OTD: '73 FA CUP SEMI

On this day on 1973, Sunderland took on Arsenal in the FA Cup semi-final at Hillsborough, having got past Notts County, Reading, and Man City – all after replays – to dispose of Luton in the quarter final at Roker. Vouchers had been collected, encouraging almost 41,000 to the Carlisle league game, and cashed in, meaning that the Red and White army was mobilised to head down the country to Sheffield. On the other side of the Pennines, Leeds were taking on Wolves at Maine Road in the other semi, but the way we’d stormed through the competition up to that point meant that we didn’t really care who we’d face in the final.

As was the rule in 1973, the slight colour clash meant that both sides changed their kit, meaning that the Gunners turned out sort of pretending to be Wolves in yellow tops with dark blue shorts, while we pretended to be Leeds, in our smart all-white away kit. With our fans filling the massive open Kop end as part of the 55,000 crowd, the Lads lined up:

Montgomery

Malone Pitt Watson Guthrie

Kerr © Horswill Porterfield

Hughes Halom Tueart

...and Brian Chambers on the bench.

Arsenal? Bob Wilson, Pat Rice, Bob McNab, Peter Storey, Jeff Blockely, Geordie Armstrong, Alan Ball, Charlie George, Ray Kennedy, and Eddie Kelly – a proper who’s who of top 1973 footballers. They even had John Radford on the bench.

After warming up, Halom kicked off to Kerr, and we were off, all in long sleeves and on the attack. A Bobby Kerr long throw (aye, a long throw) found Micky Horswill on the edge of the box, and his shot was tipped over the bar by Wilson, who needed the magic sponge after clattering into the post. A corner on our right (taken from inside the quadrant), to the chants of “Watson, Watson” came to nothing as Horswill went in with his foot too high even for 1973, but the pivotal moment came just before twenty past three. A punt upfield by Horswill saw Blockey waggle his foot at the ball and big Vic just beat Wilson to it, composing himself and rolling it into an unguarded net. What had been a thunderous noise from the Sunderland fans reached a new level of sound as the Kop erupted. Imagine twenty-odd thousand in a big, open, standing area, all loving each other in the most passionate way. Marvellous. That man Horswill was amongst things throughout the first half, clearing from Armstrong before Monty rushed out to do the same.

After robbing Storey near the corner flag, Hughes was fouled and the Arsenal man booked as our never-say-die spirit had the Gunners rattled, with Tueart heading Kerr’s free-kick just wide at the back post. After Armstrong hit the outside of the post (Monty had it covered anyway), Hughes switched wings and won us a corner, which he took himself and hit the top of the bar. Halom nearly grabbed a second, with his hooked shot being booted away by McNab, and Arsenal looked a bit embarrassed, to be honest. Monty’s save from a deflected Armstrong shot was tremendous, but their man was only on the left because he’d been unable to get past Guthrie on the other side. To say we were happy at half time is putting it mildly, as we were outplaying our illustrious opponents as well as out-battling them, it could easily have been two or three nil, and we began to think that we needed to plan for Wembley. There was genuine belief that we had the Gunners beaten, and that the second half would be a repeat of the first.

Which it was, just about. Horswill continued to give Ball and company a hard time, and the hapless Blockley was replaced by Radford ten minutes in, with Arsenal basically giving up on defence and going for broke. Eight minutes after that change, the unthinkable (to the rest of the football world, but not us) happened. Hughes fired into Wilson’s midriff (let’s be polite) from a yard or so, with the ball flying for a Sunderland throw on the right. Once that magic sponge had been applied to Wilson’s nether regions, another long one from our captain flew into the box, and Tueart’s back header was headed on by Hughes for their keeper to take off on one of his famous safety-first dives (i.e. look like you’re trying when, in fact, you know you’ve no hope of reaching the ball) and in it looped. Craziness ensued in the Kop, the Paddock and the benches right next to the touchline. You could probably have heard us in Rotherham. We tried to keep playing football, and generally succeeded, but then Arsenal rolled their sleeves up and went for it. There were only five or so minutes left when Monty got half a left hand to Charlie George’s low shot and we all blew at the ball as it bumbled and trundled and crept just over the line. Arsenal pressed, fingernails were chewed and watches checked, but we held firm and all thoughts of being back on the bus for the prescribed five o’clock departure went up in the air when the whistle went. We’d beaten them on merit, with a combination of surprisingly good football – switching from 4-4-2 to 4-3-3 and back -, bodies-on-the-line defending, and sheer determination.

Back then, managers were just as much characters as they are today but spent a lot less time in the media spotlight. That day at Hillsborough, though, was the day that Bob Stokoe became as big a star as any of his players, when the fans decided that they wanted to show their appreciation to the man who’d turned their team from a bunch of journeymen to local, soon to become national, heroes. For the first time, the fans chanted the manager’s name, and five minutes later, out came Bob, in his Terylene shirt with the arm-bands, planting kisses on his hands and throwing them to the Sunderland fans. I don’t know if he was crying – probably not – but I would have been in his place. Our chests swelled almost to bursting point with pride, we floated back to the bus and bounced our way back home, passing beneath a hastily-painted banner hanging from a bridge as we went through Leeds proclaiming LEEDS UTD FA CUP WINNERS 1973. Bring ’em on, we thought, as we watched the magic all over again on Match of the Day.