FA Cup final worthy of respect in an era when money counts too much

It’s FA Cup final weekend. Traditionally one of the blockbusters of the English sporting calendar. At least it used to be. In these days of money, money, money it seems to have become devalued. But to those of us of a certain vintage, it will always hold a special place in our hearts. Even if your team is not involved – and Blackburn Rovers haven’t been in the Wembley showpiece since a calamitous 3-0 defeat to Wolverhampton Wanderers in 1960 – it is still a major drawcard. It used to bring the curtain down an English season, so that we could all get on with watching some cricket before the whole thing started all over again in August. Not anymore. The final of the overblown, bloated European Champions League takes place in June – the same month that Rovers’ players report back for pre-season training. And out in Oz, we have Chelsea and Tottenham Hotspur in Sydney playing post-campaign friendlies against Sydney FC. That’s a new one. What’s that all about? Football used to have a close season. Now it seems never-ending. And all this in a week were the hideous reptilian dictator Herr Blatter hangs on for another term as FIFA chief despite the stench of galling corruption charges among the organisation’s big wigs uncovered by no less than the FBI. Blatter is so sleazy he must sweat liquid peanut butter. So I will use the FA Cup final as an excuse for a potential return to more innocent days – and sit there wondering why Rovers aren’t there. Again. We are actually the only club to have won the FA Cup three times on the run. Admittedly, it was in Victorian times, but it’s still in the record books. And I have various memories of Cup experiences with Rovers, coming across everybody from the big boys like Manchester United and Liverpool to non-League opposition such as Matlock Town and Kidderminster Harriers. My first recollection of an FA Cup final is watching the 1963-64 as an eight-year-old on the box when West Ham United beat Preston North End, who featured a 17-year-old Howard Kendall. I remember thinking “Jeez, if Preston can make it to a final, why can’t Rovers?’. I have been wondering that every year ever since. We came close in the Mark Hughes years, with semi-final defeats against Arsenal at Cardiff and Chelsea at Old Trafford. But it wasn’t meant to be. As a kid, FA Cup final coverage started on the TV at breakfast and rolled on from there. It was mad. And the razzmatazz was on both channels – ITV and BBC. Two rival stations covering one match. Crazy. In among it all was FA Cup It’s a Knock-out, cameras outside both teams’ respective hotels and interviews with supposed celebrity fans. High-level kitsch. But I, and many more of my generation, lapped it all up. Unless I was playing cricket, when I used to yell out to spectators to find what the score was as I was fielding. I can’t imagine being so interested as a neutral these days. It’s that kind of occasion. And sometimes the lesser lights make it through – remember Sunderland in 1973, Coventry City in 1987 and Wigan Athletic spoiling it for spoilt brats Manchester City just a couple of seasons ago. The two non-league encounters for me came when Rovers were travelling as third-class citizens in the old Division Three when we had to enter the competition in round one. In 1974-75, a 4-1 away win against Matlock Town in November ’74 was still something to go doolalee about. I remember, having recently started my Birmingham University days, that my hitch-hiking era had just begun. So following a night’s doss on a student floor at Jim Chadwick’s commune in Levenshulme after seeing Jethro Tull in Manchester, I set off for the Derbyshire hills. I never even thought of not getting a lift and potentially missing the match. I duly got there in good time and bumped into such Rovers teenage stalwart followers as Norm Hartley, Pat Moulden, Suret Warburton and Dave Ellison. Trouble is, a lot of pubs seemed to have run low on beer cos of the heavy Rovers following. The opening goal by Don Martin was celebrated with pure pandemonium under some rickety stand roof and there were no giant-killing act. Rovers were though. The pre-match lack of alcohol was made up for afterwards. I grabbed a lift back to Manchester off Al Denby and Anthony ‘Blod’ Strange, who supplied the Carlsberg Special Brew. Now that was quite a heavy drop in those days, so when Blod virtually passed out, I finished off the last bottle. The trip to Kidderminster in 1979 saw Howard Kendall’s promotion-bound side see off a potential hazard with 2-0 win. Again, the spectators’ facilities were spartan. This time there was a constant hint of violence in the air with West Midlands hoodlums roaming the vicinity trying to organise not-so-welcoming confrontations with fans of a genuine footballing pedigree. But me and big Jim Chadwick had enough street cred and common sense to avoid any unnecessary alarms. Jim had even survived a near side-road hassle in a vehicular collision as he was swigging some gin and tonic from behind the wheel. As I say, different times. So the FA Cup has it all ­– from non-league mudheaps to palatial Wembley. As Aston Villa and Arsenal walk out tonight, they will have taken whatever route they needed to reach the final. I’ll listen to the singing of “Abide with Me” then settle down to watch the action. And once more, ponder why Rovers have not made it. Maybe next year…