My Wembley experience

This weekend I made a flying visit to Wembley to see my beloved Chelsea go for their first ever league and FA Cup double.

Nursing hangovers after a wedding the night before me and my mate Nootty woke at the crack of dawn to fly from Newquay airport to Gatwick before getting a train into central London and a tube to Wembley.
We arrived at the national stadium some five hours before kick off but it took two hours to find anywhere to settle before going in the ground. The infrastructure around Wembley is terrible. In one direction it was a choice between Wimpy or paying £5 to go in a dive pub. So we opted for the 20 minute walk for a swift pint before taking in the atmosphere. In hindsight we arrived too early and should have done what all the other fans on the tube did, which was get off at Baker Street where there was more to do.

Once 1pm came around the excitement was brewing so we took our seats, took some photos and took in the atmosphere. Faryl Smith was impressive with the national anthem and abide with me, but it proved that nobody knew the words to the FA Cup "anthem." Stomp also added some pre-match entertainment. I used to think Stomp were rubbish and I still do, but at least now I have a live performance to base it on.

Even from quite high up the pitch looked poor, with clear patches of mud. However there was far less slipping over than in the semi-final. In something like that though, you have to go with the players and Terry and Lampard were both very critical.

As kick off drew closer it became very clear we were in the Pompey end, surrounded by flags and shouts of "Play up Pompey." However there were a lot of Chelsea fans around and I sensed a party atmosphere so I thought it was safe to cheer once the Chelsea team was announced. That was a mistake. A bloke behind had words with me along the lines of "F**k off in the Chelsea end" and when the Portsmouth team was read out I was getting consistent wacks on the head by his mate. Nootty and I wondered what we were in for and for the first 20 minutes kept our heads down and watched the game, although to be honest I was not concentrating.

Halfway through the first half the bloke who had words with me left and I began to calm down and enjoy the football. I could not believe how much Chelsea hit the woodwork and thought what do we need to do to score? It was heart in mouth stuff when Cech's reaction save kept the Pompey effort out and my blue-tinted eyes were convinced Drogba's free kick was over the line.

Into the second half and by this time the scary blokes had both gone from behind me and thankfully did not return. When Portsmouth got their penalty I was worried that what my friends and my dad were telling me before the game, that Pompey were destined to win it, was actually going to happen. When the feeble penalty was saved my expectations changed and when we got the free kick on the edge of the box I said to Nootty, "This is it," and so it was. It kicked off a few rows away from us as the pockets of Chelsea fans cheered but we were fine. On the pitch it was far from plain sailing afterwards but even when Lampard missed his penalty I was thinking about how to celebrate.

We disagreed with Drogba's man of the match accolade and thought it should either have gone to Nicolas Anelka, how he was rated four in Sunday's Observer I have no idea he was lively and in the first half created everything, or David James, who had a blinder and staked a claim as England's number one, even if he was a little at fault for the goal because it was on his side.

When the final whistle went we Chelsea fans were drowned out by more cries of Play Up Pompey while Avram and co saluted the Fratton Park faithful. But my eyes were transfixed on how Chelsea were celebrating. We stayed long after the final whistle and as Portsmouth fans left it was clear who in our block were Blues. A woman in front heard me sing along to Blue is the Colour and showed me her Chelsea shirt, saying she was scared to take her jacket off before. The bloke next to me said: "I thought we were going to get our heads kicked in then." But by that point fears had gone and it was party time, especially when two guys in front were dancing along to One Step Beyond wearing t-shirts saying: "Steven Gerrard: Chelsea's 12th man."

I have never been in a better mood queuing for a train than on the way out of Wembley. In a sea of Chelsea fans we regularly burst into song with cries of "Championaays" and another jibe at Liverpool, "We won the double. We won the double. F**k your history. We won the double." We even jumped up and down while queuing for the train.

I kind of wanted to venture into Fulham Broadway to party but was a bit tired and would have spent a fortune if we did. So it was a fairly low key celebration with a gorgeous Wimbledon curry.

The only regret was booking an early train home having not given a thought to the victory parade when planning the trip back to Cornwall. It would have been great to be there and when we stopped at Fulham Broadway to show Nootty Stamford Bridge we could already sense the atmosphere.

It is widely said now that the FA Cup had lost its romance but there was no sign of that being the case at Wembley on Saturday. Maybe it was because either way the match went history would be made with a first Chelsea Double or a Pompey fairytale. Whatever the outcome it would have been worth every penny of the £65 price.
Altogether it was a weekend to remember. Although it was the closest I had ever been to trouble at a football match, I witnessed the team I have supported for 15 years make history with their first Double, enjoyed a proper sing-song and took in an electric Wembley atmosphere.