Sweet FA at the new Wembley

A day at the FA Cup final at Wembley, old or new, has never been easy to negotiate. Getting there, and getting in, in competition with 89,000 others, is thoroughly exhausting, on both body and spirit.

And that’s just the half of it. Then there is the getting away from the place after the game, which is even worse.

So when you go, it had better be worth it.

This Cup final, the first ‘first Wembley final’ since 1923 was not. At least not the football which, one would think is the prime reason for going. Oh, there are of course the few thousand bandwagon jumpers, who don’t know the difference between Wayne Rooney and Mickey Rooney, but who no doubt relished being there.

And let’s be fair, sampling a stadium of such splendour on its first big day was a rare privilege. But the two other prized ingredients, Manchester United and Chelsea, flopped like a wet pair of trousers. Wembley Stadium was the only star on show.

It seems such folly now when one looks back at the pre-match sabre rattling and re-reads the quotes from the players and the coaches, each pledging the honour of partaking and the determination to win, win with gallantry and score a few goals.

Thank God the referee was unmoved when Ryan Giggs bundled Peter Cech over the line, ball and all, for had he given a goal it may have gone down as the most repugnant decider in Cup final history. This memorable day scarcely needed that, on top of a decidedly forgettable game.

Style and gallantry was absent from the beginning when Jose Mourinho led his team out with his hands in his pockets. Mourinho, once named Britain’s second best dressed man, might be reminded by his stylist that an Armani suit (or was it Zegna?) can look a lot smarter without that and, besides, it’s bad manners.

The second offender was Sir Alex by selecting Wes Brown and Gabriel Heinze as his two fullbacks, sending darkness over the otherwise sunlit arena.

What that meant was that United lined up four natural centre-backs, all in a line, to combat the lonely figure of Didier Drogba. What it meant was that Sir Alex, against his usual nature, was leaning towards caution.

The braver alternative would have been to pick O’Shea and Evra in the fullback positions, both of whom carry good attacking qualities and instincts. The Manchester United manager appeared ready to change the tune when O’Shea and Evra both began to warm up midway through the second half, but with the game edging towards extra time, Sir Alex wanted to save legs and retreated.

With United fielding a wall of four specialist defenders, attacking potency on the flanks had been left on the bench, robbing gifted wingers Ronaldo and Giggs of overlapping decoy runners and rendering them virtually useless.

Mix that in with Chelsea’s lack of true wingers and utter reliance on long, missile passes to Drogba, and you knew you were never going to get a game above the ponderous and boring.

Mourinho, to his credit, tried to create an attacking edge by bringing on Robben at half time. It was a natural thing to do, given the room available on the flanks thanks to United’s defensive back four option. And he succeeded. The game changed and, at least for a good 20 minutes or so, rose to something above the tedious.

But then it relapsed again, drearily and inevitably petering into extra time.

What saved the game, not that there was much left to save, was Drogba’s goal, cleverly taken after a good exchange with Lampard and with muscle taking no part in it. Drogba, who fought his lonely battle with valour all afternoon, deserved the honour of striking the decisive blow.

With four minutes left, plus three of added time, United went on the rampage and brought the game to life. Manchester fans behind one goal rose in voice and encouragement, while Chelsea fans at the opposite end gnawed at their fingernails in silence and desperate fear of a late equaliser.

Neutral fans looked at each other and asked the cliché question: why couldn’t the teams play like this for 90 minutes?

Chelsea’s victory was both expected and deserved.

Expected because, having missed out on the league title, they needed it more and were always going to be hungrier. Deserved because United, for all their possession, abandoned the attacking belief and verve that brought them the premiership, and did nothing creative all day.

Having England’s two best teams at Wembley had people talking about a dream final. It didn’t eventuate and perhaps just as well.

It demonstrated that the obscene dominance of all English trophies by the ‘big four’ is detrimental to the English game and is corrupting the age-old romance and sweetness of the FA Cup.

The two big guns were each facing a lethal foe and the fear of it put paid to the prospects of a good old fashioned Cup final scrap. That is why it was a boring game.

The last 12 Cup finals have been won by one of the ‘big four’ (Manchester United, Arsenal, Liverpool and Chelsea), and we haven’t seen a serious upset since Wimbledon edged Liverpool in 1988, 19 years ago. Millions of unwitting teenage football fans have grown up having no idea and no sense of the FA Cup’s magic.

Said one resigned columnist in the Sunday Times the next day: ‘Manchester United v Chelsea? Didn’t they play each other last week? What is there to know about these sides that we don’t already know? And where is the underdog for whom we can cheer?

‘Give me Yeovil Town any day.’

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