I was at Wembley in 1984 but don't remember much of the actual football. My impressions are of the ground and the fans. Ahead of last Saturday's FA Cup final, I watched pre-1984-final build up on YouTube and had some time to think about my experience of that final with my dad and brother and how I wanted my son to experience this, 2019, one.
We cycled to the stadium and parked our bikes on racks in the NE corner. It was 12 miles, mostly along the canal, then over industrial areas and on to Brent River Park and the final industrial/commercial road to the iconic arch. I'd bought my wonderful son a new bike ahead of a ride from Carlisle to Newcastle next week and this was a great opportunity to cover some ground on it. This was therefore a big part of our experience of the day and he did well and we enjoyed the ride.
We arrived early enough to wander and look for things to do. I'd contacted my sister and nephew but in the end was unable to get together with them. Instead, after a photo op with the marching band, we hung out at the fan park for a while and then got talking to some Hornet fans outside the supermarket by the stadium.
Stories and facts were swapped but I remained a little concerned that my original plan of finding a family with kids to chat to had not materialised. We stayed more than an hour before heading in. The little man had the match programme, my phone and occasional conversation to entertain him. I had beer and chat with a couple of older guys, one of whom was Ray Lewington's cousin.
We entered and walked around a little before taking our seats. I bumped into my uncle, Redmond, before too long and the boy and I spent a nice ten minutes or so chatting with him, my aunt and their son. My boy remained pretty quiet throughout.
Then we went up for the match and started to "soak up the atmosphere", a phrase I'd overused when lowering expectations ("I'd be happy if we scored a goal") in the weeks before the match. I've mentioned the 1881 before, but their impact on the support base was phenomenal in this match, especially towards the end of the thumping.
We were playing the best team in England by far (from us and everyone else except Liverpool) and apart from an early chance that fell to Pererya and was well saved, we weren't really in this game. Some have since suggested that fact is support for an argument that the super-rich clubs need to separate and work exclusively in international competition and leave the rest of us to compete on a national level. I probably need a little more distance from this cringe-inducing experience to assess my ideas.
But cringe I did not. That was not part of my role for my son. Four days later, I was still a little hoarse: I sang and I led the chants and I tickled, bumped and cajoled my boy into enjoying this painful experience. I had a lovely time with him and hope that he will hold onto memories of the ground and the amazing dedication of the fans, who were singing through the fifth and sixth goals.
In my seat I googled the highest ever winning margin in an FA Cup Final. 6-0 in 1903. We did not do worse.
We cycled back the 12 miles with a chocolate stop in 90 minutes or so - quicker than getting there. I don't remember too much about the one-sided match just four days later. But I have great memories of the fans in the ground and the day with my son.
We cycled to the stadium and parked our bikes on racks in the NE corner. It was 12 miles, mostly along the canal, then over industrial areas and on to Brent River Park and the final industrial/commercial road to the iconic arch. I'd bought my wonderful son a new bike ahead of a ride from Carlisle to Newcastle next week and this was a great opportunity to cover some ground on it. This was therefore a big part of our experience of the day and he did well and we enjoyed the ride.
We arrived early enough to wander and look for things to do. I'd contacted my sister and nephew but in the end was unable to get together with them. Instead, after a photo op with the marching band, we hung out at the fan park for a while and then got talking to some Hornet fans outside the supermarket by the stadium.
Stories and facts were swapped but I remained a little concerned that my original plan of finding a family with kids to chat to had not materialised. We stayed more than an hour before heading in. The little man had the match programme, my phone and occasional conversation to entertain him. I had beer and chat with a couple of older guys, one of whom was Ray Lewington's cousin.
We entered and walked around a little before taking our seats. I bumped into my uncle, Redmond, before too long and the boy and I spent a nice ten minutes or so chatting with him, my aunt and their son. My boy remained pretty quiet throughout.
Then we went up for the match and started to "soak up the atmosphere", a phrase I'd overused when lowering expectations ("I'd be happy if we scored a goal") in the weeks before the match. I've mentioned the 1881 before, but their impact on the support base was phenomenal in this match, especially towards the end of the thumping.
We were playing the best team in England by far (from us and everyone else except Liverpool) and apart from an early chance that fell to Pererya and was well saved, we weren't really in this game. Some have since suggested that fact is support for an argument that the super-rich clubs need to separate and work exclusively in international competition and leave the rest of us to compete on a national level. I probably need a little more distance from this cringe-inducing experience to assess my ideas.
But cringe I did not. That was not part of my role for my son. Four days later, I was still a little hoarse: I sang and I led the chants and I tickled, bumped and cajoled my boy into enjoying this painful experience. I had a lovely time with him and hope that he will hold onto memories of the ground and the amazing dedication of the fans, who were singing through the fifth and sixth goals.
In my seat I googled the highest ever winning margin in an FA Cup Final. 6-0 in 1903. We did not do worse.
We cycled back the 12 miles with a chocolate stop in 90 minutes or so - quicker than getting there. I don't remember too much about the one-sided match just four days later. But I have great memories of the fans in the ground and the day with my son.
