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I'm very pleased to be writing this report. I did the guest report for the opening game of the season at Hillsborough and it's frightening how far this club has come since. A 4-1 loss with a defence in shambles and no sense of togetherness, in complete contrast to what we've seen since.
Our day out began at 7am when we departed from Shropshire. We travelled southwards mingled with a dozen or so claret-plastered vehicles, saluting one another as we filtered through neutral cars, all eager to get to destination Wembley. After our sat nav managed to get us lost in the London jungle, we finally parked up near Park Royal tube station and eventually boarded, heading for Baker Street where we were meeting family at The Globe pub.
This is what a day out at Wembley is all about; mixed sets of fans having a drink together in the sun. The banter was great and the first priceless moment of the day came when the tourists on the London sightseeing buses reached for their cameras with shocked expressions after seeing hundreds of tipsy Northerners, pints-in-hand, exchanging respective chants.
Just after 1 o'clock it was time to get the tube to Wembley Park station which led to another memorable moment. A healthy group of Burnley mobbed up nicely at one end of the compartment while a similar sized group of Sheffield did so at the other, both groups stood. Sandwiched in between were an anxious group of locals who exchanged nervous glances. They didn't complain, but I think it's fair to say they weren't keen on the roaring that ballooned to and fro. Towards the end of the journey, things settled down though. Maybe reality dawned on how much the match we were about to witness could mean to the winning club, or perhaps it was the nerves, though it was most probably both and a variety of other things.
At last we arrived and we were treated to a magnificent view of the national stadium looming up in front of us, reminiscent of our dreams. We staggered towards it (nothing to do with the alcohol!) in sheer amazement of the sight before us. One half of a packed Wembley Way draped claret and blue, the other in red and white with the arena planted ahead in the distance, its arch God-like in the sky, daring us to dream. Cue a few hundred photos and the opportunity to buy a programme that seems to have an advertisement on every other page. Scarves and flags were available for probably far more than they were manufactured for and there was a scattering of Burnley themed clothing all over the place ranging from Robbie's 'Bad Beat Bob' underpants to masks with the face of the King, God, Prince, genius, Messiah, and whatever else has been adopted as his title over the months, on the front: Owen Coyle. *Bows*
After soaking up the excitable atmosphere, it was thought best if we were to get into the ground just after 2pm. I didn't take it all in anywhere near as much as I'd have liked to as let's just say I was rather uncomfortable and needed to make use of Wembley's toilet facilities. We were sitting in the top tier and had to trek around the mammoth stadium for what seemed like an eternity to locate Entrance P. Once inside it was up several posh escalators, which I rode cross-legged, for another age until finally I located a lavatory in the venue that's supposed to have the most in the world. Big relief, and now I could concentrate on the remarkable surroundings and Burnley's task at hand being one goal and ninety minutes away from the big time.
As I took my place and stared at row upon row upon row of centre-circle-facing red seats, team news was announced and, unsurprisingly, it was the same side that beat Reading meaning the usual back five with Grezza just in front and Paterson in a wider role leaving Thompson contending - or wrestling - with Matthew Kilgallon and Chris 'Elbows' Morgan. Darius Henderson didn't play, a probable bonus as we could do without worrying about his 'brute force', so to speak. The Blades started with Craig Beattie alone up front with talented and able players filing behind him including David Cotterill, Brian Howard, Stephen Quinn and two exceptional and seemingly identical namesake full backs Kyle Naughton and Kyle Walker. Good players, yes, but I'd said before the match I'd much rather have our squad than theirs and Robbie Blake, Wade Elliott and Chris McCann are more than good enough to make a difference in such a big game: the biggest, in terms of finances, in football, perhaps sport.
It's fair to say United had the better of the opening ten minutes. We were a bit slack in possession for my liking and were guilty a few times of sloppy passes or runs, but the best they could muster was a couple of tame efforts down Beast's throat. They say goals change games, and it rang true soon after. Elliott brilliantly broke from our half with the ball so typically slick under his close control. He ventured into enemy territory, leaving two United players stranded. The former non-league player put through McCann inside the eighteen yard box only for Kilgallon to strongly rob him of the ball. Attack over, I thought - think again. Elliott had intelligently hung around twenty five yards from goal and the ball trickled onto his right peg perfectly allowing him to guide it with precision and curl into the top corner. A goal worthy of winning any game, particularly a Wembley final with the ultimate prize at stake for a club like ours. There was delirium in our half of the ground, people were hugging strangers, myself included and some may have even shed a tear; it was a beautiful moment. Seventy-seven minutes from the Premier League, the countdown had begun.
McCann had to be withdrawn for Gudjonsson before long after injuring his knee and the lad looked heartbroken - it's easy to forget he's played over 50 games this season and is still a young man developing into a quality footballer, able of running games at this level by himself. Down our end, Beast made some catches he could have made in his sleep and the Blades, as is the case so often, had a penalty claim while at the other, Paterson was inches wide with a curling shot from distance and Thompson guided a looping back post header just off target. That was to be the last action of a dream half, now forty-five minutes from top flight football for the first time in my lifetime and thirty-three years altogether.
I still felt at this point we would need another goal. Sheffield had hardly had a sniff and we were very well organised but I expected them to start strongly and apply patches of heavy pressure. It didn't come and instead the next chance was pure gold in terms of making the last thirty-five minutes a lot more comfortable. Paterson crossed in toward Thompson who headed back across goal to an isolated Gudjonsson, goal gaping. The birthday boy's soft poked effort was trickling in beyond Nick Montgomery on the line who had stretched in an attempt to clear with one leg. Excruciatingly, painfully and bizarrely the ball somehow bobbled onto his standing leg and span wide for a corner. From where we were the immediate reaction was a simple 'how?' but nevertheless this led to a very strong spell of pressure from ourselves, determined to put the result beyond our opponents.
First Thompson retrieved the ball on the right, played onside by United's right full back. He was away on goal being supported by an onrushing Robbie with a defender between them. Thommo played a good looking ball past the defender and straight to Blake, though the pace on the ball slowed things down slightly which paid dividends as Walker accelerated from nowhere and put in a goal-saving block. The despair returned, it looked like an odds on goal. We continued to look a threat in and around their box and we forced a number of consecutive corners, desperate to finish them off. We couldn't get the goal and it was the Blades' turn to threaten. Substitute Jamie Ward got through on goal at a difficult angle only for Beast to block away with his solid frame in their first and only notable chance of the game.
Robbie had gone off by now as a precaution with a tight hamstring and Chris Eagles was the man to replace him, most probably aching to become a Premier League player again. I remember when we were putting Mark McGregor on from the bench at this level and now it's talents like Eagles, again showing how far we've come. Ward deliberately handballed to pick up a booking and idiotically did exactly the same not long after while trying to gain an advantage over the Skipper and Carlisle with a dipping through ball. It's not surprising he tried to cheat; it was the only way anyone was going to get past them centre halves that day, they were majestic. Anyway, Ward was off and we moved a step closer to promotion.
In and around the sending off we had some fantastic breakaways I felt we needed to be more clinical with. Eagles jinked away from a couple of United challenges and teed up Pato, only for the Blades to block one of many shots of the afternoon. Despite the no-show from the Yorkshire side, I remained convinced they would put us under the cosh. It proved to be the case for the last fifteen minutes, but it was similar to their only other spell they had in the first ten and they struggled to create anything clear cut. The real heart-in-mouth moment I had been expecting came when Walker outpaced a couple of Clarets and got round Kalvenes and into the box. As he backtracked, I saw Kalvenes' arm come across and the advancing player go down, my gut feeling was penalty and, having seen it since, it still is, but have you heard the story of the boy who cried wolf, Mr Blackwell?
Arturo Lupoli and the outspoken motor-mouth Lee Hendrie came on for Sheffield while young Jay Rodriguez replaced Thompson on our part for what will be a priceless experience for the promising youngster. Time was ticking down in our favour, but it lasted longer than the escalator ride I had before the match. Five minutes of injury time were added on to everyone's horror and a few trademark wicked, deep crosses from United made 36,000 hearts stop, but guess who was there to head them away? To soak up the pressure? To pluck the ball out of the air? The back line we've come to expect such things of recently.
The time had run out. All eyes were on Mike Dean. The ball was in their corner. We had forces as a unit, determined nothing was going to spoil it so late after the experience of the Spurs cup game. Nails were chewed, voices hoarse and hearts pounding. The whistle went. I was overcome with emotion, very close to tears but kept my head up. This team, this manager, these fans, these staff and this club - our club - had done it. Of course I was delighted, but looking round it was clear to see no one could believe it. Players from both clubs collapsed, emotions as far opposite as you can get. Then the music started and it was party time. I don't know if anyone even noticed Lee Hendrie's sending off for letting his mouth run wild again.
The 'EIEIEIO' chant bellowed by every Burnley fan there made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Now the chant seemed more relevant; we had won promotion and this is what we sang. I can't say how happy and grateful I am for the players after all their graft since August, especially Grezza, Robbie and Beast, and you could tell they were ecstatic for their supporters as well. They got their medals and celebrated, it's an indescribable feeling knowing your players have done it all for you as much as themselves, one that's priceless. Everyone there with an affiliation with Burnley was one in pure ecstasy.
After queuing from leaving the ground, down Wembley Way, on the tube and in traffic until outside of London with plenty to talk about we arrived back about 11.30pm, probably considerably earlier than the Lancashire based fans. Exhausted and proud, I was already in dream world before I fell asleep, as I'm sure everyone else was.
A word for the manager as well, I think he's just about earned it. How many times can you remember a manager that's just won something that means so much to his club give an in depth interview and express his sorrow for the opposition without cracking a smile? Will Sir Alex be doing so tomorrow if his side win the European Cup? It just goes to show what a gracious, wonderful person he is, as well as being one of the best managers we've had and one of the best up and coming ones in the country. I've said before this man is the best thing to happen to us for a long time and the day we lose him will be a travesty.
The players are all heroes as well, it's hard to comprehend the lack of quantity in relation to the immense volume of quality there is in this squad. From Jensen who's had the best season of his life and so many memorable moments, to Penny, who, it could be said, has kept Jensen on his toes and at his best, as well as always being the first to congratulate him after games. Duff's versatility at the back. Kalvenes and Jordan making the left back place one of the best contended positions I've seen in my fourteen year spell supporting the club. Carlisle and Caldwell, who've had problems, be it on or off the pitch, who have picked themselves up and are now looking like they could mark anyone out of a game and not concede. Rhys Williams who gave so much balance to the side and not forgetting Russell Anderson who did so well when he arrived until his horrible injury. Eagles, Elliott and Robbie for their magnificent skill levels and willingness to invent with the ball. McCann, Gudjonsson and McDonald for their grit, steel and determination in the middle. Paterson for running himself into the ground for us every minute he's worn the claret and blue, as well as the goals. Thompson for the outlet he offers and perhaps changing the course of our season. Jay Rod for his undoubted promise and key goals. Also, of course, the working class hero that is Graham Alexander: the second captain, the added influence, motivator, rollocker, the nitty gritty, the anchor, the ice cool penalty taker and so much more. He is an invaluable asset to our team, I'm so proud he plays for our club and I'm delighted he'll get a crack in the world's best league at long last.
Well, I've been writing for hours, time to round it up. We've done it at long last and we can sleep easy. We all need a break from football because no doubt it will be mission impossible once again next season and the underdog tag will remain, but there is a belief about the town, the supporters and the football club as a whole where the sky is the limit. We shouldn't kid ourselves, next season will be difficult, but we've all seen what Stoke have done. Despite our contradictory styles, sheer belief and determination by both fans and players together can literally carry the players through and win them the game. We got a taste of it at Chelsea and Reading this year, and that needs to set the standard for next year home and away. When I wrote the report for our cruel Carling Cup semi final 2nd leg loss against Spurs I said I had a dream. Hardly the stuff of Martin Luther King, but I dreamed of walking down Wembley Way in my Burnley shirt ahead of the play off final. Such gratitude must go out to all at Burnley Football Club for making that dream, and so much more, a reality.
Bathe and revel in this ecstasy, next season it all starts again in with the elite who take the meaning to a whole new level. Monday 25th May is a day we'll never forget and rightly so. Enjoy the top flight, get behind the club like you've never done before and up the Clarets because we are Premier League!