Villa Park, April 8, 1990

By Carl Davies

In hindsight, Sunday 8th April 1990 would turn out to be one of the greatest days of my life, it certainly didn't start that way.  Tired & hungover from a Saturday night watching the Happy Mondays followed by a Paul Oakenfield set in London hadn't been the best preparation for a lunchtime kick off at Villa Park for our first Semi Final in 14 years.  I was at Stamford Bridge in '76 but too young to appreciate it, this team of 1990 was for my generation, I'd been to close on every game home and away over the last couple of seasons and this was my turn to truly experience the Palace rollercoaster.  Despite the Palace obsession I shouted down to my dad and two friends to go without me, I was in pieces & in no fit state to go.  'You can't miss today' followed by plenty of abuse came back up the stairs, 20 minutes later a death warmed up version of me was travelling with friends and family from Buckinghamshire to Villa Park.

The first hour or so to Villa Park was uneventful, two red and blue scarves flew from the Astra's windows but in 1990 the M40 only went as far as Thame and as we worked our way across country not seeing another car going to the game, we questioned did we have the right weekend.  Our thoughts turned to the task ahead and the all conquering mighty Liverpool, when the draw had been made we had all shouted at the radio that we wanted Oldham or Man United except 1 person, me.  I wanted Liverpool, I had gone to Anfield earlier in the season and witnessed the 9-0 defeat, to make matters worse I had stayed up there for the remainder of the week and had to endure the taunts, the smugness and listen to Tommy Smith describe Palace as the worst team ever to play top flight football.  I had said to anybody who'd listen to me that what goes around comes around and that we'd get our revenge.  The subsequent league defeat with broken legs for Eddie McGoldrick and Ian Wright was heart breaking for me, i was certain we'd get our revenge.  The semi final offered us the ultimate chance of revenge and in front of a TV audience as for the first time both semi finals were to be shown live on a Sunday afternoon.  Having not seen so much as another scarf out of a car we were not prepared for what we saw when we joined the M1 at Milton Keynes, it was a sea of red and blue.  The M1 crawled three lanes wide of cars full of red and blue shirts, scarves fluttering away, it seemed every mini bus and coach had been hired in the South East and was heading for the Midlands with a Union Jack in the back window with CPFC emblazioned across the centre.  It was an invasion of over 17,500 from South London, Palace's biggest away support at the time for a game outside of London and I'd never been so proud to be a Palace fan.  Whilst Palace fans tooted & waved to each other, the odd car with a family of Liverpool fans in was greeted by thumbs down and a nescafe handshake.

We parked up at Aston and walked towards Villa Park following a crowd of Palace fans, it was over 90 minutes to kick off and it seemed everybody was here to support Palace, cutting across the park the ground came into view and for the first time my stomach sank, the nerves kicked in and doubts ran through me.  We were playing Liverpool, the greatest team of the last decade with house hold names such as Grobbelaar, Hansen, Beardsley, Barnes & Rush.  We were without our best player Ian Wright and an analyst on the radio had summed up our chances succinctly by saying not one of the Palace players would get into the Liverpool XI.  In the ground Palace fans occupied half the enormous Holte End terrace as well as the two tier seated Trinity Road stand.  A full hour before kick off the Palace section of the Holte End was packed and in full voice, we sang to our leader Steve Coppell and surged up and down the terrace.  Situated in front of a barrier half way up the immense terrace the 4 of us blew up our balloons and watched with pride as Palace filled up Villa Park.  12 months previous had been the tragic Hillsbororough disaster where 96 Liverpool fans had lost their lives, the police had asked fans to arrive early.  With 10 minutes remaining before kick off with every Palace fan in the ground the Liverpool sections seemed half full, then out of nowhere they came through the turnstyles, Villa Park was full and bouncing.  As the players emerged from the tunnel at the far end of the ground several thousand red and blue balloons were thrown in the air, unfortunately with a strong wind from our right to left the vast majority instantly took off and flew off straight out of the ground and into the park.  None the less it was still colourful and all the noise was coming from the Palace fans.

The first half went almost exactly the way everyone seemed to think it would.  Liverpool dominated possession whilst Palace set themselves up in a rigid defensive line-up with Mark Bright isolated up front.  Palace were playing one touch football, we'd have one touch, McMahon would win it back and Houghton, Beardsley and Barnes would keep it, probing at the Palace defence.  Despite the possession Liverpool were failing to trouble Nigel Martyn's goal at the Holte End in these early stages.  On 15 minutes the inevitable happened, McMahon won the ball from Pardew, one straight pass to Rush with Gary O'Reilly stepping up put Ian Rush clean through.  The Welshman didn't miss and slotted calmly passed Nigel Martyn, Liverpool were 1-0 and that was that.  There was very little celebration on the pitch from Liverpool players as they jogged back to the half way line and for me in the crowd there was relief.  The nerves had gone, we were losing, the game was already lost and at least now I didn't have to worry.  The hope had been killing me, for weeks I hadn't thought of anything else and at least now I could just watch the game without nerves & life would return to normality.  For the first time during the day the Palace fans fell silent, everyone who travelled that day knew if we were to win we'd have to keep a clean sheet.  The remainder of the first half played out in a similar way, Palace remained defensive minded, Liverpool kept possession and happy to coast without every really creating anymore clear cut chances. 


As the teams lined up for the second half there was little evidence to believe there would be anything other than Liverpool domination in the second half.  Whether is was a pre-determined plan or whether Steve Coppell gave the team talk of his life but within 18 seconds of Liverpool restarting the game Mark Bright smashed the ball into the top of Grobbelar's net and Palace were back level.  The goal owed everything to an explosion of pace by 'oh Johnny Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Pemberton' as he picked up the ball in his own half, roasted two defenders before putting in a perfect cross which fell to Salako, his shot was blocked by the keeper before Brighty smashed it home.  Where had that come from, before Sir Steve had sat back down in the dugout Palace were back in business.  Out of the Trinity Road stand a few joined Brighty & Pembo on the pitch, on the Holte End we tumbled down row after row in delirium.  This was a terrace at its best.

The goal inspired Palace on, Thomas had now taken control of the midfield, Gray & Salako pushed forward to link up with Bright and Liverpool's measured approach from the first half was lost as Palace pressed all over the pitch.  'Olay Olay Olay, Eagles' echoed around the ground as Thomas was denied giving Palace the lead by an instinctive block from Grobbelar.  The underdogs now looked the most likely to score as free kicks and long throws unsettled the once assured Hanson & co at the back.  On 69 minutes Palace took a deserved lead, Gray swung in a free kick into the danger area, Bright headed across to O'Reilly who smashed it past a helpless Grobbelar.  For a second the ground stood still in disbelief before sheer pandemonium broke out on the Holte End as we tumbled down towards the celebrating players in front of us.  Dalglish looked as grey as his team's pigeon poo coloured shirts.

We'd scored too early, it seemed inconceivable that this Palace team, or any Palace team coming to think about it, would keep possession, strangle the game and run out comfortable winners.  Despite Palace dominating the midfield and Liverpool creating very few chances, with 8 minutes to go the inevitable happened.  A free kick around the edge of the box gave Staunton the opportunity to swing a cross in for their big centre backs, or so we all thought.  Instead, Liverpool ran the ball down the side of the wall for Venison to drill a cross the goal for McMahan to emphatically smash home.  The goal was creative, the goal was superbly executed but most of all the goal was heartbreaking.  This time Liverpool players and fans celebrated like they had won the FA Cup, they were back in the game that they thought they had lost.  A minute later and the game was turned on its head.  Beardsley out wide cut a ball inside to the marauding Staunton who cut across Pemberton.  The Liverpool left back wasn't going anywhere but feeling a touch on his back he threw himself to the ground and George Courtney pointed to the spot.  It's the sort of penalty that Palace don't get and others seem to.  Pembo had gone from hero to villain in less than 45 minutes of football.  It was now Barnes versus the countries 1st million pound keeper, despite Nigel Martyn going the right way, Barnes found the corner of the net and Liverpool led 3-2 with barely five minutes left on the clock.  Liverpool fans spilled onto the pitch, their double was back on, we were as distraught as John Pemberton looked.

It is funny what you can still remember from over 20 years ago.  With 4 minutes to go Palace were throwing everything forward when the ball broke 25 yards out to Richard Shaw, my first reaction was don't shoot.  This was Shaw's first season in the team, he went on to be a firm favourite of all Palace fans but even back then in his early days I didn't fancy him to score from distance.  His shot sailed over my head and that seemed that, our last chance had gone.  People around me started to leave.  A minute later with 'You'll Never Walk Alone' being sung from our right, a long ball from the back was headed towards goal by Thomas, as Liverpool failed to clear our captain again headed towards goal which was cleared off the line only for Gray to nip in and head home.  It was mayhem on the terrace, we tumbled down the Holte End in sheer joy to the celebrating players in front of us.  Unbelievable.  As I looked around to get my bearings, find my friends and family I noticed the Palace fans running back across the park to get back into the ground.  They had left too early.  The 90 minutes were still not over and in injury time, Gray bent in a lovely cross, with 2 Palace players unmarked Thorn headed against the cross bar when it looked easier for him or Thomas to score.

Extra time could not be as fast and frenzied as the previous 45 minutes but still Palace continued to put Liverpool under pressure and threaten from Gray's long throws and set pieces.  Four minutes into the second half a hero was born.  Alan Pardew had always been seen by the fans as one of the weakest links in the team, despite being part of a promotion team he had regularly left the pitch to cheers & jeers.  Today he was about to become Super Al.  Again the goal was in front of us at the Holte End with Thorn flicking on a Gray near post corner for Pardew to head home.  There was confusion on the terrace, the first reaction was that it must have been Thomas that had scored, he was a likely hero, it was his type of goal but the moment belonged to Super Al and he would become one of the Fab 4 when they recorded Glad All Over at Abbey Road.

The next 11 minutes seemed like an eternity, we knew from our experiences half hour earlier how quickly a game could change.  Every time our big Cornishman in goal fell on the ball we celebrated like another goal had gone in.  Injury time of extra time was spent with Mark Bright chasing hacked clearances up the field, still Palace chased every ball.  120 minutes of football, no substitutions from the Eagles but still we looked the fresher team.  When eventually the final whistle did blow the party started both on & off the pitch.  One quick handshake from Coppell and he sprinted in the opposite direction from us towards the tunnel, leaving his players to take the plaudits with the fans.  Wright, a man with a broken leg ran on to celebrate with Bright and Gray.  On the terrace grown men cried, we were going to Wembley in a major final for the first time.  Players and fans alike celebrated, cuddling anybody they could get their hands on and for the first real time in our lives we sang 'Que Sara Sara'. 

By the time we left Villa Park there were only Palace fans around.  We were exhausted, mentally drained.  These were the days before mobile phones, there were no friends to call to celebrate with, instead we just talked and cuddled strangers.  On the way back home the motorway was full of Palace, we pulled into Corley Services, on the roof Palace fans danced, drinking beer and singing.  This was our 15 minutes of fame.  The night was spent being a celebrity in Marlow, the 4 of us had gone out still wearing our Palace shirts.  We barely bought a drink all night as people came up to congratulate us. 

The following day the headlines read Palace in Wonderland & Golden Eagles.  The Sun described both Semi Finals as the best TV since man landed on the moon.  The Mail summed it up best, 'Crystal Palace brought mighty Liverpool to their knees and the whole nation to its feet in breathless admiration'.

All of that action is below. Enjoy!

Edgeley Park, May 6, 2001

Now I'm not saying I hate the French. Far from it; I know plenty of people from France and they are all lovely, plus I have a massive crush on Audrey Tautou, and my favourite football of all time is Zinedine Zidane. You could even say I'm a Francophile (or does that mean I like General Franco? Not sure I'm happy with that). Either way the bicycle riding, stripy top wearing, baguette carrying lovelies from across the channel get a big thumbs up from me. But it wasn't always like that.

Back in May 2001 I was struggling through a French A level (and by struggling I mean not bothering to turn up to the lessons and then wondering why I was failing all the tests), plus my French teacher was a complete 'salope!' - one word i did remember. So I wasn't a big fan of it, it's fair to say. And one of the main reasons my head was not in a French book was the perils of my club Crystal Palace. I was a wide-eyed 16-year-old, with gangly limbs and dyed blond hair (don't ask) and was into my second year as a season ticket holder - and was head over heels in love with all things CPFC.

Thanks to the club's slide towards the Second Division, I was tearing my peroxide locks out, and anything else was pretty much off the table, concentration wise. A run in the League Cup that had taken Alan Smith's side to the semi-final where they were unceremoniously dumped out by Liverpool 6-2 on aggregate, only masked some terrible league form as the Eagles slide towards the drop. There were some shockers; scraping a 2-2- draw with Gillingham, losing 3-2 to Portsmouth after being 2-0 up, losing at home to Wolves in the final home game of the season and being so shit, supporters threw their season tickets on the pitch.

So when the penultimate game of the season rolled around down at Portsmouth I was half way out of the door, heading for the train station, when Mum stopped me in my tracks.

"Where are you going?" she asked. "Er…Portsmouth," I said "Not tonight you're not, tonight is when Ali arrives."

Merde! Putain! I'd totally forgotten that I was to host a French exchange student for the week and he was due on these shores the same night Palace were potentially about to throw away their First Division status. I hated him already.

I trudged back up stairs and put the radio on - really loud. When Ali did finally arrive we were into the second half and I was in a much better mood - with Palace 4-1 up - although still refused to say a word to him while the game was being played; the two of us sitting either side of my room in silence. Him making sympathetic faces, me staring at the radio. Of course, Dougie Freedman made the difference for what was to turn out to be the second time in four days as he scored a brace as Palace ran out 4-2 winners. It meant a win at already relegated Stockport on the Sunday would be enough to stay up.

There was absolutely no way I was going to miss that so I quickly arranged for a match ticket and coach space for Ali and the two of us were soon on our way to Edgeley Park. Ali was a softly spoken, nice lad from the suburbs of Paris and was a keen football fan, but had yet to ever attend a live match, so I tried to take him through the rituals: jump when I jump, sigh when I sigh and for the love of god, don't eat the burgers.

We took up positions just behind the goal on the terraces and watched potentially Palace's last 90 minutes of First Division football. Ali seemed to enjoy himself, he joined in with the chants (even the rude ones) and was pretty much a fully fledged Palace fan by the end of it. I, on the other hand, was hating my time in Stockport. I kept looking at the clock as it ticked down to 90 minutes and we still hadn't scored; Ten minutes, seven minutes, SHIT three minutes!

Palace had not played particularly well, Greg Berhalter's good early form had disappeared, David Hopkin looked overweight and uninterested in his second spell at the club and Alex Kolinko was, well, Alex Kolikno.

Of course, the Doog pulled it out of the bag in the 87th minute and the rest is history. Like the immature idiot I was - and still am - I piled onto the pitch as news came through that Huddersfield had lost and Palace were safe. I hugged Aki, I kissed the ground where Dougie had scored, hell I even stole a little bit of it and it sat in my room for months before mum discovered it and thought I had a marijuana problem. But then panic struck me! Ali! Shit! I'd lost him. I turned around to search the terrace only to see his relaxed smile right behind me. "Cool" he said.

The whole bus journey home he recounted - in broken English - details of the game while I tried to get my heart rate back down to normal. I never saw him again once he went back to France, but I like to think somewhere in Paris, there is a man in his late 20s who has a soft spot for Palace.

THAT goal is below...

Hillsborough, May 2, 2010

In my lifetime, there have been a handful of games that have stood out as memorable, the vast majority of which have been included in the countdown we've been posting daily on this very site. So it takes a special kind of match to really get the blood pumping, the heart racing and the sheen of sweat appearing on my brow (yeah, we're still talking about football here, filth-minded buggers) and Hillsborough in 2010 does just that.

Having seen Palace's league position drop a matter of months before thanks to the ten point penalty for going into administration, it became clear that our morale had sunk too. We weren't whipping boys or easy targets by any means but when your good work over a matter of months gets shot down whilst you're flying across the country, oblivious to the penalties being thrown down, it can't be easy to pick yourself up. And so, with that backdrop surrounding us, we slid down the table, trying to keep our head above water at every turn, now under the management of Paul Hart.

The matches before the Wednesday match came and went but it was the last game of the season that loomed large on the horizon. The match would decide who would get relegated into the depths of League One and who would live to fight another day in the Championship - a win for Wednesday and we were doomed, an Eagles victory or a draw and we would leave Hillsborough with our safety in tact.

I traveled to the match on the supporter's coach, arriving at Selhurst at an ungodly hour after a cab journey with a guy that thought I was a player. I did nothing to dissuade him from that assumption, confirming my squad number was 2 and the match was going to be on TV so he should give it a go and see if he could spot me. The tension was there when I arrived at Selhurst, even though some people were laughing and joking when we piled onto the coach [I say coach, it was a bus, but whatever]. The atmosphere going up was great once everyone had woken up and when the coach pulled up near the stadium, the volume had cranked up to 11.

By now, everyone remembers exactly what happened during the match - Calvin almost literally kicked things off when he karate kicked their keeper in the head before an Ambrose corner was whipped into the box for Alan Lee and slam a header into the net much to the delight of the packed Palace end, the opposite side of the ground. It was an unbelievable feeling and one that I hoped would last. Leon Clarke's equaliser after Danny B's fairly silly claims for a free-kick sent the home fans into action and at half-time we were halfway to staying up.

When Scannell's layback to Ambrose was converted and we were 2-1 up, for the first time in my entire Palace supporting life, I was supremely confident. I have no idea why, there was no logic or reason to it, but when he slid on his knees in front of us, I was calm and my head was telling me "we've done it, we're staying up". Even though there was a fair way to go, nothing seemed to stop me from feeling like that. Nothing, that is, til Purse snaffled an equaliser. And soon after that Stern John, who only had to pass the ball to our 20 goal midfielder to confirm the victory, saw his shot cleared off the life. My life was being to pass before my eyes [it was annoyingly short and seemed to focus on that time at Primary School I got smacked in the face with a baseball bat] and I watched in horror as Paddy headed the ball out for a corner when Jules had everything covered.

Thankfully, the whistle went before the corner was taken and the noise coming from the Palace end was deafening. We had done it, we'd staved off relegation despite massive financial problems, a ten point deduction, the loss of the manager and sale of Victor Moses. We had shown fight, grit and passion and we fans had done everything possible to support our club through the hard times. There were so many emotions involved at the final whistle - pride, joy, exhaustion and relief - it gives me goosebumps just thinking about what happened that day in Sheffield and though I would never want to have to stay up on the last day again, this match is definitely one of the best Palace matches ever.

Have a watch of the highlights below and relive the day.

http://youtu.be/Vs-7Kv5Fy0M

Selhurst Park, October 26, 2002

By Sam Priddy

Whilst most of the games in this illustrious Top 50 list concern important victories that sealed promotion, fought off relegation or simply gained a valuable three points, Saturday 26th October 2002 saw an altogether different type of contest. A seaside team from 40 odd miles away was making the journey up the A23 to Selhurst Park to battle an old adversary it hadn’t seen since 1988; 13 years and all that distance had, if anything, intensified the rivalry. This wasn’t about points, this was about pride.

As if a Palace-Brighton fixture wasn’t enough, this was also a game with a number of interesting sub-plots. The Seaweed, in an attempt to emulate their esteemed opponents, had recruited a couple of Palace old boys to bring to the party. Simon Rodger contented himself with a place on the bench, but all eyes were on Steve Coppell as he attempted to mastermind the downfall of his previous club. Of course, Coppell received a very warm reception, and you could almost see the conflict in the man's eyes.Correct me if I'm wrong but I swear I saw his heart break a little when he walked his Brighton team out. at Selhurst.

This was also one of those rare occasions where Palace went into a match as favourites, although that was more to do with Brighton’s poor form than Trevor Francis’ samba football. Eleven straight defeats had seen the ‘weed languishing at the bottom of the table, and looking apprehensively towards a swift return to Division 2. And all this with talismanic striker Bobby "When the ball hits the head of the bloke in Row Z it's" Zamora in their ranks. Palace too had hit something of a bump in the road, and the pressure was mounting on Francis. The previous game summed up our recent performances – drawing 2-2 having been 2-0 up after 75 minutes in our ‘away’ game against Wimbledon (thanks Neil Shipperley).

The biggest gate of the season meant the atmosphere in the ground was electric, tampered only by the news that a few scuffles outside had meant kick off had to be delayed by 15 minutes. It didn’t matter though, as Palace were on the front foot from the get go. Barely four minutes had gone by when a looping corner from Julian Gray was volleyed back into the mix by Danny Granville, and Andy Johnson was at hand to delicately poke it home. In unusual fashion the Eagles continued to press, and were unlucky to have a Tony Popovic header from another corner ruled out because of a foul.

It was another Gray corner on 35 minutes that saw the Johnson score his second. Whipped low and hard to the near post, AJ dived acrobatically to nod it past ‘keeper Michael Kuipers to leave the Palace fans happy and in great voice come the half-time whistle. This was Palace though, we had to remind ourselves, and as comfortable as the first half performance was it would presumably be a tighter second half affair - wouldn’t it?

Despite a rather one-sided first period there was an air of anxiety at half-time in the stands. The events unfolding on the pitch were almost too good to be true, there would surely be some sort of downfall.

We needn’t have worried though. Less than 10 minutes had passed after the restart when the Doog set AJ off and his little legs did the rest. Scurrying into the box with three players trailing in his wake, AJ was met by Danny Cullip who decided it was best to stop him by all means, unceremoniously dumping him on the floor, and the referee was given no choice but to award the penalty. With Palace fans calling for Johnson to be given the honours, Freedman instead stepped up and calmly smashed the ball into the roof of the net.

This, AJ decided, would not do, and so he promptly won another penalty in almost a carbon copy of the first decision. This time the Scot could afford to be a little more generous, and so Johnson gratefully received the chance of a hat-trick, rolling the ball into the bottom right-hand corner. Brighton’s Paul Brooker was given his marching orders for this latest misdemeanor, wisely deciding to get out of Selhurst Park as quickly as he could.

By this stage the Palace fans were in full party mood, and the stadium was practically rocking. Everyone was happy, it seemed, apart from Julian Gray. Always an admirer of sexy football, he decided that two penalties were no way to end this mouth-watering match. Skipping past the bedraggled Brighton defenders, he rounded off the historic game with a beautiful fizzing shot low into the net.

After the game Francis claimed his side could have scored six or seven, but five suited me perfectly thank you very much. The performance more than matched the occasion, and in Johnson a Palace hero was born (he would go on to score another three goals in the following game against Walsall - see entry No.34). As much as we love to hate Brighton, our games against them always promise to be something special. Bring on 27th September.

Selhurst Park, December 16, 1972

By Mike Meech

It is good to reflect that during Palace’s four year residency of Division one from 1969 – 1973 we played Manchester United 8 times and our record was not at all bad P8 W2 D2 L4. Even within the four defeats one fantastic game at Selhurst which we lost 3-5 could and perhaps should have been a victory.

When we first faced United on that never to be forgotten sunny August Saturday in August 1969 making our first every appearance at the top table of English football, we faced a team that only a year previously had been the first English side to win the European Cup. Bursting with internationals and famous names in the world of football, we secured a very creditable 2-2 draw in front of our biggest league gate at that time. This match set the tone for the four seasons ahead of us. Indeed it may well have been the vital point United gifted us in the return fixture the following February that was the vital point that secured our tenure in Division One for a second season. Yes that first season was the warm up for the many battles I am proud to say we have had in the seasons since with one of, if not the world’s biggest football club.

December never seems to be an easy month for Palace, of indeed for me. My birthday is in early December and I always look at the fixtures when they appear in early summer hoping for a Birthday victory, which over the years often seems to turn into a defeat! The previous December we had trounced high flying (well they were for half that season) Sheffield United 5-1. However I think few of us thought that misty December day that we would achieve another five goals and what was and is our highest ever top division victory and we achieved it against against United!

We have to be honest though, this United team was a poor shadow of the team that had won the European Cup just four years previously. Many of that team had retired or moved on and the replacements were not of the same quality. George Best was still with them, but more often than not he was on walkabout with some model or pub chain! However they were still a formidable club and any win against United is to be enjoyed.
What of Palace in late 1972? In some respects although we did not know it, we were in the middle of, if not off field turmoil, then a period of great change. The legend that is Arthur Wait had moved upstairs and a new face wore the Chairman’s hat, Ray Bloye who at that time was seen as a bit of a hero due to the transfer pot he had seemed to find for Bert Head.

Both teams were among the strugglers in the division when we meet that last home game before Christmas. Bert was in the process of what had almost been a regular feature of our previous season in Division One, the team transplant. We were used to seeing sweeping changes as one set of players were moved on and a new set of Bert’s Bargains were transplanted into the side, often from north of the border as Bert shaped and re-shaped teams to help us establish ourselves in the top flight.

There had been steady progress since that first season and we were growing experienced in the ways of the division. Our biggest problem was as the same as it is today for teams in the premier league who are trying to establish themselves, lack of depth in the squad.

However the recent transplant operation undertaken by Bert, was a little different than in previous seasons. With the purse strings open a little wider, Bert had secured a player of true flair “The Don” from Swindon Town, where Bert had previously been manager and had developed a number of players who went on to be familiar faces of the 60’s and early 70’s football. Don Rogers joined up with his old boss, although some will say that Don had left his move into the top division perhaps too late, he was still one of the best flair players in the English game.

Alan Whittle joined us from Everton, 5ft 2in eyes of blue, a striker who despite his lack of inches had been very successful at Everton. A bit fiery true, those who had witnessed the previous seasons FA Cup third round battle (battle in the true sense)with Everton, will testify to Alan’s shall we say physical style. Paddy Mulligan joined us from Chelsea a very classy full back and Ian Philip who was from North of the Border of whom big things were predicted. To this day Palace fans who remember Ian are split as to his quality.

John Yogi Hughes and Willie Wallace the previous season’s captures from that other European Cup Winners of the 60’s Celtic were still with us. On paper at least, this was far and away the strongest squad we had seen in this period of First Division life for Palace.

The game is etched on the memory of every Palace fan at Selhurst that day and even many of our young fans today have heard the tales and indeed thanks to the Internet will no doubt have seen the goals as described by the late great Brian Moore from the Big Match coverage.

A very green Selhurst Park surprisingly for that time of year (pitch technology was not as advanced as it is today) saw a fantastic attacking performance from a Palace side that was full of confidence and swagger. The marauding Mulligan was set free with a wonderful pass from the feet of Rogers and smashed the ball past Alex Stepney.

Chances came with almost every attack and only the class of Stepney kept the score down. Hughes, Whittle, Rogers and others all went close. Then another quality pass from Rogers set the captain Mulligan free yet again to make it 2-0. How we were only 2-0 up at half time is still a mystery today!

You always worry if the half time break will spoil the rhythm and the game would as often happen become a “game of two halves” ? Well we did not have to worry, yes United did up their game, but Palace also went into an even higher gear! Rogers scored the goal that even Pele had failed to convert in the 1970 World Cup, pushing the ball one side of Stepney and running around the other side to put the ball into the empty net. Pele had managed the first part, but missed the goal.

Then my favourite of the game. Before Hopkins at Wembley in 1997, Alan Whittle had looked to curl one, after some fine passing play and from the edge of the box, curled the ball into the top right hand corner of the Holmesdale goal. Just fantastic!

Rogers then picked the ball up on the edge of our box and ran the length of the pitch, leaving Utd players in his wake, only for Stepney to save the day. However the Don was not to be denied and after a mazy run and with a number of United players looking confused, lost and bemused in their six yard box, slid in number five and Selhurst erupted!

It was a day of pure joy, one which every Palace fan there that day will always treasure the memory of one of our finest victories in the top division. Yes United were a long way short of today’s or even the 68’ United. However to beat any team by five clear goals and dominate a game so much with style and panache is something that we do not see from a Palace side too often. United still had quality players and should have been able to set us a stern test that day. The fact that they did not was nothing to do with their poor form, but everything to do with a display of attacking football, with flair and cheek flowing through the whole side. It truly was a vintage performance and one that all Palace fans should and can celebrate, time and time again.

You can watch every goal again and again below!

Stamford Bridge, February 14, 1976

By Mike Meech

After the thrilling win against Leeds Utd at Elland Road in the previous round, most Palace fans were hoping for a juicy home tie in the 5th round against a big club. At this point in time Palace with the flamboyant Big Mal in charge, were not afraid of anybody. Indeed in the famous win at Leeds, it had been Palace who looked more like “giants” than “giant killers” as we totally outplayed one of the best teams in England at the time.

When the draw was made we found ourselves away from home yet again (only the first round match that season has been at home) this time at Stamford Bridge against a Chelsea team that was mid table in Division Two, as Eddie McCreadie who had moved up from player to team manager tried to steady a rocky ship. Chelsea had problems, they were in financial difficulties, the building of a new “super stand” following their FA cup and Cup Winners Cup triumphs of 1970 and 1971 had drained the clubs finances. Their problems were compounded as the exciting team of the late 60’s and early 70’s broke up due to age, players falling out with the manager and other issues had seen them slide out of the top division.

Palace however despite our great cup form, was finding it hard to go back to third division bread and butter league games between the cup games. Our league form had slumped. Since the start of December we had only won two league games, two draws and five defeats had seen us slip to 5th in the table. The Saturday before the Chelsea game we struggled to a 3-3 draw at home to Swindon Town, with goals from Peter Taylor and much underrated Nicky Chatterton (2).

Saturday February 14th was typical of that time of year, spring was still a few weeks away and the pitches were heavy with mud. There was also still the chill of winter in the air. Would Palace suffer of inflict a St Valentine’s Day Massacre? Big Mal with his now trade mark fedora certainly looked the part of a gangster as he stood in front of the “Shed” with fingers raised to indicate the score and torment the teeny boppers who inhabited the “Chelsea Shed” in those days. The moment was one of many moments during that mad, exciting and uplifting cup run of 75/76 that would become an iconic photograph in the years that followed.

In 1976 Stamford Bridge was far removed from the stadium it is today. In fact it is strange to think that 35 years after that match, in 1976 we were closer to the end of the Second World War than we are to that day’s game in 2011. Indeed Stamford Bridge looked like a WW2 bomb site! Selhurst Park today for all its problems is a better stadium than the home of the Kings Rd set in 76’ Only the new stand that had destroyed Chelsea’s finances showed any progress in a stadium that had hosted FA Cup Finals, England Internationals, Speedway, Greyhound Racing an many other activities.

Palace were facing Chelsea in the FA cup for the third time in six seasons as we attempted to reach only our second quarter final, eleven years after we had lost to Leeds Utd at Selhurst in 1965 in round 6. The two previous FA Cup ties with Chelsea had been at Selhurst in front or huge crowds, but we had lost both. The first in a 1-4 reverse in the 5th round in 1970, weeks after suffering a 1-5 thrashing in the league to the “Blues” at Selhurst. The very next season we were again drawn at home to Chelsea, this time in round 3. We held them 2-2 on a very frosty Selhurst pitch, but lost the replay at Stamford Bridge.

Most Palace fans were confident that we would achieve revenge this time and march into the 6th round, after all we had beaten Leeds and Chelsea at that time were not a real force. True they had a few of the cup winning team of 1970 still in the side and a few promising youngsters, including Ray “Butch” Wilkins who of course 18 years later was to join Palace for a very brief career!

The Palace team that day was Hammond, Wall, Jump, Evans, Cannon, Chatterton, Jefferies, M Hinshelwood, Taylor, Swindlehurst, Whittle. In front of a crowd of over 54,000 the Eagles attacked Chelsea from the start. Peter Taylor was on fire as he shredded the Chelsea defence time and again.

Allison was using a tactic that he had employed several times before. This was to keep the front two deep leaving the Chelsea centre backs – not the fastest- unsure of where to position themselves and who to mark. While at the same time pushing the two wide players right up against the full backs. This tactic worked a treat as the two Palace wide men, Taylor and Chatterton created confusion in the Chelsea defence and after a mazy run and fine shot from Taylor that came back off the woodwork. Nicky Chatterton lashed the ball in from only a few yards out.

Palace was now in full flow and Taylor again went on a jinking run that had the Chelsea defence in all sorts of problems and as they were drawn to the lurking Chatterton in a similar position as when he scored the first goal. Taylor lashed the ball towards the Chelsea goal after a quick 1-2 with Chatterton, only this time it hit the back of the net and not the woodwork.

Palace finished the half well on top; however the killer third goal had not come. As often happens in these types of games at the re-start the third goal would be all important. It was Chelsea who struck first with a goal from Ray Wilkins. Palace struggled to hold back a Chelsea team who had obviously been subject to a tough half time talk from the manager. Steve Wicks grabbed an equaliser and suddenly a game that the Palace was winning at a canter was anybody’s and the tide was with Chelsea.

However the Palace team at that time was a fine mix of youth and experience and the classy Peter Wall, alongside Captain Ian Evans held firm as Palace fought to get back into the game, weathering the Chelsea fight back. Hold firm we did and as the half ticked on Palace won a free kick just outside the Chelsea penalty box.

We had a wide range of free kick routines, all part of Big Mal’s exciting style of play. A shuffle, a dummy and up stepped Peter Taylor to send a fast, swinging strike into the Chelsea net to put Palace back into the lead. Taylor and the Palace team celebrated wildly as did Big Mal and the Palace directors in the stand. On the terraces it was a mix of celebrations and fighting as it seem to kick off all around Stamford Bridge. There had been a number of incidents all afternoon, including Police Horses in amongst the crowd. Chelsea had a reputation; although much of it was “spin” You could find “Chelsea Shed” or just “The Shed” graffiti all over London. However as already mentioned it was not the Shed where the real trouble makers could be found –they were just teeny boppers- The old strange North Stand at Chelsea was where the real thugs stood.

From that point on Palace held firm and played out the game, the Taylor goal had knocked the stuffing out of Chelsea. We moved into the 6th round with a feeling that we could go all the way. We were a side stuck in division three, but one which could match any team in the country. After all we had Big Mal and the most exciting player in England at the time, Peter Taylor.

Highlights below! Enjoy!

Selhurst Park, May 11, 1979

By John Daly

After relegation to old Third Division in 1974 I had relinquished my season ticket and concentrated much more on my golf. The crowds at Selhurst diminished meaning it was fairly easy to get match day tickets in this period and I still attended maybe a dozen games a year. I had attended most of the 1976 FA Cup run and still consider the 1-0 win at Leeds as about the best away game I ever went to.

As the 1978/79 season unfolded it was becoming apparent that the last game of the season at home to Burnley was going to be crucial. Due to postponements it was scheduled to be played after all the other teams had completed their programmes, which only added to the tension. Weeks before the game I contacted my mate Leonard; we had only met recently and he was another supporter who no longer regularly attended. We arranged to go to the game together, but unfortunately many others had the same idea and despite buying well in advance we could only get three tickets together in the very back row of the Main Stand.

It was three tickets because I was courting at the time and I wanted to introduce the young lady to another of my passions (other than her and golf).  We arrived in good time but thousands had arrived earlier and the terraces were packed and the streets around the ground were crowded with people who were unable to get in. The official attendance was later given at over 51,000 - a record - but with stories of lads climbing walls and turnstile operators letting kids in for a small cash donation the actual attendance must have been several thousand more.

I was glad that I had splashed out on a seat as I suspect that being crushed on the Holmesdale would not have been a great introduction to football for the young lady, more so that I found out that night that she needed glasses to see the actual game. Unfortunately she had forgotten the glasses and so could not follow the game that closely but she thought the atmosphere was superb, and it was.

The scenario was that a draw was enough for promotion and victory would deliver the championship over great rivals Brighton. Burnley were safe in mid table but were resolute opponents. From the off Palace attacked urged on by the big crowd but could not find an opening. Opportunities were wasted or the goalkeeper saved. The noise was incessant and the tension mounted. One mistake and the whole edifice could come crashing down. I was continually worried that Steve Kindon on the Burnley left would re-capture his magic of old but Paul Hinshelwood kept him on a tight rein.

Half-time came with no score and the second half continued as before. Then with fifteen minutes to go Hinshelwood released Hilaire down the wing, Walsh threw himself at the perfect cross and the dam was broken. The eruption of noise was enormous and there was a mini pitch invasion. If it were possible the noise over the last few minutes was even greater and in the last minute Swindlehurst added a second. Then the party began.

There must have been twenty thousand people on the pitch as the team came out to take the plaudits and out came my trusty hip flask (see No.9 on our list for a reappearance of the flask) to help the celebrations along.  I even smoked my first and last ever cigar that Leonard provided and we stayed for I don’t know how long joining in the celebrations. I have vague memories of leaving a Chinese Restaurant (or was it Indian?) in the early hours and joining in more singing with other supporters in the centre of Croydon but I can’t have behaved too badly because my girlfriend agreed to marry me years later.

The next week Leonard and I arranged two season tickets together and, with a few breaks for years living abroad and family, we are still sitting together watching the Palace every other Saturday today.

Watch the highlights below...

Selhurst Park, June 3, 1989

By Michael Hinge

After a mildly promising start, the 1989/90 season looked grim for Palace. Injuries claimed both influential skipper Geoff Thomas and our first choice goalkeeper Perry Suckling very early on in the campaign and, upset at his frequent (though often justified) substitution, winger Neil Redfearn asked for a transfer citing that he wanted to move back up north due to homesickness. Young Eagles boss Steve Coppell granted Redfearn his request and he made the long sojourn up to the cobbled streets and coal mines of, erm, Watford. He was soon replaced with the mercuiral Alex Dyer who joined for £200k from Hull but, after a promising start and a couple of important goals (including one direct from a corner at Birmingham) he joined Suckling and Thomas on the treatment table and was quickly replaced on the right flank by previously unheard of Eddie McGoldrick, who'd started the season at right-back for Northampton Town.

Palace missed both Suckling and Thomas greatly; the midfield pairing of Alan Pardew and Glenn Pennyfather looked lightweight to say the least and we were often overrun in that area by teams we would normally beat at a canter. As the season ground on with some erratic and inconsistent performances, the physio's job became harder and harder. Soon after Dyer, Pennyfather fell victim of a thigh injury and believe it or not his injury became the turning point of our season. As there was no other experienced centre-mids on the books, Coppell had little choice but to place his trust in David Madden. The unassuming midfielder had joined in the close season on a free from Reading and was pretty much unheard of by the Palace faithful. After a solitary substitute appearance against Watford at the beginning of the campaign he was put in the reserves and later transfer listed by Coppell after he allegedly head-butted team-mate, Mark Harris. Brave, stupid man.

From the very beginning Madden looked a class apart. Very much the complete midfielder - a hard tackler who often chose to bring the ball out of defence rather than simply boot it away as quickly as possible and capable of accurate, long range passes. His arrival in the team sparked an upturn in form that saw us finish the season in third place. In over 30 years of supporting Palace I cannot recall one player having anywhere near as great an influence on the team as Madden did this year and he remains to this day my favourite ever Palace player despite making less than 30 appearances for us.

On to the match. In the usual Palace tradition we'd made it difficult for ourselves in this two-legged play-off final. A nondescript performance at Ewood Park the previous week had seen us enter this game looking to overturn a 3-1 deficit thanks to McGoldrick's late goal and Coppell had a defensive dilemma. Rudi Hedman, after his amazing performances at centre-back over two legs against Swindon was finally found out at Blackburn and was clearly not the long term solution. It was assumed that club captain Gavin Nebbeling would return from suspension and slot in alongside Jeff Hopkins in the centre of defence. However, Coppell had other ideas. Gary O'Reilly had turned in some sterling performances during the season prior to his injury and this match was considered to be too soon for him but Coppell phoned him on the morning of the game asking if he thought he could play. O'Reilly made a last minute decision and lined up with a bandage over his leg. Nebbeling took this badly and the popular South African, by then the club's longest serving player, asked for a transfer and later joined Fulham for £75,000. But Coppell's decision was vindicated by what happened next.

It's difficult to describe the wonderful atmosphere at a full-to-capacity Selhurst Park that sunny June afternoon but there was an air of confidence among the Palace faithful. We somehow KNEW that we'd win this, despite being 3-1 down. Even though Blackburn looked the better side in the opening minutes with the excellent Simon Garner going close on a number of occasions, the belief among the Palace fans never wained and it didn't take long for a goal to come. Madden received a long cross field ball and laid it off to the much maligned Alan Pardew. Pardew made a run towards the Blackburn penalty area unchallenged, then laid off a teasing low cross with the outside of his boot for Ian Wright to slot into the back of the net. Selhurst Park erupted. This was back when away goals counted double and you could see from the demeanour of the Rovers players that they were starting to lose belief. Garner, Blackburn's biggest threat and a fantastic striker who really deserved to be playing at a higher level, was now being expertly marshalled by Hopkins and O'Reilly and Palace went into the break 1-0 up, losing 3-2 on aggregate.

Palace seemed to grow more and more in confidence as the second half went on. McGoldrick received the ball and went on a diagonal run towards the area. As was so often the case with Eddie, the closer he got to the goal the more likely he was to fluff it and just as it looked like that was about to happen again, David Mail, the scary looking Blackburn centre half who resembled a woolly mammoth, literally ran into him. Eddie repeated the form that had won us one or two penalties earlier in the season and went to ground as if he'd just been hit by an express train. Penalty! Earlier in the season Palace had been awarded four penalties against Brighton and only managed to score one (local legend has it that John Pemberton's penalty from that game recently started orbiting Neptune) and thus Madden had landed the job and our 'penalty king' and had a 100% record, which continued here as he cooly stepped up to slot the ball to the right of former Palace loanee Terry Gennoe and send the fans into raptures. It was now 3-3 and Palace had that precious away goal. Extra time looked a formality until late on in the half that man Garner struck a perfect right footed volley that looked like it was about to break Palace's hearts but for Suckling to make a fantastic block and push it over the woodwork; in doing so made one of the most memorable and most important saves in the club's history.

The half finished with both teams equal on aggregate but with Palace holding on to that precious away goal. Once again, it's difficult to underestimate the belief among the 30,000 strong crowd but somehow everyone knew we had it in the bag. All we had to do was hold on for another half hour. So extra time passed with little incident. Hopkins and O'Reilly continued to do a sterling job of rendering Blackburn's strike force impotent and the fans simply kept looking at their watches willing the minutes to pass. The next bit I didn't actually witness but from the TV replays McGoldrick received the ball on the right and played an inch perfect cross for Wright to glance into the net making it 3-0. Back then it was tradition that, regardless of how the season had ended, the fans would invade the pitch after the last match of the season, and this one was going to be no different. So those of us in the Sainsbury's End were allowed to stand behind the advertising hoardings for the last few minutes of the match (this was back in the days when we had stewards who were often also supporters of the club rather than ones who look upon Palace fans as being hooligans). The sheer number of people obscured my view of this incident so, when people started running on the pitch and cheering, I assumed the final whistle had gone and joined them. As these were more sensible times the Police and stewards calmly cleared the fans from the pitch and allowed referee George Courtenay (who'd play his part in another classic Palace match less than 12 months later) to continue play for the last few minutes and nobody was fined, arrested or had points deducted.

Then the final whistle did go and the roar was so loud I'm surprised the roof to the Main Stand didn't come off. Thousands of Palace fans ran onto the pitch to congratulate their heroes and a party mood ensued, McGoldrick being carried off the pitch on the shoulders of one fan whilst several of the others stayed on the pitch to celebrate a fantastic achievement. At last, after the heartbreak of the Venables and Mullery eras and everything in between, these fans were able to sing "We're Proud Of You" again. And proud we were. Palace were back in the big time and it felt amazing.

Watch highlights below!

Wembley, May 17, 1990

By John Daly

Living and working on the Costa del Sol in April 1990 I agreed to go out to lunch rather than try and listen to the Liverpool semi-final on radio BFBS.  Later on driving home listening to the crackling car radio I thought I heard the result was 4-3 and imagined Kenny Dalglish's men had triumphed, but at home the television news soon put me right and I was straight on the phone to the UK to speak to my old mate Leonard, who used to have a season ticket next to mine.

Leonard worked importing fruit from Spain and was confident that with his contacts in the fruit markets across the UK he could obtain tickets for the final and he instructed me to book my plane ticket. But i wasn't confident. I mean, I wanted a ticket, not a tomato for god's sake! As I continued to read in the press on how difficult it was for supporters without season tickets to get tickets for the game I thought it better not to waste my money on an unused airline ticket.

Just a few days before the final I received a phone call from Leonard and he proudly told me he had two tickets for the final and had only had to pay the face value of £40. "Have you got your ‘plane ticket?" he asked. "Er...Yes" I lied but thanks to my favourite travel agent in Spain it was only a lie for about twenty minutes and I had a precious flight booked via Gib for Friday afternoon returning Sunday afternoon for about £100. I was a lucky boy. I fancy there were many supporters who paid a lot more than me even if they had no plane ticket to fund!

My mother had come to stay for a week or two and I had to explain to my wife that she would have to look after the mother-in-law for the last few days without me. To her credit she was very understanding and wanted me to go. Well, that's what she said at least.

I had been to Wembley only once before, about thirty years previously to watch an England vs Scotland game and we were sitting among the Scottish supporters. I was only 10 at the time and my only real recollection of the game was my amazement at how a whisky bottle seemed to appear in every Scottish hand the moment Tommy Ring’s shot hit the back of the England net. I knew then that I must take my hip flask with me; it was expected at Wembley.

Our tickets were about level with the edge of the penalty area on the opposite side of the stadium to the Royal Box but unfortunately nearer the United end and most (but fortunately not all) of the supporters around us were supporting the Red Devils. I have to admit that I remember very little of the match but I do remember the volume of noise when the teams entered the arena and the explosion of red and blue down the other end as the now traditional balloons were released (See entry No.11 for more balloons). And all this for the team we had both supported from the bottom of the old Third Division (South). I was so proud to be there.

When O’Reilly gave us the lead I was a bit intimidated by the United supporters around me but when Wrighty came on in the second half and almost immediately equalised at 2-2 I was up out of my seat. I am sure that in the dying minutes of normal time Dave Madden grazed the crossbar with a shot down our end or is that my fading memory playing tricks? So close to triumph.

At full-time I took out the hip flask and offered it to the elderly United supporter next to me. All our nerves needed the whiskey for medicinal purposes, of course. When Wrighty then gave us the lead at 3-2 in extra time I went ‘garrity’ and in retrospect I am grateful that the cameras were behind us as I suspect that the Institute of Chartered Accountants might have had words if they had spotted me and my subsequent career as FYP book balancer would have been in tatters.

With seven minutes to go Mark Hughes equalised for them and the game ended all square at 3-3. Was I disappointed that glory had been snatched away?  No, not really. It had been a cracking game in a great atmosphere and arguably one of the best finals ever witnessed at Wembley and I was so proud to be supporting my team and all they had achieved.

Back at Gib airport on the Sunday afternoon I was able to wave goodbye to my Mum as she went to board the plane that I had just got off. Then I was greeted by my wife with our two young sons and I spent the journey home telling the boys all about how good Palace had been at Wembley. I think they fell asleep.

The replay; back to BFBS on the crackling radio.

Watch the highlights below!

Selhurst Park, April 19, 1969

The sixties were a pivotal time for the ol' human race; man stepped foot on the moon as exploration broke the barriers of just earth; music actually started becoming good, advances in technology whirred into action, there were more wars than you can shake a tank at, while students and politically active people started to make their voices heard. Oh and a little know team from south London called Crystal Palace were promoted to the top flight for the first time in their history.

Yep, the times they were definitely a-changin' and it means football fans up and down the country would be seeing a lot more of that sexy claret and light blue pin stripe kit, and the likes of Stevie Kember, Gerry Queen, David Payne and John Jackson.

The latter was one of the main reasons Bert Head's assembly of young local lads and aging Scottish pros managed to achieve promotion; goalkeeper Jackson (nicknamed 'Stonewall') was regularly Man of the Match for the Glaziers with some unfathomable saves and commanding performances between the sticks.

Head had only been in charge a couple of years, but had managed to blend youth and experience - like a fine wine - into a formidable team that at the back end of the 1968/69 season went on a 16-game unbeaten run. That extended into the next season - in the Old First Division - for two more games making a club record 18-game unblemished record.

But back to the Second Division and after a 0-0 draw up at league leaders Middlesbrough on Good Friday where Palace had in fact scored five (yes FIVE) goals that were all ruled out for offside, promotion suddenly looked on the cards. A 3-1 win over Portsmouth 24 hours later and the Glaziers were making their point. Two goalless draws against Huddersfield and Preston means that a win at home to Fulham on the penultimate day of the season would see Palace up.

Palace fan Bob Hodgkins remembers: "I was 13 at the time and this was probably only about the 10th game I went to with my new Palace supporting class mate Tommy Meyer. What a great time to actually start going to Selhurst.

"We set up inside Selhurst at our usual spot, which was kind of low down at the under construction Arthur Wait corner of The Holmesdale Road end, almost in line with the goal line. As was to happen 10 years later against Burnley, we were playing a team already relegate but even at the age I knew that was a banana skin, and also the fact that a Palace hero in Johnny Byrne was playing out his days for Fulham.

"There was that sense of inevitability when Fulham, kicking towards The Holmesdale, not only went 1-0, but 2-0 by half-time with Byrne getting one of them. Typical!

"I don’t recall my emotions at that time, but it’s hard to think many people there that day felt confident. I believe a lose and other results would have seen us probably miss out on promotion and to Charlton to boot. So I guess what happened in the second half was what makes Palacethe team we all love, and sucks you in just when you think all is lost.

"To the best of my memory, it was those stalwarts, Cliff Jackson, Steve Kember and Mark  Lazarus who pulled us through with their second half goals – the crowd invaded the pitch at the final whistle and we watched from our terrace spot as the team came out in the directors box to do their now famous and well photographed victory salute (above).

"I wonder where Tommy Meyer is now? He sort of stopped going after a couple of seasons, and we lost contact when we left school. I found other mates to go with, and we got cars so the journey got easier (if not the parking), and trains, coaches and cars took us all over the country to see Palace play."

Are you out there Tommy? Get in contact if so! No.9 in our countdown will be here tomorrow!