When I was a kid and not at the match, it was a simple choice on Saturday afternoons. World of Sport and wrestling. Grandstand and rugby league. Call me unfashionable, but I thought then, and still do, that wrestling was crap. Oh, people drone on about how great Dickie Davies, On The Ball and Big Daddy v Giant Haystacks was.
They, of course, were wrong. Frank Bough was a Sunderland fan so I was always kept bang up to date with how they were doing. And instead of the fixed, fake, blubbery bouncing bodies that ITV tried to pass off as sporting entertainment, the Beeb had Eddie Waring freezing his nads off at Widnes, or Barrow, or Wakefield Trinity. None of it was camp acting in tights. This was real. Tough sportsmen playing a tough game. Teeth were an optional extra. Rugby league, and the teleprinter, was king.
Once a year, the whole nation would join me. Wembley would be filled to the rafters with these funny northern people, to a man overly cheerful and chirpy, joining in all the communal singing a full hour before kick-off. This was like the FA Cup Final. Except that this was fun, whilst its football counterpart was always serious and nervy, whether you supported one of the teams or not. I loved it. I still do.
Standing in their way? The very team Chipper and I saw completely demolished last Friday over at the Stoop. True, Warrington Wolves had rested some (but by no means all) of their players. True, they had also beaten Leeds in the final two years ago. But still ... a 62-18 hammering from the worst team in the league. How the hell do you bounce back from that?
Joining Chipper and I today was older bro Chas and his mate Rob, a Belfast native, now living in London, who met Chas when working in Glasgow. It's safe to say he's truly British. Like all Northern Irish people, he's good company, although you can't understand a word they say.
What I did gather, though, was the novel way of how he dealt with the vexed problem of the Old Firm. People would pick up on the accent straight away. It'd go something like
'What are you, Celtic or Rangers?'
'Can't stand either of them'
'But if you had to choose, Celtic or Rangers?'
'Neither, they're both crap.'
'What?'
'They're both crap. And you know something, I have a gun on me.'
People tended to believe his last answer, taking into account the Ulster brogue it was said in, and left well alone. He could've avoided all of that and just said Partick Thistle. Though they would've laughed at him.
We get to our seats just before Abide With Me starts. I don't know about you, but as far as traditional songs go, this is the worst dirge you could ever think of to get any sort of atmosphere or sense of occasion going. Terrible, dreary crud.
I must say, though, the singer, Lorna or Laura something, she was something else. They should've just let her stand on the centre spot in her tight, lacy, short blue dress and do nothing else for 10 minutes. Then again, 30 seconds normally does me.
They weren't in touch with Warrington early on though. 6-0 down after just a few minutes. The game isn't great but its absorbing. Which is just as well as the heavens open. I've never seen a downpour like it. For about 20 minutes it was like trying to watch the game with cataracts. Which, if you're a Villa fan, is perhaps preferable.
At half time, Leeds have controlled the game, but find themselves 12-10 behind. The end is eerily quiet. You just get the feeling that the Leeds fans don't believe, that they think they're going to lose. They are not happy bunnies.
They're even more unhappy soon after the break. The pinkie Rhinos appear to have taken the lead after a horrifyingly brutal- but fair - tackle on the poor Warrington lad. In the process of going over the line, though, the ref spotted a knock-on. No try.
At that point it seems the fight has gone from the Yorkshire side. Warrington score three tries in a matter of minutes and go 29-10 up. The Wire are coasting to another Cup triumph, Leeds on their way to a third final defeat on the trot.
Soon after, we hear that roar. It's unmistakable to anyone who's ever seen trouble at a sporting venue. There's no chant and it's a lull in play. Chipper and I look down to the lower tier. A group of Leeds fans are showing more fight than their players, with the Wire supporters standing their ground. They haven't much choice. They're surrounded.
It dies down after a while but then about 5 minutes later, it flares up about 10 yards from Chipper and I. It's the stereotypical thug. Cropped hair. Shirt one size too small to try to show off what he obviously thinks is a good physique. It's not. There's an angry look on his face as he tries to land punch after punch.
The match fizzles out. The Leeds end empties well before the final whistle, and as they were the majority of a 79,000 crowd, the Warrington celebrations looked rather underwhelming. But at least the sun has come out.
We have a quick drink afterwards, and as we head towards Wembley Park station, yet another fight breaks out. For a sport that has such a deserved reputation for friendliness and enjoyment, it's a depressing ending to what should have been a great occasion.
It was a good day, no doubt about it, Chipper and I had plenty of moments to enjoy and put in the memory bank. Challenge Cup Final day is meant to be great, though, even if the match itself isn't, and some pissheads from Leeds, who probably just came down for a drink and a fight, took the gloss of it.
Still, 3 cup final defeats on the trot. Karma, little boys, karma. It's a bitch. Especially at Wembley.
Leeds Rhinos 14, Warrington Wolves 35
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