1985 Cup Final

and one or two other things besides...

Cup Final Day. Ten pages in the diary, as opposed to the general average of about two...And I'm going to reproduce every single word here...(No, I'm not...).

I'm growing in excitement. This increased during Abide With Me and the National Anthem. Then the match kicked off.

The first half was more tense than exciting, with too many stoppages. Robbo was booked, Gray should have been. Peter Reid had one chance, cleared off the post by John Gidman. Nothing for United.

The second half was another matter altogether. It looked like being a really good match of football. There was a bit niggly, but there were a few good incidents. Norman almost scored, only the brilliance of Southall stopped him. Next talking was a pretty crude tackle – foul – by Kevin Ratcliffe on Frankie Stapleton. He should have been booked. Then Andy Gray was booked, which was justice enacted.

The next incident – probably the biggest talking point, undoubtedly the most controversial event. Peter Reid was going forward, and had managed to get himself into a reasonable scoring position. So Kevin Moran flung himself at Reid. It was a pretty crude – dreadfully uncharacteristic – foul, deserving of a booking…no doubt about that. But it was not deserving of anything worse. So I was shellshocked when the referee pointed to the tunnel.

All hell broke out, Kevin refused to go, and all the United players – and some of the Everton players – were protesting. But to no avail, Kevin was off. He was in tears: I never thought that I would live to see the day that Kevin Moran cried. Not that I blame him, though – I was in tears as well, and I also bit a gaping hole in my scarf. A few months later, I recounted this to Kevin and he laughed...I wouldn’t have minded if it had been a really dreadful hacking down (like Willie Young on Clive Allen in 1980) but it wasn’t. One thing that did cross my mind was that Peter Willis the referee was the same fella who sent Andy May off from Maine Road against Oldham for no particular reason.

Obviously, with Kev off the pitch, and sitting very, very dejected on the bench, United had to reorganise. Strangely enough, United went from strength to strength. Or perhaps not so strangely. A team of internationals, such as United were, a team of thorough…and determined professionals, are going to be stronger than to allow unjust decimation upset them. They were beauty to watch, and Arthur Albiston – of all people – nearly scored a winner.

Extra time began. What a half hour. In every department United totally outclassed Everton. Ten minutes from the end Norman – super Norman – ‘Gripper’ they call him, got the ball on the right, and floated it over in the direction of the goal. Even Neville Southall could do nothing about it, it was such a pin point accurately curling shot…what a way to score in the FA Cup Final! All was needed was to hang on for ten minutes, probably the longest ten minutes of the season, undoubtedly the longest ten minutes of the match.

Finally, the whistle blew…and the happiest fella at Wembley had to be Kevin Moran. The tears forgotten, he had a big grin on his face, and he and Ron Atkinson were hugging each other. It wasn’t until Bryan Robson collected the cup -–the Football Association Challenge Cup – that it began to sink in…it is now ten minutes to eight, and I cannot appreciate it yet. Everybody was marvellous in their own way.

Two and a half pages of detailed player-by-player analysis.

After Piccadilly Sport finished I went out to the garden, needing to work off my surplus energy and excitement.

I watched the news. ITV had a different camera angle…I have never seen a tackle so obviously ball winning. So it was with horror that I learnt that FA Rules say that a sent off player does not get a medal.

I don’t think I have read so many papers on one day. On the way to mass I bought the People and the Mirror and th Express. Pauline got a Mail.

The People describes Kevin as callous. How could anybody describe Kevin Moran as callous. As I was saying to Judy – it’s just not Kevin. He hasn’t even been booked this season, he has never before been sent off in his life, and I don’t believe he’s in the least bit malicious. Judy’s quite philosophic about it – like me, she feels that Norm’s goal more than made up for it.

I went down with Matth to the corner of Woodhouse Lane and Washway Road. Honest to god, there were more people there than 1979 and 1983 put together. There were crowds deep, I saw everyone I know: I’m sure most people came down to see the Cup – I mean there were people there like (next door neighbours), and loads of other city fans. We stood around for ages, every car that went past got a cheer, especially if there were United fans in them. Then the drama began. The traffic lights were switched off, a helicopter hovered overhead, and along came a glare of headlights. Along came a cavalcade of motorbikes – police motorbikes good old outriders. Behind them…the open top bus – the familiar open top bus. What a round of applause they got, City fans running down the middle of the road on each other’s shoulders, United singing “We love you Whiteside, love you, we love you Whiteside, love you, we love you Whiteside…” more applause, waving of scarves, cheers – and there they were! In a few seconds they were gone. But it was enough to see the lads – imprinted on my mind are Jesper, Paul, Hoggy, and Sparky . There could have been others, I don’t recall, but I will never forget Strachy, Dux…and the Cup. They nearly dropped it on me!

I went home, and took ten minutes – more – to get up Woodhouse Lane. It was wonderful to see the red stream. I got ready to go out, and we went into town via the same route as the lads followed. In town, the streets were a blaze of red, white and black. The fans were just coming away from Albert Square, I wish I was there, the atmosphere was just tremendous. But I was at the Hallé.

Even so, the atmosphere was great, people talking about the match, about seeing the cup. The music wasn’t bad either! Walton’s Overture to Johannesburg Festival, Vaughan Williams’ Fantasia on Greensleeves, and Elgar’s Enigma Variations. After the interval (during which I celebrated with wine), was Tchaikovsky – Introduction & Variation for strings, and the superb incomparable 1812 Overture.

Do I start at the beginning or at quarter to five. It doesn’t really make a hell of a lot of a difference, because just about everything I have done has been connected with football, to be more exact Manchester United, or to be exactly precise, Manchester United winning the Cup! I gave the woman in the station bookstall a heart attack by buying the Star and the Mirror as well as the Guardian. Ithink I must have been boycotting the Murdoch Papers at this time. Needless to say, I read them at school while talking to Andrea, Magda and others – about football. It is quote obvious that Kevin is the United hero as far as the fans are concerned. Everyone was chanting his name in Albert Square – he got the biggest reception of the lot, and people had posters complaining that Kev is innocent. As can be imagined, the papers were full of pictures.

At Registration, people were talking about the game. Andi B has really gone for Frank Stapleton, Angela is even madder in love with Kevin Moran, Andrea J is perfectly satisfied with Norm.

History was all right. Even that mentioned football. Magda and I were passing letters. She’s off Gary and onto Jesper – a woman with taste is our Magda. In British we started Robert Peel. I commented that he invented policeman, so Mrs Mc made some comment to the effect that she would think I didn’t like policemen after Saturday’s match! >i>That bastard referee was a policeman

I got off the bus on the main road because I wanted to go to the Post Office. Me being me, I was dreaming – wouldn’t it be great if I saw a United player. For once in my life, my dreams came true – Paul was driving along Eastway! On the way home I decided I would call round – and say congratulations.

I rang on the doorbell, and Claire answered. “Hello,” I said, “Is Paul in.”
“Yes,” she said, “come in, he won’t be long.” Surprised, I went into the living room. Baby Christopher was sitting there. He’s gorgeous, absolutely lovely. He was crying a little, but he was interested in a visitor, so he quietened down. I chatted for a bit to Claire. She was saying it wasn’t worth going to Wembley for the action – she couldn’t see the presentation, and didn’t have a wonderful view of the match. She missed the action replays. She did admit though that it was worth it for the atmosphere.

Then Paul came in. He’s lovely. Absolutely gorgeous. I said, “Congratulations on winning the Cup – it was fantastic.” He thanked me and I said he played really well. He thanked me again. He asked me whether I had just got back from school, so I said everyone was talking of just one topic at school – the Cup. He laughed and asked how the City fans were. I nearly said ‘What City fans?’ but then remembered that City are back in the First Division. I said they were quite happy at the moment, and it ought to be quite exciting next season. He said he was looking forward to the derby matches, I said “Thrash ‘em.” He said “Six easy points.” We both laughed.

Then I asked him if his medal was handy. So he turned to Claire, and said, “Where’s the medal Claire.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think it’s in my bag.” She took a box out and passed it to me. I was struggling to open the small blue box, so Paul said “You press the thing there.” So I pressed a little gold stud and the box opened. Inside was an FA cup Winners Medal. I was surprised at the size of it – about the same size as a tenpence piece old tenpence piece, that is. It is gold, not shiny. On one side it says ‘Football Association Challenge Cup Winner 1985,’ and on the other side the FA Badge.

“It’s lovely!” I exclaimed. “It’s really nice.”

“It’s okay,” said Paul, not particularly enthusiastically.

“I suppose it’s more important what it means,” I said.

He laughed. We chatted a bit longer, then feeling a little self-conscious, I stood up. He showed me to the door, said “See you soon, take care of yourself.” He is just so wonderfully gorgeous, and lovely, and really friendly, and I adore him like hell.

I went home and tried to do my Maths homework but couldn’t concentrate.

I watched Granada Reports. They showed United’s homecoming. Big Ron was telling the crowd that it wasn’t ten men who beat Everton but thousands and thousands. Then Kev was telling the crowd that we are magnificent, in a League of our own – he was so emotional, it was unbelievable.

I had great fun telling Andrea, Magda and Andi about last night with Paul. Later on in the day I also told (people listed, including two teachers). There was a great deal of being suitably impressed by my adventure.

Lessons flew by, in particular PE. I played badminton with Angela and Anita, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. I concentrated, did myself justice, and ended up pleasantly tired.

Petra was in the Unicorn on Sunday night, and Mick Brown United assistant managercame in. People were obviously congratulating him on the Cup and so on, and someone said jokingly, “Where’s the Cup now, Mick?” so he said it was in the boot of his car. They persuaded him to bring it into the pub! do we really believe this? Hmm. Although Petra was neither a story teller nor a United fanatic

At lunch time I went to choir and a Cabinet meeting. The official go ahead has been given to trendy shoes!

After school I walked down to Alty with Andre. It’s amazing to think the role chance plays in your life. Mrs Qn cancelled the Oxbridge lesson after school, so I was out at the usual time. Andrea was taking her shoes to be repaired so we walked down Regent Road rather than through the Town Hall carpark. Andrea’s annoyed at me for hurrying her across the road – if we had been our usual indecisive self, we would have been better placed. We had just crossed over and were proceeding down George Street when, for some strange reason I glanced behind me and saw a Silver Sierra. Why, I do not know, I glanced at the registration. It took me a second to click. I grabbed Andrea’s arm, and said, “Just look who’s over there – Kevin Moran’s in his car.” As we both turned round the passenger door opened – Eleanor as getting out- and beyond her we could see Kevin – he’s a distinctive fella is our Kev.

Andrea’s immediate reaction was “Good god, of all people Kev.” Then she said, “Don’t stand there staring.” Then together, “Just wait until we tell Judy,” and for that matter, Angela too. Being as daft as we are, we were walking round hearts apounding, knees a shaking. It’s smart seeing the celebrity of the week just three days after he made history by becoming the first ever man to be dismissed in a Cup Final. It’s a pity we weren’t a minute later, on second thoughts we would have only stood rooted to Regent Road open mouthed, not the ideal thing at that time of day.

I caught the 41 to Holly Royde College in Didsbury/Withington area. En route I read the Communist Manifesto.

I went into the college place and soon the lecture began – it was the nature of British Politics since 1945, and the current favourite topic – how much has Margaret Thatcher changed the nature of British Politics, how much has there been deviation from the 1950s Consensus, and the realignment both of the Tories and of Labour – Centre Forward and the present journalistic splurge of the Soft Left.

On the way home I was just rounding the corner into xxxxxx Road when I saw Paul and Claire coming down their drive and getting into their car. I wasn’t near enough to wave or anything, but, all the same, seeing two United players in one day is incredible.