Preparations for the Villa match began promisingly. A friend offered us two seats in hospitality. Luis was minded to decline, to be with the troops, but decided to take up the offer. He was pleased he had, since among the people he met that evening were Dean Windass and the Brownlie brothers.
What then transpired on the pitch was what he hoped - dreamed - would happen. Like the Arsenal game before, the miracle outcome was almost snatched from his hands, as a late Weimann goal turned an impressive, barely credible 2-0 win into the kind of result any Premier League club would feel comfortable bringing home. Step forward Carl McHugh, a Donegal youngster, with a header that only previously had been seen in the pages of Roy of the Rovers and complete strangers were hugging each other at Valley Parade.
Luis didn’t go to Villa Park for the semi final. There was even some doubt it would take place, so poor were the weather conditions. But looking back, the snow that fell throughout reminded me of the Christmas episode of your favourite TV show, with festive ‘snow fall’ adding a layer of excitement and joy to the usual 30 minutes. With Villa’s early goal, my son’s demeanour changed. I could barely watch and it’s not even my team! It looked like a hiding was on the cards, so I stole downstairs and got on with some work. A few minutes into the second half I heard a shriek from upstairs.
The barely credible had happened again. Hanson: 1-1. From then on, according to the commentators at least, Bradford were comfortable. My and my son weren’t though. I could hear my heart beating in my throat. Weimann’s late goal (again) threw us into a state of nervous exhaustion and when the final whistle blew, there was a sense of disbelief.
You dream it but you know it won’t happen. We both ran up and down the stairs several times. I felt like I was 10 years old again, listening to Sunderland beat Arsenal 2-1 at Hillsborough on the transistor radio and realising my team would be in the FA Cup Final. For my son, from being 0-2 down to Burton Albion in the 3rd round of the Cup and that sigh of despair (‘I’ll never have a memory, never mind the chance of us winning anything’), a trip to Wembley.
Though I’ve since tried to put the result in to the back of mind, my son grew quite comfortable – proud even – with the outcome. His fellow Bradford fans outsang the Swansea fans and I have to say that when Gary Jones walked over to take his side’s only corner, a few minutes from the end, the sound of 32,000 West Yorkshire souls in proud acclaim reduced me to tears and, I’ve said it before, it’s not even my team!
That, we thought, would be the end of the journey. There were League games to make up and, initially, some confidence that the team could mount a challenge for the play offs. However, after a 1-4 collapse at Exeter City, that was that. ‘You’ll never EVER have a season like that’ I reassured my son. ‘League One would be great, but I guess you’d never swap that for the Cup run.’
He kept his counsel and hoped beyond hope. But by the time he went off skiing with the school to Vermont (I used to get to go on Catholic Retreats to Minsteracres in County Durham when I was his age) I think he’d mentally prepared himself for next season.
By the time he’d returned, there’d be three unlikely victories in a row (and I’d pick Aurora’s Encore for the Grand National) and by the time Bradford faced Burton at home again, a win, combined with a defeat for Exeter City at home to Cheltenham, themselves chasing automatic promotion, would see City into the play offs.
This time we went on the £20 pie, pint and match ticket deal (highly recommended to anyone of the parish) and, remarkably, a comedy goal, a Burton dismissal and a Robins away win at St James’ Park, kept the emotional roller coaster rattling along even further until, of course, the cruel reverse of the 3-2 against Burton (yes, them again) in the first leg of the Play Off Semi Final. Again, I kicked into encouragement overdrive, caught between the fact that they only needed to win by a goal to put the tie into extra time and the realisation that after 60-odd games, Bradford were physically and mentally shot.
This weekend, we were in Scotland. We saw Inverness Caley Thistle beat Motherwell 4-3 in a brilliant encounter: a missed penalty, a sending off, a hat trick and the first game in which Michael Higdon has scored this season that Motherwell haven’t won. But it didn’t keep my son’s mind of the second leg of the Play Off semi final. While driving back this morning we decided to address our nerves by agreeing upon a period of radio silence. Once home, he got out of the car first and I quickly sneaked a look at the BBC website on my iPhone.
We were going to Wembley again!
At the beginning of March I happened to be at the Football League Awards Dinner, where Cardiff City were awarded Family Club of the Year for the second time in 3 years: a club who have revolutionised our understanding of football and what it means to people.
Out of the
corner of my eye I spotted Gary Jones, Bradford City Club Captain. We
had a brief chat, during which I told him about how my son’s comment
about ‘not even having a memory’ had set into motion such an astonishing
series of events. Gary took my Awards Programme and wrote on it: Thanks for the support Luis. You’ve got a memory now!
Mark Bradley
Follow on Twitter @FanExperienceCo
Memory added on June 29, 2013
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