I was at Wembley yesterday to see Stoke city hammer Bolton 5-0. But I’m not sure any of what follows happened. Am I dreaming?
Yesterday did not happen.
Stoke City supporters did not outnumber Bolton Wanderers fans by nearly 2-1 to render Wembley a seething, heaving molten mass of red and white.
Robert Huth did not throttle Kevin Davies in the penalty area in the first 5 minutes and get away with it.
Paul Robinson did not emphatically confirm his position as one of the least talented footballers ever to have a professional career by casually passing the ball infield to Matty Etherington 22 yards out on 11 minutes.
And matty didn’t meet it so unbelievably sweetly he left one of the best keepers the premiership has seen grasping at thin air as he buried it in the bottom right hand corner of the net.
36,000 Stoke City fans did not then give a rendition of Delilah that must have been heard in south London, only to have it cut short 6 minutes later as a poor Cahill header fell on the volley to Robert Huth who faded it away from Jaaskelainen’s despairing, slightly feeble dive and into the very same bottom right hand corner of the net with one swing of his mighty right foot.
I did not then grasp every single man around me and kiss all of them in an orgy of delight despite the fact i’d never met any of them before, apart from my 14 year old son.
Who did not then look at me and go ‘you’re such a loser dad’ with the biggest grin i’ve ever seen on his face.
Nor, on 29 minutes, did Jermaine Pennant nick the ball off Martin Petrov, who promptly gave up the chase in a microcosm of Bolton’s afternoon, allowing pennant to run half the length of the field unchallenged to slip the ball to Jones who finished with, as they say, aplomb.
In no way whatsoever did we all then go absolutely completely and utterly disbelievingly mental at finding ourselves 3-0 up after half an hour in an FA cup semi-final.
I can categorically state that Stoke City didn’t come out for the second half and continue in the same vein so that we never for a single minute looked like conceding a chance let alone a goal.
And there’s not a shred of truth in the rumour that Jon Walters harried and chased and hunted the ball down across every blade of Wembley turf before nicking it in his own half and surging past 3 Bolton players before bending an inch perfect 20 yarder into the seemingly magnetic bottom right hand corner of the net.
It would also be ludicrous to suggest that we should have had at least a couple more before walters finally made it 5-0 after wilko hilariously fell over his own feet and accidentally diverted the ball into super jon’s path.
Finally, anyone who says we celebrated long and loud and lustily long after the final whistle had gone both inside and outside the stadium and all the way onto the m40 is a downright liar.
None of this, not a single, solitary word of it, actually happened.
Because believe me, after 40 long years watching Stoke City, I know that nothing like this ever, ever, ever happens to us.
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