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In 1982, at the tender age of six, I was infected with a serious childhood illness. The illness was all-consuming, and there was no cure. The most violent outbreaks always came at the same time: on Saturdays at 4 p.m., usually in front of an analog television set, safely placed at home in our living room. The illness had a magical name – Manchester United Football Club.
For more than thirty years, the illness ravaged my body. It didn’t really let go until 2016. That year, the cure arrived at United’s home ground, Old Trafford. The cure came in human and Portuguese disguise. The cure bore the name of Jose Mourinho. He was solely concerned with winning. He never entertained. He had traveled around football Europe for many years. There, he cured other football supporters of the same type of illness.
Ten years have passed since The Special One managed to pull me out of my feverish fantasies. I still follow United’s results and standings. However, months can pass between watching a game. I rarely last ninety minutes. The joy is simply gone. Sometimes I miss the all-consuming feeling. I do miss all the ups and downs that come with it. But mostly, it’s a liberating feeling that the weekend no longer disappears into bottomless sorrow. This happens after a bitter – and always unfair – 0-1 defeat to Nottingham Forest or Brentford.
My time as a fanatical United supporter was an emotional rollercoaster of the extreme kind. Fortunately, Sir Alex Ferguson, the greatest manager of all time, made sure there were many ups and downs.
Ferguson managed the club throughout most of my all-consuming United years. However, my strongest experience as a United supporter dates back to the time before Sir Alex. It was specifically during the mid-80s, a period of very little success for Manchester United. League gold remained a distant dream. However, United often performed strongly in the FA Cup. During a pre-Champions League era like the mid-80s, winning the FA Cup was actually as big as winning the league.
In the 1984/85 season, United once again reached the FA Cup final. They defeated arch-rivals Liverpool 2-1 in the semi-final replay at Maine Road. Rematch? At Maine Road? Yes, in the 80s the semi-finals were played on neutral ground. They were not at Wembley like today. A replay had to be played if the score was tied after 120 minutes.
On Saturday, May 18, 1985, I sat anxiously in front of the TV at home in Trondheim. I was ready to watch my beloved United play the FA Cup final against Everton. At that time, Everton was not only England’s best, but actually also one of Europe’s top football teams.
🎥 Whiteside’s onside… That’s incredible… How on Earth did he get that past Southall [1985 FA Cup final] pic.twitter.com/vPGWRrZYwf
— ΛROUND THE GROUNDS (@ArndTheGrnds) April 12, 2020
The Blues had just won both the English league and the Cup Winners’ Cup. They were naturally big favourites before the meeting with “Big Ron” Atkinson’s pub team from Manchester. Key players included the party trio Bryan Robson, Paul McGrath and Norman Whiteside. They were central both on the pitch and in the pub back home in Manchester.
It was a very dramatic afternoon at the old and venerable Wembley Stadium. The match swung back and forth. Both teams had great chances to score. Incredibly, after 90 minutes, it was still 0-0.
Manchester United were reduced to ten men after a granite block of a centre-back – Irish Kevin Moran, with a background in Gaelic (!) football – was sent off, the first ever in an FA Cup final, after a headless tackle by Everton’s Peter Reid.
But miracles can happen, even on a football pitch. Five minutes into the second half of extra time, the greatest miracle of my childhood happened. “Big Norm” Whiteside broke free on the right wing and advanced towards Everton’s penalty area. With a perfect leaping feint, he scored a beautiful goal. It still sends shivers down my spine when I watch it on replay. Whiteside sent Ten-Men-United up the lead. The stands exploded. On the touchline, the sent-off Kevin Moran took to the field. He threw himself at manager Atkinson in a wild frenzy of joy.
A heroic United team withstood the pressure from Everton, and the match ended with a 1-0 victory for the Reds. Big Norm’s magical goal was the only one of the match. When United captain Bryan Robson raised the trophy, it soared into the summer blue sky over Wembley. I am not sure who cheered the loudest, me or the goalscorer Whiteside.
The memory of the cup triumph and Whiteside’s goal is still so strong. The first chapter I wrote in my book The Dream Team was about Norman Whiteside. The book contains stories about a number of legendary footballers from the 80s. In the book, Whiteside is at Wembley, in the cup final against Everton in 1985. In flashbacks from the Wembley pitch, he tells his own story. It is a life worth reading about. He was a highly talented footballer raised in cramped conditions in a very troubled Belfast. With indomitable determination and a huge dose of self-confidence, he conquered Manchester and the rest of the kingdom.
It is also the story of a pre-historic 80s. During this time, footballers were almost normal people like you and me. It was a colorful and wonderful decade. Norman often visited his favorite pub, The Griffin. He was accompanied by his regular arms bearers, Bryan Robson and Paul McGrath. They made sure that The Griffin sold the most pints in Greater Manchester.
Author; Geir Jacobsen
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