New Wembley, same tired old stuff.

I was tempted to write about us and Wednesday again but a break from that. I was also tempted to ignore the cup final as it was awful but…..

I must admit even before the game started I was filled with dread. Not because it was between the Mancs who aren’t exactly my favourite team. Not because it was Chelsea who don’t exact make me want to trample young mothers and babies underfoot in an effort to watch them. Not because it was the top two teams in the country, and therefore no real underdog to cheer on, but because it was the whole Wembley thing.

What people should remember that although we’ve a new stadium, and I’ve no doubt it looks great and the pitch is closer and that everything is the latest whatever, but for the average fan, what has changed? Granted, you’ve got a bigger seat and an unrestricted view. You probably won’t have to dodge the numerous steams of pi** that used to flow down the terraces because it’s got more toilets. However, it’s a still a bug**r to get to, it’s still scandalously overpriced, £3-50 for a pint, £8 for a burger and chips and £10 for a programme.

All this will be forgotten in time and the new Wembley will make its own history but in this case familiarity does breed contempt. Playing at and going to Wembley used to mean something now if you get to a semi final or a play off final you get a game there. I know they need the money, but Wembley should be rationed, it’s in danger of putting itself about too much.

So to yesterday and the thought of John Motson bombarding us with statistics and curious stories about the old and new Wembley and not doubt drawing curious, idiotic parallels between the two was just too much to take. I did turn over to BBC for the commentary in the forlorn hope that they had drafted in someone else. Jonathon Pearce? Tony Gubba? Sid Waddell? Stephen Fry? Stephen Hawking? However, it was Motty. Motty. Blo*dy Motty. Give me strength please! I got through his first couple of sentences which were about an Aberdeen Angus terrier biting someone or something and then I turned over. Sky for me on cup final day now, there’s only one left on the BBC anyway as they’ve lost the contract; it has been for a while now. The fact that Chelsea were the last team to win the Cup at Old Wembley and the first to win at New Wembley must have sent Motty into the stratosphere never to return….no, don’t tempt me!

The game does not deserve a mention. After 45 minutes of tedium, I decided brighten things up by mowing the lawn! It should only take fifteen minutes then back for the second half which can’t be as bad as the first? Job finished but what with the other half taking advantage of the empty streets of West London to do some shopping and the kids, for once, being quiet I just sat there and proceeded to, as Depeche Mode said “Enjoy the Silence. A full 40 minutes of it, in the sun, smelling the cut grass. That was the highlight of my cup final day!

I came back in and honestly didn’t feel I had missed anything. Strange, there was a time in my youth when FA Cup final day was a fantastic occasion, even if Liverpool weren’t playing. The build up alone was terrific. Cup Final It’s A Knockout, Cup Final Question of Sport, meet the players, see the players leaving their hotels see the players arriving, see the players inspecting the pitch. Reading through it now it doesn’t sound like much but it was captivating stuff!

Now I couldn’t give a sh*t even if we’re in it I’ll just switch on half and hour or so before. I don’t know why it’s come to this. Too much live football, the FA Cup was one of the few games to broadcast live in the 70s and 80s, same old teams getting to the final, or am I just getting old and cynical? Sad stuff either way.

Oh, and guess what, “Drog”, as in Drogba is nearly the same as “Dog” as in Jose Mourinhos’ pooch. Oh how I laughed!!!!!!

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