David Metcalf reflects on the day.
David with his sister Carolyn on her 75th birthday.
Here we were, Cas and I, families left behind in Beverley and Holton le-Clay (near Grimsby!), celebrating that rather significant anniversary, sitting on an Acklam’s coach with a bunch of other, mainly mature, soccer-crazy Senior Tigers, on our way to Wembley to watch our heroes play Middlesbrough in the Championship Play-off Final,
FOR A PLACE IN THE PREMIER LEAGUE.
THE PROMISED LAND!
Except that this season of all seasons, it wasn’t promised at all. In fact, just the opposite. We were everyone’s favourites for relegation: ex-players, pundits, the media, and the bookies, everyone, including many of us if we’re honest. They all had us going down. A club that only avoided relegation on the final day of the previous season – on goal difference thanks to a draw at Pompey; a three window transfer embargo (reduced to two on appeal); half the probable first choice team out with long term injuries (with a lot more of the same to come as the season wore on); and, worst of all, an unknown Croatian manager who had zero experience of managing in England, let alone the battlefield that is the Championship – what could he possibly do? We were absolutely racing certainties for the drop.
And yet here we were, ten months down the road, pulling into the green car/coach park directly across the road from the broad staircase leading upwards to the outer concourse of Wembley Stadium itself. “Wemberley, Wemberley, Wemberley”!!!
The journey had been largely uneventful as we ploughed our way down the A1 in company with the other two Acklam coaches, each bearing fifty-odd Senior Tigers. I think most people were feeling pretty tired after the early start – 7.30 am departure from the Humber Bridge car park! I know I was. The only real highlights were the scheduled stop at Peterborough Services – where we got our first glimpse of our red-shirted, soon-to-be heartbroken opponents – and the Football Teams puzzle devised, I believe, by Dave Jackson, one of our ‘hosts’ on the coach, along with Ernie Addy. Thank you, guys. But to go back to the puzzle. It was a work of genius, from “The sun shone BRIGHTON the day we set sail…”, and “… the thieves must have been disturbed as they left the LUTON kitchen table”, through to the final denouement
“… we went across to join him, but I slipped on the wet grass and fell on my ARSENAL.” Thanks, Dave. We had a lot of fun trying to solve it.
So on to Wembley. Out of the air-conditioned coach, out of the undercover, shady car park, and into the unforgiving, blazing hot sun with the thick end of a couple of hours to go before the 3.30 pm kick-off. But first things first. We needed to eat something before venturing into the cauldron that was the stadium itself. Close by the car park Cas and I found a low wall at the side of the road that was deep in shadow; a perfect spot to enjoy a quick sarnie and the first of countless bottles of water, while a never-ending stream of supporters of both clubs passed before us; a veritable sea of black and amber (it was our end of the ground) with the occasional red-shirted interloper making their way to the Middlesborough-allocated west end of the stadium. After a banana for pudding, it was time to join the thousands of other Tigers fans climbing the broad nearby staircase and enter the outer concourse of the stadium itself. And what a sight that was when we mounted the final step. Not a red shirt in sight. Just thousands, dozens of thousands, of City supporters bedecked in every variation of black and amber clothing imaginable, all singing, chanting, laughing, all absolutely delighted to be there at the CHAMPIONSHIP PLAY-OFF FINAL AT WEMBLEY.
But it was too hot, and getting hotter by the minute, for us to stay out there for long, so Cas and I quickly made our way to our allotted entry gate, showed our printed-out tickets and passed quickly through the security check – no knives, no guns, no smoke bombs, no weapons of any kind – and into the inner concourse and blessed shade. It was almost as crowded in there, but a whole lot cooler. Our first job was to fill our water bottles at the nearby free water fountain – the only thing that was free that day.
We wandered around for a bit, from one end to the other, spoke to one or two people that we knew, friends from near our regular seats in the West Stand at the MKM, and then decided that, being very senior tigers, we needed to rest our weary legs and take up our seats in the north-eastern part of the inner sanctum. But, boy, what a mistake that was! The sun was shining directly onto our part of the ground, which it did until the final 20 minutes of the match, and the heat was unbearable. We lasted only a couple of minutes before quickly retreating into the ever more crowded concourse in search of shade, more water, and above all, a sun hat. At the very last minute, I’d stupidly decided I wouldn’t need one and had left the one I’d got out ready to go hanging on the radiator in the hallway back home. A mistake that cost me £20 to put right. But it was a lifesaver. I could not have managed to spend the better part of 3 hours in that heat without a covering for my head.
photo: Andy/Nicola Riley photo: David Cormack
We eventually left the shade of the concourse and took up our seats with about 20 minutes to go before kick-off. The noise was incredible, fans of both clubs enjoying the occasion, serenading their warming-up teams, chanting and bellowing at the tops of their voices. It’s a good job, I thought at one point, that I decided to leave my hearing aids at home (along with my sun hat). At our end of the stadium, it was an unbroken sea of black and amber, with thirty-five thousand City flags – provided at Acun’s expense, presumably? – being waved non-stop until kick-off at 3.30 pm, and beyond.
And then the match itself. Mostly, from a City perspective, it was nothing to get too excited about. Middlesbrough were playing well – neat inter-passing, plenty of movement, spending most of the first period in City’s half of the field. City, on the other hand, was doing what we’ve done before this season – too often, many would say – losing possession in dangerous positions, misplacing passes, and booting the ball up field to no one in particular. Not at all encouraging. But, and it’s a massive but, Middlesbrough, despite all their dominance, were creating absolutely zero chances. It was all pretty, pretty stuff, going nowhere. Pandur in City’s goal didn’t have a save to make in the entire match. Middlesbrough didn’t have a single shot on target during the whole 105 minutes. And that was because City, to a man, were battling for every ball, winning challenges, fighting like they had all season to stay in the game, to keep Middlesbrough out. We have become experts in transition. I didn’t know what that meant in football terms until fairly recently, but I do now. It’s what City are really good at breaking at speed out of defence, when the opponents still have the bulk of their team in our half of the field, committed to attacking our goal, and not in a position to defend their own. Three times we nearly scored like that. Lewie Coyle, of all people, had a header which their keeper managed to save at the expense of a corner; Oli McBurnie hit the bar with another header; and Mo Belloumi cut in from the right and nearly put one in the far top corner, à la Millwall.
Half-time, a chance to relax and get more water, although the queues at the fountains were even longer than pre-kick-off, and a chance to breathe. Phew! The consensus around us was that the City could, and needed to, do much better in the second half.
And we did. Like the first half, Middlesbrough dominated possession without once creating a clear opening. Our defence, in fact, the whole team, were defending the goal as though their lives depended on it. But we retained possession far more effectively – Sergei had obviously spoken into their shell-like during the interval – and continued to create opportunities to score. None of which we were able to take.
In the 75th minute, a tiring Mo Belloumi was replaced by Yu Hirakawa, and the rest, as they say, is history. Then in the 95th minute, just when we were all, fans and no doubt players and coaches too, preparing ourselves for another 30 minutes extra time in the still blistering heat – I don’t know how they managed to play at all in those conditions – Yu sped past the Boro’ defenders and crossed into the penalty area where Oli was waiting to pounce on a fumble by Sol Brynn in the Middlesbrough goal to blast the ball into the unguarded net. The stadium, at our end at least, erupted. Cas and I, and every single person in black and amber, leapt to our feet, jumping around like escaped lunatics, shouting and yelling with absolute joy, while Oli ripped off his shirt and sprinted for the corner flag before disappearing under a black and amber mountain of his teammates.
photo: David Cormack
I can’t speak for anyone else, but I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such an explosion of joy, of any kind of emotion, as I did at that moment. I’m still tingling with the memory of it. And on and on it went for the whole additional ten minutes of play that the referee allowed. Middlesbrough pressed, we defended, we broke at speed and nearly scored a second, and they pressed some more. But, as the record books show, we held out. And then the referee at last blew his whistle, and the east end of the stadium erupted again. And remained in that heightened state for the better part of an hour while the trophy was presented and then shared with the supporters around the ground. Just in case I forget what it was like, the crazy madness of the whole thing, I’ve got large chunks of it captured on video to enjoy in the years to come, and to share with my family.
What an incredible day. One I’ll never forget. 2008 was unbelievable. Ditto 2016. Great occasions both. Not to mention the cup final. Don’t mention the cup final. But this was something special. But for me, this was the best one of all. And it’s definitely a birthday Cas will never forget.
Thank you, City, thank you Senior Tigers – Ernie, Dave and Barbara in particular. A wonderful time was had by all. Except for the Middlesbrough team and their fans, of course. We saw a number of them late at night at Peterborough services on the return journey. They were very quiet and looked absolutely heartbroken. I almost felt sorry for them. Almost. UTT.
