It’s not all about Wembley, though it’s hard to believe.
Friday was the vernal equinox, but also a partial solar eclipse. From around 8.30 until 10.30 in the morning 80 – 90% of the sun’s light (and heat) will be blocked off by the moon. It’s a chance-in-a-lifetime experience – literally. But schools are divided, with some choosing to ban their students from going outside to get the whole multi-sensory impact of the celestial magic! I cannot understand it; schools should be about seizing such opportunities surely? The change in temperature, the somewhat eerie shadow changes, the effect on local wildlife (the birds either going extremely quiet or sounding out alarm calls) and the possibility of seeing stars in the daytime sky that a are normally washed out by the light from our nearest star (actually none were visible, even 20% of the sun’s light is enough to swamp the skies with dazzle!). Instead the students are allowed to watch the BBC live coverage, sitting in classrooms with the blinds closed tightly. And what will they see? Children from other schools outside to get the real experience.
Because other schools had their students outside, warned of the dangers of looking directly at the sun and trusted them to take notice; observing through officially sanctioned glasses of backs to the sun viewers. These schools have my respect!
But after the event the day seemed definitely brighter. Almost as if, behind the moon some mighty hand had taken out the pale “winter bulb” and replaced it with a warmer “spring version”.
Saturday I was involved in a tree planting project in a school in Leicester (where the students, actively involved in a positive environmental action, were also buzzing about their experiences of the Friday phenomenon.
And a chance to make arrangements for the trip to Wembley; get the salmon sandwiches made, check the coach pick up points, drop my brother’s tickets off at his house, decide which clothes to wear , see what the weather forecast says … and so on.
Then off down to the Star for a couple of night-before beers before a mead nightcap, courtesy of my daughter who is also going to Wembley.
Eventually it transpires that my brother and his wife need a lift, so we all pile into the Vectra and head to the Leather Museum car park. It’s crowded but we are in good spirits, passing coaches, pub car parks filled with people in red and white (even though we are playing in black and some violently fluorescent yellow on the day), passengers in cars with flags and beers. Because we sold somewhere in the region of twenty nine thousand (count ‘em!) tickets. Walsall, we figure is going to be empty for the day.
A little trepidation: is this the place that the Big Green Coach buses will be picking up from/ It is, the owner of the company is there to greet us. He is very friendly, explaining that the company was originally about travel to and from music concerts, but, based in Digbeth (Birmingham) couldn’t help seeing the opportunity offered by sporting events. The youngsters with the family at the front of the queue are, perhaps typical in many ways: full of talk about Lionel Messi, Barcelona and Cristian Ronaldo. They can have little idea of how far away from Walsall football club their heroes are. That part of the game, sadly is to much about money – and too accessible to everyone these days, thanks to the spread of terrestrial TV channels and sports franchises; with social media also playing a role. It isn’t right or wrong, I decide, just different.
We are soon on the way, carving down the M40 (the infamous “kite corridor”), still surrounded by minibuses, limousines, cars and buses all bearing a West Midlands tide towards what is being lauded as the home of football. I like the sentiment, but it can hardly be true. The original Wembley Stadium was opened by King George V in 1923. It hosted the 1948 Olympic Games, the 1966 World Cup Finals (which Alf Ramsay’s England team managed to win!) and the Live Aid concert in 1985.
The old stadium, however, became rather outdated and a new one has been built: the famous Twin Towers being replaced by a rather ridiculous lop-sided arch. While it may be distinctive it is also rather pretentious, but visible from a distance. As we reach the outskirts of London, real life intervenes. Suddenly there are vehicles on the road that are not jammed with Saddlers fans: delivery wagons, people travelling to (or from) Heathrow Airport, families journeying to visit other family members, shoppers, a lady whose car has a COEXIST bumper sticker (the letters made from religious symbols). This lady clearly feels lucky for she is driving while talking on the ‘phone, holding a cigarette and steering with her knees! Oh and getting angry at being stuck in a traffic jam!
And we too join the queues! In fact we are stuck in queues for over an hour! Traffic light junctions and roundabouts are free-for alls. It is genuinely disappointing because it was known well in advance that there would be seventy two thousand and some supporters heading to this event. Where are the traffic control staff ? Or the police? Doggedly our driver (named after a former Walsall player) edges and creeps to the designated Yellow Coach Parking. Wall to wall, nose-to-tail coaches! And so many, many people! Fans are segregated, so all of these people here, dodging the next incoming, suddenly monstrous coach are here from Walsall! A – mazing!
We head up Wembley Way (and boy is it steep after so many hours of sitting down?) and, eventually find the correct entrance. Close to Wembley is not so glamorous, more functional, but at least we know where we are heading. Necessarily we split up. I buy a couple of programmes (packed with well written information and good value at a fiver each). We congregate again in our seats, to bask in the atmosphere. My first time at the New Wembley! The grass is unbelievably perfect. Seats are splendid and the view of the whole stadium is perfect. If it is possible to feel part of a huge crowd and intimately connected to those you are sitting with, this is the ideal. There are warm up activities going on, although in our seats the P.A. is too loud and indistinct.
The Walsall team appear, go through warm up routines – hopefully giving me time to adjust to supporting a team in such different colours (actually no, I was confused for some minutes after the kick off!) and two sausage shaped balloons are dragged into centre pitch.
I give enormous credit here to Johnstone’s paints. “Bringing Colour to the Beautiful game” is such a fine statement. They have gone to town in making this an event. Spot prizes, live TV feed to pitch side screens, great props and pyrotechnics and an introduction from each of the two teams home-stadium announcers.
Who are we playing? The awesome Bristol City (fly away leaders – at the moment of league One, some ten points clear of the nearest challengers) They have a superior budget to ours, more players and – on paper – should run away with this game.
They start with a rush. We do our “often usual” thing, defending and attempting to break forwards with short passes. Walsall players drop off and get behind the ball. Tom Bradshaw is on the pitch, a pleasing sight. He has been able to change so many games for us this season with a drop of the shoulder, his unexpected pace and his unselfish chasing of lost causes (that sometimes became goals). Sam Mantom is still there. Romaine Sawyers and Andy Taylor. But Bristol City players give us little or no space. Every time our players get the ball they are hemmed in, challenged and, unusually seem startled and rush into small mistakes. City are also ruthless, with a physical presence we do not rise to (when, throughout the season tough our players are physically smaller we have not backed off, but returned like with like).
Fifteen minutes and City go ahead: Aiden Flint rising strongly to head in from a corner. Possibly a foul on Paul Downing in the process, but the referee gives the goal. We calm down a bit, start putting passes together, get a bit of a breathing space, Andy Taylor going close. But while we start to look dangerous, we need one pass too many or the final ball is wasted or quite literally aimless. And Bristol City defend well! Sawyers is booked for a nothing-much challenge out on the wing. He is not having a good game, unable to find the space he needs to swing searching passes to players in good positions (because they are not there).
Half time. We are not playing at our best, but are only one goal down. There is time and we can pull it back (we did on Tuesday!). the crowd is enormous. The largest attendance at a sporting event in Great Britain and second only to the El Classico game in Spain in the whole of Europe. Given that we are two hard working but low status clubs with tiny budgets this is to the credit of all fans. A super advert for passion and pride!
Five minutes after the kick off we go two down. Failing to deal with a cross, Mark Little (no, not the Australian comedian!) gets a rebound (off his arm?) and the ball is in the back of the net, and our comeback is halted before it really began.
It is a colourful day, I am genuinely emotional, drained and proud at the same time, really disappointed when the final whistle goes. We used all of our substitutes (they deserved to make an appearance after all: Hiwula, Grimes and Baxendale).
Whole sections of the Walsall “end” of the stadium begin to leave. In truth, though they came from our part of England (and I, for one am happy to have them) they are not Walsall supporters and, quite possibly had not heard of most of the players before the kick off. They had had their day at Wembley and now could not wait to be on their ways home. Me and my little group stay to watch the players climb – so many steps to receive their runners up tokens. Manfully they remain on the field to applaud the Bristol City players as they, in turn collect the trophy. This is such a good sign of a respectful community – and Bristol City were the better team.
Back in the East Midlands, while we are going through the spectrum of emotions the body of one-time king Richard III is being re-buried in Leicester Cathedral. Killed at the Battle of Bosworth nearby his remains were surprisingly and quite accidentally found when ground was being turned over for new building. Studies have gone on to establish his identity and come up with theories of exactly how he met his death; questions asked about Shakespeare’s unflattering versions and an argument over where he should be interred. How necessary was it to make such a fuss? I am not certain, but I do believe it is important to mark such things as part of our history – and that people should know about our heritage. The Plantagenet family were our monarchs for a long time and the Tudors who came next part of the rich tapestry of our history.
Footnote: I am upset for a day, sleeping on it before I commit anything to this blog. It helps, bringing perspective and the news that Walsall will have made some six hundred thousand pounds from the cup run.
And I went today to renew my season ticket. I gave way to a guy who wanted a couple of tickets for Saturday’s game at Chesterfield.
“Need to get ‘em today,” he smiled, “before the rest of the twenty nine thousand get here!”
That Walsall sense of humour!
Trials and Trails: life and times of a Walsall fan 