Gold standard

If not quite running round Wembley with the cup, it’s fair to say that I’m pretty proud of it. It sits on the mantelpiece, dwarfing the 5s and 3s trophy and damn nearly as prestigious.

The 10.28 from Darlington appears not to convey a single supporter from either finalist, rather it is clucking, as usual, with hen parties. The thought occurs that, like the FA Cup, they should be run in association with Budweiser. Perhaps they already are.

Also in attendance is Ebac chairman John Elliott, a man as urbane as he is erudite, forgoing the opportunity to watch his horse Ulysse Collonges in the 4.40 at Haydock Park.

Neptune Collonges, it may be recalled, won the 2011 Grand National by a nostril, or some such, the narrowest margin in National history.

Ulysse, says John approximately, is a second cousin once removed on Neptune’s grandma Nora’s side.

The Echo lists it as third favourite, The Times has it remaindered among “others”. John says he’ll be delighted if it’s third.

With neither qualification nor qualifications, he left Toft Hill County Mixed at 15, reckons it the biggest mistake of his life. “I should have left at 13,” he insists.

Now he heads the Aycliffe-based water cooler and dehumidifier manufacturer, quotes Albert Einstein – sometimes accurately – was said in the Sunday Times Rich List eight years ago to have a personal fortune of £70m, but will be a mite poorer after turning the company into a community-oriented trust.

The column’s knowledge of Einstein being limited, we spend much of the train journey south discussing the proper use of “that” and “which”. Subsequently, John emails an attempted explanation, something to do with red books.

’Tis mystery all, as Charles Wesley wrote. So much for a grammar school education.

THOUGH he protests paternity, like a floundering father at a blood test centre, the muchpublicised Secret Shopper initiative – chiefly aimed at addressing offensive language – was John’s baby, too. He enthusiastically pays maintenance, nonetheless.

Just a week after we observed that the sun always shines upon Wembley, it’s tossing down as we head from the Tube to the stadium, folk crowded beneath anything available. It recalls Redcar seafront on 1950s club trips and may be the first time in Wembley history that a trophy has been collected by a wet dog.

The FA does us proud, lays on a high-level lunch at Club Wembley – “reminds me a bit of West Auckland’s clubhouse,” says John – at 4pm escorts us down to the main gathering.

The antithesis of the Parable of the Rich Man’s Feast – this is “Go thou lower” – it also means we miss the sticky toffee pudding. The things I do for the Northern League.

Different levels of the game, there are also Gold awards for the Stockton Sunday League and for Hebburn Town boys on South Tyneside, all of us featured in a little film.

“The camera crew wanted us to play at a Northern League ground,” says Jez Lambert, the league’s assistant secretary. “We told them we were still a Raggy Arse Rovers league, so we should play on a Raggy Arse Rovers ground.”

The trophies are presented by Dave Clarke, the chief guest, who scored 128 goals in 144 appearances for England’s blind team.

Since the the loss of one faculty is said to heighten the others, I find myself almost involuntarily apologising to him. I smell like a wet dog, an’ all.

THOUGH the Vase final has become something of an annual outing, I only attend the FA Cup final when Arsenal are involved.

Saturday is thus the first time that I’ve seen the new Wembley full, or nearly full. Wigan, all black, play Manchester City. The Wigan end has empty seats.

The pre-match build up is altogether more terpsichorean, more pyrotechnic and (of course) more cacophonous.

There are flags and there are fireworks. Still the Grenadier Guards plays Abide With Me, but now there’s an official FA Cup anthem sung by someone called Reverend and the Makers.

What the late Arthur Caiger would have made of it may only be imagined.

They’re £15 seats, somewhere above the corner flag. After ten minutes, the chap in front is not just sound asleep, but stays that way almost until half-time. Many others seem more intent on studying mobile phones, or whatever these days sets them on the eve of distraction.

It’s not a very good game, Man City especially impotent. A female fan who’d earlier been at the awards lunch describes Roberto Mancini in terms that are neither Respectful nor ladylike. Otherwise the new place seems surprisingly quiet, as if the Wembley Roar has acoustically been emasculated.

About 80,000 fans are simultaneously wondering how they’ll crowd onto the last train from Euston to the North-West when Wigan score as added time begins. Blacks affronted, as almost they used to say in Oor Wullie, City supporters head for the Underground.

The Club Wembley PA plays Please Please Me. For Wigan Athletic, it is only the start of the Pier Show.

THE programme’s £10. As well as the obvious, there are lots of top tens of all that’s best in FA Cup history.

Dear old Monty, unsurprisingly, is credited with the best-ever save, Bob Stokoe’s among the best personalities, Hartlepool lad Andy Linighan is credited with the latest Cup final goal – 119 minutes and 16 seconds for Arsenal against Sheffield Wednesday in the 1993 replay.

Boro are among the top ten first time finalists, 1996-97 – “a truly remarkable season for Middlesbrough,” says the programme on page 80 – though therein lies a curiosity.

Back on page 73, Roberto di Matteo’s in-off-the-crossbar opener for Chelsea against Boro is reckoned the fastest-ever FA Cup final goal until Louis Saha pout Everton ahead after 25 seconds in 2009.

What about Bob Chatt, Barney boy? Though a latter day dubious goals committee might have something to say about it, Chatt is credited by both the FA and his club with scoring Aston Villa’s 1895 winner against West Brom after only 30 seconds.

An email follows to David Barber, the FA’s admirable historian. “Di Matteo’s effort in 1997 was the fastest verifiable goal,” he replies. “Chatt’s goal was estimated at anything from 30 to 40 seconds.”

Chatt, who had previously played Northern League football for Middlesbrough Ironopolis – “sticks to an opponent like an American postmaster to his office,” said the Echo, rather curiously – helped Villa to three league titles, was allowed to revert to amateur status, won an Amateur Cup medal with Stockton and was a trainer with several clubs before returning to Barnard Castle.

Evidence of how times change, he lived for a time in a tent on the banks of the River Greta. Greta Griffiths, his daughter, always reckoned that she acquired her Christian name because it was there that she was conceived.

We’re up and off at the final whistle, Gold award in an FA carrier bag. Though there is sad news about Ulysse Collonges, it has been a very good day. As the younger generation is given to observing: Respect.