distantthunder
New member
- May 17, 2016
- 2
I think this - lengthy - post on owlstalk is more representative of how Wednesday fans feel...
Fantastic post sir.
When I say I know how you feel, I think I really do. Like I was I would imagine you were at the FA Cup semi final at Highbury in 1983. I was 13 and to this very day it is a match that I have never managed to get over and deal with. Probably like some other Owls on here the last few days. I still see Steve Foster in his yellow Adidas kit and that headband saluting at the camera as he walked out of the narrow tunnel in to the Highbury sunlight. I have a painfully acute recall of that fateful day. I can still remember the trainers I wore that day and the print they made on my trampled white semi final flag that sat under my chair and briefly waved in the air in hope at 1-1....
Jimmy Case's banana shot that hammered in off the underside of the bar, although it was in I was in denial and thought that maybe nobody would notice it went in. The sight of the clock end bubbling all over the place in yellow, never has a goal been such a dagger in the heart. In my dreams we still never close him down.
We played badly and never had control on hard, dusty April pitch, typical of the time. Bad luck rears its head in these times.. Our left back Ian Bailey broke his leg the week before at Bolton in a meaningless league game. We had to put a midfielder Pat Heard in as a stop gap left back and gambled on an obscure Yugoslavian called Ante Mirocevic to play in midfield. We huffed and puffed and scored the scrappiest equaliser that today wouldn't have been given for pole axing your goalkeeper who ended up on the floor as Ante hopped the rebound in from point blank at the far post. Cue bedlam and momentum and urging the Owls forward. Wembley Wembley rang out from the North bank and West stand we were in. The winning moment was approaching....Gary Bannister flashed a wicked cross in from the far touch line attacking the Clock End, it arrowhead in to the area and Andy McCulloch agonisingly cork screwed on to to the header but got too much contact on it. He headed it down in to the dust and it ballooned towards the goal line and as he waited for immortality, Steve Foster and his headband somehow managed to bicycle kick it from the jaws of the goal and away.
Then it came, the sucker punch. The biggest sickener I have ever known as the yellow bust forward, Gordon Smith I think... I remember a turn and a shot, Michael Robinson, it fell to him just a few yards out and he belted it in, Mel Sterland tried to block it on the line mainly with his arms but didn't have the heart to dive and stop it. Your keeper then made incredible stops under the bar to break our hearts, Gary Banno blaster over as the clock ticked down. Then it was over, Jimmy Melia ran on the pitch, bald top head and scraggy black hair in the breeze behind in his clown trousers and white shirt....'Jack's a good old stick and a good old pro, but I need it more than him....'
I'll never forget the pain in my throat as I forced back the tears on the tube, the FA Cup Final at Wembley was the whole world to me. We got to Waterloo and met up with our beloved Aunt Margaret who had just come back from the Dell to see Saints beat Liverpool 3-2. She flung her arms round us, me and my brother. I never got over losing her some years after either.
So 33 years is a long time. I saw this match up coming as far out as last New Year. We all know the detail of the last few days. This has been a journey of personal redemption for me. I'm on the picture posted by SWFC on the front page of Facebook over the weekend. It captured me flinging my scarf found above my head with the backdrop of the phone torches glaring out behind after going 2-0 up. When those lights came on around Hillsborough it was a magical moment and it was a sign that we were going to make it. It is the most special, spontaneous, emotional moment of connection with the Wednesdayites all together that I have ever known.
I didn't have a ticket for the AMEX. I had to go though even though I knew I probably wouldn't get in. That's how much the 'Brighton thing' as my wife now calls it meant to me. A 400 mile round trip to not get in, I had to try and be there. I tried everything to get in trust me on that. I usually do sneak in, but not a sniff of a ticket. I heard Brighton score as I trudged back to the car park, I put 5 live on the iPhone and we equalised before I got back to the car. I drove up the hill past the ground away from the setting sun, the South Downs (?) whatever those hills are were beautiful and I stopped at the top for a while and left us being battered down in the valley. I brought myself to find a pub at half time and endured the second half in silence surrounded by Brighton fans trying to suss out who I was. Thank god we were more controlled, I refused to believe we wouldn't concede one but the Owls were immense. A wonderful effort. The end came and rather than joy it was relief for me. They say revenge is a dish best served cold.
Not revenge on you Deeek. In the end we are hostages to fortune. We hope for the fleeting moments of wonder and joy. That's why we were chosen by Sheffield Wednesday and Brighton. I thank you for your superb post, it meant a lot to me to read it. I just wanted you to know that your team broke a 13 year old boy's heart. Now instead of the pain, there is a bond in history between SWFC and Brighton because of the way our two sets of fans have shown ferocious passion and love for their club this week. I salute you, you club and your fans.
Fantastic post sir.
When I say I know how you feel, I think I really do. Like I was I would imagine you were at the FA Cup semi final at Highbury in 1983. I was 13 and to this very day it is a match that I have never managed to get over and deal with. Probably like some other Owls on here the last few days. I still see Steve Foster in his yellow Adidas kit and that headband saluting at the camera as he walked out of the narrow tunnel in to the Highbury sunlight. I have a painfully acute recall of that fateful day. I can still remember the trainers I wore that day and the print they made on my trampled white semi final flag that sat under my chair and briefly waved in the air in hope at 1-1....
Jimmy Case's banana shot that hammered in off the underside of the bar, although it was in I was in denial and thought that maybe nobody would notice it went in. The sight of the clock end bubbling all over the place in yellow, never has a goal been such a dagger in the heart. In my dreams we still never close him down.
We played badly and never had control on hard, dusty April pitch, typical of the time. Bad luck rears its head in these times.. Our left back Ian Bailey broke his leg the week before at Bolton in a meaningless league game. We had to put a midfielder Pat Heard in as a stop gap left back and gambled on an obscure Yugoslavian called Ante Mirocevic to play in midfield. We huffed and puffed and scored the scrappiest equaliser that today wouldn't have been given for pole axing your goalkeeper who ended up on the floor as Ante hopped the rebound in from point blank at the far post. Cue bedlam and momentum and urging the Owls forward. Wembley Wembley rang out from the North bank and West stand we were in. The winning moment was approaching....Gary Bannister flashed a wicked cross in from the far touch line attacking the Clock End, it arrowhead in to the area and Andy McCulloch agonisingly cork screwed on to to the header but got too much contact on it. He headed it down in to the dust and it ballooned towards the goal line and as he waited for immortality, Steve Foster and his headband somehow managed to bicycle kick it from the jaws of the goal and away.
Then it came, the sucker punch. The biggest sickener I have ever known as the yellow bust forward, Gordon Smith I think... I remember a turn and a shot, Michael Robinson, it fell to him just a few yards out and he belted it in, Mel Sterland tried to block it on the line mainly with his arms but didn't have the heart to dive and stop it. Your keeper then made incredible stops under the bar to break our hearts, Gary Banno blaster over as the clock ticked down. Then it was over, Jimmy Melia ran on the pitch, bald top head and scraggy black hair in the breeze behind in his clown trousers and white shirt....'Jack's a good old stick and a good old pro, but I need it more than him....'
I'll never forget the pain in my throat as I forced back the tears on the tube, the FA Cup Final at Wembley was the whole world to me. We got to Waterloo and met up with our beloved Aunt Margaret who had just come back from the Dell to see Saints beat Liverpool 3-2. She flung her arms round us, me and my brother. I never got over losing her some years after either.
So 33 years is a long time. I saw this match up coming as far out as last New Year. We all know the detail of the last few days. This has been a journey of personal redemption for me. I'm on the picture posted by SWFC on the front page of Facebook over the weekend. It captured me flinging my scarf found above my head with the backdrop of the phone torches glaring out behind after going 2-0 up. When those lights came on around Hillsborough it was a magical moment and it was a sign that we were going to make it. It is the most special, spontaneous, emotional moment of connection with the Wednesdayites all together that I have ever known.
I didn't have a ticket for the AMEX. I had to go though even though I knew I probably wouldn't get in. That's how much the 'Brighton thing' as my wife now calls it meant to me. A 400 mile round trip to not get in, I had to try and be there. I tried everything to get in trust me on that. I usually do sneak in, but not a sniff of a ticket. I heard Brighton score as I trudged back to the car park, I put 5 live on the iPhone and we equalised before I got back to the car. I drove up the hill past the ground away from the setting sun, the South Downs (?) whatever those hills are were beautiful and I stopped at the top for a while and left us being battered down in the valley. I brought myself to find a pub at half time and endured the second half in silence surrounded by Brighton fans trying to suss out who I was. Thank god we were more controlled, I refused to believe we wouldn't concede one but the Owls were immense. A wonderful effort. The end came and rather than joy it was relief for me. They say revenge is a dish best served cold.
Not revenge on you Deeek. In the end we are hostages to fortune. We hope for the fleeting moments of wonder and joy. That's why we were chosen by Sheffield Wednesday and Brighton. I thank you for your superb post, it meant a lot to me to read it. I just wanted you to know that your team broke a 13 year old boy's heart. Now instead of the pain, there is a bond in history between SWFC and Brighton because of the way our two sets of fans have shown ferocious passion and love for their club this week. I salute you, you club and your fans.