The last time West Ham were in a cup final (2006), I was there. The less said about that match the better. The only bar we could find afterwards near the ground in Cardiff not packed with joyful Scousers, in which to drown our sorrows, was a gay bar. We had real sorrows to drown.
The last win in a cup final was 1980 when Sir Trevor headed the ball home for a one nil win. That match I watched on the TV with a West Ham supporting babysitter. And now there is another final, tomorrow night in Prague.
Okay it is for a fairly Mickey Mouse competition but it is a European final and after a fairly, no utterly, miserable domestic season any silverware would be a delight. The downside is that if we win, it may well mean that David Moyes stays on as manager but who cares? It’s been a long wait.
Both boozers in this village here in Wales are without a TV so I must trek over the river to the Raven in Farndon, England. Wednesday being netball night, none of the husbands of the other young mums will be allowed out and so I shall be on my own unless Joshua opts to join me as this is such a one off match. He says that he is thinking that he might just do it.
Like many men my age ,in pubs across this land I will pull on an old shirt harking back to years gone by. I have a fairly horrible one from the Dagenham Motors era with my name on it. That was a 40th birthday present. There is an older 1960s style one somewhere but I fear that the Mrs may have binned it on the, wholly spurious, grounds that it was falling apart. If binning your husband’s lucky West Ham shirt is not grounds for divorce I really do not know what is?
But I shall find a shirt somewhere. It will be too tight, having shrunk for some reason. And I shall wander over the bridge to England for the game. You never know: West Ham fans pop up in the strangest places so I may not be alone but I doubt there are many Cockneys in this part of affluent Cheshire. 25,000 fans are heading to Prague for the final and articles about it and videos of those other finals in 1980, 1975, 1965 and 1964 keep cropping up all over twitter and as I watch too many of them I have, I am sure briefly, fallen back in love with a club where I used to have a season ticket.
Even when not in love as I am this week, I always watch out for the scores and check the league tables to see if we are safe from relegation. That is in now in the blood. West Ham till I die and all that. I have also cursed my East End born daughter in that she too is now a lifelong hammer. Go on report me to social services. The poor girl. For this week I do feel some sense of excitement and also thank the Lord that the Mrs has resisted numerous invitations and has not joined all the other young mums in playing netball, so giving me a free pass on Wednesday night.
COYI.