Never mind the days before the match. That is barely an experience compared to the match day itself. Anybody can fly to London and do all the shopping and sightseeing. This is the Champions League Final between FC Barcelona and Manchester United, the latter being my religious team, as any of my friends and relatives can testify to. Having always dreamt of watching United play live in England, the knowledge of having the chance of being at Wembley for the Final is nothing short of mind-boggling.
Earlier, Melvin, Steven and I visited Old Trafford.
An awe-gasmic experience, with the live view of Stretford End and all the history encompassed in the stadium museums.
We would pretty much prefer to be there on a proper match day itself, but we’ll take that for now.
Left footers United!
Next up, Wembley. The mood was slowly building up on the train journey with hordes of Barca fans (mainly from Spain I guess) and United fans singing and chanting in the Tube stations being seen and heard. There was no animosity though, everybody from both sides were still being very amiable, smiling with one another and cheering and so on.
The walk to Wembley Stadium was just amazing.
From Wembley Park Station we could see the crowd to the stadium. It kind of reminded me of the scenes at the Royal Wedding, just that this time round, we would be part of the contingents.
Not everybody there was lucky enough to have tickets for the match. Several eager souls were seen holding up cardboard signs asking for tickets.
No way was Melvin and I going to let go of ours. The festive spirit had carried through from Hyde Park to the stadium as well, official merchandise shops etc were set up around the stadium.
We then entered the stadium 2 hours before kick-off.
Might seem ridiculously early but we wanted to get into the mood of the event proper. We only got a small bite and that was supposed to fill our lunch and dinner. The Barca fans had come in early, and they could be heard from our side. I must say their chants were impressive, both in volume and coherence. Soon enough, the players arrived in their coaches and later appeared on the pitch for warm-up. That was when things started getting exciting, even before kick-off.
When the team starting line-ups were announced, there were boos for every Barca player and cheers for United players (from my side anyway). The 2 hour prep time seemed to fly by in an instant.
KICK OFF.
Right from the whistle, nobody could sit well in their seats. Any movement near the penalty box, everybody would be on their feet, anticipating a goal or what nots. The United fans were really going at it, jeering and gesturing towards the referee at any decisions going against their way, booing and cursing everytime Busquets went down, except for the one where he got whacked in the head by the ball.
It was so surreal. Leo Messi on the ball, on the pitch, literally before our eyes. And he was lightning quick, seemed even quicker than if we watched him on the telly. He was a constant thorn in our side, nutmegging even the likes of Vidic. Soon enough, after several gilt-edged chances, they eventually converted one. Soft one I’d say, our defence got dragged all over the place. Pedro 1-0.
But such is the character of United that we had to equalize that as fast as possible. 7 minutes after Pedro scored, some neat one-touch passing found Rooney within 15 yards from the goal and he put it past Valdes.
No amount of Image Stabilization would contain the fury of the celebrations.
That was when I erupted, no joke. It was unreal, surreal, but very real. Everyone around me jumped up and down, screaming and cheering away. I did the same, but times 2 or times 3 their intensity, while trying to record the celebration on and off the pitch. 1-1.
I was shaking. Having had only a small bite for lunch, I was supposed to be hungry. But I was “full”, with butterflies in my stomach. Every now and then I kept thinking to myself, “Damn, am I really here?” I couldn’t believe it. The game was playing out in front of me, in Wembley.
Second half. Having equalized, we thought we’d have the chance to win this. But the Xavi-Iniesta-Messi carousel went on again, and soon enough, we conceded another soft goal which I thought van der sar could have saved. Minutes later, Villa curled in a superb effort to make it 3-1. When that went in, I was distraught. I didn’t order this. There was still 10 minutes left, and I was praying for the spirit of ’99. That didn’t happen, with Barca’s superb possession football starving us of any chance of attacking at all.
Final whistle. Barca ecstasy, United gloom. Once again, we lost to Barca. Twice in 3 years. Somehow, I wasn’t disappointed much. United lost to the better team. Barca deserved their 4th European Cup. After watching the trophy presentation, we dragged ourselves out of Wembley Stadium and back to base.
It was a great experience while it lasted. Even after reaching the hotel, I’d still think back on the match and stadium and reflect on how fortunate I had become. Even though we lost.
Quoting Sir Matt Busby:
“I never wanted Manchester United to be second to anybody. Only the best would be good enough.”
I’ve come to watch United play, albeit to a defeat. But my next target would be to return to UK again, best would be Old Trafford, to watch United win a game. That might be good enough.
