It's been a couple of weeks since the FA Cup final and I've been enjoying, no, wallowing in the glory. I never thought I'd see Pompey win the cup, especially when the sixth round draw was announced, I was on Beachy Head, not the best place to be when you hear the draw is Manchester United away.
I did say at the time "well thats it then, of all the teams to get drawn against, why not Barnsley or Middlesbrough? **** it".
In fact I said "**** it" a lot that afternoon, I thought about that moment while I was driving up the M3 for the cup final, a smile on my face as I passed the stretch limos and coaches covered in Blue and white flags and scarves, how on earth did Pompey win at Old Trafford? Surely the name on the cup would be Portsmouth, all the luck was with us, last gasp own goal versus Preston, a penalty not given against Ipswich, and just how did Distin stop Carrick from getting the ball over the line? Pompey rode their luck like a surfer on the crest of a wave.
The moment I really felt confident of victory was on the train at Richmond, group of Cardiff fans joined us in the carriage, a lady started chatting to us and in a gorgeous Welsh accent said "how old is that Karnooo? he says he's thirty-two, is that right?". Laughter filled the train then she added "we know we're going to get beat but we'll have a lovely day and it's so nice to see you boys all looking so worried".
That relaxed me and at Willesden Junction meeting my brother and his son who is in the joyous situation of being a Pompey fan for a few years now and at thirteen years old he's yet to see Pompey lose. I became more confident, my first Pompey match I was eleven years of age and got a dismal 2-0 defeat at home to Orient, my nephew has seen wins and draws in the premier league and wins in the semi and the final at Wembley, a lucky mascot indeed. I have grown up watching cup finals and becoming part of it, the night before on ITV we'd watch "Who'll Win The Cup?" chaired by Brian Moore with a few hand picked guests. Then Saturday morning, watching the build-up and jealously seeing fans walking up Wembley Way, that's always something I wanted to do. I refrained at the semi-final, it wouldn't have been right to walk that route unless it was the FA Cup Final. So on the 17th May 2008 I realised an ambition, not much of an ambition you may say, but to me it was something special, a missing piece of a jigsaw. The fans were in awesome voice, the Pompey Chimes rang out loud along that walkway and then the sight I'll never forget, Bobby Moores' statue draped in St George and Pompey flags, his bronze image fervently guarded by Portsmouth fans.
The game went by in a flash, ninety minutes never ticked by so quickly until the final three minutes when the clock seemed to stop, the most vivid memory of the game I have is David James rushing out and clearing the danger in about the third minute of the match. I remember the celebrations and seeing the cup carried aloft by so many Pompey heroes and then Barry Harris found himself alone with the FA Cup, he looked around him for a Pompey player to hand the cup to but he saw no-one near him and to his great credit he milked the moment, in front of the fans, his face was a picture of pure joy. I have to admit and I'm not ashamed to say I shed a tear or two when the FA Cup was collected by Sol Campbell, I looked around and many blokes of my age were doing the same. I doubt if winning the FA Cup has meant so much to a group of fans in recent times, it really meant something special.
I met up with an old friend at Wembley station, when we got on the train he looked stunned, stunned but happy but there was something else there too, a lifting of the suffering, we reminisced of journeys to far flung fourth and third division grounds, years of second division campaigns which became like trench warfare, losing the semi final to Liverpool, failing in the play-off semi final against Leicester. An ironic smile at this as we pondered Milan Mandaric and how Pompey prospered and slumped under him, we chatted away while we changed platforms at Willesden, then talked of the evening celebrations, he was heading straight back to Pompey but I was heading to Richmond and a quick sprint down the M3 to Bournemouth, at that point my friend realised he was on the wrong train. His comment "we were making good time too".
Which brings me back to the greatest day of my life, I saw Pompey lift the FA Cup in the afternoon and in the evening saw Paul Weller at his best in the Opera House in Boscombe, I met up with my girlfriend who'd got the train to Bournemouth and having my first cup winning celebration beer in the Opera House bar a couple walked past and I overheard him say to his girl "lets just get champagne eh?" I stopped him and said "are you Pompey?" He was indeed and he was so excited, I thought he was going to burst when I showed him my camera phone pictures of the day. Weller was awesome and really sealed the day for me, a fantastic day and a truly memorable Sunday to follow.
I did say at the time "well thats it then, of all the teams to get drawn against, why not Barnsley or Middlesbrough? **** it".
In fact I said "**** it" a lot that afternoon, I thought about that moment while I was driving up the M3 for the cup final, a smile on my face as I passed the stretch limos and coaches covered in Blue and white flags and scarves, how on earth did Pompey win at Old Trafford? Surely the name on the cup would be Portsmouth, all the luck was with us, last gasp own goal versus Preston, a penalty not given against Ipswich, and just how did Distin stop Carrick from getting the ball over the line? Pompey rode their luck like a surfer on the crest of a wave.
The moment I really felt confident of victory was on the train at Richmond, group of Cardiff fans joined us in the carriage, a lady started chatting to us and in a gorgeous Welsh accent said "how old is that Karnooo? he says he's thirty-two, is that right?". Laughter filled the train then she added "we know we're going to get beat but we'll have a lovely day and it's so nice to see you boys all looking so worried".
That relaxed me and at Willesden Junction meeting my brother and his son who is in the joyous situation of being a Pompey fan for a few years now and at thirteen years old he's yet to see Pompey lose. I became more confident, my first Pompey match I was eleven years of age and got a dismal 2-0 defeat at home to Orient, my nephew has seen wins and draws in the premier league and wins in the semi and the final at Wembley, a lucky mascot indeed. I have grown up watching cup finals and becoming part of it, the night before on ITV we'd watch "Who'll Win The Cup?" chaired by Brian Moore with a few hand picked guests. Then Saturday morning, watching the build-up and jealously seeing fans walking up Wembley Way, that's always something I wanted to do. I refrained at the semi-final, it wouldn't have been right to walk that route unless it was the FA Cup Final. So on the 17th May 2008 I realised an ambition, not much of an ambition you may say, but to me it was something special, a missing piece of a jigsaw. The fans were in awesome voice, the Pompey Chimes rang out loud along that walkway and then the sight I'll never forget, Bobby Moores' statue draped in St George and Pompey flags, his bronze image fervently guarded by Portsmouth fans.
The game went by in a flash, ninety minutes never ticked by so quickly until the final three minutes when the clock seemed to stop, the most vivid memory of the game I have is David James rushing out and clearing the danger in about the third minute of the match. I remember the celebrations and seeing the cup carried aloft by so many Pompey heroes and then Barry Harris found himself alone with the FA Cup, he looked around him for a Pompey player to hand the cup to but he saw no-one near him and to his great credit he milked the moment, in front of the fans, his face was a picture of pure joy. I have to admit and I'm not ashamed to say I shed a tear or two when the FA Cup was collected by Sol Campbell, I looked around and many blokes of my age were doing the same. I doubt if winning the FA Cup has meant so much to a group of fans in recent times, it really meant something special.
I met up with an old friend at Wembley station, when we got on the train he looked stunned, stunned but happy but there was something else there too, a lifting of the suffering, we reminisced of journeys to far flung fourth and third division grounds, years of second division campaigns which became like trench warfare, losing the semi final to Liverpool, failing in the play-off semi final against Leicester. An ironic smile at this as we pondered Milan Mandaric and how Pompey prospered and slumped under him, we chatted away while we changed platforms at Willesden, then talked of the evening celebrations, he was heading straight back to Pompey but I was heading to Richmond and a quick sprint down the M3 to Bournemouth, at that point my friend realised he was on the wrong train. His comment "we were making good time too".
Which brings me back to the greatest day of my life, I saw Pompey lift the FA Cup in the afternoon and in the evening saw Paul Weller at his best in the Opera House in Boscombe, I met up with my girlfriend who'd got the train to Bournemouth and having my first cup winning celebration beer in the Opera House bar a couple walked past and I overheard him say to his girl "lets just get champagne eh?" I stopped him and said "are you Pompey?" He was indeed and he was so excited, I thought he was going to burst when I showed him my camera phone pictures of the day. Weller was awesome and really sealed the day for me, a fantastic day and a truly memorable Sunday to follow.
No comments:
Post a Comment