Picture this: It’s the late 1980s in England, and football grounds are often dreary places, marred by hooliganism and the looming threat of ID cards. But amidst the gloom, a colorful movement takes root on the terraces of Manchester City’s Maine Road stadium, sparked by a playful bet between two dedicated fans.
The Birth of a Banana Banter
In 1988, Manchester City fan Frank Newton made a fateful wager with his pal Allen Busby. Newton borrowed an inflatable banana from Busby’s house, promising to take it to a City match. The peculiar prop raised a few eyebrows and chuckles among fellow supporters, but Newton’s commitment to the bit was unwavering.
Another friend, Mike Clare, personalized the banana with a face, bobble hat, and City shirt. Then came the moment that cemented the craze: with fans chanting for substitute striker Imre Varadi, Newton hoisted his banana high. The chant morphed from “Imre Varadi” to “Imre Banana,” and a movement was born.
A Bunch of Fun
Soon, inflatable bananas were popping up all over Maine Road and at away games. The visual impact on the era’s largely monochrome stands was striking, injecting a burst of whimsy into the often tense atmosphere. Novelty shops couldn’t keep the inflatables in stock, and even City’s club shop struggled to meet the demand.
“To support City back then, you had to go against the trend and have a mind of your own,” Newton recalled. “There were rather easier options in the north-west when it came to supporting football clubs.”
The craze meshed perfectly with City’s slightly alternative reputation. The club embraced the trend, with young players tossing inflated bananas to the crowd and the stadium sound system blasting hits from local “Madchester” bands like Happy Mondays and Stone Roses.
Inflatable Invasion
The banana banter reached new heights in October 1988 at an away game against West Bromwich Albion. City fans hoisted giant inflatable monsters, dinosaurs, and more, staging mock battles in the stands. The absurdist scene, complete with a blow-up dinghy and fried egg, showcased the lighter side of football fandom.
Other clubs’ supporters joined the fun, with West Ham fans brandishing inflatable hammers, Grimsby supporters waving plastic haddocks, and even some Manchester United faithful toting blow-up red devils. Media outlets celebrated the good-natured silliness as a welcome respite from the era’s hooligan-related headlines.
Bouncing Past Boundaries
Not everyone appreciated the inflatable invasion. According to Newton, Crystal Palace objected on mistaken grounds of racism, while Arsenal became the first club to ban the props, citing obstructed views. But the craze soldiered on, culminating in a fancy-dress farewell at the end of City’s promotion-winning 1988-89 season.
“It was the most glorious, eclectic sight I ever saw at a football match,” City fan David Wright said of the Boxing Day 1988 away game at Stoke City, where thousands of inflatable-toting supporters in costumes packed the terraces.
Though the fad eventually faded, its memory endures as a testament to football’s power to unite and uplift, even in troubled times. In an era when fans were often vilified, the inflatable craze proved that supporting your club could still be joyful, creative, and a little bit bananas.
