FA Cup Final day.

 FA Cup Final day. 

It used to be one of the best days in the football calendar. It was one of the most emotional days for both the respective teams and  the feverish fans who could barely hold back their excitement. There was an indefinable anticipation that none of us could quite understand because we weren't there to witness the occasion live in all its technicolour glory. There was the pomp and pageantry of it all, the wonderment, the exhilaration of winning and then in complete contrast, the earth shattering dejection and the debilitating anguish of losing. 

FA Cup Final day was rather like watching the most spectacular West End of London musical, old fashioned music hall vaudeville from long ago. The truth of course is that football shouldn't allow itself to be carried away by the one game of the season that holds so much importance and could so decisively make or break their teams season. And yet it shouldn't be like this because there are far weightier matters of note to consider, events in our lives that should take precedence to every other consideration. It is not the end of the world if we lose the Cup Final because there are far more pressing priorities. 

But tomorrow morning, Crystal Palace and Manchester City will be walking out at Wembley for the FA Cup Final and, for both, the fickle finger of fate will be pointing in one direction. We will be watching with impartiality because a vast majority of the nation will be doing the Saturday shopping, taking the dog for a lengthy walk in the park, gazing longingly into department stores in the hope of nabbing a bargain or, quite possibly, watching a game of village green cricket. But, for the FA Cup Final both the fans of Palace or City, this will be their royal command performance at the Palladium in London's West End.

Now for the traditionalists among us, the FA Cup Final normally started in earnest just after breakfast time when the cereals had been devoured and the toast with jam routine had been successfully completed. The truth is, of course, that the whole day was dominated by the Beautiful Game. In the days before remote control and only three channels, there was something very rudimentary about the whole spectacle. You could watch the game in complete comfort and luxury from your sofa and pretend that you too were travelling to the game on the team coaches, cracking jokes and witticisms with your pals and actually taking part in the FA Cup Final. 

Sadly and yet quite upliftingly though you were following every pass, tackle and shot from a distance, utterly detached from the all consuming drama of the day, the absorbing passion of one afternoon in our lives that we could hardly believe we were witnessing. It was the fulfilment of our dreams, our dreams bearing fruit in front of our discerning eyes since every football fan is knowledgeable.

We sat spellbound and transfixed by this compelling spectacle rather like kids at the seaside who simply abandoned themselves to arduous sandcastle building before running into the sea and being gripped with an enjoyment that seemed to last for ever. The FA Cup Final on TV was compulsive viewing, something that had to be experienced since you could never put it any one specific category. It was inexplicably wonderful, a joyously entertaining match regardless of who you supported. 

On London Weekend TV, ITV's commercial channel, we had the late and the always immaculate Dickie Davies accompanied by Brian Moore, surely one of the greatest and most resonant voice in football, a man of stature, enormously revered and respected by his contemporaries. And on the BBC there were the poetic and lyrical voices of either John Motson and Barry Davies, consummate professionals and men who could have recited the old telephone directory and still invested the occasion with a style and authority that won your endless admiration. 

But FA Cup Final day is invariably all about the fans, the supporters who have sacrificed everything just to be among the heaving, seething, bristling Wembley terraces and seats. They're the ones who have followed their clubs in all weathers, shivering in the cold in the third round of the FA Cup in January and then travelling the length and breadth of the country in the hope that this year could be theirs. 

And tomorrow afternoon, we will be hoping to reach the summit flag proudly planted at the top and by 5pm in the afternoon, that famous old Cup will be paraded around Wembley Stadium. There can be no doubt that our team will be drinking the champagne, our conquering heroes who will be dancing in the dressing room because the street parties have been planned and prepared with meticulous attention to detail. Make no mistake. We've deserved this moment in the sun and we're not going to waste it for a minute.

So it was that we immersed ourselves in the jollity and frivolity of the day itself, gazing around the old Wembley with its huge acres of outlandish banners and flags, the amusing if rude slogans and a vocal congregation that bore a striking resemblance to a Sunday morning church service. We were never at Wembley but we were definitely there in spirit willing on our teams, recalling the players we were told about by our grandparents, the day we rhapsodised over because they were the finest and, ultimately victorious ones who would walk up the old 39 steps to receive the Cup from royalty. 

It  is a day we develop a sentimental attachment to, a day borrowed from the warmest archives of nostalgia. It is a day that takes us right back to the day when our grandparents brought out the most exquisite cutlery and crockery for the most rousing of parties. We'll never forget Cup Final day because maybe it was a rites of passage day when we finally discovered the joys and thrills the game could still serve up for our delectation.

Cup Final days used to be synonymous with colourful rosettes on our shirts and those delightful rattles that never failed to entertain us. It was about the players walking across the Wembley pitch, comparing fashionable suits and shirts followed swiftly by the pre match preamble, 'Abide With Me' conducted with incredible enthusiasm by a gentleman wearing a patriotic Union Jack waistcoat. 

Now of course coverage doesn't even come anywhere near the saturation point where every word, sentence and paragraph about football and the FA Cup becomes like an infectious song we simply can't get out of our heads. It's constant, repetitive, mind blowing, perhaps wearisome and tiresome but it keeps going on and on until the conclusion, the thrilling denouement whereby the winning skipper and the players of your team celebrates on grand open top bus parades in local shopping centres. Then you notice more buses and cars, wending their way around the bakeries, cafes, chemists and butchers as if this triumph was somehow fated to happen on this day of all days. It is a day designed for football's vast and ecstatic democracy.

Tomorrow, those same jubilant players and supporters will share a common bond, a kindred spirit and a genuine rapport with each other that only sport can offer. Crystal Palace, who have never won anything but have been Cup Final runners up twice now, are once again the underdogs against a Manchester City side who have had quite the most appalling season in the Premier League, relinquishing their hold limply on another title winning trophy. Liverpool ran away with this season's Premier League, fully deserving of all the back slapping plaudits and rightful praise, a trophy won at a canter in the end. 

Some of us may still yearn for the days when the game was untouched by rampant commercialism, sponsorship from every prestigious company, all of those brash and ambitious businessmen and entrepreneurs from Saudi Arabia with an alleged vested interest in the game. Back in those far off decades, football was relatable, fun, accessible, astonishingly cheap and just plain, good old fashioned fun. There was no VAR, there were no draught excluders at free kicks, no elements of contentious doubt about the scoring of goals. We felt an essential part of the occasion even if we couldn't quite make it to Wembley Park and Wembley Way. 

So whatever you're doing tomorrow be sure to remember that the FA Cup will woo us with its romantic sweet nothings, lavishing us with affectionate good wishes. It's history and heritage will never fade from our rheumy eyed sights. Although your club are not directly involved in the Final itself,  you will be rooting for those who you think could be seriously underestimated. So Crystal Palace and Manchester City. You know what to do.