Squad Numbers

No pre-planning, no research, this blog is just a spill of the many, many emotions that I and every single other Crystal Palace fan experienced yesterday after *that* game.

Pre-game, as the Palace fans filtered into the away end at the Etihad stadium, there was a sense of understanding, we were not going to get anything from this game, and we were all there for the experience and to back the team all the way. There was a sense that this club that we were facing was of a different level to that of our humble little Crystal Palace. The oh so cooperate b-roll footage on the big screens that hummed away in the background in the 2 or so hours before kick-off gave off a distinct feeling that this was a club which had money teeming from it’s every aspect. Everything was all so polished, a far cry from the slightly uncomfortable stickiness you get on the bottom of your shoes from all the alcohol spilled on the floor at Selhurst Park. Yet, that feels more authentic and I love it. This was a feeling which was present throughout the rest of the day. I digress.

The feeling of big versus small continued as the lineups were announced on the big screen, City’s lineup contained star after star, big money signing after big money signing. Whilst Palace’s lineup was one which was rather demoralising, it felt as if it was one of those starting XI’s that you would pick as a joke on Fifa, trying to pick every defender possible. I even mistook the lineup for having 12 players, there were that many defensive minded players. The sense of understanding mentioned earlier deepened, the plan was clear, defend, and then pass it to Michael Olise and hope.

The B-roll concluded, the music killed and the game kicked off. Suddenly the pre match noise dissipated, the stadium wasn’t loud, and filled with City fans backing their team to the hilt, it was… quiet. Perhaps after years of success and superb football, City fans have become numb to the joy and love for every moment of a game. Which, is fair enough as let’s be real here, playing Crystal Palace at home in the league isn’t their champions league final, not to any extent, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t flat. As City went 2-0 up, and camped Palace in extremely deep, with City’s furthest back outfield player being Nathan Ake, on the edge of Palace’s penalty area, and they effortlessly played pass after pass, manipulating Palace’s defence and forcing Dean Henderson into save after save, it felt as though the City fans were desensitised to it all. Whereas, the Palace fans clung on to every kick of the ball, every time a Palace player had possession of the ball even at the halfway line, it was like they were through on goal.

You may wonder why I glossed over the fact that City went 2-0 up, and had another ruled out. Well partly it’s do with the fact that I do not wish to reflect on the 75 minutes of pain before Palace eventually pulled one back, but also because it was expected. Before the game we all expected to be under the cosh, and we expected to lose. Whilst it was extremely frustrating watching us not be able to string together more than 2 passes before giving it away again, and be camped in our own area the vast majority of the time with seemingly no way of getting up the pitch, it was the reality, and that was okay, we were playing against Manchester City-treble winners.

There was a sense of acceptance at this point, and it actually became quite enjoyable and fun. The chant of “We’ve got the ball, we’ve got the ball” was rousing when we had one rare spell of possession, and the humour was continued when the chant seamlessly transitioned into “we’ve lost the ball, we’ve lost ball” as soon as we… you guessed it, lost possession of the ball.

All of this changed though, in the 75th minute, when Marc Guehi floated a ball over the top of the City defence, for Jeffrey Schlupp to run on to. A rare foray into their half! But wait, he’s kept going! he’s into the box! he’s crossed it! ITS IN!!! Who else, but Jean Phillipe Mateta, gallivanting into the perfect spot to slide the ball into an empty net. Euphoria. We had scored a goal, against all odds. Our cult hero, who has his flaws (many of them) had given us hope.

I still didn’t seriously believe that there was a chance that we could get a result from the game, but was overjoyed nonetheless. Perhaps the second biggest roar of the day (so far) came when Mattheus Franca then made his appearance from the bench alongside Nauoirou Ahamada. With Ozoh having being brought on earlier as well, it was all we have wanted through this barren run that we have been on, our youth were being given a chance, and how they took it. The City fans were even more silent than they had been before, the Palace fans were raucous, driving the team on, and as Franca picked up the ball time and time again, and simply ran past Kyle Walker, outdoing him for pace (how), there was now a real sense of optimism. Eze was brought on as well as he returned from injury, the kitchen sink was well and truly being thrown at this City defense.

Then the moment came, in the dying seconds of the game, Franca burst forward down the right hand side, and floated a ball just over Mateta, who didn’t give up, chased Bernado Silva, who had tormented us all game, and robbed him of possession, a scrap ensued, Ozoh was initially tackled inside the area, but the ball ran loose, and Mateta once again gallivanted on to it, sticking out a leg and getting to it before Phil Foden, who before he could realise what was happening, had tripped Mateta, sending our big lump of chaos flying. A roar, in unison from the away end for a penalty. Time stopped. Staring. Hoping. Waiting. The arm points. Joy unconfined. How are we here? No-one knew. There we were. One kick of the ball, that’s all it was.

My mind immediately flicked back to that day 5 years ago, against the same opponent, at Selhurst Park, a last minute penalty missed. That couldn’t happen again. In the midst of all the emotion, stood Michael Olise, ball in his hands, world at his feet. There was confusion as to why he was taking it, he had never taken one as a Palace player, and designated penalty taker Ebere Eze was on the pitch. Somehow, it felt correct. Olise was the one who had been the instigator of so many of the good things that we had done in the game, he was the one who could give us our moment of glory. It seemed as if Olise stood over the penalty spot for an age before the referee’s whistle went, but when it did, Olise strolled up to the ball with the eminent sense of coolness that shines in his play every time he steps foot on a pitch in a Palace shirt, took one look at the keeper Ederson, and slotted it home.

Pandemonium, disbelief, joy, incomprehension, the list goes on. It was a day to remember, forever. One in a million. It’s almost as if you’d think that we’d won.