We saw it through no matter what

“I wanted you to see something about her – I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do…” – Atticus Finch, To Kill A Mockingbird

   I love that quote. If my quote wall was an actual wall, rather than just a series of haste scribbles on the back of a refill pad, that one would be wedged firmly atop my diamond nine. I could write a whole essay on what I love about To Kill A Mockingbird, but I don’t think it’s difficult to work out why I picked that quote out for this article.

   For me, that sums up City’s cup final. To a letter. In that paragraph, you can find everything about that game against Swansea. In many ways, there’s really no point in me writing this now. What I need to say is right there. The score? It didn’t matter. Most of us – admittedly, not me – knew the result weeks before a ball was kicked, even if we’d allowed ourselves, for a moment, while we were whipped up in the middle of the media tornado, to dream up a happier scenario. We didn’t win, but we had a go. We were under the cosh, but we mustered a shot on target towards the end and celebrated like we’d actually qualified for the Europa League. We felt hurt, dejected, betrayed and ruthlessly deserted by the football Gods as a lonely Duke slumped off the pitch to a veracious reception, but we kept the flags waving long into the night.

   We saw it through no matter what.

   Looking back on it is odd. It’s not so much that it was a year ago – the time feels about right. It’s more that it happened at all.
   I’d long accepted that City would never reach a cup final. I’d dreamed of the play-offs, of my club reaching the national stadium, but even the JPT final, the most plausible of all the annual Wembley showpieces, had almost always seemed an utterly outlandish prospect, so how could I have possibly envisaged this? My brother’s team, Liverpool, were the side that blessed our house with grandeur and glory and major cup finals, so how had we stumbled into this world? What kind of mad foray had brought us here? Surely we would be rumbled, caught out, shown to be the impostors? I stepped off the coach tentatively, half expecting to look out along Wembley Way and see the blue and white of Chelsea, or the red and black of Manchester United. Seeing the claret and amber brought a wave of stunned relief. It seemed an hour or so before the Swansea clan rocked up.
   When we were on the concourse, I was confident. Being at Wembley felt… right. We were there on merit. There was no reason to be scared. Even as I ran the pole of those now famous flags between my fingers (I genuinely didn’t believe they were free), I felt relaxed. ‘Claret and Amber’ blared from the speakers and I felt even more at home. Even when the teams lined up in their black tracksuits, I was bizarrely composed. When Swansea got their first, for crying out loud, I still thought we’d pull it back.
   What I remember about that goal, though, is the pain. To this day, I’ve only seen the goals back once (my dad tactfully deleted the game from the Sky planner as soon as we got back from London, in a bid to protect me from some semi-repressed memories), but I can recall someone losing their marker and knowing the worst was to come. Dyer prodded. Duke stretched his arm to the side. McArdle threw himself forward. But that was it. Dyer celebrated in front of us as we struggled to believe City were trailing. An ebb of doubt flickered in my mind and, for the first time, I genuinely feared for the result. This wasn’t a part of the dream.
   Five goals against, a red card and one meek shot on target was never part of the dream. One foray forward was never part of the dream. Watching City chase shadows for 90 minutes, recklessly made human and demoralised before our eyes, was a concept dismissed at the drawing board. But I couldn’t have been prouder.
   Because we saw it through no matter what.
   In that final half an hour, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. As I stood up and waved my flag, nothing else on the pitch mattered. I knew most of my friends would have turned off their televisions by now, but some would still be watching – and this is what they would be seeing.
   Us. Here. Trapped in this moment.
   In that period, I felt more affirmed than I ever have as a football fan. We stood, unified, united, together, the vocal and proud – so, so proud - personification of the mantra and mentality that had carried the team since Burton.
   It’s only a cup.
   At the time, though, it hurt. I burst into tears in the stands, sobbed away in the toilets, sighed all the way back to the coach. Women in the queue scowled at me, muttered those words of consolation that never actually offer any consolation – “It’s only a game”. I thought back over the months of media coverage and blasted fate for not giving us what we’d been rightly entitled to – reality, it seemed, bites hard. It was a selfish way of looking at the cup run, but I feared my time supporting City had already reached its apex; that the next few games would be the hangover, some desperate, contrived attempt to rekindle the magic of something that would never happen again. I slipped into the darkened Wembley night ironically humming ‘Premier League? You’re Having A Laugh!’, not particularly thinking anything other than that I had to keep my emotions in check or risk my mum would veto my plea for play-off tickets should City make the season finale. My auntie reminded me I had the bread and butter delight of Dagenham and Redbridge to look forward to just days after. The elitist part of me died inside.
   And then the coach driver tipped me over the edge by playing Emeli Sande, which is the last thing you want to hear (after Adele) when you’re stuck behind 20 coaches in a London car park and wallowing in the self-pity that comes with witnessing your team fall victims to the heaviest cup final defeat of all time.
   You rarely win, but sometimes you do.
   And we did. We were winners by just reaching that stage. A cup final? We’ll never dp that again. Swansea might. Liverpool will. Chelsea, Manchester United and Manchester City - easily. A Championship team? Maybe. But someone from the fourth division? No chance. That’ll never, ever happen again. The cup final has become the preserve of the elite once more.
   A cup final. And I was there. I’ll have to put up with some stick at school tomorrow, and this car park will undoubtedly take an age to get out of, but I was there. I was at Wembley. I was waving a flag. I was there when Gary Jones tamely flashed the ball towards goal. I was there on the day that Bradford City reached a major cup final.
   I was there when we made history.
           

Party Like It's '99

As the Class of ’99 reunion game gets fans remembering years past, I wonder where the next fourteen years will take us 

   It’s scary to think about where you’ll be in the next 14 years. It’s scary to think of how you’ll be and who you'll be, and of what major milestones will have whizzed by. It’s scary to think of dreams: whether they’ll have been broken or achieved, or remained unfulfilled and locked away in some sacred corner of your heart, never to be attempted for fear of failure. It’s scary to think of where Bradford City will be.

   Surely, no one there on that day in 1999, when the Bantams beat Wolves to secure promotion to the Premier League, could have predicted the dramatic downward spiral that followed. Those days were ones of optimism, promise and chasing the dream. Not of, well, the other stuff. Especially not of the other stuff.
  Time has slipped all too quickly by since those heady days of Molineux, promotions, Premiership football and relegation survival, since the days when the club had the world at its feet. Then, there was the fall back down again: the administrations, the heartbreak and the hurt. Life in League Two became a struggle, the club still bearing the scars of the foray into the top flight. Bradford City, once standing toe to toe with Manchester United, were a symbol of shattered dreams.
  The years in the bottom division were generally unremarkable and forgettable. The first two seasons were ace, of course: Stuart was there, and there was an odd novelty to being amongst the likes of Barnet and Accrington Stanley. But that all ended. Taylor came in. You know the story. Trips to Valley Parade became a tale of ‘Well, there are 90 minutes of my life I’ll never get back’.
  Then, Parkinson entered. He gave us hope. He gave us tactics, strategies and form. He gave us those characters: Hines, the doomed West Ham winger whose tenure with the Hammers was blighted by injury; Stephen Darby, the Liverpool graduate who had been released by the Premership giants; Gary Jones, the midfield powerhouse who never stopped running and the one man embodiment of what this club is now all about. James Meredith, Rory McArdle, Garry Thompson, Alan Connell, Kyel Reid. He handed them a stay of execution. They took it. The rest, as they say, is history.
   For the first time in a long time, we cared about the team. They were more than a quick ticket out the division, cannon fodder to plug the gaps, more, even, than footballers. They became brothers, standing arm in arm, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, on the hallowed Wembley turf, harbouring our hopes, our dreams, our fears. Everything we are, everything we have, everything we’ve ever wanted to be. There. In them.
   Superhumans. Superheroes.
   That, I am told, is how it’s meant to be. The class of ‘99 are just as revered, just as loved, just as appreciated, as the 2012/13 boys. They trigger the same offset of emotions as Matt Duke and Will Atkinson. James Hanson and Nahki Wells hold their own in the same echelon as Stuart McCall’s band of merry men.
   And, fourteen years from now, will there be another charity match? Most of the players will have finished their careers by then. Wells’ time as a footballer will be coming to an end. McHugh’s will also be winding down.
   It’s hard to picture the scene. A balding Matt Duke, perhaps, in between the sticks, ducking and diving and tipping shots over the bar, and clambering to his feet to deny some daring challenger from the penalty spot? A greying Alan Connell? Gary Jones, though approaching half a century, will still, no doubt, be playing with the youthful exuberance of an 18 year old. A Google search tells me the years have been reasonably kind to most of the 1999 squad, especially McCall, Jacobs and Beagrie. The pressure’s now on our lot to make sure they age just as well.
   I’ll probably be there on such a date, if ever there was one, having squeezed into my hooped shirt one last time and sent some hardy soul up into our attic to retrieve my Villa and City half-and-half scarf. Waving one of those Wembley flags. Recalling those days.
   And there’ll be a time when I’m grey and old, sitting on some elaborate, gold-encrusted throne as I count my millions and field calls from agents and A-Listers (Pfft! I wish!), and I’ll stop and look back on that season. Look back on the Will Atkinson flick-on and Garry Thompson volley. Look back on Rory McArdle swooping in to double City’s lead in the play off final. Look back on Gary Jones climbing the Wembley stairs, rubbing his hands together with glee and jubilantly holding the trophy aloft as the pyrotechnics glittered and sparkled and the party got into full flow. Dreaming, with a glint in my eye, of a bygone era. Dreaming of Nahki, of Meredith, of Darby, of Duke. Dreaming of Wembley. Dreaming of promotion. Dreaming of Bradford City.
   And it still won’t quite seem real.

 

 

2012/13 Season Review

As the curtain falls on City’s most memorable campaign for a decade, I look back at the best bits of this fairytale season.

Congratulations, Bradford City!

   What a glorious season. What a glorious, magical, spellbinding, enchanting campaign. What a year for Bradford City Football Club.

   How nice it was. How nice it was to know that the worst-case scenario was a seventh crack at League Two, and not extinction. How nice it was to not be constantly compared to Leeds and Huddersfield. How nice it was to have a group of players who understood, who never gave up, who hounded every ball and who – in one instance – literally shed blood for the cause.

   And how unpredictable has it all been? In the top three, out of the top three. In the cup, out of the cup, into the same cup that we’d just been kicked out of, out of that cup (again) and into a cup final. In the play-offs, out of the play-offs, way off the pace, a wee bit closer to seventh, then back in with a bang as the season’s epic conclusion came down to the wire. Mad stuff.

   As the campaign closes, I’ve decided to take a look back at the key moments of City’s season – the season in which the Bantams burgeoned into the side that we’d spent five years dreaming of. Expect Wembley appearances, penalty triumphs and giant-killings aplenty.

Bradford City 5-1 A.F.C. Wimbledon:

  City romped to a stunning victory over the division’s strugglers, with Wells, Davies, Hanson and McArdle all slotting home before the break to send the Wombles packing.

   The Bantams hadn’t been on the right end of a result like that in a long, long time, and it was incredible. As a City fan who had been through the whole rigmarole of a promotion bid converting itself to relegation battle more times than I dared to count, I was cautiously optimistic, daring to dream but nonetheless trying to keep things in perspective. The Bantams crashed back down to Earth with a bump at the hands of the Millers the following week, but, even then, it was difficult to ignore this start to the season and the quality of players that Parkinson had drafted in. A team is only ever as good as the sum of its parts – but Parkinson had clearly crafted something very special here.

   This had to be our year. It was long, long, long overdue…

Bradford City 1-1 Arsenal (Bradford win 3-2 on penalties)

   I’ll never forget December 11^th, 2012 and the build up to it: how chants blasted out through the corridors at school, the excitement as people clamoured to get tickets and the banter with all of the Arsenal fans in my class. I was actually sat next to a Gunners fan at the game (my brother’s friend). Did that stop me from screaming madly when City scored? Definitely not, and, to be honest, I think that our little guest was secretly quite pleased for us.

   Moreover, nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Valley Parade that night. I’d never seen the stands so full and it was probably the best atmosphere ever. Garry Thompson’s goal, the Arsenal blunders, the chants of “Premier League? You’re having a laugh”… It all just meant so much, and, best of all, City hung on in there, kept calm and took it to penalties. Last season, we were struggling to beat Barnet and Torquay, yet here we were, condemning the Gunners to a humiliating cup exit.

   In the car on the way home, we joked about Bradford getting to the final and the possibility of competing in Europe, blissfully unaware of how one of those prospects would be dramatically realised.

Bradford City 3-1 Aston Villa:

   We all know the story. Villa pressed us, but Wells coolly slotted home, followed by a thunderous McCardle header. Paul Lambert’s side bounced back, but Carl McHugh directed a Gary Jones cross past his boyhood hero to cap off one of the most remarkable nights ever for the Bantams.

   As Bradford fans, we were probably more incredulous than Paul Lambert: how had City, the same team who hadn’t been able to score for toffee less than a week ago, managed to put three past Aston Villa? And not only that, but outplay them for 90 minutes?

   Wembley rested just one game away.

Aston Villa 2-1 Bradford City (Bradford win 4-3 on aggregate):

   It was a snowy night in Villa Park. Four great, hulking stands looked down over the frosty pitch as a plethora of claret and blue flags were waved madly in the stands, almost foreshadowing the actions of the Bantams fans at the final. Not that we were to know that. At this point, it just seemed as though the Birmingham club were trying everything to intimidate Phil Parkinson’s men.

   Initially, it worked. Bradford were tentative and struggled under Villa’s early pressure, with Benteke taking advantage of a congested box to score early and give Paul Lambert a flicker of hope. However, James Hanson emerged as the hero of the match, firing a header past Shay Given to permanently etch himself into Bantams’ folklore.

   The ecstatic City fans entered into a rendition of “Que, Sera, Sera”, and that said it all: we were going to Wembley.

Wembley I: Bradford City 0-5 Swansea City:

   Here it was. Bradford’s date with destiny. The outing to the national stadium that we’d never expected. Make a day of it. Why not a weekend? Relish this experience, because trips to Wembley don’t come around often.

   As far as I was concerned, it was written in the stars. I looked back at the number of times that City should have gone out of the cup, but didn’t: when Notts County rattled the crossbar in the First Round; when Gerviniho fired wide from a few feet out; when Darren Bent headed the ball miles over an open goal; when Stephen Ireland’s equaliser was flagged as offside. Every time, Lady Luck was on the Bantams’ side, and I was sure that she’d be there again to help the team out in the cup final.

   But reality had different ideas.

   Swansea were ruthless. Their clean, crisp, precise passing was simply impossible to contest, and the Wembley stage left the Bantams with nowhere to hide. It was the first time that Bradford had ever wavered, ever looked like a side from the fourth division, but it didn’t matter: they had done us proud, and I’m pretty sure that the 30,000 flag bearers did their heroes proud, too.

Back to the League, where the Bantams’ form had dipped – perhaps owing to fatigue from the mammoth number of fixtures. Following the 4-1 drubbing to Exeter that had left Bradford 8 points adrift from the final play-off place, many supporters had written off a promotion, but we didn’t mind because we’d had that amazing, amazing cup run. But that wasn’t good enough for Parkinson and his boys: they needed to fulfil their prime aim.

   City slowly closed the gap to cement a spot in seventh, before clawing back a one-goal deficit to brush aside Burton Albion in the second leg. We were heading back to Wembley. Bradford were on the brink of doing what, after five dismal years, had begun to seem nigh on impossible.

Wembley II: Bradford City 3-0 Northampton Town:

   As holiday homes go, Wembley’s not a bad one to have the keys to. This match proved why.

   It was a different ball game to the Capital One Cup final. This result mattered more, for one, and both teams were on a level playing field. Whilst causing only a ripple on the international pond, the pressure was massive, because we had to go up, had to get out of the doldrums. Please, please, please.

   It really was the perfect end to our fairytale. Hanson, the local boy who had been working at a Co-op store when City signed him, saw his effort power past the Northampton goalkeeper to open up the scoring, and Rory McArdle and Nahki Wells added to City’s tally to clarify the result.

  “We are going up!” we boomed, utterly delirious. You can say what you like about the play-offs - how they’re not fair, how they’re too tense, how they’re too risky - but, believe me, when it’s your captain who is climbing the Wembley stairs to lift that coveted trophy, you’ll agree that there really is no better way to go up.

   Before this season, I didn’t even know what “Que Sera, Sera” was, I’d had so few reasons to sing it.

   Now, it’s up there with my favourite football chants, right alongside “Stephen Darby, baby”, “He’s magic, you know” and “DUUUUUUKE”.

    That is more than what I could have ever expected from this season.

Bantams Blogger Meets... Darby and Jones

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: One’s Mr. Consistency and the other is magic. Bantams Blogger meets City’s STEPHEN DARBY and GARY JONES to talk promotion hopes, the League Cup final and playing against some of the Premier League’s most accomplished stars.

   As the season begins to draw to a close, things couldn’t be much more exciting for Bradford City. This fantastic campaign has seen City enchant the nation on the journey to the Capital One Cup final, and, when the final whistle blows after Saturday’s game at Whaddon Road this week, the Bantams will finish in seventh spot, giving the side an opportunity to win promotion to League One.

   Two players who have been instrumental parts of City’s achievements this year are Stephen Darby and Gary Jones. The latter has been a dynamo in the centre of the park, and the likes of Arsenal and Aston Villa have been despatched at the hands of the midfielder’s set pieces. Meanwhile, Stephen Darby has dominated the right-hand side of the defence, with his cool demeanour not giving City’s opponents a prayer.

   Both players are still in their first year at the club, and what a fantastic campaign for them to be a part of. The current season has entailed multiple highs so far and the pair say that they’re relishing playing for the Bantams.

   “I’ve loved every minute of it,” says Jones. “It was a wrench to leave Rochdale but this was the best club I could have possibly come to. They made me feel so welcome, so I’m happy and probably playing my best football. I’m absolutely delighted.”

   “I’ve really enjoyed it,” Darby comments. “Making the League Cup final at Wembley was beyond our wildest dreams and it’s still not over yet. We’ve still got three massive games to go and hopefully we can really push on.”

   What has been the highlight of this incredible season?

  “I think it’s got to be the League Cup final, hasn’t it?” Darby says. “I think the cup run leading up to that was massive and Wembley was a good day out. Obviously, it was disappointing with the result, but getting to the final and the cup run were brilliant.”

   Stephen and Gary quickly established themselves as fans’ favourites. Darby’s calm and composed performances, as well as his ability to create time on the ball, have proved to be a pivotal part of City’s success, and the full back’s defensive heroics against Arsenal ensured that the Gunners’ offensive endeavours yielded few rewards.

   “You train really hard day in, day out, and you want to perform at the highest level and the best level that you can,” Darby explains. “In the big games, you’ve got to be more switched on and I think we raised our game, especially against Arsenal.”

   Similarly, Jones received a warm reception from Bantams fans alike. Through his unfaltering energy and enthusiasm, the 35 year-old immediately endeared himself to the Valley Parade faithful, cementing his position at the heart of the midfield and, incidentally, as a cult hero for many City supporters. Bradford fans quickly grew to admire Jones’ dedication to the cause and how he gives 110% every time.

   “When you’re playing and see the support Bradford City have got, I think it spurs you on a little bit more, ” Jones says. “I want to win every game as well, so combine the two and I think it’s quite a decent combination. Every time I step on the field, I want to win, and I try and wear my heart on my sleeve.”

   The City players more than deserve to soak up their well-earned plaudits. In a marathon season in which the Bantams have taken centre stage in a Wembley showpiece and still gone on to snatch a top seven finish, Bradford have faced as high calibre opposition as you’ll ever get without venturing into the Champions League, including two of the best passing teams in the Premiership. With the Arsenal game being one of the most eagerly anticipated City matches for more than a decade, it must have been difficult to calm the nerves and still produce such an empowered and inspiring performance, especially with the world watching.

   “To be fair, in the cup run, we just took it game by game,” Darby says. “We never really got ahead of ourselves and we kept our feet on the ground. Before the game, when we got the team news and the gaffer and Steve Parkin put the team on the board, we had a bit of a laugh about it because it was a really strong side that they put out, but we just prepared as normal and did what we did in the previous games.”

   “I think when we saw their team sheet, we were like, ‘Oh, God, we could be in for a long night here,’ because they had their full strength team out,” recalls Jones. “But it’s a cup game and it’s eleven men V.S. eleven men. I think, on the night, we showed we can match them, and our penalty shootout record is quite good, to say the least. It was a great night for everybody and put us on the road for that amazing cup run.”

   How did preparing to face Arsenal – one of the world’s most famous teams, bursting with millions of pounds worth of talent and the club of choice for the likes of Vermaelen, Rosicky, and Arshavin  – differ to gearing up for a League Two clash?

   “I think when you go to play any team in our league, everyone expects to win, but when you’re playing against Premier League teams, no one expects you to win. It’s a different mentality,” observes Jones. “It’s funny, because we got beat by Barnet on the Saturday and ended up beating Aston Villa 3-1 on the Tuesday, so football is a strange, absolutely strange game. But, as I say, we deserved that cup run, we deserved to get to the final and it was just unfortunate that we came up against a brilliant Swansea team.”

   Getting the opportunity to watch world’s elite contest with Bradford City is something that so many supporters will never forget. As for Jones and Darby, playing with these millionaires was an even more memorable experience.

   “Oh, [it was] amazing. You want to play the best players you can and we were fortunate that we could do that,” Jones says.

   “When you see them on telly, you think they’re good, but when you play against them, you find out how good they really are, and they are quite unbelievable. They get paid a lot of money, and good on them,” he laughs, “because they are top, top players.”

   Darby agrees.

   “It’s been brilliant. You want to be playing against the best players in the world, and to play against Jack Wilshere and Michu has been brilliant.”

   At the moment, City are going into the final day with their play-off spot secure. Regardless of what happens against Cheltenham on Saturday, the Bantams cannot be caught, and Jones and Darby are excited about the forthcoming battle for a place in League One.

   “I’m really looking forward to it and we are on a good run of form,” says Darby. “We’ve had a lot of games this season but we’ve just got a few more to go. We’ve just got to keep pushing on, keep our focus, keep giving it 110% and keep doing what we’ve been doing.”

   “Yeah, [I’m feeling] very confident,” says Jones. “A few weeks ago, no one would give us a chance of getting into the play-offs, so it’s a massive bonus for us - the season goes on for another month. We’ve got a good squad, we’ve got a bunch of fit lads who want to win and we’ve got a good manager, too, so combine them together and I think we’ve got a really good chance.”

   As Jones admitted, many City fans had given up on the Bantams’ play-off attempts after the Exeter game, deeming the subsequent eight-point deficit too great a gap to be bridged. Did the players ever worry that they may not have been able to get into the top seven?

   “No. We always thought that it was possible,” says Darby. “Obviously, it was getting tougher because the games were running out, but, after the Exeter game, we had a meeting as a team, and we knew what we had to do and the way we had to play. From then on and up until now, we’ve done that, got on a good run of form and managed to make the play-offs.”

   “I think, with the squad and players we’ve got, we knew we could put a run of results together,” Jones says. “I think, after the Exeter game, people wrote us off. I think we were 8pts, 9pts behind them at the time when they were seventh, but we knew if we put a run together we could be a match for anyone and that’s how it’s proved because we’ve scraped into seventh place. Hopefully, we can push on for promotion.”

   With Bradford aiming to book a return trip to London, those of us who went to the Capital One Cup final will be getting nostalgic, reminiscing about that amazing day. But what was it like for Jones, who lead the team out onto that hallowed Wembley turf?

   “Walking out into a full Wembley stadium, 90,000, with 30,000 Bradford City supporters, it’s… words can’t describe how good it is,” he says. “But it’s an experience I’ll never, ever forget, and I’m sure that probably most of Bradford City’s supporters will never forget it, as well.”

Wembley Woes

A week on from the Capital One Cup final: The Bantams may have left London without a trophy, but the Wembley weekend has given us memories that will last longer than cup euphoria

The team reflect on their cup defeat

   I’m not going to lie: when Swansea lifted the cup at Wembley, I was an emotional wreck.

   “I wanted Gary Jones to lift the cup,” I sobbed, clutching my Carl McHugh mask and staring dismally into my flag. “Everyone wanted us to win the cup and complete the fairytale, but we didn’t, and Duke got sent off, and I wanted us to draw and win on penalties, but…”

   Initially, I was fine. We’d had a good innings, I thought, and we’d all done better than anyone could ever have expected us to. The tears came when Wembley’s stadium announcer explained how well the Bantams had done to get to this final; it was the moment when I realised that City would never complete such an awe-inspiring feat again.

   “But they’ve done so well to get this far,” my mum consoled. “We’re winners anyway. And, at least McLaughlin got a game. I bet that he wasn’t expecting that.”

   By the time that I was back on the coach, I was OK. I rang up other relatives to discuss the game, and sorted through the bounty of headphones, wristbands, touch-screen gloves and phone socks that the Capital One team had given us. I viewed all of the pictures that I’d taken over the weekend, admiring the sea of claret and amber, smiling at the photo of Paul Jewell and me, and immersing myself in videos of the build-up.

   And that was why the weekend was so special. Not because of the pictures (I don’t have a natural eye for photography, believe me), but because of the build-up to the game, and the memories that this amazing, brilliant, odd-defying cup run has therein created.

   Take travelling down to London, for example. On the Saturday, our coach was decked out in City colours and turned many heads on the motorway, with fellow supporters beeping their horns and neutral travellers giving us fist-pumps. At the services, the congregation of claret and amber shirts outside WH Smith’s spellbound the other customers.

   I began browsing the morning’s newspapers, and it was incredible to see how the nation’s press had got behind our humble club. Mark Lawn and his wife were at the centre of The Sun, and Nahki Wells occupied two pages of another tabloid. Jake Turton and Gary Jones were in The Daily Mail, alongside an article about the Wembley suits.

   In London itself, the well-wishers were in abundance. Employees in Harrods noticed my scarf and expressed their support.

   Sunday morning was no less memorable. In the hotel’s restaurant, a Slovakian Liverpool fan wished me luck at the fruit counter, and some Swansea fans joked about how they wanted the game to pan out. A group of Americans explained how the story had made waves in the states and said that they would be cheering on the underdogs.

   Walking down Wembley Way took my breath away, especially as the whole path had just merged into one huge ocean of claret and amber. I’d been to the national stadium before, to see England play Slovenia, but gearing up to watch my beloved Bradford City in a League cup final had a whole new air about it.

   I’ll never forget the journey down to my seat at Wembley; hearing “Claret and Amber” blasting out over the speakers; the big screens showing the Bantams’ journey to the final; seeing Bradford City run onto the pitch for the warm-up.

Through the unwavering support of the fans, Bradford City continued to surprise the nation, even when it was clear that the Swans would be lifting the trophy.

   I can remember very little about the game itself, though. I can recall Swansea’s first goal: that gut-wrenching feeling when Duke scrambled to clear the ball, and knowing that we’d conceded but nonetheless praying that McCardle would just reach for goal and poke the danger clear. I can recall screaming when the back of the net rattled and subsequently attempting to rally the troops.

   It’s alright, I told myself. I said 1-1.

   I can remember burying my head in despair when Duke left the pitch, but the most prominent memory, as it will be for many people, is of waving my flag after the result was all but confirmed. I didn’t actually watch any of the game for those final thirty minutes, and any recollection of action on the pitch during that period is very hazy, but chanting, “If you love City, stand up,” with 30,000 others is something that I certainly haven’t forgotten.

   Gary Jones’ corner was met with rejoice from the City faithful, and the captain’s tame shot was celebrated like it was a goal itself. Through the unwavering support of the fans, Bradford City continued to surprise the nation, even when it was clear that the Swans would be lifting the trophy.

   As we lick our Wembley wounds, it’s important not to lose sight of the magnitude of what the Bantams have achieved. Time and time again, our valiant City heroes have proved unbeatable in the face of so many Premier League opponents, countering all of the odds and capturing the imaginations of the nation throughout this enchanting journey.

   If the odds had ever been anything to go by, City would have been eliminated in the first round, when they took on League One’s Notts County. If the odds had been right, the cup run would have ended against Burton, when the Bantams were trailing 0-2 before Stephen Derby clinched a dramatic winner. If the odds had been reliable, Bradford City wouldn’t have touched the hallowed Wembley turf to compete in the cup final on February 24^th, and that’s what we’ve got to bear in mind.

   I’m well over the defeat now, and I’m firmly focused on our promotion ambitions. We are being described as the “outside hopefuls”, but, with the games that we’ve got left, and with many of them seeing us take on squads that are leading the pack with us, it’s certainly doable.

   Especially for a team that have subverted the odds before.

If Carlsberg Did Managers...

You’ve Got To Love Phil Parkinson

Bradford fans will be hoping for a sight like this on February 24th

   During pre-season, like most City fans, I’d read about the Bantams in the newspapers and watch them train on Look North, eagerly anticipating the coming season and looking forward to seeing the new signings in action. The bookies often listed us as favourites for the title, and promises of promotion accompanied the new managers.

   Not that those promises ever materialised.

   Until now.

   Step forward Phil Parkinson, a man who boasted Colchester United, Hull City and Charlton Athletic as previous employers, and who was a fully-fledged legend amongst the Reading faithful. When he signed on the dotted line last season, I had no idea that he would lead a serious promotion challenge and get the club to Wembley, especially in a competition that’s usually dominated by Premier League giants. 

   But, then again, City hadn’t exactly filled their fans with cheer before this.

   It’s fair to say that, in recent years, Bradford City have been no strangers to the managerial-merry-go-round. From the Stuart McCall era and the Peter Taylor plight, to the short-lived tenure of Peter Jackson, the Bantams have seen plenty of changes in gaffers. That’s a lot of anticlimaxes.

   Take Peter Taylor, for example. With an impressive C.V. that contained promotions and work with the national team, he appeared to be the prime candidate for the City job. However, within months of his appointment, the Bantams were hovering close to the relegation zone and there were calls for his resignation. It’s just crazy to think that we could have been playing non-league football the following year, as we all believed that Taylor would have got us to League One.

   After Peter Jackson’s departure, Phil Parkinson stepped in, and something happened to the club.

   Impact players were drafted in and new signings were made. The squad’s mentality changed. Parkinson vowed to make Valley Parade a “fortress”. Although I didn’t realise it at the time, he was laying the foundations for a promotion push and preparing to seriously contend for a play-off spot next season.

   The game against Fleetwood unveiled a new-look Bradford team, but the Wimbeldeon tie presented a side that played with so much composure, skill and dominance, and I just couldn’t believe it. Gary Jones was incredibly energetic and involved in midfield; the goals were coming in from anywhere and everywhere; some of the chances created by midfield were fantastic. City were tearing their opponents to shreds. The club’s form under Peter Taylor became a distant memory.

   Parkinson himself is the epitome of calmness and composure. When Paul Lambert was flaring up on the touchline, Parkinson was cool, considering tactics and changes in players. However, he’s also so passionate and appears to really love the club and his players: his celebrations with Parkin, his post-Arsenal embrace with Gary Jones and desire to remain in Bradford have all proved this.

   He’s probably quite the speechmaker, as well. I wouldn’t mind being a fly-on-the-wall in the changing rooms when Parky is addressing the team: in order to steady the players and produce such great displays against Wigan, Arsenal and Aston Villa, he must have said something brilliant.

   Parkinson’s fashion sense is making waves, too. If teachers’ clothing choices are anything to go by, the v-neck sweater has soared in popularity, and I’ve no doubt that the City gaffer must be partly responsible for this sudden influx of jumpers.

   Granted, it’s not all been cocktails and glitter under Parkinson (There’s been the slump in league form, but we won’t dwell on that too much.), but he’s taken us on a journey that we’ve all been encapsulated by.

   Long-term, the sky’s the limit in terms of what City can achieve under Parkinson. He’s managed to turn the club around and has completely revolutionised the city-people are just so proud to be from Bradford and he’s breathed new life into a town that deserved to be put back on the map.

   With that in mind, Bradford City can walk out at Wembley in the knowledge that they’ve not only got a whole city and country behind them, but also a fantastic manager who most clubs would be desperate to have.

   Can City win the cup? I certainly think so. Especially with Phil Parkinson at the helm.

London Calling

The Bantams Are Going To Wembley. Can't Believe It? Neither Can I.

City's triumph prompted wild celebrations

   If probably sounds clichéd, but if, two years ago, you had told me that Bradford City would be busy gearing up for a League Cup final, battling for promotion and capturing the imagination of the British public, I wouldn’t have believed you.

   I wasn’t ever too negative about the Bantams, but I could have never have envisaged such a great run of form for the club. I’d dreamed about getting to the play-offs, of course, but never thought that those hopes would materialise. Peter Taylor’s dismal reign made sure of that.

  Yet, now, we’re going to Wembley. I just keep pinching myself.

   I’m just absorbed by the hype, drama and emotion that surround City’s monumental feat. I love opening national newspapers to find a two-page spread on Matt Duke, and watching Alan Connell and Carl McHugh on Soccer AM was just brilliant. I’m completely gripped by cup fever, and I’m loving every second of it.

   It’s not just me: the whole City has turned claret and amber. You can’t walk around the town centre without being reminded of the impending clash, as there are scarf sellers everywhere-not to mention the posters offering the chance to scoop tickets.

   I am slightly irritated about the so-called “one day” City fans, though. Although they help to generate more income for the club, which will be superb in the long-term, it is annoying to hear people brag about how “We’re going to Wembley” when they have no idea who Nathan Doyle, James Meredith and Luke Oliver are. The strangest thing is how passionate some of the plastic fans at my school are becoming: one allegedly compiled a list of all of the Bantams games that he’s been to and emailed it to his critics. I’ve almost developed a pastime of mentioning a Gary Jones free kick and subsequently watching their faces puzzle over what I’ve just said. They often have no idea what I’m going on about.

   However, it’s not something that I’m going to lose sleep over. Next season, when many of these ‘fans’ will be sat at home watching Soccer Saturday, we’ll be the ones celebrating, safe in the knowledge that our club are in no danger of administration as they compete in League One. Moreover, though, we’ve had to endure years of decline and heartbreak, so February 24^th is going to mean more to us than it ever will to them.

   I talk to people about Wembley every day, yet the magnitude of the whole thing – Bradford City in a LEAGUE CUP FINAL – is still sinking in. The enormity of the achievement is something that I’m struggling to comprehend; humble City, a club who I have seen lose to Accrington Stanley and Crewe Alexandra, beating three Premier League teams and securing a place in the history books. I mean, fair enough if it was some other underdogs-maybe Barnsley, who had that notable F.A. Cup run in 2008-but not Bradford City. Things like this just don’t happen to our club. We’re not inundated with things to celebrate.

   And that’s partly what makes this cup run so spectacular. It involves our club, our club who, for so long, have had so little to shout about.  We’ve conquered three teams from the Premier League and will be marching to Wembley on February 24^th. It’s more than what many of us would ever have dared to hope for.

   Going to Wembley?

   See you there.

UnWembleyvable!

BANTAMS DEFY THE ODDS AND PROGRESS TO WEMBLEY WITH HISTORIC VICTORY 

The Capital One Cup heroes celebrate their win

   They all said that it was impossible. They all said that we'd succumb to the occasion. They all said that the Arsenal victory was a fluke.

   Then again, Bradford City have never complied with expectation.

   Bradford went into the second leg with something to defend. They’d acquired a 3-1 lead at Valley Parade on what was a very memorable night and were just 90 minutes away from making history. For the long-suffering City fans who have winced as their team have plummeted down the divisions, it was just spectacular.

   In typical City fashion, though, they didn’t make it easy for themselves.

   The Bantams rivalled Villa in the opening minutes, with Wells and Hanson driving towards the goal to test the Premier League defence. However, Paul Lambert’s side were soon on the counter: Benteke poked his header marginally wide of the post.

   From then on, we knew that it wasn’t going to be an easy night.

   The early threat seemed to have unnerved Bradford somewhat, and Villa charged up in numbers. Nzogbia’s pinpoint cross was met by a Villa player, but the subsequent header flew over the bar. Just moments later, Duke was equal to Benteke’s effort.

   23 minutes in, it happened. And it wasn’t nice.

   The forward play from Villa pushed the Bradford defence back, congesting the box. Benteke escaped from his marker and flicked the ball into the net. Paul Lambert sprung to life on the touchline, punching the air.

   He believed that the comeback was on.

   Villa continued to pile on the pressure, but City resisted. Some brave defending from McArdle, McHugh and Good saved Bradford’s bacon, and Atkinson and Wells pulled back to ease some of the strain. Duke, again, was on fine form, denying Stephen Ireland by getting just his fingertips to the ball.

   It was nearly the end of the first half, and Bradford had broken: Wells’ powerful shot just flew wide of the post. Villa were no stranger to the Bermudan’s prominence in front of goal, and this served as a reminder that the League 2 team could provide a potent attacking threat.

   Half time came, and it couldn’t come quick enough. We couldn’t defend for the remaining 45 minutes. We needed to regain composure.

   And regain composure, we did.

   The Bantams began to get bodies forward and string passes together. Zavon Hines’ superb sprint up the wing won a corner, and, as Villa know all too well, Bradford are lethal from set pieces.

   It was the visitor’s chance to capitalise, and they did not waste it. A Gary Jones cross oozed textbook perfection, finding a lively Hanson, and the ball rattled the back of the net. A thunderous header, it was the perfect way for Hanson to silence his critics and end his lengthy goal-drought.

   Bradford nearly made it a second after Nathan Doyle’s ball reached Hanson, but the forward jumped wide. City had bounced back and were charging forward in numbers.

   Parkinson swapped Nahki Wells for Garry Thompson. His tactic involved clearing the ball for it to be picked up by Darby and the Arsenal hero, who both showed incredible attacking flair to sprint forward and create chances. It could have easily been 2; Thompson rattled the crossbar.

   With just a minute of normal time left, Andres Weimman slotted home to give Villa a final prayer of progression. But this was City’s night. That minor setback wasn’t going to change things.

   After the Arsenal game, we began to hope. As the four minutes ticked away, we began to believe. And, as the final whistle blew, we began the most exciting celebrations that have graced Bradford City in a long time.

   We’d done it. We were going to Wembley.

   For years, I’d watched my team plummet to the depths of the fourth division, fighting to stay up after losing game after game. I’d seen Peter Taylor’s side fall woefully below expectation, and the club that I love teeter on the verge of administration.

   Now, Parkinson is taking us to Wembley.

   Mission impossible? Not for the Bradford boys.

Dare To Dream

Parky’s Giant Killers Strike Again And Humiliate Aston Villa

The City heroes celebrate McHugh's goal

   Oh. My. Goodness.

   Over 22,000 squeezed into a packed Valley Parade, joined by the Sky Sports cameras, the nation’s press and arguably the most famous referee in the country. The eyes of the nation were firmly focussed on Bradford City, everyone spellbound by the heart-warming story of the humble League 2 team who crafted their own giant-killing legacy.

   The country had finally sat up and taken notice.

   And what a game for them all to see.

   City and Aston Villa started the game equally. The Premier League favourites had early attempts denied, whilst the hosts seemed convincing when they were on the attack. The Bantams had to wait just 19 minutes to establish their deserved lead, and prove to Paul Lambert’s side that Bradford weren’t going down without a fight.

   Zavon Hines’ effort was blocked, but Nahki Wells was ready for the rebound. The Bermudan reacted superbly and drilled the ball into the bottom corner, celebrating with a poignant gesture to his late Bermuda team-mate.

   Valley Parade erupted in deafening cheers of euphoria. I screamed. Fans jumped up and down. The Kop entered into chants of, “Who are you? Who are you?” We had done it again. We had scored against a Premier League team. It was just unbelievable.

   We were leading Villa, and it wasn’t a dream.

   Villa began to attack, but the Bradford defence was calm and composed. The centre half pairing of McHugh and McArdle was strong, and Good and Derby performed some crucial clearances.

   Duke, meanwhile, was on stunning form. When a powerful Villa shot had beaten the defence, the keeper got a knee to the ball and averted the danger, before going on to deny Benteke’s effort in the 31^st minute.

   Half-time approached, and the consensus amongst the fans was clear: City had been the better side.

   As the second-half comenced, Villa seemed to gain some composure. They began to string passes together and won a corner for their efforts. The ball was whipped into the box and landed at the feet of Clark, whose poor control prevented him from finding the equaliser. Moments later, Duke thwarted Benteke’s header.

  Aston Villa attacked again. As Duke and the City defence scrambled to recover from an earlier save, the ball found Bent. Duke was beaten: to level, Bent just needed to hit the target. Much to the delight of the Bradford faithful, though, he sent the header flying over the bar. Humiliated.

   Bradford began to surge forward in numbers, lead by Gary Jones. Captain Fantastic changed the flow of the game with his superb passes, and the hosts soon had a corner.

   As Jones curled in the ball, McArdle dived low to send it flying into the back of the net. Pandemonium ensued as the defender raced to celebrate; we were leading Villa by two goals. This was no fluke.

    The visitors were on the counter attack, Andreas Weimann helping to prevent the side from enduring complete embarrassment. The score was 2-1, and that away goal may prove crucial.

   Undeterred, valiant Bradford broke again, and good work from Blair Turgott resulted in a corner. Gary Jones’ cross found Carl McHugh, whose blistering header beat Shay Given. It was a superb moment for the teenager, who, prior to the game, had joked about putting one past his boyhood hero.

   It was a fitting end to a night on which so many people’s dreams had come true.

   Is a Wembley final on the cards? It’s too early to say: there’s still another leg to play and Villa will come out fighting, and they’ve got that all-important away goal.

   The City fans, though, are daring to dream…  

Bring On The Villa!

December 11th Was A Great Night For The Bantams, But What Will The Villa Tie Hold?

City will take on Aston Villa over two legs

   You can say what you want about the Aston Villa game, but it’s difficult to deny that it’s going to be an experience.

   Once again, the Sky Sports cameras will descend onto a packed Valley Parade, for what is set to be another thrilling cup clash. The tie’s already attracted much attention: for tickets, supporters gathered from as early as 6am and the queues snaked right round to the rear of the old shop, with Dynamo and the trophy itself making appearances. After the victory over Arsenal, nearly the whole country will be rooting for Bradford, desperate to see whether the underdogs can move one step closer to becoming the first League 2 team to progress to the final.

   So, can they? Well…

   City might not be on the best run of form at the moment, but neither are their opponents. Of late, Villa’s defence has left a lot to be desired: they’ve got the worst goal difference in the Premier League. I’m sure that many fancy the Bantams to take advantage of this and score a few in the home leg, and keeping a clean sheet would eliminate the away goal factor for them (The ruling would come into play if it’s a draw after both matches.). This would take the pressure off for the second game, although it’s likely that City’s tactics for this match will depend on how things are shaping up later.

   Villa seem to be confident of victory-they’ve already started promising their fans tickets to the cup final. However, Bradford won’t roll over easily. The team have got a great spirit and the whole squad is so versatile: Doyle, for example, has shown that he is capable of playing in midfield and more defensive roles, whilst Meredith is strong at the back and exerts an influence on the attacking side of things. Even when plagued by injury, the boys still put up a fight, and that’s something that Villa will need to be wary of.

   On the officiating front, having referees of the calibre of Sian Massey and Howard Webb is testament to just how far that City have come. One has had the experience of a World Cup final and both regularly referee top-flight games-it’s going to be really exciting.

   Just as Wigan and Arsenal did, Villa expect to emerge triumphant, and the away goal ruling makes it harder to get the games to penalties.

   As City have proven, though, anything is possible.