It happened 22 years ago.
By Coventry's own "Yasser Arafat"
Wednesday 04 Mar 2009 03:01:00
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It happened 22 years ago.

Wembley 1987

Was it all a dream? Sometimes I watch the DVD of the 1987 FA Cup final not just to relive a glorious and wonderful day, but simply to confirm to myself that it really happened. It seems so long ago and surreal. £6 to stand on the terraces of Wembley and witness not only the greatest day in the history of Coventry City Football Club but also one of the best FA Cup finals ever to grace the hallowed turf. Today the FA Cup is clearly not what it once was. With four places up for grabs in the Champions League, it is not always a priority for the teams occupying those positions. In 1987 a player had to appear in a cup final or play for his country to appear at Wembley. Nowadays any Tom, Dick or Carlos Kick-a-ball and their team can play at Wembley in semi-finals and a variety of no-mark competitions. Probably a nice day out for the likes of Leicester City but a prime example of how something that was once very special has been devalued thanks to the cancer of commercialism that is rife in the modern game.

Coventry City ended the 1985/1986 season narrowly avoiding relegation. Manager Donald Duck quit the sinking ship with a handful of games remaining. Youth Team coach John Sillett and Managing Director George Curtis took temporary charge and kept the team up. The club made noises in the summer about appointing a “big name” manager but in typical CCFC style appointed Sillett and Curtis as the new managerial team. To say I was not excited by this would be an understatement. The only addition to the playing squad was striker Keith Houchen, who had played his entire career in the lower leagues. Houchen was famous for scoring a penalty for York City which knocked Arsenal out of the FA Cup. All the signs pointed to another season of mediocrity for the long suffering Sky Blues fans.

Much to everyone’s surprise the 1986/1987 season started well with the team playing as a team and crucially, playing the ball to Cyrille Regis’ feet. He may have been known as “Big Cyrille” but his main strength was not heading but holding the ball up or running with it. This simple fact had eluded the man who signed him, Bobby Gould, and his successor, Donald Duck. Consequently City fans had only seen rare glimpses of the Regis that West Brom’s fans knew and loved as he’d spent much of his time in a Sky Blue kit having aimless balls hoofed in the general direction of his bonce. The team were very hard to beat and if they went a goal down more often than not you could be sure they would come back to win, or at the very least, get a draw. Dean Emerson was signed early in the season and proved a valuable addition to the midfield. By the time the FA Cup 3rd Round match against Bolton came round, all was rosy in the Sky Blue garden. The seemingly ‘cheap’ option of appointing Sillett and Curtis was proving to be a stroke of genius and had confounded the critics up to this point. I did some ‘work experience’ as part of a YTS in the Thackall Street ticket office / shop during the early part of the season. There was very little to do so most of the two weeks was spent sorting out records for the Sky Blue Pools. George Curtis would often pop into the office and was a likeable man who the staff were on first name terms with. I remember him moving some electrical cable off the floor and re-routing it round and over a doorway to make it safer. He also joked with me about Scottish football when I wore a Rangers top one day. “They don’t play football in Scotland do they?” he quipped. Shortly after, Radio 2 announced that Rangers had signed Graeme Roberts from Tottenham. Big George nodded his approval to me and the quips stopped. I am too young to have seen the “Iron Man” in action for Coventry but did see Roberts play for Rangers many times and he was awesome. Curtis clearly recognised and admired a player in his own mould.

So on 10th January 1987 the visitors to Highfield Road were Bolton Wanderers. Back then Wanderers were in Division Three - that’s League One, same as Leicester if you’re a young ’un - and their manager was ex Liverpool legend and later to be City manager, Phil Neal. City were clear favourites to win and lived up to this billing with an easy 3-0 triumph. I remember it being a wintry day with snow falling during the first half. Bolton brought around a thousand supporters and had nearly as many flags draped over the fences at their part of the Kop. City’s goals through Downs, Regis and Bennett all came in the first half which killed the game off. When Bolton got their first corner of the game on the stroke of half-time their supporters sarcastically whooped and cheered as if they had scored a goal. Bolton apparently brought a mob with them who caused some trouble near Pool Meadow but as their Coventry counterparts never expected a show from them they got away with it.

The 4th Round saw us drawn away to Manchester United. Alex Ferguson had not long taken over and was in the process of rebuilding the shambles of a club left by Fat Ron. Atkinson’s sides produced some good football but his spend, spend, spend mentality coupled with not having a reserve or proper youth team set-up failed to land the ‘holy grail’ of the title - leading Ferguson to prophetically say he would need at least six years to turn things around. United weren’t pulling up any trees but were still regarded as clear favourites to win the tie outside of Coventry. Sillett and the City fans knew otherwise. The players were taken to Spain to prepare for the match and in a local TV feature about this trip, Sillett said that City’s name was on the cup. Central’s soccer pundit, the legendary Jimmy Greaves, disagreed and forecast a United victory. This would be the start of a tradition for Greaves where he would predict the opposition to beat us in all subsequent rounds even though he really wanted us to win - clearly the former team mate of Sillett from their playing days at Chelsea felt that predicting a win would bring bad luck and result in a defeat.

I travelled on one of the “Soccer Special” trains to Old Trafford while all my friends went by car or coach. Strangely enough I ended up sitting in the same carriage as the biggest psychopath from my class at school, which we had finished the previous year. He had no interest in football as far as I knew so to this day I am still puzzled why he went. It was my first visit to Old Trafford and all those “Munich” clocks outside gave me the impression they were stuck in a time warp. I joined the 4-5,000 strong Sky Blue Army and quickly met up with friends and my older brother, most of whom appeared to be steaming. Half the pitch was frozen and a scrappy game followed. City created few chances in the first half but managed to take one when Keith Houchen bundled the ball home which was the cue for delirium behind that goal. As soon as it went in we knew the game was won. That’s what happens when your name is on the cup. United, who included Gordon Strachan and the popular ex-City striker Terry ‘Gibbo’ Gibson in their line up, huffed and puffed throughout the second half but never really looked like scoring. The only noise in the near 50,000 crowd was coming from our fans who easily silenced the famous Stretford End. I’d always imagined the Stretford End to be all standing but was surprised to see seating at the rear part of it and it seemed so much smaller than it looked on TV. The final whistle blew and during the celebrations a coin throwing battle broke out with the United fans in the seats behind us. The police kept us in for fifteen minutes during which Tony Gubba appeared on the pitch to conduct interviews for Match of the Day. “One Tony Gubba! There’s only one Tony Gubba!” we sang, receiving a smile and a wave in return from the commentator.

The train journey home was surprisingly quiet - I think everyone had sore throats and were exhausted from all the singing and the emotion of the occasion. Some City fans who didn’t travel by train stopped off in Stoke on Trent on the way home and stabbed some locals, so when the 5th Round saw us drawn away to Stoke City, the jungle drums anticipated potential trouble off the pitch.

Stoke City were then in Division 2 (now the Championship) and a good run of form had seen them into the top six. We were allocated 8,000 tickets (4,000 standing and 4,000 seats) which quickly sold out. I wanted to stand but they were sold out when I went to get one so I ended up in the seats. Once again I travelled by “Soccer Special” train. As it slowed down and pulled into the station nearest the Victoria Ground, I copied some other City fans and jumped off as it was still moving. Unlike them I fell on my bum much to the amusement of all who saw it. A heavy police presence was in force and the ground was reached without incident. The game itself was played in front of a capacity crowd with a great atmosphere. It turned out to be one of the hardest games in the entire cup run and I’d have been happy to take a replay. Micky Gynn managed to put us in the lead and despite numerous near misses for the home side it was enough to see us through to the quarter finals, equalling our best ever runs in the competition.
Sheffield Wednesday away was our reward for disposing of Stoke. The week before we played them in a league game at Highfield Road. In blizzard like conditions Lloyd McGrath scored one of his rare goals to give us victory. It was a bitter sweet win though as Dean Emerson sustained a serious injury which put him out for the rest of the season and effectively ended his career. It was tragic for the flame haired midfielder as he seemed destined for higher things.

In confident mood a massive 14,000 strong Sky Blue Army travelled to Hillsbrough and filled the Leppings Lane end of the ground. This matched our average home attendance at the time! My best mate and I travelled with my old man and some relatives by car. On the walk up to the ground the South Yorkshire police were in fine form, confiscating a flag off me. It wasn’t on a flag pole or offensive - they simply said flags weren’t allowed in the ground and I could collect from the police office after the match. Morons! People nowadays don’t appreciate what it was like for away supporters back then with regard to policing. You were basically regarded as animals and treated accordingly. My pal and I had standing tickets and as we got to the back of the terrace a cop was literally shoving fans to the front while saying, “Plenty of room at the front!” and laughing. It was no wonder so many were to die on those terraces just a few years later when you had ‘crowd control’ like that.

City wore their away strip of yellow for the match but there was nothing cowardly about the performance on this memorable day. We were on top in the first half and took the lead through a classic counter-attacking goal finished off superbly well by Cyrille Regis. It was reminiscent of his famous strikes for West Brom that are shown on TV whenever the famous Albion team of the late 1970’s is under discussion. If the second half went the same way as the first I was confident we would end Wednesday’s 25 year unbeaten home run in FA Cup quarter finals. For a while all seemed to go to plan. Then Howard Wilkinson made a couple of substitutions and the Sheffield club got the upper hand and equalised. The roar from home fans in the Kop was something I will never forget. We’d been singing all game and were loud for sure but that was something else! Now I hoped we could just hang on and take them back to Highfield Road for a replay. Step forward Keith Houchen. The tall striker was having a stinker of a game and could easily have been substituted. He kept plugging away though and stunned the home side with two goals in quick succession, aided by a deflection for his first which put us back in the lead and knocked the stuffing out of Wednesday. The final whistle saw jubilant and emotional scenes on and off the pitch. We’d done it. The first time a City team had reached the semi-final of the FA Cup. Not only that we’d done it the hard way. Bolton were the only ‘gimme’ of the run. All the other games were tough away ties.

Either just before the Wednesday game or just after I took the sensible step of purchasing a ‘part season ticket’ for the remainder of the season. Having been to all the cup games I certainly wasn’t going to miss out on a Cup Final ticket when we got there - this move ensured I would be second or third in line after the full season ticket holders and members etc for that most prized bit of paper.

The other three teams in the draw for the Semi Finals were Tottenham with their fine FA Cup pedigree, Watford, finalists in 1984 but fighting a relegation battle to stay in Division 1, and Division 2 side Leeds United, led by their one time midfield general Billy Bremner. Clearly Leeds were the draw all the top flight clubs wanted and it was us that got them. TV cameras were at Ryton to record the reaction of the playing staff. They cheered and congratulated each other as if they had already won the game, which was probably not the wisest reaction as it’s always good motivation for the opposition. Hillsbrough, scene of the quarter final triumph was chosen to host the game. It was much closer to the Yorkshire club but we were allocated more tickets than them - 27,000 - and much to my delight were given the Kop, where a massive 21,000 people could stand under one roof. Leeds fans argued that they should have had the bigger allocation as their average home league attendance was higher than ours. Our average home attendance was increasing all the time with league matches now being sold out as people were told to keep the ticket stubs in the hope of getting a ticket for Wembley when we reached the final.

Our semi was played on a Sunday. Back then this was rare as they were both normally played on the same day at the same time, i.e. Saturday 3:00pm. Spurs had destroyed Watford 4-1 in a very one sided encounter so we knew who awaited us beneath the twin towers. Back then the games were not screened live, but, in a unique move for the time, ITV were to show the whole of our game, starting an hour or so after kick-off.

Once again I travelled in my dad’s car with my friend and relatives. A Sky Blue convoy made the journey up the M6 with scarves and flags fluttering from windows. The town of Chesterfield was notably sealed off by the Police to prevent any Coventry fans visiting before or after the match. Following the quarter final serious trouble had broken out when a number of coaches carrying City fans back home stopped off there and fought running battles with the old bill.

As we drew closer to Sheffield I lost track of the number of coaches and mini-buses that the police had stopped to remove alcohol from. The signs for Peniston amused us and eventually we joined a massive Sky Blue traffic jam. Desperate for a pee, my old man took advantage of the gridlock and decided to relieve himself at a bus shelter on the opposite side of the road. It was pretty amusing as he walked back to the car as if nothing had happened. The stream of pee trickling down the road from the bus shelter was a dead giveaway and more than a few car horns beeped to salute his lack of bladder control!

Eventually we parked up and made it to the ground. A big police operation was in place to prevent the two sets of fans meeting. Leeds supporters reputation back then was a lot worse than it is now - and it’s pretty bad now so that’s saying something! My mate and I stood towards the back of the Kop on the left hand side. It was a terrific atmosphere but sometimes with it being so vast the fans in the front would be singing a different song to those at the back. Say what you like about Leeds fans - in terms of support for their team that day they were class.

The game began and like the players at Ryton when the draw was made, I think most of us expected it to be a doddle. It was a serious mistake. Leeds, fielding Micky Adams who we had sold to them earlier in the season, took the lead early on with a bullet header from David Rennie. (Yes - the same David Rennie who played for us in the twilight of his career and, in my opinion, was absolutely hopeless and symbolic of Fat Ron’s pathetic spell managing us!) City were not at the races. Cyrille Regis missed a string of sitters and wouldn’t have scored in a brothel that day. By the end of the first half we were on top but didn’t look like scoring. The over confidence of players and supporters alike was being punished by a hard working Leeds team. There was a lot to ponder at half-time.

The second half began as the first ended with City on top and Regis missing everything. The turning point came with the substitution of Nick Pickering with Micky Gynn. Not long after Dave Bennett chased what seemed like a ‘lost cause’ pass to the Leeds by line. Brendan Ormsby tried to shield the ball out for a goal kick but Bennett had other ideas and somehow managed to slide in behind the big defender and hook his leg round him to keep the ball in. He was up in a flash and with the Leeds keeper and defence in disarray following Ormsby’s error he crossed a perfect low ball in. Lloyd McGrath fluffed his attempt at connecting but Gynn was behind him and slotted the equaliser home. The roof was almost lifted off the kop as a huge wave of noise, relief and pandemonium broke out beneath it. Game on! Now to finish them off! It was time for Keith Houchen to step up to the mark once again. With hardly any goals in the league campaign he was proving to be “Roy of the Rovers” in the Cup. After some great work from Gynn, Houchen slotted home to put us into the lead. Cue more delirium from the Sky Blue Army. The game seemed won and ‘Que Sera Sera’ was being belted out. Then Bremner brought on Keith Edwards and he made an immediate impact heading home a late equaliser to make it 2-2, which is how the game finished after 90 minutes. We’d underestimated them once and now for a second time the lower league club had confounded us. This time however I didn’t think they would score again. City had gained the upper hand and even if we couldn’t get the winner in extra time, we would surely not make the same mistakes in a replay and beat them convincingly if it came to that.

I don’t remember too much about extra time other than Bennett prodding home the winner, a world-class save from Oggy right at the death to prevent another equaliser and the sheer relief at the end. I felt exhausted. It was an epic game. Cup semi-finals were usually either very boring or one sided affairs. Coventry and Leeds blew the script apart. The players and management danced jigs of delight on the pitch in front of the Kop. In an amusing moment Dave Bennett was joined by a supporter who managed to get on to the pitch. The fan in question just happened to be a leading member of City’s main hooligan firm The Legion.

I was surprised at the number of Leeds supporters’ coaches going south that we passed on drive home. Clearly they had still retained a large support base from their glory days in the 1970’s. Our car was a happy one but as with the quarter final, we were all drained. When we got home my mum said she had avoided the score and was watching the match on the telly. Because it went to extra time, it was still being shown when the actual match had finished. A friend of my dad’s rang up from London and said, “Congratulations on getting to Wembley!” as soon as she picked it up so that spoiled her viewing just a little bit!

So, Coventry City had reached the FA Cup final for the first time ever. Back then it was the greatest domestic cup trophy in world football. All teams tried to win it and none fielded ‘weakened’ teams. Thanks to those lovable scousers English clubs had been banned from playing in Europe which made the big clubs try even harder to get their hands on it.

The exploits of the team lifted the whole city, which was convinced that our name was indeed on the cup. Tottenham had never lost an FA Cup final at Wembley. They were playing some sparkling football under David Pleat with Clive Allen scoring shed loads of goals up front; Chris Waddle producing some fine wing wizardry and Glenn Hoddle and Ossie Ardiles pulling the strings in midfield. Crucially, in one of the best league games I ever saw at Highfield Road, we had beaten them 4-3. They had struggled with our aerial power that day and Keith Houchen scored one of our goals - one of the rare times he did hit the back of the net in a league game. This definitely gave us a psychological advantage over them. I took a Palestinian flag to this match to wind the Spurs supporters up. They often took Israel flags to games and were known as ‘The Yids’. Standing in the naughty bit of the lower kop as close to the away support as I could get, I held the flag up towards them. Immediately several of them started making “cut throat” gestures and pointing at me. I looked round to check if the old bill were watching. Twenty or so cops from the tactical support group from Birmingham, doing overtime and always ready to arrest anyone for the slightest of reasons, were always stood behind this spot ready to pounce. They were watching me but scratching their heads as like most of the Cov fans around me they had no idea what the flag was. People began asking me what country the flag represented. When I explained they said “nice one mate!” and joined in holding it up. A little while later someone tapped me on the shoulder. I was half expecting it to be a cop but it was another fan.
“Is that a PLO flag mate?” he asked.
“It’s a Palestine flag but I got it from the PLO.”
“Brilliant! Can I lend for a minute please? I’ll bring it back to you.”
I’d never met the guy before in my life but handed the flag over. He made his way to the back of the kop near the crow’s nest. Soon the flag was being passed over people’s heads in full view of the seated Spurs fans in the Sky Blue stand. Quite a few were getting agitated and more “cut throat” gestures were made. Eventually I got the flag back and the cops were still scratching their heads. They’d already arrested the lad next to me for sticking two fingers up (for all of 2 seconds!) at the Spurs fans when we scored one of our goals. When the game finished, for some reason the Spurs fans were not kept behind for the then customary 15 minutes. I exited the kop where a corrugated steel fence separated it from the away fans in the Sky Blue stand. The City fans were banging on it and singing “PLO, PLO, PLO!” to the tune of “Here we go, here we go, here we go!”, so the flag had proved a big hit. Once outside it was a different matter. I shoved it down my jacket and put my head down as I had to walk through the Spurs fans pouring out of the stand.

“Did ya see that c*nt with the PLO flag?” I actually heard one of them say as I passed!

The final home games of the league season were played out in a carnival atmosphere. All home sections of Highfield Road were sold out, flags were flown and the mexican wave did the rounds. Even the stiffs in the Main Stand joined in. There was some concern that the Main Stand might collapse because of it! In the penultimate home game we faced Man United. In reaction to the atmosphere, their supporters jokingly sang, “Do you know where Wembley is?” I most certainly did and collected my precious ticket from the Main Stand ticket office in the week leading up to the final league game. Southampton were the visitors. Tragically, Brian Borrows was to suffer an injury that would keep him out of the final. At the final whistle the fences were scaled and the customary pitch invasion took place. Usually it was to celebrate escaping relegation, this time it was to celebrate something very special. As usual, the old bill did their best to ruin things. I didn’t see it myself but a mounted cop managed to knock a young supporter in a wheelchair over. As stated before, the police really were a bunch of muppets back then, often provoking trouble with their over-zealousness. The players and management made an appearance in the director’s box of the Main Stand and George Curtis gave a speech. After another rendition of the Sky Blue Song the pitch cleared and we drifted home.

The Wednesday before the big day saw City’s youngsters lift the FA Youth Cup with victory over Charlton at Highfield Road. A crowd of around 13,000 cheered them on. The whole of the Sky Blue Stand was open so I and some friends took advantage of a rare opportunity to sit in the away section. As we were on the back row we banged on the plastic or whatever it was behind us to add to the atmosphere. Predictably PC Plod came up to us and told us to pack it in. I think I muttered something under my breath but plod thought it was one of my mates and said he would be arrested if he was called that name again. The seats in the away end had the names/initials of countless teams scratched into them as did the toilets.

Saturday finally arrived. My dad, older brother and myself all had tickets for the match. Sadly my mum was left at home, literally ‘holding the baby’ - my younger sister who wasn’t yet 1 and looking after my younger brother who was just 3. I had been to many matches with my mum when I was little and she was big Sky Blues fan so she was gutted to miss out. Our house was ‘dressed’ in Sky Blue ribbons, scarves, flags and posters. We’d purchased the cup final record by the squad “Go for it City!” and watched them perform it on Blue Peter. My dad made an Elephant head out of synthetic fur - a prototype Sky Blue Sam if you like - which he wore to the match. I think my brother went down on the Friday and stayed in London with his mates to make a weekend of it. I made plans to meet my friend Big John and his brother at the railway station as were travelling by one of the Wembley ‘Sky Blue Specials’. As it turned out I was lucky to find them given the vast numbers going by train. Having walked up Quinton Road I turned into Stoney Road to be greeted by the queue of thousands of City fans snaking on to it and back over the railway bridge! Fortunately, as I reached it and thought “Christ! How will I ever find them?”, my friends recognised me - Palestine flag on a large pole being the giveaway - and called me over to join them. The queue seemed to move fairly quickly and soon we were on the train. I don’t remember a thing about the journey. We got to Wembley and made our way in. I’d been there a few times before to watch England and had also seen the Milk Cup final between Oxford and QPR so there was no ‘novelty’ factor about the stadium itself. My ticket was in a different section than the others so once inside Big John came and got me, and after clambering over a small dividing wall I followed him back to his spot which offered a better view. Just before this I heard a child ask his dad, “What’s that flag dad?” “Don’t know son, I think it’s Libya!” which prompted me to correct him. “What has Palestine got to do with Coventry City?” the father responded. “It’s to wind Tottenham up, they’re Jews!” I replied. “Oh, I see.” He clearly thought it was ridiculous but didn’t push it any further. Looking back it was pretty ridiculous, but a promise is a promise. My dad had got the flag for me from the PLO office in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, some years earlier when he worked out there. The PLO regularly collected ‘donations’ from firms employing westerners and even if you didn’t support them it was the done thing to give money, rather like not being Irish but standing for “The Soldiers Song” at Finbarr’s if you happened to be there at closing time. The man who gave it him said; “If Coventry City ever get to Wembley for the cup final you promise to take this flag.”

I vaguely remember a pre-match celebrity six a side match in which Bobby Moore played for Coventry, singing the few bits of “Abide with me” that I knew and belting out the national anthem. Then the game began with City defending the goal in front of us. There is no point in me describing the game as we all know what happened off by heart. All I would say is when Clive Allen scored so early, for a brief minute or two I did think: Is the bubble going to burst? Is our season going to come crashing down at the worst possible time in the worst possible place? You see, in my time of supporting City from the mid-1970’s the only ‘success’ I had witnessed was the Ferguson/Wallace striking combination nearly land us a place in Europe and the epic League Cup semi-final first leg against West Ham. Other than that it was always relegation battles or flattering to deceive by being in a top six position at Christmas but ending up in the bottom half of the table come May. Sure, we could beat teams like Liverpool and United at home every now and then but there was never any consistency and with us being a selling club there wasn’t much hope of any manager being able to build a team.

My doubts didn’t last long as City responded superbly well to the early setback. “Score in a minute! We’re gonna score in a minute!” we sang and on cue, just seven minutes after Spurs took the lead we were on level terms. Once that goal went in I knew we would win the game. Even when Spurs regained the lead I wasn’t worried. In the end, superior fitness, our will to win and not to mention some excellent football, was too much for the Londoners. Lloyd McGrath was my man of the match but they all gave 11 out of 10 performances - every one of them a hero. I cried as Killer lifted the cup - much to the amusement of Big John who thought it was lady like behaviour or words to that effect.

We made our way back to the station to board the train back home to Coventry. I caught a glimpse of my old man in his elephant head in the queue and then we were onboard and bound for the city of three spires. I was knackered. We went to the Penny Black, which like all the pubs in town, was rammed with celebrating supporters. I didn’t stay long and just wanted to get home. I think Big John holds this against me to this day and I do regret not staying out longer that night and going to see the Belgrade fountain and/or mounting Lady Godiva.

The next morning every newspaper available was purchased and all carried the story of the Sky Blue triumph on their front pages as well as the rear. All agreed it had been a tremendous match and the best team had won. I headed off to the Swanswell pub to meet the lads for a few pints before the victory parade hit the city centre. I was outside the council house when the open top bus finally arrived. Amazing scenes! People perched on roof tops and window ledges, balconies sagging under the weight of too many people standing on them - health and safety would have a field day these days! Not only that but everyone was nice to each other and for a brief time, the city with one of the most violent reputations in England became the friendliest city instead. Older folk said it was like the V.E. day celebrations.

I can’t see us getting past Chelsea to be honest but who knows? At the beginning of the 1986/1987 season who, apart from Ted Stocker, thought we would win the famous trophy? No harm in dreaming!

 

PUSB!

 

©2008 The West Terrace

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