The gentrification of Man City. The juggernaut is motoring past everyone en route to domination
The makeshift football pitch is about 30 yards long and half as wide. Traffic cones for goal posts, houses flanking the bare grass down each touchline.
It is unremarkable in every way, a classic suburban scene, apart from the fact the kids who play here, deep in Manchesters Moss Side, tread in the footsteps of giants.
Lee, Summerbee, Bell, Young, Tueart. They all played here. Back when it was Maine Road, Manchester.
Further along, down a couple of steps, the old centre circle has been preserved. Within it, a plaque marks the centre spot. A childs plastic toy sits on top and it needs a clean. But it is still possible to read the inscription, a tribute to former Maine Road groundsman Stan Gibson. So wedded was Gibson to the club, he lived in a house attached to its souvenir shop.
It was some place, Dennis Tueart, Citys famed centre forward, tells me. I just loved Maine Road. A winters night game under the lights. A full Kippax. It was intimidating, gladiatorial. Irreplaceable, really.