“Dave. If at all possible, you need to try and get over here one more time to pay your respects to The Boleyn”. So said Nigel Kahn at the beginning of the season. His sentiments were echoed by my best mate, Jon, who also wanted to say goodbye to Upton Park and wanted me to come with him. So did my wife and kids. So I did. And to say we “lucked out” would be a bit of an understatement, because last night’s FA Cup replay win over Liverpool was epic in so many ways.
I’ve taken a wee bit of stick from a few people now and again who would prefer having a match reporter that attended the games. Well, the people that actually do that from the ground are usually in the press box, with a desk and their laptop right there. Not to mention video replay. Without those tools, which I have at home, there is no way I could pull it off. So I didn’t even try. I wanted to relish the spectacle, which started at The Black Lion for a pint with Nigel and Jon. As we walked there, we passed Phil Parkes. A lovely little chat ensued, the uniqueness of American Hammers was acknowledged, and we said our goodbyes and best wishes for a result. On our way back, we met Safehands of comments fame. The resemblance to Repka was astounding.
I won’t beat around the bush. Jon got a box for the match, and he encouraged me to invite some of the media folk I’ve gotten to know in the cyber sense. So we were joined by our fearless leader Iain, Bianca Westwood and her brother, Dan Silver of The Sun, David Blackmore of Blowing Bubbles, Nigel, and a few mates from my other job. You know, the one that pays me. The match progressed differently for each of us.
Dan, as it turns out, is even more neurotic and anxious while watching us than I am. He predicted a loss, and repeatedly predicted doom on most Liverpool attacks or set pieces. We were immediate soulmates.
Nigel is level headed. Seriously. No, really. I’m not kidding.
Bianca started the game brightly, but as the match progressed the West Ham demons started to take over. Not quite Linda Blair in The Exorcist, but starting around the 60th minute she would say things like “I wish I didn’t care”, or more directly “I just don’t care anymore”. Occasionally she would threaten to leave. All completely understandable. Maybe her change of seats late in added time deserves some credit for bringing us the result.
David Blackmore was pretty even keel, making observations about the match from both sides perspective. He acted normal. Talk about feeling awkward.
Wine guy Jason and his brother Adam were wonderfully psychopathic, yelling and cajoling everyone on.
Iain showed up late because he had to…..get this…..work. Screwed up sense of priorities to be sure.
The Host With The Most, Jon, sat behind me. He talked to the players a lot under his breath. And he calls me a nutter. Fine.
This is all from memory, folks. I did not take notes, nor do I care if I’m accurate. Last night was about saying hello to a wonderful group of new friends that I genuinely hope to stay in touch with, and saying goodbye to an old friend that until this morning I didn’t realize I was going to miss so much.
The theme before kick-off was centered around the one man we all were convinced would lead the way. Joey O’Brien. Yes, in what was clearly an attempt to quell our fears about the right back slot we tried to paint him as Superman. And in the opening few moments when he hit the post with an attempt from inside the box we all looked at each other with incredulity. Could we possibly have some kind of psychic effect on the action below? Trust me, it wouldn’t have been the first time I thought that and it won’t be the last. More on that later.
While it will come as a shock to no one, West Ham, despite JOB, started slowly. Liverpool were dictating the action for the opening 15 minutes or so, and you got the feeling that if Benteke were as good as Coutinho seemed to think he is it could have gotten ugly for us. Fast. But he lacked the quality in the final third that Liverpool assumed he had when they paid close to the GDP of Malta for him.
West Ham got themselves into the match midway through the first half, primarily in my mind due to the solid work at the back from Ogbonna and the freight train movements of Antonio. But it’s clearly not all power from our seven million pound addition. When Valencia broke down the left side of the box and sent a looping cross into the box, the fact that it took a slight deflection made it even more impressive that Antonio tracked it perfectly with his eyes before adding perfection with his right foot to beat Mignolet.
Half time. West Ham 1, Liverpool 0.
If you were a Liverpool supporter, I’m certain an early second half goal was all you thought you needed to destroy the confidence of both the West Ham players as well as the crowd. And they got that. In the 48th minute, Obiang took down Coutinho at the edge of the West Ham penalty area. As the Brazilian international stepped up to take the kick, we all mumbled out loud that the wall better do their job and not let him curl a shot over them. Going under them never occurred to us. I’m doubting it occurred to anyone. So as mad as I was, hats off to the little troll for going under the bridge instead of over it.
West Ham 1, Liverpool 1.
Down went Reid. Down went Kouyate. Down went O’Brien. Maybe not in that order. But like I said, accuracy isn’t important to me today. With extra time looming we had no right back. But in a way I’m sure some old timers just nodded their head and grinned at, Antonio took his place there and did the job. Very, very well. In some ways, it shouldn’t be that shocking. He’s a professional footballer. He should be able to do a competent job virtually anywhere on the pitch, right?
Back to our psychic premonitions. Before kickoff, I polled the room for both score predictions and goal scorers. When it came for my turn, I said 2-0 West Ham with Ogbonna to score the winner off a set piece. Swear to God. It was done purely for shock purposes, and nobody was more shocked than me. Payet didn’t have a good game. OK, he had a very poor game. But his cross in the 120th minute was picture perfect, and as the ball touched the back of the net we obviously went mad. Massive group hug while jumping up and down, screaming like toddlers. Before I could say Antonio was a God, because I thought it was his head that did the trick, David, Bianca, Jon and Dan all started pointing at me. “Ogbonna!!!!” It took a second for my brain to translate what sounded like gibberish in the din to the surname of the evening’s hero. Personally, he would have been my MOTM even without the goal.
Final Score. West Ham 2, Liverpool 1.
I’m hoping the clues we have been given this season are signs of things to come. Four games against a side the universe hasn’t allowed us to much against most years, and we have three wins and a draw. When Slaven told the media that The Cup was more important than finishing top four, he reignited my passion for the competition. For the past few years I have looked at it like an inconvenience that we had to simply deal with. And for that I’m very grateful. Thanks, Slav.
As we walked out of Upton Park, I consciously decided not to look back. I wanted my last image of the place to be the group picture we took right after the game. Upton Park took a couple of Yanks who needed one last chance to understand what they were losing.
What a night it was.