by Goataldo » Mon May 16, 2011 9:25 pm
Short version:
Watched it at Wembley, cried a lot, left most of my voice there along with my underpants, went on the lash in London with family and friends, and had the best Saturday in my 34 years on this planet.
Long version:
Stayed over at brother MHiggi’s in London the night before matchday, having been driven down the previous day by my dad, with the lovely Mrs Doug and my sister, who was going to her first game of the season at Wembley! We should probably let her off for that, as she got back from Melbourne only two days before. Made good progress considering we had to go back for my stupidly forgotten mobile (only after 5 mins!), and had to wait for a funeral procession whilst trying to escape from Mancunia, black plumed horses and carriage and all. Naturally I assumed this was a good omen.
Once in London town, met up with my brother and went on the lash, and was almost forcibly prevented from putting my hand in my pocket all night. The man’s a legend. Tried to make sure we wouldn’t be too battered in the morning, and didn’t go too mental.
Next morning it was time to get ready for a Cup Final. Haha. Ace. Donned the snazzy new duds me girlfriend got me for me birthdee, and wondered if they were about to become my all-time lucky pants. Was gonna wear light blue, but in the end opted for the white kit with the diagonal stripe, cos I think it’s the absolute bollocks. A bacon sandwich joined the hatching butterflies in my stomach, and as they dried their wings and started to flap, we went to catch the tube and meet our sis and Doug.
Whilst waiting for my sister, we bumped into Doug, and decided that as it was about 10am, we should definitely get to The Green Man as there were 20 odd thousand other people with the same idea. She would have to meet us there (not always on time), just to make sure we all got in. Unfortunately Mrs Doug would be watching on telly due to lack of ticket. There were Stokies everywhere, more of them than us where we were. Let em have their day eh.
At the Green Man it was relatively subdued at first, nowhere near full, as a lot of the coaches hadn’t rolled up yet. The beer was flowing though, and there were a handful of people who were absolutely smashed. They were the only ones making any noise really, and they were good value, but you could tell most people were lubricating their vocal chords in preparation. As a pre match that place is absolutely perfect – big pub, a few bars set up outside too with a massive garden and loads of picnic tables/singing platforms.
It was great to see it all build, and soak it up. When more coaches started arriving and the place started to get rammed, lots of songs started breaking out one after the other, until the singing and chanting was pretty much constant, and getting louder and louder. It was pretty emotional if I allowed myself to think about it, and look at all us Blues getting up for it.
Daughter of Doug arrived, and Doug departed to soak in the atmosphere nearer the ground. We three headed for the lawn where the tables were, to join the crowd. It looked and sounded like someone had teleported the old Kippax into a beer garden. I honestly can’t say I’ve enjoyed a pre-match more than that day, the weather was perfect, I bumped into loads of people I know only from City matches, and some I know from round ‘ere , was with my bro and sis, and was pleasantly, euphorically, pissed..
We were standing on tables, singing our hearts out, everyone chatting on to each other like old friends, and who bowls in, but Uwe Rosler! It was like a scene from The Life Of Brian, the sea of hands as people thronged to get near the living legend! Luckily for me I was standing on a table at the time, and as the great man passed by I managed to (gently, and with a respectfully fervent politeness) grab his head, kiss it and tell him that we all loved him. He was quite literally touched.
One of the highlights for me was a group of lads next to us, who periodically hushed everyone near us down, and then started just belting out ‘BOYATA-BOYATA, BOYATA-BOYATA’, in a drum’n’bass stylee. Was great for me, as me and my mates and a few of us at Coms have been doing that for some time, and it’s great when summat you’ve thought of is in someone else’s mind as well. Or maybe they heard us? Anyway, at one point one of em started to try and break dance on the grass while we were all jumping about Boyating and ting. Probably the first time I cried that day, this time through laughing. When the hour drew near, we made our way down the hill toward Wemberley, and bumped into Sis Fu, Lee, and Kiers and some other dotnetters I think. It was fantastic to see that level of excitement mirrored in other people’s eyes.
We queued, we got in, and we took our seats. I think it was at that point just before the first half kicked off that the camera zoomed in on me and my sister as we were singing ‘Best Team In The Land In All The World’ with everyone else. I spotted my self on the screen down the other end of the ground, and you can visibly lipread me as I stop singing, point, and say ‘Yes – that’s me- get in.’ Mrs Doug put it on Facebook and I've probably watched it aobut 20 times. Sounds like vanity but all I do is laugh my head off!
When the game started, some grey haired gent behind me was really giving out everytime anyone stood up though. I was thinking ‘today of all days, I do not need this’, and prayed ‘SHUT THE FUCK UP OR SORT IT OUT YOU CRETIN’ at him through the back of my head. After a few of those moments where everyone is getting nervous and talking to the players in a stream of consciousness commentary, I corrected him when he was talking about Yaya when it was Balo (again), had a bit of a chat, settled our differences and got on famously from then on in.
I thought we were quality, and really took it to Stoke. If we were two or three up at half time, it wouldn’t have seemed lucky. Unfortunately the butterflies in my stomach flapped a little too hard at one point in the first half, and I had to exit stage left to the toilets, and check myself before I wrecked myself. My potentially Lucky Pants had done their job in stirling fashion, providing an effective barrier between my insides and my outside layers of clothing, and I would have to be more careful, and go commando for the rest of the day. Bacon bread and beer does not a healthy man make. Enough said on that.
Second half was a bit more even, and though it was plain for all to see that we were the better team, some of us fans were trying to stave off The Fear. My eyes well up when I think about the moment Yaya bagged his goal. I’d been saying earlier on that we weren’t following in at the keeper on shots, not anticipating rebounds enough. We went absolutely fucking mental, everyone just jumping around and hugging each other. The old guy behind me hugged me like I was his long lost son, thirty thousand people embracing as one – what a feeling!
When the final whistle went, I didn’t know what to do. I think even said to my sister, ‘what do you do when you’ve just won the F.A Cup Final?’ We went fully mental, cried, laughed, and took it all in. Many times I just turned round and simply looked at all the people, how elated, how exultant they were, saw just how much it meant to every last one of them. That’s what brought the tears on the most, just that amount of collective joy. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’m hungry for more.
After the game, we floated out the ground, and went to conquer London. I was only able to do this thanks to citytillidie, who had magnificently offered us a lift on Sunday morning with his bro, allowing us to stay in the capital - both top lads and both complete legends. Turns out that they were among the crowd we had a kick about with in Trafalgar Square, where I also bumped into the lad who sits in the seat in front of me at Coms. Had some skills to be fair to him, but I think I left with my Back-heel King title still intact. We met the brothers properly after, was a bit weird at first as I’d also met up with a mate of mine from Chorlton as she lives in London and I’d not seen her for ages. Bloody stupid idea from me, I should never have done it as she’s not into football, but she eventually sank enough beers to join in the celebrations properly.
Turns out we end up in Walkabout in Covent Garden, with some hardcore blue mates from Manc, some of whom I’d not seen in a long while. The tunes were so shit and cheesey it was perfect, place had loads of blues in, and everytime the thankfully mixless dj paused to change tune, the place erupted with City songs.
We danced about and bounced like idiots and near the end, the barmaids were dancing on the bar, pouring Jaigermeister straight outta the bottle into our open mouths, like we were pissed up baby birds or summat. (Turns out it washes out of footy shirts really well, even at thirty degrees!)
My mates had an all nighter planned as they’d rented an apartment (which sounded MIIINT), but we were happy with our slice of glory pie, and MHiggi and I had to meet our sister for a party. ON the tube on the way, there were a load of West Ham boys, we had a load of banter and amassive sing-off, and the two of us absolutely destroyed the ten of them, bless em. We partied like it was 1969, and when the time came, we went back and kipped with a contentment I’ve never felt.
Met up with citytillidie and his bro on the morra, and we drove out of the smoke singing ‘London’s a shithole, I wanna go home’ but I’m not sure if I meant it. Loads of blues on motorway, all of us exchanging victory salutes.
What an amazing weekend. The End.
Wow that was like My Weekend News from when I was at primary school. Dazby will love it though!
