Champions League Final 1999. Personal/Reflective

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Personal/reflective Ever since I was a toddler I loved it. It started off with me just kicking a ball around my back garden at my Dad’s house in Ayr, and playing a roughed-up street kick-about with boys years older than me on the grass opposite my Mum’s old house in Dumfries. Football has been a part of my life as far back as I can remember. The happiest moment of my life was, as sad as it may seem, at the end of a football game. There have undoubtedly been many other happy moments I could choose to reflect upon, but the memory of those ninety-two minutes and fifty-six seconds sticks out the most. This is why I choose to write about the champions league final in Barcelona, 26 May 1999. I started off following Manchester United football club from about the age of six (when I first heard of real league football) and - as you can expect - it was mainly their successes that drew me in. Despite this, it did not take me long to decide which club would be my number one choice for life. When my dad was young he was a supporter of Aberdeen and Manchester United. He worked as a policeman on duty at Pittodrie many times during the years of young manager Ferguson and his defensive blockade that was Willie Miller and Alex McLeish. It was, in fact, my dad that introduced me to English football and Manchester United. Over the years I have seen players come and go, and although I saw them doing their stuff on the pitch I was really too young to appreciate fully the quality of “Fergie’s Fledglings” (the very young Paul Scholes, Ryan Giggs, David Beckham etc), and their successes. As the years progressed, however, I began to appreciate the difficulties of football and it’s competitions. The season that was to become one of the most successful seasons ever in club history was the season I began to really understand football. I followed my team every game that year - through

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