Who cares if it's 'just' the League Cup? As Liverpool fans know, Wembley is where memories are made

By David Maddock

Published 11:05 22/02/12

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Ok, ok, it’s the League Cup, which apparently – if you listen to the cynics – ranks marginally above the Sherpa Van Trophy these days, but there is still some great satisfaction in seeing Liverpool back at Wembley.

For those, like me, of a certain age, the two go together like Mike and Bernie Winters (you may have to look that one up), and it is a blessed relief they are back after too long an absence.

There have been many, many finals, far too many to discuss, with the European Cup triumph in 1978 probably the most significant, yet it is a defeat that still sticks most in my memory.

As a very (very) small boy, I can recall going across the road to our neighbours’ house to watch the 1971 FA Cup final because they were the only people in the street who had a colour telly.

It was the first cup final I watched live, and the memory is still vivid, of Alun Evans with his flowing blond locks, Stevie Heighway dancing down the wing and Brian Hall scurrying across the pitch like a worker ant.

I remember that dirty get Peter Storey too, Heighway’s goal in extra time as just about every player on the pitch had socks around their ankles (or so it seemed). Most of all though, I remember Charlie bleeding George.

I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of him lying spread-eagled on the turf out of my head, in almost religious repose as he accepted the worship of his team-mates and Arsenal’s delirious fans. And for that, I will always, always, always hate him.

It’s funny. A few years ago – must have been before the 2001 FA Cup final at the Millennium Stadium I guess – I went to Tommy Smith’s house to do a piece on that ‘71 final with the Anfield Iron… and Charlie bleeding George.

By then he was a quiet, polite, balding middle-aged gent with glasses and a glum expression, but there was no thawing, no softening, no retrospective forgiveness. He was still Charlie bleeding George, and I spent most of my time clenching my jaw in a desperate struggle not to remind him of the fact.

That’s what Wembley does to you. I’ll bet that Arsenal fans of a similar vintage still hate Allan Clarke, and Leeds fans simply despise the gurning face of Ian Porterfield.

I remember those 278 passes (ok, not the exact number, but that’s how many it seemed to me at the time) before the third goal in the 1974 final, Jimmy Greenhoff in ’77 and, of course, Kenny’s wonder goal in '78.

There’s Steve McManaman producing one of the best displays I’ve ever seen by a young player on the big stage against Bolton in the 1995 League Cup final, Macca’s fight with Brucie, Ronnie Whelan’s right foot (sounds like a film remake), Rushie and Aldo and the most poignant final of modern times, and even those white suits. But cheeky bleeding Charlie’s horizontal crucifixion is the abiding memory.

The point is, win or lose on Sunday, they will undoubtedly add to their Wembley legend in some way, and that’s how it should be in the proper football world: Liverpool at Wembley. And if they could meet Arsenal, Leeds or Manchester United there, then all the better.

Or Everton. In this year's FA Cup final. Please.

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Read David Maddock's Liverpool column exclusively on MirrorFootball.co.uk every Wednesday

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