A lovely lie in until 11:15, when I was rudely awoken by the lovely lady wife ringing! Took the dog for a walk and then set about knocking something up for lunch. Dived through the freezer, and set aside some crumbly-topped trout that’s been in there for ages for dinner, and decided on the lunch of champions – a fish finger sandwich with tartare sauce. A thoroughly fishy day! Great idea, until I noticed that the bread was green. I really am hopeless when Emma’s not here.
Nipped up to the Co-op and picked up some bread and milk and other bits and bobs. Got it all home, got me fish fingers under the grill and reached into the fridge for the whatever-fake-butter-product-we’ve-bought-this-week only to find that the carton is virtually empty. Gah! I scrape round the lid and carton, trying to avoid the bits where teeny bits of toast have crept in and manage to save just enough for my sandwich of champions. Winner!
Now, the real business of the day is the football. The Carling Cup final between Spurs and Chelsea. Our first final in 6 years, and against a team which we have nothing but terrible luck against. However, my hopes are high, but my nerves are shot to pieces. I have a few emergency Hobgoblin’s handy, and my tension slowly lifts as the beer flows and the game starts.
The first half is a carbon copy of most of the games I’ve watched since Ramos took over – Spurs completely boss the game, and have all the possession and chances, but there’s no final product – and when Didier Drogba curls his freekick into the seemingly vast expanse of goal that Paul Robinson is guarding, I’m wondering if it’s going to be the same old story.
It doesn’t help when my sister, a plastic Chelsea fan, starts ringing and texting bragging. Damned girl.
But no – the 2nd half comes and they keep plugging away at it, and they get their just reward when Berbatov coolly slides his penalty home. I nearly broke the windows I screamed so loud!
Into extra time, and the beer’s nearly all gone and so are my fingernails! When Woodgate bundles the ball into the net off Cech’s poor punch, I’m in delirium. Then it’s just a small matter of running down the rest of the extra time clock – in this case, 26 minutes worth! Chelsea throw everything but the kitchen sink forward, but somehow we keep ‘em out, and by the time the final whistle goes – just as Drogba hits the post – it’s all over, and there’s some silverware to take to White Hart Lane, and a UEFA Cup berth booked for next season. GET IN!
Being a sad bastard, I’ll probably get the DVD of the final, just like I’ve done with the 2nd leg semi where Arsenal got drubbed 5-1.
What did annoy me, however, were all the empty seats in Wembley – I tried to get tickets for the match, but both Spurs and Chelsea were only allocated 30,000 seats each. I can’t speak for Chelsea’s system, but Spurs have 21,000 season ticket holders – and they all get automatically allocated a final ticket – which is fair enough, then there’s the club’s staff and sponsors, and finally there’s about 8,000 tickets available to regular club members – like me. The only trouble is, there’s over 50,000 club members… I applied for tickets, but was unsuccessful.
Why is it that real football fans aren’t able to access the further 30,000 remaining seats? Do sponsors and dignitaries really take up 30,000 seats – clearly not, going by the number of empty red Wembley seats that were visible.
Caught Lost this evening – a good episode, with a surprising future revelation. I won’t spoil it, but I reckon we’ll be seeing quite a few departures in upcoming shows! 
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