June 3, 2007
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The Road to Wembley
It has been an up and down few seasons
for Exeter City, and with the appointment of a new manager at the
beginning of the season, few people thought that we would make it to
the play offs. Many people questioned Paul Tisdale's ability at
Conference level, but despite all this negativity from various
angles, Exeter City made it to the play offs. After a 2-legged
victory over Oxford, City were headed for Wembley for the first time
in our 100+ year existence.
Call it luck, call it well planned,
call it what you will, my own trip to Wembley was a far cry from the
FA Cup games a few years ago against the Manc Scum, when I had to
travel twice in ten days from Taiwan to the green green grass of
home. Instead, as soon as Exeter's participation at Wembley was
confirmed, my plane ticket from Trieste was booked. I had to persuade
one of my partners to drive me from Slovenia to the airport, on such
a beautiful day where I am sure he would have rather been out with
his woman.Thankfully he came to the hotel almost
on time, and dropped me off a mere half hour later, your humble
chronicler more than on time for the Ryanair flight. I had never
travelled so light – one small bag with my camera and a change of
clothes was all i needed for this very short trip. Two City shirts
(the Centenary shirt being worn, and the red and white stripes in the
bag) and a spare pair of grunties were all I really needed.I drank a latte macchiato, and
proceeded through the security area before sitting down and reading
my book a little whilst waiting for the flight to board. About 40
school kids from Slovenia also were booked on the flight, some girls
much too provocatively dressed for a man who has seen no action for
what seems like an eternity. I was aware of someone looking at my
book as I turned the page, and looked across at the kid who was
reading page 237 of Mario Puzo's "The fortunate Pilgrim". I
wonder if he had already read the other 236 pages before. He made eye
contact, and smiled sheepishly."Sorry," he said, "this
is my first flight and I am a bit nervous.""No problem," I said. "Don't
worry about flying. You go up, have a drink and something to eat, and
then you go down. It will be easy."Having calmed him a little, he then
proceeded to tell me all about himself and his life, his school going
to London for the weekend, the music he loves, and how he wanted to
watch the football. I told him to go to Wembley the following day to
watch City. He looked at me quizically – wasn't there a more
important game going on this weekend?"Are you kidding me?" I
asked.FA Cup final day. Pops was never in two
minds as to what the priority was – picking his beloved son up from
the airport was always going be 2nd choice – but the
mother turned off the TV and off to Stansted they zoomed in the new
motor. Thankfully for your humble scribe, the game was boring and so
pulling pops away from the footie was a relatively easy task.
Ryanair got us in on time – the first
time I have been on schedule with a budget airline ever. I am
assuming the pilot landed the plane – it was such a hard landing
that we could have been shot down. Stansted is laid out so badly
(much like Rome and Paris CDG Terminal 1) that you have to take a
train from the satellite back to the main terminal but after an
eternity, I finally made it to the front of the queue at immigration."Alright mucker," I said to
the resident imigration officer, "how's it going?""Very good thanks sir, and you?"
"I'll be better tomorrow once
we've beaten Morecambe!" I exclaimed. "I'm all nervous and
excited like a kid."Immigration dude smiled at me, welcomed
me back to my home country, and I walked past the people who were
waiting for their luggage, out in to the waiting area where the olds
were quite naturally pleased to see my triumphant return.On the way to the car pops told me
about how boring the FA Cup final was, which to me was no surprise.
After all, Chelsea and the Manc Scum were hardly really likely to
serve up a helping of delightful football."No worries pops," I told
him, "tomorrow will be a lot better.""Can't be any worse," pops
(very accurately) prophesised.On the M11 we listened to Radio 5
Live's commentary, and it sounded completely boring. It went in to
extra time as we exited the motorway, and still no goals. I wondered
if pops was going to fall asleep at the wheel as we drove through the
Norfolk and Suffolk countryside. And just as penalties loomed, Drogba
scored the winner to put Chelski fans in to raptures, and send home
the Manc Scum with the dream of a double popping like a burst
balloon.An evening at the local Indian
restaurant in the village where the olds now live was absolutely what
the doctor ordered. Having been on a diet of Italian food for the
previous 2 weeks, I was in need of something else, and Indian was the
perfect alternative. Some wine, some talk with the olds, some
delicious food, and the evening was over.The next morning was what all Exeter
fans had been waiting for. The Grecians' first trip to Wembley
Stadium, home of football, and England's national stadium. We had
arranged to meet our mate "Get the beers in" Greenie at a
pub in north London where the Exiles (a group of Exeter fans based
mainly in the capital) were gathering with 2 coaches to take us over
to Wembley. It made sense – parking facilities at Wembley are
almost non existent. The pub was ALL CITY and we met up with some
fans who had made the long trek from across the Atlantic and across
the country, as a TV in the background was showing a video of the
game where Exeter lost league status a few seasons ago. We had a
couple of sherbets, and breakfast that the pub laid on, before
boarding the coaches that would take us the short trip to Wembley.
Pops' farewell football game was in
Taipei's national stadium, a testimonial game, a few years ago during
the visit to the island of Formosa. The newly rebuilt Wembley Stadium
is a far cry, a million miles in fact, from Taiwan's stadium, and as
we approached and got our first glimpse of Wembley it sank in to
pretty much everyone – we were there! We were playing at Wembley! I
am pretty sure that my emotions were in no way different to the other
30,000 City fans who had made the trek up the M5 and M4 or wherever
else they came from.WOW. What a magnificent stadium.
Past the statue of Bobby Moore, where
pops needed a quick photo stop. In to the stadium, past the security
people, up a few stairs and OH MY GOD!In Japan a few years ago, pops and I
were lucky to visit some maginificent stadia, Niigata, Saitama and
Shizuoka, but Wembley outshines even those in terms of closeness to
the action. Even from our seats, which were at the back of the bottom
tier, you were still so close to the pitch.
A quick snack from the extortionately
priced food stand and we took our seats to take in the atmosphere as
Exeter and Morecambe fans entered, the players warming up on the
exquisite pitch. Exeter fans were singing, the atmosphere was
electric. And before we knew it, the game had started...
After just a few minutes, Exeter were
one up, a fantastic run from the right wing, turning his defender
inside-out before delivering a cross to SUPER LEE PHILIPS who nodded
it home after just 7 minutes. City was in raptures – it was our
day!
But the tide was turning – and 20
minutes or so in to the game, Morecambe got a penalty. As soon as the
challenge went in I called it. No worries though. On his debut for
Exeter, goalkeeper Paul Jones saved a penalty. And, just to prove it
was no fluke, he made an amazing save – keeping the penalty kick
out, but even more spectacularly, saving the rebound as well. Like I
said – it was our day.
Alas, the tide continued to turn, and a
defensive mistake allowed the equaliser – 1-1. No worries – we
sold the guy who made that mistake immediately after the game. Half
time came, and it was Exeter who went in the more relieved, as the
pressure was on them.
The second half saw a lot of hard work,
but relatively few chances for City. And just a few minutes from the
end, Morecambe scored what I have to say was a fantastic goal, the
goal that would prove to be the decider. Bollocks.
As the final whistle went, surprisingly
I did not feel too bad. I don't mind losing a game like that, where
the winning goal was as spectacular as that. I was proud to be City,
having seen the team through good and bad. This was without doubt one
of the highlights of recent years, and I was there with them. The
scoreline was probably about right, and any disappointment I did have
was counter balanced by the tremendous amount of pride I felt at
seeing my team at Wembley.
The coach trip back to the pub sank in
the bitter taste of defeat a little, and it was a solemn and sombre
mood as Wembley faded in to the distance. Conference football beckons
next season once more, but if we can improve just a little, then why
should City not dream of league football in 2008/09?COME ON CITY!!!
