmosphere generated by The Blue Alliance lads – a constant theme on all of the euro trips. Sometimes misunderstood, you will never meet a more committed bunch who from my experience live and breathe City with an optimism and passion that never strays into aggression.

Having *ahem* “rose late”, it was my pleasure to share a bottle of red wine with perhaps City’s best blogger: Simon Curtis, author of “Down the kippax steps”. Simon lives in Portugal but his passion for the Citizens remains undimmed. It’s great to meet people who you admire, and having shown me the press pass he had wrangled for the game, my respect for the man rose several notches when he texted me after the game to say had even grilled Roberto personally in the press conference!

Into the Dragon’s Den
I won’t go into too much detail about the match, needless to say though that defeating Porto in the impressive Estádio do Dragão is a fantastic feather in our cap. I believe it to be our finest away performance in Europe and on another day we may have come away with a more flattering scoreline. After a shaky start we dominated the game, and in my view Lescott and Nasri were the stars of the show. Thursday night did underline how important our gargantuan Ivorian is to us though. Interestingly a few hours earlier I caught up with 4 members of City’s coaching staff out for a stroll, and they mentioned that Ya Ya had returned from the ACON having lost half a stone in weight – it was felt this was a good thing and big things were expected of him. Nicely prescient.

Returning to the port after the match we found ourselves in an underground bar, serenaded by a combination of 80’s cheese and The Smiths. It was here that I switched to drinking Sagre, a great drink without the gassy and chemical overtone of the mighty Super Bock. Chatting with a Portuguese pal, Antonio and his partner, I was informed this was almost a heresy – Super Bock is the drink of the North and Sagre belongs to the hated South. To smooth the waters, I was bought a “Caiprinha” – it’s cachaça, sugar cane and lime juice poured over crushed ice (delicious, if lethal) and taught a new song:

To the tune of Yellow Submarine – “We want to see, Lisbon on fire, Lisbon on fire, Lisbon on fire” repeat x 50. Catchy, don’t you agree?

Antonio, was a generous host, fiercely patriotic and charming. At the end of the night as we left our subterranean bolt hole i asked him where he lived? He said a 30 minute drive away! Surely not – you’re completely pissed? “It’s ok Mike, don’t worry. I can drive like this!” and grinning from ear to ear, he gripped an imaginary steering wheel, closed one eye and explained how this simple technique allows him to drive in a straight line! With that, they were off. It’s a different country all right.

I have supported City since the 70’s having inherited the team from my late Grandfather.

It wasn’t until the season before last that I ticked something else off my bucket list and finally became a seasoncard holder and then only for a flirtatious 18 months, deciding that the travelling from Edinburgh and back meant that watching us play was becoming less of a pleasure and more of a chore.

As a youngster I had always thought that the way football was structured meant that every decade or so we would have a proper tilt at the title and probably get to Wembley every five years or so on average. I could live with that as a fan. I don’t feel that would be greedy or asking too much.

As the Premiership years unfolded, however, and we were yo-yoing between divisions it became increasingly apparent that it was going to take something entirely different to compete with the Sky 4, ie a shedload of cash.

It was as this realisation dawned that I thought to myself “Why can’t we have a billionaire benefactor?”

I decided that despite there being a “right way” to win things, this way was obviously not going to work. Even a decent cup run seemed out of the question so I magnanimously agreed to myself that if the elusive billionaire showed up I was on board, despite any moral dilemma of all the baggage that would inevitably come with “buying success”.

This brings me to case in point of perhaps the most baggage anyone has seen in a footballer in Mr Tevez.

I was at Wembley singing my heart out on that glorious day in May. I was, however pretty disgusted at the way I saw on reruns our captain throwing scarves delirious supporters had draped round his neck to the ground as if they burned him.

Tevez’ misdemeanours are well documented here so I shall not bother to recap but it seems as though that moral dilemma I mentioned will be tested to the max.

As far as I am concerned I should prefer it if he never took to the field in a City shirt again but it seems as though that is a pipedream and so it is with a somewhat weary heart that I shall be cheering the team in spite of him.

I hope that things resolve themselves in the summer with his departure. For the record I believe our owners have behaved impeccably throughout their tenure and in throughout this charade in particular, but if as some you see Tevez as the devil incarnate then I will just say if you dance with the devil he may step on your toes, or something like that.

In an amazing turn-around it looks like he will be returning to the club, contrary to all expectations. I believe the club has had a clear plan for dealing with Tevez and can only presume that this involves getting him playing again in order to increase his transfer value. Clearly a Tevez who is fit and banging goals in, plus one who we don’t appear to be under pressure to sell, is far more valuable than the hot potato he has been. I fully support the club in their efforts and they’ve played a blinder so far. The (club inspired) revelation that he’s not being paid and has forfeited significant bonuses were clearly designed to send a message to him, his advisers and other clubs seeking to exploit the situation that our resolve was firm and we would not be giving him away for less than we feel he’s worth. It was also a firm statement that he was still a Manchester City employee and he would do what we wanted not what he wanted.

We don’t know what problems lay behind Tevez’s actions. That’s not to try to excuse his behaviour but no amount of money or success can make people immune from personal problems, as the sad death of Whitney Houston proved only too starkly. Was it his advisers trying to play him off against the club or did he genuinely have depression? Having spent much of the last few years working away from home, I know much the inability to be there for birthdays, parents’ evenings and various crises can impact you. People have various reactions to being out of a familiar environment; some love it, some tolerate it and some absolutely hate it. Maybe Tevez didn’t help himself much but I know plenty of people who choose to live in Spain, only mix with fellow expatriates and never learn a word of the language.

Tevez at his best combines talent AND total commitment – the perfect City player. Yet he refused to come on when we needed him. No wonder we’re divided on what our reaction should be. There’s no doubt that the crime of disrespecting the shirt is a capital one in football fans’ eyes. “We dream of playing in the shirt. Today, God chose you. Play like we dream” proclaims the banner hanging from the North Stand. “You’re not fit to wear the shirt” is just about the worst insult a fan can hurl at a player. We’d rather have a Paul Dickov, who’s a bit shit but who’ll run till he drops, than a talented dilettante with no apparent commitment.

I’ve actually seen him interact with fans at close quarters, when I was one of a number invited to the team hotel in London just over twelve months ago, the night before the Arsenal game. It was interesting to see how each player dealt with this (and it was a private setting in front of an invited audience). Balotelli clearly couldn’t deal with it at all and walked past us with his face covered by his hood. Kompany was surprisingly aloof. Given and Lescott were polite without really being effusive. Boyata looked scared to death. But three players clearly loved the attention and couldn’t respond warmly enough. Richards & SWP were two of those players. They had grown up at the club and are clearly outgoing personalities, who loved the interaction, joined in the joking and posed for pictures whenever asked. The other was Tevez who, despite his lack of English, gave plenty of himself to the fans, hugging them and posing for numerous pictures. You couldn’t ask for more from a player; commitment to the club and its fans on the field and off it.

It still begs the question of how any return would be greeted by the fans. Some have said they’ll boo him while some have said they’ll offer no reaction, positive or negative. Others have said that they’ll support him if it means winning the title. We’ve certainly been lacking a sharp edge up front, with neither Aguero nor Dzeko really firing on all cylinders lately. His ability to drag defenders all over the field and create something from nothing could be just what we need in the run-in. But he could equally be another Rodney Marsh, who broke up a successful side’s rhythm when introduced at a critical time in 1972.

I suspect I’d be prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt if he puts the sort of effort in we’ve been used to seeing from him in the past and gets those crucial goals we’ll need at places like Stoke, Swansea & Norwich. Even if he’s still desperate to leave then at least we’d get a better price for him so he’d have served his purpose in more ways than one. It seems incredible we’re saying this about a guy we idolised 12 months ago and who we believed would sweat blood in a blue shirt. Why does it always have to be so bloody difficult to be a City fan?

I am the manager of Manchester City Football Club. I am left with only one option. It’s about money. It’s about pride. And most of all, it’s about pragmatism.

I have a player who joined the club under the manager I replaced and became an icon to the fans. His goals were absolutely vital to my club for 18 months Yet throughout that period he repeatedly disrespected me and undermined me, sometimes privately, sometimes publicly. We ended up in something of a power struggle, where he attempted to destabilise me as manager.  I won a trophy, achieved my objectives and in effect, won that power struggle. In the end he wanted to leave and I was allowed to buy a replacement, but the move never happened and he stayed. This was no fault of mine. I just wanted him gone.

On one of the biggest nights in my career at City, things were going badly. Late in the game, chasing a two goal deficit, I decided to replace a striker with a midfielder to stop the opposition overrunning my midfield. This substitution caused bafflement on the bench, as the players saw it as defensive. Particularly upset were the striker I was withdrawing, who was desperate to impress back in the country he made his name. Also annoyed was the other striker, the disrespectful one, who had assumed he would be entering the field.

I ended up in a row with the first striker and, in the heat of battle, we both lost our tempers. Then I turned round and saw my petulant striker had sat down and was sulking. I shouted at him angrily to get back up but he shook his head and shunned me. Not for the first time. I was furious because the players were undermining my authority, on worldwide television, and in front of other squad members. And this striker had a history of doing this to me. I am the manager. It doesn’t matter what I said, or how I said it, it is the player’s responsibility to act upon my instructions.

Things went from bad to worse after kneejerk, emotional and regrettable media outbursts by both of us. We both ended up in an impossible situation, both governed by pride and tied by these words. I felt his refusal to get up again from the bench was an act of gross disloyalty and petulance. He felt he was within his rights to do that. Neither of us would back down. In the interests of pragmatism I attempted reconciliations – far from the first time – but he was unable or unwilling to swallow his pride. He felt he’d been demonised and misrepresented by me in the media. I felt as manager he should bow down to my authority. He returned to his home country, without permission. We stopped paying him. Score draw. Both of us knew that the only way out of this was a transfer in January. But, for various reasons, this didn’t happen. It put us both in this even more difficult situation

Suddenly, there was only one way forward for both of us. He had to return to the club, for legal and financial reasons. I am in a situation where my strikers are showing patchy form and my side hold a tenuous lead at the top of the table. We have been knocked out of the cups. Many people believe my job is on the line if I don’t deliver the premiership title. There can be no doubt that this player would ultimately improve my squad. Would he improve morale? Not easy to say. But even if he doesn’t’ figure in the first team, his resale value needs to be preserved as much as possible.

On the night before he is due to return to the club, he gives a stupid interview which makes a situation which seemed to be improving even worse. It appears as though he is not softening his stance. He is less than repentant and effectively repeats the same claims as throughout this whole sorry process. The press sensationalise the more incendiary elements of the interview it and suddenly I am in an extremely difficult situation. It looks like the loose cannon has fired another salvo, possibily aginst the wishes of his advisors.

What the hell do I do now?

I have only one option. I pull the player straight into my office on his first morning back – alone, without advisors.  I tell him that the situation has reached an impasse. I tell him that it is in his interests to be playing for the club, and in my interests to have him available. That we have to put this whole mess behind us, even though we dislike each other. I tell him that his behaviour that night in Munich was totally unacceptable to me. I explain why it was unacceptable and unforgiveable. That I am the manager of the team and a player publicly shunning me like that is embarrassing and unnecessary. I hear his side of the story. I tell him once again that the whole affair must end, for both of our sakes, right now. I tell him it is time he grew up and took some responsibility. And I tell him I accept my part in the disagreement. Even though I despise the man for his actions, I talk him round. I keep my cool and use my intelligence to control him. I privately accept that this man is a loose cannon, an idiot, but one who I can manipulate.

Then I ask him to agree to a Press Conference. And a meeting with the players. And in these meetings we sit together, and I tell the world that it was an emotional night, things were said that both parties regret. I tell the world that we have both agreed to do what is best for Manchester City. I make him agree to say that he is sorry to the supporters and his team mates for the way things have turned out. We show a united front.

I tell the player that if agrees to this, he will be training with the first team and available for selection tomorrow. And if that happens, he must get his head down and prove to me that he is worth consideration, through attitude and fitness. Only then will he have a chance of even getting on the substitutions bench. And he must shut his mouth once and for all, and I agree to do the same. If push comes to shove, and he is not responding to my manipulation, I tell him that if he doesn’t agree to this, he will spend the rest of the season training with the reserves. He will be excluded from all first team activities and punished for any failures in discipline. He will, in effect, be treated like a dog. And he is unlikely to find a single club willing to pay him half of what City do in the summer.

I have a meeting with my captain to obtain his “buy-in” to the whole deal. And then I bite the bullet and move ahead with the plan, for the good of Manchester City.

After all, what other option do I have? It’s about pragmatism. And manipulation.