I was at this game.
I had just finished my degree and had flown straight to Germany to visit my girlfriend, who I now live with. Two days before I flew back, my nephew was born. I flew into Birmingham the day before the final, ready to take the train down to London the next day.
The tickets were a gift for my father from a work colleague, and coincidentally had to be hand delivered from Birmingham to London by one of his employees. Thus, the offer was made for me to be driven down, avoiding a train full of Aston Villa fans in the process.
So, having flown late into Birmingham and having stayed at an extremely dodgy hostel, I get up the next day to be greeted by an Irish bloke with a BMW. I should say at this point that this kind of thing was not what I was used to. I don't come from money and my dad's job was not particularly high-powered, so I felt ridiculous being driven down to London.
Anyway, I get into the car and the first thing this man says to me is (paraphrasing) "so the guy who was supplying the tickets committed suicide rather having gangsters come after his family so we'll have to see what we can do". At which point I was looking around for the hidden camera/wondering if it's worth getting out the car and making my own way home (down near Brighton). I did not think I was still going to the game.
Anywho, turns out the tickets were supposed to be supplied by a man who had a decade-long record of being reliable. This year, he'd promised tickets to some of Brum's less savoury characters only to be let down by his supplier who'd been offered more money. Rather than face the music, he'd offed himself. I'm guessing, at this point, he's just driving me down to London so my dad can take me home.
Nope. Boss calls. Very rich boss with lots of friends in high places calls. Turns out my father is very highly thought of and he'd be damned if he doesn't pull through for my dad. We'll just need to make a pit stop in Essex.
I get talking to the Irish chap. Unsurprisingly, given his age and background, he was a gooner himself. He seemed impressed that I knew about the likes of Brady, O'Leary and co (I was 21 at the time) and that I could talk about what happened in Ireland without being a jingoistic prat. I felt extraordinarily guilty to have all of this fuss made over me, and doubly so as he had a pub with his family waiting in it to watch the game, and here I was potentially preventing him from making it, just so I could be there. Spent the entire time trying to make him not feel too bad about it.
So. Pull up into some McMansion part of nowheresville in Essex. Several expensive cars in the driveway. Was told to wait in the car. After ten minutes a middle aged woman comes out and gives me a small speech about how she could sell her tickets on for a lot of money, but she'd much rather give them to a real fan like myself. I'm just trying to disappear in my seat from the weight of Imposter Syndrome I'm experiencing.
We drive back up the M25, which is when I realise that the two tickets are not close together at all. One was pitchside, and one was in the rafters. We finally meet up with my dad. He is waiting with a bottle of good whiskey (I didn't know whiskey well at the time, but I reckon it was in the region of a Lagavulin) for the Irish man (can't believe I've forgotten his name). A few pleasantries are exchanged (I was very proud when he told my dad that I was a credit to him) before he takes his understandable leave to storm up the M1 and back to Brum.
The game speaks for itself. I was lucky that my dad insisted on me being pitchside, and got to experience the special atmosphere. It was his first cup final and, although it was a shame we weren't together, it was a fantastic feeling knowing he was somewhere above me.
Finish the game and the revelry, before getting confirmation that the driver did indeed make it back in time.
Next day I met my nephew. It was a crazy couple of days.
comment by ShamelessObserver (U22372)
posted 34 minutes ago
I thought it was a reserve cup ?? Why write an article about it???
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Wow, multi-article bite.
I write about the reserves a lot. Would have thought a "neutral" would be interested in all clubs and all competitions...
Memory Lane...
Page 1 of 1
posted on 10/5/20
Good article
posted on 10/5/20
comment by Shinjury list (U1700)
posted 33 minutes ago
Good article
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Tbh I have run out of things to write about.
posted on 10/5/20
I loved that match. Though it was the most stress-free Final I can remember us being involved in.
posted on 10/5/20
After about half hour I did think it was going to be one of those days. Expected Villa to score with their first effort.
posted on 10/5/20
I was at this game.
I had just finished my degree and had flown straight to Germany to visit my girlfriend, who I now live with. Two days before I flew back, my nephew was born. I flew into Birmingham the day before the final, ready to take the train down to London the next day.
The tickets were a gift for my father from a work colleague, and coincidentally had to be hand delivered from Birmingham to London by one of his employees. Thus, the offer was made for me to be driven down, avoiding a train full of Aston Villa fans in the process.
So, having flown late into Birmingham and having stayed at an extremely dodgy hostel, I get up the next day to be greeted by an Irish bloke with a BMW. I should say at this point that this kind of thing was not what I was used to. I don't come from money and my dad's job was not particularly high-powered, so I felt ridiculous being driven down to London.
Anyway, I get into the car and the first thing this man says to me is (paraphrasing) "so the guy who was supplying the tickets committed suicide rather having gangsters come after his family so we'll have to see what we can do". At which point I was looking around for the hidden camera/wondering if it's worth getting out the car and making my own way home (down near Brighton). I did not think I was still going to the game.
Anywho, turns out the tickets were supposed to be supplied by a man who had a decade-long record of being reliable. This year, he'd promised tickets to some of Brum's less savoury characters only to be let down by his supplier who'd been offered more money. Rather than face the music, he'd offed himself. I'm guessing, at this point, he's just driving me down to London so my dad can take me home.
Nope. Boss calls. Very rich boss with lots of friends in high places calls. Turns out my father is very highly thought of and he'd be damned if he doesn't pull through for my dad. We'll just need to make a pit stop in Essex.
I get talking to the Irish chap. Unsurprisingly, given his age and background, he was a gooner himself. He seemed impressed that I knew about the likes of Brady, O'Leary and co (I was 21 at the time) and that I could talk about what happened in Ireland without being a jingoistic prat. I felt extraordinarily guilty to have all of this fuss made over me, and doubly so as he had a pub with his family waiting in it to watch the game, and here I was potentially preventing him from making it, just so I could be there. Spent the entire time trying to make him not feel too bad about it.
So. Pull up into some McMansion part of nowheresville in Essex. Several expensive cars in the driveway. Was told to wait in the car. After ten minutes a middle aged woman comes out and gives me a small speech about how she could sell her tickets on for a lot of money, but she'd much rather give them to a real fan like myself. I'm just trying to disappear in my seat from the weight of Imposter Syndrome I'm experiencing.
We drive back up the M25, which is when I realise that the two tickets are not close together at all. One was pitchside, and one was in the rafters. We finally meet up with my dad. He is waiting with a bottle of good whiskey (I didn't know whiskey well at the time, but I reckon it was in the region of a Lagavulin) for the Irish man (can't believe I've forgotten his name). A few pleasantries are exchanged (I was very proud when he told my dad that I was a credit to him) before he takes his understandable leave to storm up the M1 and back to Brum.
The game speaks for itself. I was lucky that my dad insisted on me being pitchside, and got to experience the special atmosphere. It was his first cup final and, although it was a shame we weren't together, it was a fantastic feeling knowing he was somewhere above me.
Finish the game and the revelry, before getting confirmation that the driver did indeed make it back in time.
Next day I met my nephew. It was a crazy couple of days.
posted on 10/5/20
Sorry for the wall of text, I just think it is a good story.
posted on 10/5/20
Nice to have a comfortable cup final, even better when your mum is a Villa fan
posted on 11/5/20
THAT Sanchez' goal
posted on 12/5/20
I thought it was a reserve cup ?? Why write an article about it???
posted on 12/5/20
comment by ShamelessObserver (U22372)
posted 34 minutes ago
I thought it was a reserve cup ?? Why write an article about it???
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Wow, multi-article bite.
I write about the reserves a lot. Would have thought a "neutral" would be interested in all clubs and all competitions...
Page 1 of 1