I enjoyed Wembley last Saturday. The game was not a lot to write home about but the stadium itself was quite magnificent. I was under no illusions whatsoever about the game because Everton, even though they finished in 6th place, are light years behind the top four clubs in The Premier Division and Chelsea are the most unappetising of the big clubs in that they place too much emphasis on the physical aspect of the game.

Physical

What I soon came to realise was that many Chelsea fans also had an unpalatable concentration on the physical. I had acquired my seats through Pat Morley and Adidas and although I was ensconced in the middle of the Chelsea end of the ground I knew what the situation warranted.

This meant that, considering the vast experience I have of attending difficult venues, I never even raised a smile when Louis Saha sensationally put Everton ahead after only 25 seconds even though it pleased me greatly.

It reminded me of a time many years when I attended a Scotland versus England game in Glasgow in the company of an very sound but also very staunch English supporter, who I firmly believed had a good head on his shoulder.

Nonetheless, once I discovered we were seated in amongst the Scottish fans I reminded him most strenuously about our agreement that first of all we kept our mouths shut so out accents would not entice any acrimonious reaction and just as importantly, if England scored, and it was a big if, we were both to sit there looking as glum as it was possible to be considering the not inconsequential fact that he had placed quite a few quid on his countrymen to win.

And had promised me that the financial return generated by an English victory would allow us to celebrate in the finest of styles for the next few days, all courtesy of a Scottish Bookmaker.

Screaming

Steve Coppel scored the only goal of the game during a very tense second half and my companion, ignoring all previous agreements as well as my hand on his shirt collar, leaped screaming to his feet, punched the air and turned in my direction fully anticipating an equally raucous manner of celebration. I sat impassively in my seat silently running through the increasingly few options left open to me in as quick a time as I could.

I was convinced we were in serious trouble as my life suddenly flashed across my eyes. However, miracles of miracles, it turned out that the crowd around us were all Scottish Rugby supporters who while they followed their Soccer team with relish fully identified with the spontaneous exuberance of my companion.

The whiskey flasks, which previously had bypassed our seats came our way throughout the remainder of the game.