46 years ago I shared the ultimate English experience with tens of thousands of new East End companions at Wembley stadium. West Ham United won its first FA Cup Final, 41 years after a 2-0 defeat in its last final against Bolton.
That 1923 final inaugurated the national stadium and according to reliable sources was watched by a quarter-of-a-million people, who broke the barriers, crowded across the touchlines and behaved in exemplary order to allow the match to go on. The legend tells that a single officer on his white horse calmly managed the thousands of spectators just like a colonial governor in a tribal assembly in Kenya or Uganda.
Only a few supporters from that magical era between two world wars, when no one in Europe expected another one, were left to witness the final vs Preston North End, from the second division. However, there was no difference in 1964, as the majority of the West Ham faithful wore ties on their white shirts, with only Claret and Blue scarves to imply their lengthily association to East London's representative of England's top division.
Manager Ron Greenwood was interviewed by the Evening standard prior to the match, and admitted his sole message to the players was "play our beautiful football, and try to win fairly". During the slowly passing minutes before kickoff, all of Wembley's capacity sung 'Abide With Me', and for a moment I thought my heart would miss a beat. The song united the 100,000 fans and created a passing, yet moving moment for a community that has uniqueness and character, in spite of colliding interests by definition of a cup final.
Then, our fans stated chanting 'Bubbles', which stands alone in its sweet melancholy, that prepares West Ham's fans not only for victory celebrations but also for the sorrow of loss. The bubbles we're about to blow into the air will eventually fade ad die, just like our dreams. I came to London from Hapoel Jerusalem, and carried the collective spirit of YMCA stadium and Katamon, so the colourful celebration at Wembley was truly exciting. It did not end in tears: in the end of a dramatic game, we won 3-2 by a Ronnie Boyce goal in the dying minutes, so Bobby Moore could step up the lift the cup.
So that's how my affair with Moore, who was a month older than me, and sadly passed away 18 years ago due to Cancer, started. I was lucky enough to watch him for 3 straight years, climbing the Wembley staircase to accept three luxurious cups as a captain: the FA Cup in 1964, European Cup Winners cup in 1965 and the World Cup in 1966. Most Englishmen do not believe me. In 1996 I was commentator for Channel One and had a chat with one of the stewards about the game. When I told him about my experience in 1966, he was very doubtful, up until I pulled out my original match ticket, which was in my wallet for 30 years. He apologised and got the ticket as a souvenir.
There's no need to mention that every true Eastender considers England's win in the final as one of West Ham's titles, and I suggest Avram Grant to remember that well. In the past, I was delighted that two of my favourite Israeli players, Eyal Berkovich and Yossi Benayoun, played for us and thanks to them I had the chance to watch many of West Ham's games live. Grant's appointment however, is an emotional barrier that's hard to stomach.
I was very fearful of this move, but somehow realised it's unavoidable, and that his career-characterising meddling hands would eventually penetrate to my God's little acre, the team I loved in good and bad times for years. I told my friend Eliezer Lehana live on his radio show that I feel like an uninvited guest has invaded my living room, and stays there regardless to the owners' feelings.
Ze'ev Jabotinsky translated Edgar Allan Poe's immortal piece, "The Raven" with great inspiration to Hebrew. The bird that delivers bad news invades the poet's property, and declines all his protests. Eventually the poet gives up, while the Raven stays.
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!
Nice? Address your compliments to Poe and Jabotinsky. I have no choice but to hope that clever Grant will realise that West Ham has a tradition, that prefers beautiful football rather than his cynical style. If he will realize the holiness of the temple he was invited to and doesn't destroy it disgracefully, he might positively surprise us. In terms of spirit, he was successful at Portsmouth, and he is lucky enough to walk into the small shoes left by former manager Gianfranco Zola, a great player, who wasn't as successful as a manager, yet still remains a loved and admired figure by all.
When I sat at Wembley in 1964 and the tears in my eyes almost blurred the heart warming sight of West Ham's players running wild in celebration on the pitch, Grant was a young man in Petach Tikva, and his best of days would be a visit to Tel Aviv cinema at Pinsker Street. Now he's at Upton Park, and I will serve the heaviest of punishments, I will have to pray for his success every Saturday.
That’s the answer I gave the many people who recently asked me if I will stay a West Ham fan even under Grant. They don't realise that Upton Park is like a home, that I travel to like a pilgrim at every opportunity. I carry Bobby Moore, Trevor Brooking, Geoff Hurst and Alan Devonshire to the stand with me. I hope that this time, just like in Genesis, Avram will not lay his hand upon the lad, and will fulfil with new openness the dreams of the many West Ham fans of brilliant attacking football, alongside sportsmanship, and will preserve the festiveness of the Upton Park experience.
ירושלמי אדום 