Glory Of The Football Manager System Chapter 638: Together II

The four sides of Wembley.

The Chelsea end picked it up in the second verse because the Chelsea end had been at football matches long enough to know when a stadium did this you joined in. Forty-five thousand beca seventy-nine thousand minus the FA officials and the broadcast crew and the eight hundred Chelsea supporters who would not join.

Jackie looked at him.

She did not have the FA’s briefing for Mateo because Mateo was not on the team-sheet because Mateo had not played. Geoff had told her at five to seven that the lad on the crutch was the captain who had been injured at the semi-final and was coming up because the captain was coming up.

She did not say his na.

She put the dal round his neck. Held the ribbon at the back. Then both hands on his shoulders. Then she leaned forward and said quietly sothing I could not hear from where I was at the bottom of the stairs, and Mateo nodded once, and she let him go.

He ca down the gangway one step at a ti. Stood with Mama and Konaté.

The rest of the lads ca up.

Each one she had a sentence for.

To Eze: Ray ca ho from a Watford ga in October and said the lad in the ten was going to be a problem for England in the World Cup.

To Wilf: He told at Christmas dinner you were the most underrated player in the league.

To Nya: He spotted you at the under-eighteens against Manchester United last March. He hoped Walsh would not waste you.

To Christopher: Your goal at Anfield in December was the best header of the season.

To Pope, who had not played: I am sorry you did not get the start tonight, lad. Your ti is coming.

To Lewis Grant she did not have a line because Geoff had not had a note. So she said: I do not know your na yet. You will tell in the dressing room afterwards.

Lewis told her in the dressing room afterwards.

[The Cup. 19:58 BST.]

I was at the top of the gangway between Sarah and Bray. Sarah handed my dal because Sarah had been given my dal by the FA official because Sarah was at the front of the staff line.

Then Jackie.

"Daniel Walsh."

"Mrs. Wilkins."

"Daniel."

She held the dal in her hand. Did not put it round my neck yet.

"Ray rang at half eleven on a Saturday morning in November. You were at Anfield. He had watched you talking to Mamadou and Eberechi on the side of the pitch in the warm-up. He told he had seen Brian Clough do the sa thing in 1979 with Trevor Francis. He said he was going to ring you on the Monday."

She breathed out.

"He did not ring on the Monday because he thought you might think he was being nosy. He said he would ring after Christmas. Then he didn’t. Then he was going to ring after the Carabao Cup. Then he died on the fourth of April."

She put the dal round my neck. Both hands on the ribbon at the back. The hands on my shoulders.

"He was a coach and he wanted to ring you and he did not. So I am going to do the bit he did not get to do. The lads on the pitch tonight love you. Ray would have loved you. He was right about that one. Go and lift the cup with your captain."

"Thank you."

"Jackie. To you, Daniel. Jackie."

"Jackie."

She let go.

I walked down the gangway to Mama.

Mama had the trophy in his hands. Had taken it off the covered table while I had been at the top. The engraver had finished. Mama held it at his chest with both hands.

"Together, Daniel."

"Together."

I took one handle. He kept the other.

We turned to the Palace end.

Lifted it together.

The roof of Wembley caught what ca up off the Palace end and held it. The confetti cannons went off. Red and blue strears across the gangway. The drum at the back of the Holsdale Lower started again because Tom Donaghue had picked the split drumstick back up.

In the directors’ box Coppell put his face in his hands. Wright next to him punched him on the shoulder. Bright behind Wright was holding a phone over his head with the cara pointed at us. Salako had both arms above his head and was singing without anyone hearing him because there was nothing left of his voice.

Wright lowered Bright’s phone for him. Said sothing to Coppell. Coppell took his face out of his hands. Looked up. Wright pulled him out of the seat. Both of them on their feet.

Mama and I held the cup above our heads for ten seconds.

Then he lowered his arm. I lowered mine. We brought the cup down to our chests with both pairs of hands round it. He passed it to Konaté next to him. Konaté lifted it once on his own and then Mateo on his crutch put one hand under the bottom of it and Konaté lowered it for Mateo to hold for two seconds, and Mateo did not lift it because Mateo could not lift it on the crutch, and that was all right.

The lads on the gangway took it one at a ti after that.

Wayne lifted it last because Wayne had been first up the steps and Wayne was at the far end of the gangway.

[The Walk Down. 20:06 BST.]

The second staircase was at the other side of the box.

The lads went down it one at a ti. Mama with the trophy now. Konaté next to him. Then the rest.

The descent on the crutch was harder than the climb. Iza had co up the side stairs to et Mateo at the top. Sarah on his right. Iza on his left. The Palace end watched. The drum kept the ti.

At the bottom Iza took the crutch off him. He put his arm across Sarah’s shoulders. They walked to the centre circle.

I ca down last.

The lads were waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

Wilf got first.

Both arms round my shoulders before I had got off the last step. Did not say anything. Held there for two seconds. Then he turned to the others.

"Lads."

Mama got it before Wilf said it. Konaté second. Wayne ca from the back because Wayne had to co from the back.

Eze got under my right leg. Olise the other. Aaron at my back. Mama and Wilf and Konaté and Wayne with their hands under , and they had in the air before I had ti to know what was happening.

Up.

The Wembley do from below. The Palace end thirty feet down. The drum at the back of the Holsdale loud through it.

Down.

Back into Mama and Wilf and Konaté and Wayne.

Up.

The roof again. The Palace end shouting Daniel Walsh. Forty-five thousand on its feet that had not sat down since the eighty-ninth.

Down.

Up.

The third ti the lads held up there for two seconds longer than the other two. I could see the Holsdale Lower from up there, row K, and Frank Whitlock with the Margaret hat on his head, and the cara at the side of the pitch caught catching him.

Down.

Wilf set on my feet. Kept his hand on my neck.

"You are the gaffer who finished it, gaffer."

"Wilf."

"You are twenty-eight. You won the FA Cup. You are not allowed to think about it tonight. Tonight you let us throw you."

Mama next to him, quietly: "Three tis for the three trophies."

Wayne behind Mama: "And one more for the league when we get to it."

The lads laughed.

I laughed.

First ti I had laughed since the bus from the Grove.

The pitch had filled.

Wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters. Wayne’s two daughters at six and eight running for their dad. Konaté’s parents from Lille on the pitch with their nineteen-year-old son. Eze’s mother. Wilf’s three brothers. Christopher’s five-year-old in a Macron Palace shirt with Benteke 17 on the back.

Aaron’s father in his suit handed Aaron a folded copy of the Telegraph. Aaron took it. Folded it again. Put it in his tracksuit pocket without reading it because Aaron’s father had wanted his son to have it on him.

Olise’s father in his Caroon polo with his hand on the back of his son’s neck. The son had set up the FA Cup winning goal nineteen minutes before. The father had played international football and had not pushed Olise into the ga because the father had wanted the son to find it himself, and the son had found it, and the father had nothing to say so was saying nothing.

Nya did not have anybody.

***

Thank you to Sir nayelus for the support.