The Day I Never Thought I'd SeeThere are many things that Liverpool supporters in my generation will never get to witness. The magic of Bill Shankly. The humility of Bob Paisley. Or a Liverpool captain lifting the First Division title. There are other things we hope we’ll one day witness. A league win in the flesh. An FA Cup win at Wembley. The journey that sees a Liverpool manager elevated to a status alongside our greats.
Up until 2011/2012, seeing Liverpool FC play at Wembley was one of those things. And seeing Kenny Dalglish manage Liverpool Football Club again was just one of those bizarre dreams. We’d been to Cardiff, of course. And we’d had other messiahs too. But regardless of how much we loved Cardiff, and how much Gerard Houllier or Rafa Benitez mean to us, Wembley is historic, and Kenny Dalglish is simply The King.
So, when Craig Bellamy scored at Anfield in the semi-final of the Carling Cup in January 2012 to see us through to the final, at Wembley, with Kenny Dalglish as manager, bedlam ensued. I’ve had several celebration-induced injuries in my time, but this was one of the worst. Not that I cared. I had spent years telling my brother of the incredible European nights on the Kop, but this Carling Cup semi ran them close. Luckily, by this time my brother was stood by my side on the Kop. That game was special. That moment was special. It was special because we knew that after a horribly turbulent few years, that the club was back in good hands, and that we would get the chance to see the Tricky Reds play at Wembley once more. There was no way on earth I’d be missing that.
By the time the match came around, it was clear we could have more than one trip to Wembley that year, and as is tradition for many of us Liverpool fans, I felt the need to make a banner for the occasion. It was around the same time that the Occupy movement was at its height, and with the anti-capitalist ethos echoing that of The Liverpool Way, an Occupy Wembley banner seemed more than apt.
So very early on that Sunday morning, Gareth, Karl, The Banner and I set off from North Wales for Wembley. The long journey down was interspersed with Gareth and Karl mocking my music choices, and with the sight of Liverpool fans all the way down the M6. We made it to Wembley in plenty of time to set up camp, banner out, with a few beers in the glorious sunshine.
It was going to be a good day.
We got into the ground early, and after a bit of wrangling with the stewards about the banner, we got it hung up behind the goal.
“It’s not political, is it?”
“No, mate.”
“Just there’s thing Occupy thing isn’t there? It’s nothing to do with that?”
“Well we’re not going to set up camp here after the match, if that’s what you mean…”
He gave me a blank stare and wandered off. This was a fairly mild inquisition in comparison to the two Wembley visits that followed, but they are other stories for another time.
When Craig Bellamy netted that goal in the semi, against his former club, he was setting us up for a final against another of his former clubs – Cardiff City. On paper, a tie we should be winning. You rarely get your own way in games as big as this, though. And being Liverpool Football Club, we don’t do things the easy way. Within 20 minutes, Cardiff were 1-0 up. How the fuck did that happen? It was a good goal, but it was a lazy one to concede. But Stewart Downing of all people was putting in a man of the match performance, and it was from his corner on the hour mark that Martin Skrtel equalised. This took the game into the dreaded extra time.
When Dirk Kuyt scored in the second period of extra time, it looked as though we had the game won. There were just 10 minutes to play, and we were 2-1 up. We were close. SO CLOSE. I could almost see Kenny Dalglish lifting his arms in the air in celebration, and his beaming smile, awaiting that trophy presentation. But no. Not us. Not Liverpool. A scrappy corner for Cardiff resulted in Ben Turner poking the ball passed Dirk Kuyt and Pepe Reina. 2-2. We’d thrown it away, and the match would be settled, as seems to be the norm with Liverpool cup finals, by penalties.
Considering we had three (apparently) penalty specialists in the team that day, we had good reason to be confident. But our form had been woeful. Nevertheless, when Steven Gerrard steps up to take a penalty, there’s usually very little to worry about. Except not that day. Tom Heaton, the Cardiff ‘keeper, made a superb save to the first penalty of the day, but luckily Kenny Miller put his wide. Still 0-0. Charlie Adam then proceeded to launch the ball into outer-space to give Cardiff another chance to take the lead. Less said about Charlie Adam the better. But Don Cowie duly obliged by putting Cardiff one up. The ever-reliable Kuyt scored the next to make it 1-1, and the pressure got to Gestede, who again put the ball wide. We’d been given a chance to get back into it. Stewart Downing capped off one of his best performances in a Liverpool shirt by coolly slotting away his penalty. Whittingham struck back, making it 2-2 with a penalty each still to take. Glen Johnson stepped up. And scored. So the game rested, as has so often been the case with Liverpool FC, on Gerrard. But not Steven, this time. His cousin Anthony was to take the final penalty for Cardiff. He had to score to take it into sudden death…
Missed.
We’d done it. At long last, a trophy at Wembley.
The euphoria. And the relief. And the joy. And the relief. And the emotion! And the relief.
Liverpool’s first trophy in 6 years, and Kenny Dalglish’s 11th trophy as Liverpool manager. There are places I’ll remember all my life, and we’ve had our fair share of fairytale finals. But the day we got to stand at Wembley, and see the King, Kenny Dalglish, lead Liverpool to a trophy, will be right up there with the best of them. Not least because it was something we NEVER thought we’d get to see.