I lost my dear old dad to cancer in the year 2000 and, of course, I get reminded of him often. One thing guaranteed to make him pop into my mind is football, and in particular, the FA Cup competition, with the FA Cup final day itself being a shared passion. When I was growing up in the 70s & 80s, the day of the final was a holy grail day. We’d both be in position at 9am in front of the telly, ready for the full build up and woe betide anyone getting in the way of that. We might as well as worn ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs around our necks and had done with it.

Of course, this is the days of just three channels – imagine that kids? –  and two of those showed the game live, which showed the magnitude of the occasion. Obviously with the advent of ‘modern day football’ and the now countless channels to watch the countless matches on from around the globe, the old cup competition has inevitably lost a bit of its lustre. But every year when it comes around again, I can’t help but think of certain marvellous moments that the competition has thrown up since it started in 1871. Like Ronnie Radford belting that one in for Hereford against Newcastle in 1972 causing dear old Motty (RIP guv) to lose his mind, or Ricky Villa slaloming around Man City defenders in 1981, or Mark Kennedy belting in a second for my mob against Arsenal at Highbury, in 1995. I was at that game with my dad and he always said it was his best night at football ever. He was no lover of Arsenal my dad. In fact he kept his ticket from that game on show in his house for years, so proud of it was he. I made sure that went into the breast pocket of his jacket on his last ever journey. No, you’re crying, not me….

Right, back to those glorious moments and in truth there are so many to choose from, but, with my bobble hat on head and my rattle in my hand (behave you…) I’m going to attempt to select my personal, top five, all-time favourite FA Cup moments.

Being born in 1962, means most of them are going to come from the last 50 years, and will mainly include games and players  I watched personally. But having said that and being a lifelong member of the ‘Awkward Squad’ I’m going to make a start in 1923….

The White Horse Final.
Myself and Mrs Bax were recently on a behind the scenes tour of Wembley  Stadium with my Goddaughter, the beautiful Bunny, and her family. I’m pleased to say Bunny loves a game of football and plays for team in Oxford and has done for a few seasons now.  It was a delight to see the history of the old stadium laid out in front of us. As literally EVERYONE should know, the very first FA Cup final at Wembley was in 1923 between Bolton Wanderers and West Ham United. When on the tour,  I saw the photo of the massive crowd that turned up for that final, all being held in check (ish) by Billy the famous white police horse, and I told Bunny there was an estimated crowd of 200,000 there that day. Our tour guide overheard me, and turned and said, that recent analysis of the photos of the day, now reveal the crowd was thought to be actually nearer 300,000. An amazing sight. And every one of them was wearing a flat cap.

That Save.
My next memory is the 1973 final between rank outsiders Sunderland and everyone’s favourite back then (cough) Leeds United . Again, history tells us that Ian Porterfield – or Porterfield! – as commentator David Coleman simply stated at the time –  scored the only goal of the game which then resulted in one of the biggest cup shocks of all time as Sunderland ran out winners. The Sunderland manager Bob Stockoe, sporting a trilby, and a beige trench coat with a red tracksuit underneath it, ran onto the pitch, doing a jig of utter delight. For me though, the true hero of that that day was the Sunderland goalkeeper Jim Montgomery. I had actually seen Jim play at the old Den against my team of choice, in 1969, which I remember because it my first time seeing a game played under floodlights. I’ve simply never forgotten that night, the  zippy wet pitch gleaming in the glare of the lights, and packets of Percy Dalton peanuts flying about my head from all directions. The main memory though, is Montgomery leaping like a green and white salmon and tipping a shot over the bar. I was a young goalkeeper myself back then and loved to study ‘the stoppers’ whenever I could. So, when in 1973, Jim pulled of that miraculous double save to deny first, a diving header from Trevor Cherry, and then to get back on his feet at such unbelievable speed, to then turn a Peter Lorimer volley onto the bar and therefore stop a certain goal, I was spellbound. For me, that save is  up there with the Gordon Banks, Pele stop of the 1970 World Cup.  It was indeed Astonishing as it was described on the day.

The Leatherhead Lip.
Remember him? Fella by the name of Chris Kelly, an upholsterer by trade . Described by the Daily Mail as ‘Leatherhead’s answer to Stan Bowles and Rodney Marsh’ they and the rest of Fleet Street had a field day building him up when he mouthed off, as his team drew Brighton in the third round of the cup in 1975. ‘Watch us go’ he said  ‘I’m about to put Leatherhead on the map.’ He even had what was described as a ‘Ali shuffle’, a  step-over manoeuvre he used to baffle opposing defenders. On the day of the game, of course, he scored a 20-yard screamer which won the game. A new cup hero was born. He popped up that evening on Match of The Day, to talk about the 4th round game Leatherhead now had coming up against Leicester. Kelly, clearly ‘tired and emotional’ from the pub they had dragged him from, declared live on telly that, ‘Leicester are rubbish. We’ll stuff them in the next round.’ Cue a tabloid frenzy for the next few weeks . He went on to also appeared on Nationwide and Tomorrow’s World and even on the back page of The Sun in an episode of Porridge. To the day of the  game then,  and with Leatherhead already one nil up early on in the first half, Kelly scored a second with a very deft header. He then had a glorious chance to make it 3-1, ‘Can he score? said Motty ‘He will if he does his shuffle!’ Sadly, Kelly’s shuffle got stuck in the mud of the pitch and he fluffed the chance. Leicester eventually ran out 3-2 winners and Kelly’s 15 minutes of fame was over soon after.  He then joined Millwall, who were looking to cash in on his sudden celebrity. That didn’t end well though, and he was soon back stuffing sofa’s and playing for Leatherhead once again.

Who’s Looking for a Swap of Ends?
My uncle Bob worked as a bus driver in the 80’s. One day he phoned me.  ‘Markie, I got two spare cup final tickets, both yours mate, down to larking.’ What a result.  Turned out London Buses got sent a set amount tickets for the final each year and Bob, being well Bob, snaffled the Bromley garage allowance and passed on to me. I snapped them up and so found myself at the 1987 final, which saw Spurs take on Coventry, in a game remembered for the Keith Houchen diving header and all that. The crowd that day was heaving, and as I stood in the Spurs end, I don’t think my feet actually touched the floor for what seemed like 10 minutes, as I rolled around the terraces, as the game ebbed and flowed. A year later, my blessed uncle was back on the trumpet and offering me two together for the 1988 final, namely  Liverpool versus the Crazy Gang, Wimbledon. Only, my tickets were for the Liverpool end and  I fancied being in with my fellow south Londoners. On the day itself, Wimbledon fans were outnumbered something like 10 to one.  To this day, I still break out into a sweat thinking about my next move, which saw me walk calmly up to the heaving Liverpool end of the stadium at 2pm and shout ‘I’m looking for a  swap of tickets, who wants?’  Gulp. Amazingly, a geezer shouted my way and said he was looking for a swap too. So, we both reached down into our socks – where else you gonna keep a game final ticket for safe keeping? – and then swapped over our sweaty paper tickets to each other. I then legged it round the end the Wimbledon fans were gathered in. The rest writes itself of course. Motty again, bless him ‘The Crazy Gang have beaten the Culture club – Wimbledon 1 –  Liverpool 0. And thanks to tickets from the Liverpool fan, I found myself, right behind the goal for the Beasant penalty save. 

Simply meant to be.

Cardiff
in 2004, I had one of those summers that dreams are made of. I had my first book published, namely ‘The Fashion of Football’ co-authored with Paolo Hewitt . Then I, along with my old pal Miko, DJ’d at the Royal Albert Hall for the Ronnie Lane memorial gig that year .  Then, best of all, I got married to Louise Catherine Nicholson in the Peckham Registry office. Three wonderful occasions. And then along came the FA Cup. Before the third round that year, I had dreamt that Millwall would be in the cup final, with Dennis Wise, our then manager, presented with the cup by Michael Caine. Only the cup Wisey was given, had no lid, missing, presume nicked. I told all my mates of my premonition and they had only stopped laughing at me, as we set off to play Sunderland at Old Trafford in the semi-final that year. As all Lions reading this will know, just before the 25th minute that Aussie beauty,  Timmy Cahill had put us one up. We then hung on and with 20 minutes to go, my legs went. And I mean proper went.  I just could not stand and watch any further, so I sat down in my seat until the final whistle went. Upon hearing that, well, we all went fucking crackers and I thought of my old man and cried a couple of happy tears. In the queue at 3am for tickets a couple of weeks later, for the final versus Manchester United in Cardiff, we were eventually nearing the front by 8am. My mate Dave, who was up ahead of us, was then suddenly shouting and waved his cup final tickets my way. 

Dave – ‘Oi Bax, the cup aint go no lid!’ 

Me – ‘Do what Dave?’

Dave – ‘The fucking cup, on the flipping ticket, it aint got a poxy lid mate’ 

The phrase It’s a Sign, came to mind. I was suddenly the Doris Stokes of South East London.  So, tickets finally secured, we hired a leaky old minibus to get us to Cardiff, which we over filled with all sorts of waifs and strays. Including my old mum. She used to go to games at Millwall in the 1950s with my dad when they were courting, and yes, she still married him. She had also had a season ticket for many years, and she wouldn’t have missed the final for the world. So, of course, she went in the back of the van with the chaps. 

When we finally parked up at Cardiff, we found ourselves outside some sort of municipal building, that had a Welsh flag flying above it on a flagpole. Well, in minutes that was down, replaced with a Millwall one, which slowly made its way to the top of the pole as we stood and saluted it. In truth, no one expected us to win the game. No, we had come for a day out, and  what a day out we had. My old girl had spent a fortnight cutting up bits of blue and white paper, which she had in a black bin liner, ready to throw up in the air, as the teams came out. Never forget that. 

Of course, we were well beaten by Man Utd, with Ronaldo etc in the line-up, and we didn’t register a shot on goal. It really didn’t matter if truth be told, as the noise our mob generated was deafening. Our famous Monk Chant  never sounded so good, as it rumbled around the terraces for a good half hour, baffling the life out everyone but us. 

We then got fairly drunk on the way home, and even my old mum had a tipple as we raised a white plastic cup to my old man, who sadly could not be there with us in person but was certainly there in ‘the spirits’ in more ways than one. 

Truthfully, only the FA Cup can provide magical days like that and long may it continue.

 

The Mumper of SE5

Read The Mumper’s other weekly musings on ‘The Speakeasy’ blog page

 

ART GALLERY CLOTHING

Knitwear – Use Promo Code agc10spk for a 10% Discount

 

 

 

JOIN US

Sign up to our newsletter and receive an exclusive promo code, latest news & Art Gallery Clothing offers.