West Ham United fan, nostalgist and author Sid Lambert goes back 20 years to relive our Premier League return and push for FA Cup glory during 2005/06…
Everyone has their own favourite sporting memory. A moment so sweet that the taste lives with you for the rest of your life. It may be a history-defining moment. Or one that you shared with a dearly departed loved one.
I remember mine vividly. Stood in a pokey boozer near Oval tube. Dressed as Spiderman. Watching the telly as Yossi Benayoun chipped Aston Villa’s goalkeeper Thomas Sørensen to seal a 4-0 drubbing on Monday Night Football.
Nobody from Netlfix has contacted me about this turn of events, but in my mind it was as cinematic as it gets.
When the schedule for the 2005 Ashes was announced, I was determined to get tickets. I’d had a tremendous few months in 2002/03 watching England get thrashed all over Australia. Those were the days when you turned up to support the team, and the result was inconsequential. It also meant I got to escape the unrelenting agony of West Ham United. We were mired in a relegation battle that should never have been. Going down with a team containing Di Canio, Cole, Carrick, Defoe and Sinclair is a near-impossible task. Somehow, we managed it.
When the chance came to watch the Ashes again, I had some terrible luck. There was no internet on your phones (you were lucky to get a text message on time). Instead, you were reliant on sneaking onto the ticket website on your work PC. Ordinarily that would have been no issue. Like everyone bored at their desks in their mid-20s, I’d perfected the art of pretending to study a spreadsheet whilst checking transfer news on BBC Sport.
Except this day. Because on this day, the girl sat on the desk beside me was nursing a broken heart after splitting up from her boyfriend the night before. Disaster. An hour of unrelenting sadness and introspection followed. Tears. Then more tears. There was no escape. Until mercifully she received a phone call from her sister, and I hurried online. I ended up with five tickets, £10 each, for the final day of the Ashes series in mid-September. The price indicated the popularity. Nobody believed there was any hope of this thing going the distance. I’d lost my chance.
Inexplicably, two statistical anomalies occurred later that summer. Firstly, West Ham were good at football. Secondly, England were good at cricket. The chances of these two universes aligning were slim to say the least. You’d probably get better odds on Julian Dicks taking a Panenka, or Marco Boogers making a perfectly-timed tackle.
Alan Pardew’s newly-promoted side had four points from three games and looked every inch a Premier League outfit. Meanwhile, England were holding a 2-1 lead over an Australian team containing legends like Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath. The series entered the final game with England needing a draw at the Oval to clinch a historic victory. There was only one slight problem - the final day, should the game need it, would clash with West Ham’s home game with Villa, a team I’d hated since a crushing 4-0 defeat at Villa Park in 1987.
Strewth.
The Test match, like the series, twisted and turned. By 4pm on the fourth day, I realised that the fate of the Ashes was indeed going down to the wire. The Villa game was no longer an option, so I hastily gave my ticket to a mate.
The following morning, I headed down to the Oval, filling my head with scenarios. If England lost, I could console myself (hopefully) with finding a decent pub to watch West Ham win. If both England and West Ham lost, I would merely be living the same nightmare of my past 20 years as a sports fan. I’d cope like any other emotionally-stunted man of my age - with a burger and a late-night session of Championship Manager.
Neither would be required. Two things happened en route to the cricket ground that suggested this could be a day like no other. Firstly, I was issued with my surprise outfit for the occasion. Whilst the rest of our four-strong group wore inflatable muscle suits of Batman, Superman and The Incredible Hulk, I’d been allotted a cheap cotton Spiderman costume that looked like a pair of pyjamas I wore circa 1983. It was also roughly the same size and I needed a crowbar to get into it.
Then I was offered £500 cash on the gate from an earnest-looking chap desperate to witness cricket history. I debated it. Five hundred quid would have covered a month’s rent. But having squeezed into this Spiderman suit, I wasn’t looking forward to removing it anytime soon. Besides, where would I go dressed like this? Short of gatecrashing a six-year-old’s birthday party, my options were limited.
The ground was a cauldron of nerves. By lunch England were five wickets down and the only light relief was my mum texting me to say she’d seen me on the telly (and genuinely asking if I was wearing pyjamas). Then Shane Warne dropped catches and Kevin Pietersen hit one of the most important centuries on English soil. By 6pm the Ashes were regained after an 18-year absence. The ground exploded in celebration. A curse had been lifted. A new era was upon us. After a loud and lengthy celebration, we headed out in search of a venue for the Villa game.
The pubs were rammed. There was no room at the Inn. A frantic search down a side street was our last hope. I found a boozer that should probably have been condemned decades earlier. It looked like it last had a refurb during the 19th century, you’d struggle to notice the difference. It didn’t matter. They had electricity. They had a TV. And not only were they were showing the game, but they were selling cheap sausage rolls as a pre-match snack.
The following 90 minutes felt like a blur. It had been a long, emotional day. Trapped in that Spiderman suit, nerves shredded, sweating out a toxic mix of Peroni and processed meat, I wasn’t sure I could withstand any further drama. I needn’t have worried. On this day of days, Alan Pardew’s Irons produced one of their best-ever Premier League displays. Fast, fluid attacking football. A perfect mix of guile and guts. Villa were powerless against this new breed of superheroes in Claret and Blue. Marlon Harewood, previously low on form and confidence, hit a hat-trick that made you wonder if he had a cape hidden under his shirt.
Then came Benayoun.
The masterful midfielder, already a firm favourite at Upton Park, drifted past two centre-backs and dinked the most exquisite finish over the despairing keeper’s head. It was a sensational goal to end a sensational 12 hours.
England were Ashes winners. West Ham were victorious over Villa.
If Carlsberg did Mondays…
Sid has a book out: ‘Highs, Lows and Di Canios: The Fans’ Guide to West Ham United in the 90s’. Head into the official West Ham store for a rollercoaster ride through one of the most turbulent decades in Claret & Blue history.
*The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of West Ham United.
