F.A. Cup Semi-Final

Manchester City fan Craig Jones is still rejoicing after watching Saturday’s FA Cup Semi-Final at Wembley. Here he relives one of the best days of his life

As the beaming sun peered in between the gaps in my curtains and seven synchronised alarm clocks, looking a little like the opening scene from Back to The Future, made an almighty racket, I slowly opened my eyes at 7.30am on Saturday morning (a time I’m rarely awake on most weekdays let alone weekends) and realised it was Derby Day.

I leapt up quickly, showered and had a bit of breakfast before sauntering over to Eastlands to get a coach to Wembley to face city rivals Manchester United in the semi-final of the FA Cup.

I was met by a sea of blue shirts, scarves, flags and any other memorabilia that Manchester City’s supporters had been able to lay their hands on. There was an army of coaches, many looking like chariots with an abundance of mod-cons. Mine and my father’s, however, looked more donkey and cart.

We set off and straight away my iPhone sprung into life with ‘hilarious’ texts from United-supporting friends who would be watching the evening’s events in the company of Adrian Chiles and co from ITV.

“You do know Wembley is south of Manchester don’t you?” said one. “If you get lost give Fergie a call he’s been there a few times before,” said another. “Make sure you take a sat nav.” I didn’t rise to the bait because I’ve never been one for playground football banter. I was going down to support my team and couldn’t have cared less about the opposition.

To be honest I wasn’t looking forward to the match, given that United beat us a few weeks previously with a wonder strike from Britain’s most charismatic man, Wayne Rooney, and our recent record against the Reds wasn’t great. Also, we’d just got schooled in a 3-0 defeat at Liverpool. On top of that, despite being one of the world’s richest clubs, there was still the feeling that we were destined to lose any match away from Eastlands.

But the mood soon changed when the party and the chanting started. One fan on the bus noticed my slight resemblance to our suave Italian manager Roberto Mancini and a chorus of “Bobby’s son is a City fan” broke out with lots of pointing at yours truly.

We arrived at Wembley to a great reception from City fans. I felt part of the Royal Wedding entourage. But Blue heaven turned to Red hell when we passed a sea of United fans. That’s when the ‘healthy banter’ stopped and the coach was pelted with missiles with a bottle smashing against the rear window. Love thy neighbour was quite literally out of the window.

The coach parked up in the shadow of the imposing figure of Wembley’s arch. Unwittingly, our coach driver parked at United’s end of the stadium and we were herded into the lion’s den like helpless zebras. At this point my dad, Michael, began to flap a bit having seen the bad old days of football back in the Eighties which, thankfully, I’m too young to remember (although the first match I ever went to at Maine Road I did get chairs thrown at me from opposing fans). Thankfully nothing untoward happened.

Quite the reverse, in fact. We headed to the other side of the stadium to congregate with the other City fans. I was dressed in a white cardigan over my blue shirt and black jeans with the sun glistening on my Ray Bans and a light breeze blowing back my wavy hair, which prompted a backhanded compliment from a United fan with a Cockney accent. “Oh Russell Brand’s arrived!”

We crossed Wembley Way where red became blue and I was getting anxious as kick-off was imminent. Oddly, just before entering the stadium, we saw Fulham defender Brede Hangeland walking into the VIP section and I wondered what interest the big Norwegian had in a meeting between Manchester’s finest. I guess I’ll never know.

As we found our seats, choruses of ‘Blue Moon’ rang around the stadium as the two teams took to Wembley’s field which looked like a freshly laid carpet. Roars met the reading of every City player’s name before a pre-match Poznan was unleashed as the stadium announcer read the Reds’ starting line-up. For those that don’t know, the Poznan is a ritual City have adopted this season after meeting Polish side Lech Poznan in the Europa League where after a goal is scored, inspired by the Polish fans, City’s supporters turn away from the field, put their arms over the people next to them and jump up and down.

The gentle probing from both sides didn’t draw too much blood in the first 10 minutes but I felt United were turning up the heat. My suspicions were confirmed when Berbatov was one-on-one only for Joe Hart to pull off a fantastic save. But the danger didn’t end there as the ball immediately returned to the Bulgarian only for him to fluff another gilt-edged chance. My heart began to pound quite hard. I was certain a goal was imminent.

City started to push against the Red current, making a few good opportunities and for a moment, after seeing Joleon Lescott connect with the ball from a corner, I stood expectantly awaiting the net to rumble, but it didn’t. How the hell did he miss? That was bound to be our last chance, I thought.

After half-time, City continued as they had finished, on the front foot and pressurising the United backline until they made a mistake. Midfielder Michael Carrick gave a stray pass to City’s Yaya Toure who burst forward into the box and placed a shot in between Edwin Van Der Sar’s legs. It was beautiful.

I jumped and screamed in pure ecstasy along with another 40,000 City fans who dared to dream that we could be on course to the final.

After being in control and failing to grab the second goal a sense of nervousness crept in which was momentarily relieved when Paul Scholes was shown a red card for a bizarre and stupid challenge on Pablo Zabaleta. I celebrated like we’d extended the lead hoping it would prevent a United comeback. But I was all too aware of United’s never say die attitude. I was still on edge until the final whistle was blown after the traditional Fergie time.

We all rejoiced as City took one step closer to ending their three-decade trophy drought. The scuffle between Ferdinand and Mancini, which for the most part went unnoticed during the celebrations, emphasised the match’s importance not just to the blue half of Manchester but also to the red.

After the joy of seeing the Poznan performed by City’s players and staff on the pitch we headed back to the coaches. It was only a short walk to the car park and I greeted every insult and expletive with a smile before we climbed back on the coach and headed North.

I did ponder sending a boastful text to my Manchester U friends but decided against it as beating United was only half the battle. It will all be meaningless if we don’t return victorious after playing Stoke City next month.

One thing is for certain, I’ll be sure to ask for directions from Manchester United fans when we return to Wembley in May as all their helpful advice sorted City out a real treat on Saturday.

Posted on www.thenatter.co.uk