This is a report on the FA Cup Final written by Paul Windridge, a regular contributor in MUFC list who "specializes" in reporting his experience and view about United match that he attended. I find his latest report excellent and correctly sum up the feeling that every United supporter should have regarding the situation during that black week (Glazer taking over the club, losing the FA Cup). The report is sad, and I cried while reading it, but at the same time should be able to strengthen your support & love to Manchester United.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did and keep the Red Flag flying high.
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Originally posted by Paul Windridge in MUFC List
Date: Sun May 22, 2005 10:53 pm
Subject: Cry me a river
Arsenal 5 Manchester United 4 (on penalties)
FA Cup Final Saturday 21st May 2005
Was 12th May only 10 days ago?
The Glazer offensive, which has taken a club in profit and loaded it with £540 million debt, already seems like an lifetime away. It’s OK though, the Glazers say they are "avid" fans. Who are they trying to kid? Does an "avid
fan" make a bid on 6th February - the anniversary of Munich? Of course not.
They don’t give a toss for our history and tradition. They haven’t got a clue about emotional bonds with football clubs and how deep they can go, but I think they may be about to find out. This isn’t sunny Tampa Bay Florida -
this is Manchester.
Manchester United has been a part of my life for nearly as far back as I can remember - and that is a very long time. I first climbed the steps to the top of the Stretford End in November 1965. It will be the 40th anniversary of that game this year, but I haven’t got the heart to celebrate. During those 40 years and before I experienced the unbelievable pain of Munich, the loss of the Babes and the subsequent rebuilding. I’ve been privileged to have witnessed the holy trinity of Best, Law and Charlton and remember the triumph 68 as if it were yesterday.
In 69 we should have made it to the Final again had it not been for the goal that was never seen by the officials. It signalled a decline that lead to a year in Division Two. Relegation was a dark day on the United Road terrace - the Lawman’s back-heel an irony even he couldn’t cope with. But we bounced straight back in style and destroyed the Scousers one and only treble dream in the process. FA Cups followed in the 80’s but the Championship dream faded year-on-year until Eric came and lead us to the promised land. Tears of joy rolled down our cheeks as Eliza and I hugged outside Old Trafford the day that 26 year wait came to an end. Doubles followed and even the ‘impossible’ treble as the Wizard’s Red Army swashed and buckled their way ever onwards.
There were tears of heartbreak too of course. No-one inside Old Trafford, the day we played Everton, after Sir Matt had died will ever forget the sight and sound of the lone piper who lead out the teams, or the absolute pin-dropping silence that followed. And the following week when the great man’s funeral cortege drew to a halt outside Old Trafford, as we stood in silence on the forecourt, our tears that day mingled with the drizzling rain that fell on our faces.
I have been present when we’ve won Leagues and Cups and I was there in Barcelona on that incredible night in 1999 when we partied like it was. On the anniversary of Sir Matt’s birth, during the three minutes of injury time, thousands of us were dispatched to heaven to celebrate with the great man. We have experienced things that others can only dream of and for that we give heartfelt thanks. Manchester United is a special club - there is no other like it anywhere in the world and to think it is now in the control of a man who took his own sisters to court over their mother’s will.
In the world of football no single day has ever been as devastating as 6th February 1958 when 8 of our players, plus club officials, journalists and crew died - but 12th May 2005, when the Glazer family effectively took over
our club, ranks second to that dreadful day. The Glazers cannot possibly know what Manchester United means to us.
So, to all those who have helped push through this sordid piece of business, or stood by and allowed it to happen - thanks a lot. A big thank you to the Irish who sold out (don’t worry, it was only business - like f**k it was).
Thank you to the inept FA for standing by and doing absolutely nothing.
Thanks also to the European and World governing bodies UEFA and FIFA for not
lending support. Thank you to our wonderful government (who are now considering blocking hostile take-overs - bit late chaps don’t you think?)
And most of all a great big thank you to the Edwards family and their greedy son Martin, the ladies lavatory lad. Thanks for selling us down the river.
Our hearts may be broken, but our spirit is not. The soul of Manchester United is safe within us and we will rise again. As we sang many times yesterday and will sing many times in the future:
We’ll never die, we’ll never die.
We’ll never die, we’ll never die.
We’ll keep the Red flag flying high.
Cos Man United will never die.
So my oldest friend, the Salty dog, and I set off for a football match. Not just an ordinary match of course - this was the FA Cup Final against the Arse. We’d both been there before. In May 1979 I was with my old College friend Ray. It was our last match together before he emigrated to Australia. The first 85 minutes of that game were an immense anti-climax. The Arse lead 2-0 by halftime and bossed the game as we did yesterday. Then big Gordon gave us hope and Sammy Mac made my heart leap out of my chest. It was dancing in the palm of my hand as I looked up to see the ball land at the feet of Sunderland who prodded it home for their winner.
From that moment on United supporters all bore the same expression. It was the one I’d seen years earlier when travelling back into Manchester on the bus after the European semi against Partizan Belgrade in 66. On the day of the City game, at Old Trafford, when we were relegated. When we lost our European home record to Fenerbahce and in 95 when we lost the League at West Ham. It was a look of utter devastation. More than likely the same look that came over us all last Thursday 12th May and the same one that is still with me today.
Yesterday in Cardiff was a very strange day. There was an eeriness about it. A finality. The Salty dog and I were supposed to be meeting the doctor but he’d been delayed, so we finally all met up at Mam’s in Rumney and travelled
in together on the bus. We made our way down to the United sector and ended up in the same Arcade where we’d been for the semi.
Whenever we went to Wembley you could always tell who had the better chance of winning. There was something in the air which gave it away. A wander up to the Torch for a few beers would generally confirm it. But in Cardiff there has never been any way of knowing. It’s not like a real Cup Final in many ways. It’s a great stadium and all that but something just doesn’t seem right, although given the week we’d been through, nothing much was going to seem right.
When you are standing around with family and friends having a beer before a game and a mate comes up to you with tears in his eyes and says that this will be his last game because he can’t bear to give the Glazers any of his
money then you know your extended Manchester United family is being ripped apart by a voracious businessman that should never have been allowed to happen. Whatever the wrongs or rights of giving up or keeping hold of your
season ticket there can be no winners. Some want to stay and fight from within, others do not. It is absolutely heartbreaking for all of us who care. This surely can’t be happening can it? Someone wake me up please I’m having the most awful nightmare.
The rain was falling as we made our way to the ground. Big Rich had sent me a message to give Glazer some abuse for him because he couldn’t be there. I think you can safely say that happened. How could anyone in their right mind
want to own a football club where nearly 100 percent of it’s followers hate the very ground they walk on? It just doesn’t make any sense at all.
Nothing much IS making very much sense at the moment - the FA Cup Final certainly didn’t. United’s 90 minute domination was agony. The countless saves and near misses, the goal disallowed, the shouts for penalties, the Rooney shot against the foot of the post and the unbelievable header off the line which bounced onto the underside of the crossbar and out. All these instances made us wonder whether a monstrous miscarriage of justice was probably going to be our destiny.
All the way through, our end of the ground was a pulsating mass of black and red. The noise was, at times, deafening. And the loudest songs were the anti-Glazer ones. People were literally falling over rows of seats trying to head or kick the ball into the net and were eventually hauled back into place and dusted down to start all over again. Meanwhile the Arse fans at the other end sat in disbelief as their under-performing team savaged their way through the game and United’s forwards, hacking down anyone who ventured anywhere near their penalty area. Their team mustered one corner and made Carroll make one save in the entire match. They should have finished the game with no more than 9 men.
All we needed was one moment of luck. Through till the last seconds we hoped it would come, but it never did. And when the final whistle sounded I believe we knew our fate. Especially those of us who were on the Stretty the night when we became the first ever team to go out of the FA Cup on penalties which were scored in the net below us. We feared the worst. There was an inevitability when we discovered the penalties would be taken at our end. We were stood in the exact same position in relation to the goal as we had been that night against Southampton. Some turned away, but most looked on as the drama unfolded and the penalties went in one by one. All except one.
At the end of the game Eliza and I had our arms around each other, but this time there were no tears of joy. My youngest daughter Gina sent me a text which read, "Noooooooo Daddy, I’m crying - that’s not fair." She was
absolutely right.
As many made their way out, we remained in place to applaud our players as they accepted their losers medals. We were proud of our team as we are to be Manchester United supporters. I think some of them found out what being a Manchester United player is all about yesterday. We finally emerged into the pouring rain, our heads held high, and walked right through the emerging Arse fans celebrating their hollow victory. There is no doubt that every single one of us was crying inside, but those of us who have been around a while have been through worse and survived. And we will survive this too.
You may be able to borrow enough money to buy the club Glazer, but you will never buy us because we are not for sale.
Copyright Paul Windridge 2005: http://www.Red11.org
Fanatic Batman fans are entering the cinema to watch Batman Begins with one common thing in their mind, "Can it bring back the Batman franchise to life or at least make some noise in the box office chart?" After 2 hours captivated by it, I safely assume that most of them will answer "Yes" in capital letters.
