The pink served me proud for a year or two. My parents divorced and we children to too scared to tell the authorities that we didn't want to live with my violent father as we lived in fear of him ourselves after my mother left (or was driven out by his violence).
I gave up watching City and, instead furtively visited my mother on alternative Saturday afternoons, read the pink on the way home and made out that I attended the games. (We had given up on visiting her officially as he used to literally interrogate us when we got back from visits to her).