by johntheclaret » Wed May 27, 2009 6:54 am
I know you can never, never replicate the true atmoshere by watching it on the telly, no matter where that telly happens to be, and whilst I had the priviledge of being there at Burnley's last play off final (1994 season) yesterday was, pardon the pun, a whole different ball game with the biggest prize in world football at stake.
I'm not good at writing stories but I thought I would give it a go, just to pass on to you football lovers, how it really felt yesterday, so here goes.
Yesterday didn't begin at midnight on the 24th May. It started way, way back, a week before the Clarets destroyed Bristol City in the last game of the normal season. And since that week, you have had to keep going, burying the stress, strain and tension as you go about daily life. But it is there, it is always there. A win at home and we are in the play off's, and right now this is the biggest game in your history. Then it's all over, the Clarets are there, shocked at how easy it was, but the Clarets are there. Then it starts all over again. you know who you have to play, and you know you have a real chance. Reading's form isn't great and if you can get a good win at home, maybe 2 - 0 then you have a chance down there. But Burnley don't do that, they leave you on the edge of insanity. 1 - 0 and still all to play for. They have the pedigreee and the premiership experience and they beat us 3 - 1 last time we met down there. Another away day, another round of what to wear, another round of absolute nailbiting tension, then Patto and Thommo score two great, great goals, worthy of any premiership game and we are there. Bloody hell, we are there, and the ecstasy is quickly replaced with the agony that we have to do it all again, but this time it is for the big one.
Forget all of that, that's passed, and now it's today. It's 8:00am in a hotel in London, and you have had a really shit night. Going to the flicks and a few beers afterwards didn't help at all, as all you can think of is the game. You go through your matchday routine, but today that routine takes on a whole new significance. Picking the right socks, wearing the right guernsey has a new meaning today and if you get it wrong, how could you live with yourself, and the guilt of knowing it was YOUR fault that your beloved clarets failed. OK, the socks are a no brainer, they have served you well for several weeks, including the semi's so you ain't risking anything there, but what about the guernsey. Having decided to wear the '62 Wembley one you have serious doubts now. You were going to were it at Reading but decided you would save it for today, but now, it doesn't quite seem right. So you agonise, even though in reality is makes no difference whatsoever what you wear, your mental state doesn't allow you to act rationally. Your wife can see your genuine dilemma and gives you a get out and wears the 62' Wembley top even though it is 12 sizes too big and she looks like a complete twat. That's love for you, and you get to wear your favourite 76 top, the one with the big blue vee on a claret background. It has to be the one, it's the one we wore last time we played in the big league, and you ignore the fact that it is the one we wore when we got relegated 33 years ago.
It's that time, time to set off, you try to eat but your stomach won't let you, and if you do force something down you know you are in serious danger of having the shits as its' only the emptiness of your stomach that is stopping you from having the trots now, and you know it. You had decided the night before that you wanted to get to the ground before 12:00, to have a chance of a few photo's and to soak up the atmosphere and the morning is just dragging.
The tube takes 31 minutes from Leicester Square to Wembley Park via Kings Cross and you are on your way, looking out for fellow Claret fans at each station and hoping that a herd of Sheffield fans don't get on and start giving you grief. Your worries are calmed as you hear a chorus of "Owen Coyle's Claret and Blue Army" coming from the following carriage and you crack a pathetic joke, just to break the silence. Then it's there, the famous Wembley Arch looms into view, and you feel like you did when you were a kid looking for the Blackpool Tower. You've never been to the new Wembley so everything from here on in is new and within 5 minutes the tube pulls into Wembley Park.
Thinking you were going to get there before the crowd turned out to be a gross miscalculation, as the place is crammed with both Burnley and Sheffield fans, and the sea of colour is spectacular, as the mass of fans fills every square foot from the station, along the famous Wembley Way right up to the staduim, and not single hint of trouble as the fans mix freely amounst each other. Even the police are joining in the good natured banter. A bit of a dawdle, and a few photo's for the SAFooty album and you make your way into the stadium and meet up with son's and their girlfriends, mates that you have stood with all year and a few other faces that you recognise. And the chance of a few bevvies, for medicinal purposes of course, but not so many that it dulls the experience.
Wembley is an awesome stadium, by far the best ever football ground you have ever seen, and you have been to a few across Europe over the years, and walking through the glass doors and out to the seats takes your breath away, literally. Even though the stadium is still only have full the spectacle is unbelievable. The staduim is putting on a show, fireworks, the armed forces doing a turn and the big screens showing old goals. It helps to take you mind off what is about to come and without totally noticing, the stadium is just about full and the noise is defening. Then it's time, this is it, everything you have been waiting for is here and your heart is beating so fast you think it will jump straight out of your chest. You've been to Chelski, Spurs and Arsenal this year but nothing compares to this.
Sheffield start the better and you begin to think this could go either way, maybe like the Reading games where we soak up all the pressure and hit them on the counter, or we will just get pasted, and you hope that we at least don't go out 3 or 4 nil in front of all those viewers. Two quick shots saved by the Beast and we at last start to show something, then on the 13th minute Wade Elliot turns your head inside out with a wonder strike. The Burnley end go crazy, you go crazy, your wife goes crazy, we all go f&%king crazy. We are winning and we watch it on the big screen just to make sure it's real. Sheffield keep playing thier heavyweight hoofing game but Caldwell and Carlisle just seem to soak it all up. The Burnley end start singing "ee eye ee eye ee eye oh" and you don't join in. Shut the f&%k up you idiots, why are they tempting providence, we aren't there by a long way yet, and now we have lost midfiled hero Chris McCann (my 1st goal scorer cash cow) and Carlilse is booked. Shite, one wrong foot and were are down to ten, and Carlisle has that uncanny habit of putting one foot wrong.
We make it to half time and the Sheffield fans have no answer to the noice coming from the Claret end. The second half is almost as big a blur as the 1st with Sheffield rarely testing Burnley and then we have a chance to kill it off, but how the hell did that not go in, even gudjohnsson can't belive it, and then Robbie has a chance but full of cramp he isn't quick enough and Walker gets back to save a certain goal. Huge doubts start creeping in, we have missed two great chances to wrap it up and now Sheffield will make us pay. Even the sending off of Ward does nothing to ease the nerves, which by now can be felt around the whole staduim. The tension is so high you can feel it, your guts is churning so bad you think you will shit yourself there and then and we are five minutes from the premiership.
Now if you follow Burnely, you know they don't believe in playing the hero. They always seem to let you down, and you are used to it afterall they have been doing it to you for 30 odd years so why change the habit of a life time. You have noted that we have used all three subs, and you can't stop those dreaded thoughts, you know the ones, that senario where Sheffield will score in the last minute, take it to extra time and we will be too knackered to finish off the extra 30 miniutes and they score with 5 minutes left. so imagine the dejection you feel when, having made it to the last minute, they call 5 more for time added on. You are screaming at the top of your voice, "keep the f%&king ball, for f&%k sake, play it to the corner, f&king hell". Fittingly Elliot has the ball when the ref blows the final whislte but the noise is so loud you don't hear it and for a millisecond you don't know it's all over.
Then it dawns on you, the clarets have won. You hold your arms out above you and with clenched fists you give out the biggest YEEESSSSS you have ever shouted, and all that pent up emotion, all the hurt and all the pain of 33 years is released. You can't jump up and down like so many around you, you are just too numb. You fall to your seat as all that emotion takes it toll and you can't help it it but you just start crying. I mean, crying like a blubbering baby in front of all those strangers, ya big wus. Your wife doesn't help by giving you a hug, but you wipe away the tears and sit there with your head in your hands. The sound of 36,000 clarets going crazy, the sheer intensity of the noise is just the backdrop. 33 years, 33 f&%king years, you have endured relegations, been within one game of relegation from the league altogether, the b4st4rds wining the title the same year you get relegated to the 3rd tier, Jack Walkers millions, all those years of hurt and the belief that you would never see 1st division football at Burnley again, and now we've made it.
Then you get a grip of yourself, stand up and join in with the celebrations, singing, jumping up and down waving your arms all over the place, it's bloody great, it's bloody fantastic. "we are premier league, we are premier league" you sing your heart out, it's bloody fantastic. you watch the lads jumping up and down, the manager, the bubbly and the walk up the stairs to collect the play off trophy. This is the 1st time you have ever seen Burnley collect a trophy and if feels bloody good. The noise level goes into orbit as Caldweel holds the trophy aloft. OK so it doesn't mean much, the trophy that is, but it's what it repersents. We are premier league, we are premier league.
Everyone finally leaves the stadium and we make our way back to the tube. The Blades fans have long since gone and it is just a wave of claret and blue all singing as we walk, hugging people we don't even know. The tube back to Leicester sq is just a big laugh, you just can't help it, you sit in silence for the while and then busrt out laughing for no apparent reason, that's how happy you are. Back at the hotel you want to get pissed, but by now most of the clarets are on thier way back to Burnley for the party there, lucky buggers, so you have a beer, then another, then another, then you go out for something to eat. It all seems a bit surreal by now. Something is missing and that's being with the lads, or at least that's your first thoughts, but then you realise, it's not the big piss up that's missing, it's your sense of reality. it's believing what just happened.
The clarets are going up and it still feels like a dream. God please don't let me wake up and find it was all a dream.