My first time at Wembley for the FA cup

I will admit that I’m not an avid football fan. I don’t have a jersey and I don’t have an official team to support. But I am a fan of live sports. So when an extra ticket sprang up for the FA Cup semi-finals Manchester United verses Manchester City, I had to go.


The game would be epic. I knew the rivalry between these two teams that divided a city. You either support one or the other with a duty to hate anyone who chose the other side. I’ve always seen Man U supporters of being the more fevered of the two but maybe it’s because Manchester United was used to winning so much that anything less than that would evoke ire.

I left the house in a red mac without even thinking of how that would be perceived by either side but with Man City blue fingernails, I figured I could straddle the fence. As we got closer to Wembley on the tube, the louder the chanting got until the carriage was bursting with sound. It carried us up the stairs “Knick Knack paddywack give a dog a bone, Manchester City can f**k off home.” My first view of Wembley was fairly amazing. It spread out in front of me like a sea of blue and red. The crowd was electric and I joined the surge of testosterone heading down Olympic Way.

The walk was without incident but only just. As I entered the stadium, I looked behind me at the crowd. A troop of police in high vis gear were running up to the approaching crowds, those on horseback leading the way. A smoke bomb must have gone off halfway between the stadium and the station as red smoke started to spread over the crowd and people scattered. I started to wonder what I got myself into.

We were sitting in the club section; the only stipulation for entry was a lack of team jerseys. Maybe this was to help prevent any rivalry in that section as it was the only area that didn’t separate fans. We had our own bar area so we grabbed a drink before we found our seats. I hadn’t realised there was no drink allowed in view of the pitch - I can’t imagine hockey fans at home sitting through 3 periods without a Molson Canadian in hand. But we were allowed food at our seats so we grabbed Scampi and chips.

Our seats were directly behind the goal so we had an amazing view of the pitch. The footballers looked like children but I’m not sure if that was due to our distance away or the size of the pitch or because most of them were barely legal. The first half was jovial and stayed at 0-0 throughout. The second half started well but once Man City got a goal our side of the pitch got decidedly chilly. People swearing under their breath at any wasted opportunity, the chanting turning aggressive.

One of the four of us was a huge Man U supporter. His eyes bored holes into the pitch, his face a perfect picture of intense concentration. In the end, despite their efforts, Man United lost. As the last whistle blew, part of a seat flew over the barrier from above and landed at our feet. I must say I was starting to get worried about getting out without incident.

As we left our neutral seats, we joined the masses of Man United fans leaving the stadium. In the stairwells echoed more chants - they even had a song for when they lost it seemed. There was an uneasy feeling of aggression in the air and once outside, there were a few punches thrown and more than one angry word. I found it particularly distasteful that a few Man U supporters vilely swore at parents and children, one boy teared up as he wanted to defend his team that just won but was held back by his father. “It’s not worth it son.” This is definitely not part of the beautiful game.

Back on Olympic Way, I felt on edge until crammed back in a tube heading for town. I love sport. I love the rush of the game, the expectation of the crowd, the support, the tears, the love. But I don’t love those who turn aggressive, who’s love for their team borders on psychotic. Fine if your heart hurts when your team loses. I understand that. But violence born of love is still violence.