'Hej, a table for five, please', I say to the large, Greek-looking bloke sporting an American-style baseball tee that couldn't be more unflattering to his unfortunate physique. He huffs and puffs us up five stairs and shuffles us into the corner with a prime view of the 40 inch TV.
There's over fifty of those very TV's in that place. O'Learys is a chain of Boston-style sports bars in Sweden; our preferred one is in Gamla Stan - Stockholm's old town. They charge around five quid for a pint of Falcon, one of the country's more popular lagers, and a meaty £12 for a burger and fries, but it's hands down the best place outside of the Etihad Stadium that I've ever watched a football match. The Quarry Bank in Timperley has nothing on these guys.
(The Arsenal fans in Stockholm gather for another loss in O'Learys)
I sit down with my colourful bunch of mates. One is a Manchester United fan from Portsmouth, another is a Chelsea supporter from New York. They've brought their girlfriends, but I'm not the fifth wheel, no, my lover is on the screen, and she's playing against Roma.
A win and City go through to the last 16 of the Champions League. Samir Nasri picks up the ball just outside of the area and smashes a beauty into the top corner. My pint leaps into the air and mingles with the reverberating soundwaves that escape from my gob. I'm pissed as a fart and I'm screaming in the best Mancunian accent I can do, but the rest of the pub don't share my joy. It's silent as they wait for the freak show to sit back down. I'm the only City fan in the pub and it's been that way ever since.
It may come as a surprise, but Swedish people love their football. It's a country that perfectly reflects the huge commercial globalisation of football in the last decade and the deteriorating importance of locality in the game. If Zlatan Imbrahimovic is playing for Paris Saint Germain, the Swedes will cheer for Paris Saint Germain, but if he decides to move to Juventus this summer, they'll switch their allegiance to Juventus. Sweden isn't famed for its competitive domestic football, the Allsvenskan is about as entertaining as the SPL and it goes some way to explaining the Swede's devotion to the player rather than the club. If you ask a Swede who they support, nine times out of ten they'll name a big Italian club that Zlatan has played for. There's no locality involved and it's something I've never really understood.
(Zlatan Ibrahimovic is a national hero in Sweden)
Above, I mentioned my mate from Portsmouth who supports United. He's the most passionate red I've ever spoke to. He wakes up rubbing himself over Van Gaal and goes to bed pretending his pillow is Wayne Rooney. In all seriousness, though, he's in love with the club. But he's from Portsmouth - that's 241 miles away from Manchester - but in terms of the club's seemingly magnetic reach, 241 miles is nothing. As I said, I've never understood why someone would support a club with which they have no local or familial affiliation with. For me, the club you support reflects your identity and the place you are from. Manchester City is more than just a club I support, it's a representation of the place I'm from, the success of the place I'm from and a part of me that I carry into foreign countries as a means of identifying myself.
What I've realised whilst living in Stockholm, however, is that me being from Manchester means absolutely naff all. I find myself hunting for fellow City fans in Stockholm online and in the pub and then realise that I'm completely going against all of my beliefs. Why would I seek a fellow fan whom I deem to be an inferior supporter to me due to their place of birth and weak connection with Manchester. I preach for every City fan to have some blood relation to Manchester and then whinge when I have no one to cheer them on with when I'm watching from a different country.
It's an absolutely ridiculous way of thinking that has thankfully been pumped out of my head as I've grown older. It's OK to be proud of where you are from and shamelessly inflate your accent and puff out your chest with the badge of your favourite football team on it, but dismissing the loyalty and devotion of a supporter who has no local relationship with the club is a heinous act.
(City's domestic successes since their takeover in 2008 has attracted fans from all over the globe)
The money that Sheikh Mansour injected into the club in 2008 has brought extraordinary success on the pitch, but it's influence in connecting and creating new City fans across the globe has been as rewarding. One day, I'll sit in Gamla Stan's O'Leary's not as the only blue, but as one of many.
