The Cup Final
By J. P. W. MALLALIEU, M.P. ,' N every Cup Final there is one moment of exquisite sadness— when the defeated team leaves the field. Ever since they won their semi-final some four weeks before, these players have been on tiptoe just outside the promised land. They have been heroes, besieged for tickets and autographs, buoyed by the hopes and well-wishing of a hundred thousand fans. Then, suddenly, at the sound of a whistle, no one bothers about them any moi.e. The winners are surrounded by photographers. Amid the roar of rattles they are carried shoulder-high, waving tbg Cup to bright-eyed supporters. Across the green turf they go rffelling in ecstasy which for them will never fade. But the losers trail away singly or in pairs along the running-track, unseen.
This scene was sadder than ever on April 28th, 1951, when Newcastle had beaten Blackpool by two goals to none. For among the men who were trudging away from hope and glory was Stanley Matthews, one of the greatest footballers of all time, the man who has won every football honour except a Cup winner's medal, the champion jockey who has never won the Derby. Twice in four years he has played with the losing team in the Final. He is now thirty-six years old, and his chances of reaching the Final again before he retires must be slight. So as he began to leave the ground, holding his loser's medal once again in his right hand, his head was down and his steps heavy.
That was one of the reasons why I found this Cup Final dis- appointing. When my own team is not playing I usually back the more northerly of the two Final teams, and Newcastle are the more northerly. Further. Newcastle means miners, whereas Blackpool tends to mean landladies. But, in spite of that, I was backing Blackpool for Matthews's sake, and so was everyone else in the country outside the north-east coast. It was not only that Matthews is a dazzlingly great footballer. It is even more than that ; although he is so great, although the crowds so often go to sec him and him alone, although he is more often photo- graphed and written about than any other sportsman, he remains unspoiled and shy. Other stars can be temperamental and demanding. At half-time, during an international trial match, several slightly injured players badgered and bullied the trainer for attention. Only when the last of the clamourers had been served did Matthews say: " Mr. Trainer, my ankle's swollen. Would you mind having a look at it? " Such personal modesty allied to such consummate skill has made Matthews loved by footballers everywhere. When he did not win the prize we all grieved.
. There were other disappointments, one of them personal. My eyesight is not now good, and just as I had settled in my seat I found I had broken my spectacles. This at any time would have been bad ; but it happened that during the previous week 1 had been involved in political controversy around the question of teeth and specs. I have not had any free specs from the National Health. As it happens I can afford to pay for any specs I-- need. The new charges will mean no hardship to me. But I am against them on principle, and the moment 1 realised I was going to have difficulty in seeing this game, all my opposi- tion to the principle of the charges flared up into irrational anger with Hugh Gaitskell, as though he had climbed to the rafters of Wembley just above my head and had personally broken my specs. All the time another irritation was spoiling my pleasure. I have protested before about the allocation of Cup Final tickets, how people who never see any other game, who are interested in Wembley only because Royalty will be there and it is fashion- able to be seen there too, somehow get themselves Cup Final tickets while real football-fans are turned away. This year pro-. vided an especially striking illustration, for one of the most famous football managers of our time, who recently retired from management after forty years in the game, was actually refused a ticket for the Cup Final by the Football Association. Mean- while the better seats were flooded with women in fancy hats. The final disappointment was the game itself. Most of us had predicted that, with two such footballing sides pitted against each other, this, year's Final would reach the high level of the Manchester United-Blackpool Final of 1948. Instead, for most of the time, it reached the low level of the Preston-Huddersfield final of 1938. The first half, particularly, was so bad that the two pigeons whose home appeared to be behind a beam just two feet above my head never once came out to watch.
There was, of course, the dazzling work of Matthews. Time after time as he received the ball he would find three opponent!, facing him about four yards away. They stood still watching. So did Matthews. Then sometimes he would look coolly round the field and suddenly roll a smooth pass to an unmarked friend. Other times he would take the ball one pace to the right, then, as his opponents were shifting their weight from one foot to the other, he would dart between them with the ball at his feet. Once when he was no more than a yard from the touchline, he beat four men in as many seconds and sent through a perfect pass. His speed was incredible. When play was on the other side of the field, he looked heavily immobile. With his rounded shoulders and his bow legs he seemed to plod when he moved at all. But when the ball was near he was quicksilver.
Time after time in the first half these lightning flashes illumined the game. But they never set it on fire. One reason was that Blackpool's two inside forwards—one of them deputising for the injured Scottish international Allan Brown—were badly of form. Another was that Brennan, the Newcastle centre half. was wonderfully on form and stopped Mortensen, the Blackpool centre, almost before he had started. So, though Matthews kept Blackpool on the attack, his passes and centres came to nothing. The second half looked as though it might go the way of the first. Blackpool were again on the attack but never looked like scoring. Then, in the fifth minute, something happened which brought one of my pigeons out in a flutter. A Newcastle defender, in the penalty area, picked up a loose 6a11 which had somehow evaded eight Blackpool attackers. He sent a long pass up the middle and there was Milburn, the Newcastle centre. clear of the field. Milburn hesitated a moment. Was he offside ? The linesman, dead in line, made no move so Milburn ran. Farm came out from his goal to narrow the angle, but Milburn hit the ball past him with the outside of his foot and Newcastle were one up.
Five minutes later they were two up, with one of the most beautiful goals I have ever seen. Walker on the right wing beat his man and passed inside to Taylor. Taylor trapped the pass. stood still, and saw three opponents in front of him, also still. He moved forward a yard and, as the defenders moved, he backheeled the ball to Milburn. Milburn crashed it first time, from 25 yards, and the first that Farm knew about the shot was when he picked the ball from the net. That was the end.
I began this article with the losers trailing off the field holding their losers' medals. To reach their dressing-rooms they have to pass under that part of the terraces behind the goal which is reserved for the ordinary supporters—the standing fans— of one of the two teams. This year that part of the terrace was reserved for the fans of Blackpool. • The fans of Newcastle were behind the other goal.
As Matthews, on his own, approached the entrance under the terraces, the Blackpool rattles began to turn in sorrowful sympathy. The sound of these rattles penetrated to the far side of the ground where the whole of Newcastle was watching its team being photographed. The Newcastle fans heard the Black- pool rattles, lifted.tbeir eyes for a moment from their own team and saw, away in the distance, the stooping figure of Matthews. At that they set up a roar of affection and admiration, which engulfed. Matthews more completely even than the darkness of the tunnel.
That tribute from great football fans to a great footballing opponent wiped my. disappointments away.
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