It was everything.
Everything I had ever hoped for and dared to dream about. A feeling that I wasn’t quite sure what to do with and, less than 24 hours on, still don’t know. The day truly had it all: Wembley Stadium bathed in the kind of sunshine I remembered from FA Cup finals of my childhood, red and blue flags waving in a frenzy as kick off drew closer … “Glad All Over” ringing out in desperate hope—not yet jubilation.
For me, this day was about the family and friends who I used to go to Palace with 20 and 30 years ago, but also about my husband, who might have played for Brentford and was a Bee through and through but on this day was all Palace … and about a 9-year-old boy—our son Teddy, who was the same age I was back in 1990, the first time Palace got to the FA Cup final. That day 35 years ago for me and this day for Teddy couldn’t be more different, and for that I’ll always be grateful.
My dad is 76 and has waited his entire life for this moment. We couldn’t sit together, so we organized pre- and post-match meetups. Just sitting in his company at a Turkish restaurant on Wembley High Street four hours before the game, thinking about the hundreds of treks around the South Circular on Saturday mornings and Tuesday nights back in the day, I just had a strong feeling that the stars were aligning. This really felt like it was going to be our day. And every message I received said the same. But as a Palace fan—and actually as any football fan who’s been through the mill—you dare not trust that feeling for fear of the potential pain that lies in wait. After all, this was Manchester City and the best manager in the world.
Walking out to our seats, Wembley looked beautiful. I’d watched Palace there in the 1990s a few times: at the Zenith Data Systems Cup final victory over Everton (“When Geoff goes up to lift the ZDS Cup, we’ll be there…”) and the First Division Play Off finals that ended both ways, and then in 2013 when once again Palace reached the Promised Land of the Premier League. And as much as being a member of the best league in the world means a great deal to me (not least because I get to talk about them every week at work), I have been in love with the FA Cup my whole life. It just means more than any record finish in the league.
This club is in my soul. It has permeated every part of my life. It has been as constant as my family; I’ve loved it longer than most of my dear friendships. I struggle really to explain why it means so much. I guess it’s the community it represents. As a 9-year-old girl in 1990, Palace welcomed me in. As a teenager, it was the place I felt at my happiest. It’s what has bonded my dad and I through the years … whether that was the regularity and rhythm of the home games for decades or the annual away trips to places like Sheffield United and Huddersfield Town when we’d leave at the crack of dawn and return way past my bedtime. I didn’t realize it was happening at the time (does any young person?), but on reflection, Crystal Palace was seeping deeper and deeper into who I was. The club is in the very fibers of my identity. The people, the history, the narrative have remained a running accompaniment to every chapter of my life. Like everyone, there have been great chapters and tough chapters, but the constant has been Palace—a source of hope, love and now fulfilment.
There were tears during “Abide With Me,” tears when the players came out and tears again when the referee blew his whistle after the agonizing 10 minutes of added time. I tried to ask myself why I was crying. I think if you’re lucky enough to have one, it’s one of those rarest of moments in your life where happiness simply peaks. A feeling so overwhelming, it is impossible not to crumble a little.
As for the game itself, what a final. I can rarely remember a Palace match where every single member of the team played to their maximum. Whether they started or came on, the level of concentration, selflessness and fitness was incredible. Oliver Glasner is special, and he is now our greatest ever manager. Sure, we rode our luck, big time. If the Dean Henderson handball had been against us, I would have been devastated—I admit to that—but this is the game we’re all in. Strange decisions sometimes go your way. Henderson’s performance all day will live long in the memory. As will his serenading of the Palace fans in the after party later that night. We were so lucky to be present to meet the players and witness their joy during the finest moment of their careers so far. Seeing Teddy wearing his Palace shirt with Eddie Nketiah on the back being hugged by the man himself and then watching as Nketiah placed his FA Cup winners medal over my son’s neck for a photo was simply other-worldly. Ted will never forget his kindness, not for the rest of his life. I thank Eddie Nketiah and all the Palace players and staff for truly making 9-year-olds’, 44-year-olds’ and 76-year-olds’ dreams come true. That takes some doing.
On the final whistle, the moment is hard to describe. Elation, jubilation and disbelief are about as close as I can manage. Pure overwhelming happiness. I said beforehand that supporting a team like Palace means you rarely get days like these, and if you do, it will make up for decades of pain. I can assure you that sentiment is true. I genuinely don’t think I’ll ever get over this day.
Right now, I don’t care if we never win another trophy, I feel complete. May 17th, 2025, already feels too long ago and one I will revisit in my mind forever.
Thank you, Crystal Palace Football Club—my lifelong love.
English (US) ·