Sadly and sadly, it is easy to overlook how lucky I was.
Firstly just to work for Watford Football Club, my team since I was six.
Secondly, to be personally hired by Graham Taylor and work for him, alongside legends like Luther Blissett and Kenny Jackett.
Thirdly, to spend so much time on the training pitch and on outings getting to know the likes of Robert Page, Tommy Mooney, Alec Chamberlain and the rest of the squad during the 1998/99 season.
I consider them all friends (they may not want to admit the same thing!) and I like to think that 25 years later I can still answer the phone for them and know that they will take the call and help me with whatever I need help with is a sign of mutual trust and respect.
And finally, I was so lucky that all of the above gave me the best working day of my life: Monday, May 31, 1999.
Aside from my wedding day and the birth of my two sons, that holiday is the best day of my 53+ years.
Being a fan and being part of the ‘play party’ from start to finish is something you can’t buy.
Unfortunately, this was long before phones had cameras and so other than the odd view I happened to wander into and that others sent me to, I have no photographic memory.
My sister recorded all of the day’s Sky Sports coverage (on VHS) while she and the rest of the family were at Wembley, and the footage in the dressing room after the match shamelessly shows me eating and drinking and ultra- unprofessional. But more about that later.
The day started at one of the two hotels that were previously located on the A41. I’m not even sure which one it was, or what it’s called now.
But the players and staff stayed there overnight, and I joined them for breakfast the morning of the game. Like most of my life, food is a recurring theme…
Having spent much of that season traveling with the players to away games and staying in hotels, having breakfast with them was nothing new, although I would say the atmosphere was a little different.
Subdued, but not in a negative way. Focused with a hint of nerves would be my way of describing it.
The normally louder players were still the same, the quiet players didn’t change either – but it was as if they had all gone down a gear.
After breakfast, GT took everyone to one of the hotel meeting rooms and gave a team talk.
I wish I had paid more attention to the actual words he said, but I can only convey my general feelings and emotions. I would have run through a brick wall for that man.
The way he spoke, the controlled but clear passion and desire, the regular recognition of what the day meant not only for the players and the club, but for the city and its people.
Graham was a great, great motivator. No notes, no slides, no flip charts, just words from the head and the heart, about Bolton, about what he expected from his team, about the day.
With everyone in club suits – dark blue with red/yellow buttonholes – we went to the team coach.
I usually sat a few rows from the front. Graham had the seat closest to the door, with usually Kenny behind him, Luther and Tom Walley across the aisle, and then people like physio Paul Rastrick and sports psychologist – or ‘pink shirt man’ – Ciaran Cosgrave around me .
My memories of the bus ride were that as we got closer to Wembley there seemed to be more and more yellow – something Steve Palmer also referred to.
Yellow shirts, flags, banners, wigs, face paint. Looking out the window of the bus helped calm the nerves because we could see so many people on our side.
That changed a bit when we arrived at the stadium itself. The entrance to the tunnel was at the end where Bolton fans were housed, and when the coach slowed down the color suddenly changed from yellow to white as Wanderers fans surrounded the coach.
While they weren’t nearly as obnoxious as the Birmingham fans were before the away semi-final match, they certainly weren’t rolling out any welcome mats.
Out of the coach and into the locker room. It wasn’t nearly as grand as the one at the new Wembley, but it was still huge.
At one end was a room with the giant bath, the scene of so many photos of the FA Cup final celebrations.
A member of the stadium staff started turning on the taps before the match had even started because it apparently took so long to fill them.
Adjacent to the bathroom was a shower room, and next to it a medical room with tables for massage, etc.
Back in the changing room itself, the containers containing all the equipment and equipment were being unloaded, but my eye was drawn to a pair of double white doors in the corner.
GT knew the place intimately from his days as England manager, and told me I was in for a pleasant surprise.
Sure enough, the doors soon opened to reveal a kitchen and a few tables laden with fruit and assorted drinks. I had never seen anything like it.
However, there was little chance to nibble when I heard Robert Page tell the players it was time to look at the pitch, and I thought I might as well go along as my role was to oversee all the interviews /organise, and there would undoubtedly be TV cameras there.
It was incredible coming onto the pitch due to Bolton’s early arrivals. The closest I would ever come to a footballer.
There was a surprising number of Watford fans on the other side, and we all walked towards them.
Only when you are there yourself do you realize why players and staff point to the stands. You can see everyone pretty clearly when there’s no ramming, and I could see my wife and the rest of my family. It was surprisingly emotional.
Back in the locker room, the volume of chatter decreased and GT had more team talk as the players put on their kit. They went outside to warm up, I stayed in the locker room.
Time seemed to pass so quickly as they were back quite quickly, and this time there were a few more words and then lots of shouts of encouragement, hugs and claps on the back.
I still remember us procrastinating as we left the locker room. “Let’s make them wait for us, guys,” was Graham’s suggestion.
Being at the very back of the line, I could see a light at the end of the tunnel and heard Right Here Right Now by Fatboy Slim. As we walked along, I could see the fireworks.
Walking into a full Wembley Stadium – I have no words for it. I won’t try. It’s what dreams are made of.
We had to walk around the old dog track, and as Bolton fans shouted various barbed comments and insults, Graham just smiled and waved.
“It annoys them even more if they think you can’t hear them,” he said.
There was limited seating on the actual bench so myself and Kirk Wheeler from the club’s Football in the Community programme, at Graham’s request, were led by a member of the Wembley staff through a door, up some stairs and taken through a corridor.
We emerged back into the sunshine to find that the ‘overflow’ seats were right in front of the Royal Box…
My memories of the game are probably very similar to those of you reading this. Nervous start, wonder goal from Nick Wright, top of the second half, Allan Smart made it happen.
I watched that second goal from the side of the dugouts as we were led from our seats onto the pitch around the 85 minute mark.
After the final whistle I joined the rest of the staff and players on the pitch. I remember a handshake with GT, a big hug from Alec Chamberlain and then sharing a moment with each player individually.
It was incredible. To be honest, I can’t express the feeling of those moments in written form. From a six-year-old fan standing on the terrace at Vicarage Road in the late 1970s, to on the pitch with victorious Watford at Wembley.
Even amid all the festive chaos and loud music, I thought about looking back at where my family stood behind the goal.
Seeing my wife, my mother and father, my sister – that was the moment when my own small achievement in a much bigger event hit me, and I had to fight a lump in my throat. As so many others have said, sharing a day like this with the ones you love is the ultimate in life.
The festivities seemed to go on for ages, and my only regret was that – despite the insistence of GT and others – I was not in the official team photo with the trophy behind a national banner.
I felt ripped off because I was just the ‘media guy’, so I stayed out of the picture (in some photos you can see the top of my head behind a yellow/black/red wig that Chris Day had put on).
A small regret, but not one that clouds the day. It was still a privilege. So massive.
When we went back to the locker room, I saw a group of TV cameras and radio reporters, so I went to GT.
‘I’ll pick them out Frenchy. Go fill your boots, son. Enjoy the moment. This is a day for all of us,” was roughly what he said.
So I did. Straight back to the locker room where, when the players all finally returned, the party started.
The kitchen now hosted an epic buffet of both food and drinks. I didn’t have to ask twice.
That made me miss the fact that there was a TV crew in the room interviewing players. And so on that old VHS of the Sky coverage, I’m often seen in the back, eating sandwiches and pies and drinking lager.
Honestly, even though it wasn’t the best look, I didn’t really care. As instructed by GT, I was ‘filling my boots’, both buffet-wise and moment-wise.
Players took baths, danced in the showers, sang songs and took turns drinking from the trophy.
This was much the same group of players I had traveled to Portsmouth with nine months earlier, at the start of a season that I certainly didn’t think would end with promotion to the Premier League. Does anyone have?!
From Wembley we went to Sopwell House, and there my memory disintegrates into an alcohol-soaked haze.
I’m a teetotaler now and have been for a long time, but I wasn’t then. Lots of Guinness was consumed, followed by lots of G&Ts.
I remember the players gathered on the dance floor for a group rendition of the song that had been used in the locker room before many a game to signify the team’s unity: Everything I do, I do it for you by Bryan Adams. That was a very moving moment.
Afterwards I remember players walking around drinking from champagne bottles and someone from Sopwell House being sent out to buy more because we had drank them all.
But that’s about it. I know I had a great, great time. . . the hangover the next day told me so.
Unfortunately my plans for a long morning in bed were interrupted by a call from Vicarage Road.
“There are two TV satellite trucks here. What do you want us to do with it?’
The Premier League had arrived….