This!
Fond childhood memories of this phenomenon.
In those days the FA Cup always felt like the showpiece of the season and whoever won it was almost on the same level in the layman's eyes as the title winners.
The biggest decision was what channel to watch the 3 hours of build-up on. I think most flicked between the BBC and ITV, but it was hard if your folks couldn't afford a TV with a remote.. i couldn't be arsed to get up and change the channels every few mins haha.
But just seeing players (from two rival teams!) make their way from their hotels to Wembley, seeing one player from each team describe each of his team mates, another talk about his life in detail etc. really made you buy into the whole FA Cup 'dream'.
Happy days.
My dad followed us through what he called the ‘dark days’ of division two. He used to tell how even when we won the league after the war, the blues would taunt reds about not winning the cup. 1965 was his crowning moment as a red, and he couldn’t get a ticket. We watched it together, him with a couple of bottles of Guinness and me with a very small glass of lemonade with a bit of Guinness foam on the top. 6 years and three weeks old, we watched on a black and white tele as we beat Leeds. I’ll never forget that moment we shared. Next day we were stood (me sat on my dad’s shoulders) on St George’s Plateau to see the lads emerge from the side of the Punch and Judy and I got my first glimpse of “the cup”. A couple of days later he was on the Kop to see Milne and Byrne parade it, on the night we hammered Internationale.
1971 was more hope in expectation. Logic went out the window because we had beaten the still champions Everton in the semi. This was he new Shankly team in its infancy. This final brought me heartbreak but forged a team that would do great things.
1973/74 season and Shankly’s men marched south once again. As a 15 year old with my school mates we went by special from Lime St to Euston and then had to make our own way across London via Tube. First time loose in London and on the march to glory. Super Mac didn’t realise what was waiting for him
Vivid images still remain, and stories galore of the day could be told. But to bring that pot home was magical.
In recent years the sheer volume of football on TV have diluted the worth in some peoples eyes but to me, I always think of the joy it brought my dad. After that day, no Evertonian could mock us.
When bitters say we are fair weather supporters, I can actually say like my dad, I supported us in the second division, and thanks to my dad, my lads know the sadness as well as the joy of being a red.