We had gone to the final the year before to watch West Brom play Everton and I remember thinking how I just had to play at such an occasion. Twelve months later and here I was, playing for my club, the best club in all the world as far as I was concerned. The build-up, the entire week, was a little overblown. By that I mean that there’s only so much talking about a game that a player can do. Speculation doesn’t matter, for the player the game is everything. So by the Saturday we just wanted to get out on the pitch. Cup Final day itself was an exercise in maintaining concentration. After training, we went inside, played cards for a little bit and then had a spot of lunch around 12 o’clock. I think I ate steak and toast. Then it was back to the room to pack and get ready for the game. We had been waiting all week for this moment and now it had arrived. We left the hotel at about 1pm, then it was a forty-five minute drive to Wembley and along the way we could see cars, buses, coaches and bikes passing us and the City fans waving like mad at us.
